Batton 1!

Enargeia and Energeia in Aeschylean Tragedy

What happens on stage during the Persians at around line 150? It is at this point that the

chorus of Persian elders finish their opening parados song and the Queen, the mother of Xerxes,

makes her entrance: “But look, like unto the light in the eyes of the gods the King’s mother

comes, my Queen!” The word προσπίτνω (“I bow down”) follows at line 152 and is the closest

thing to a stage direction indicating the movement or appearance of any of the actors in the play-

ing area. The question of how the Queen enters is made intriguing 450 lines later in the play,

when she makes her second entrance in order to perform a libation offering after hearing the

messenger’s report of Xerxes’ disastrous defeat to the Greeks at Salamis. Here she says, “I have

retracted my path, coming back from my house without my chariot and without former luxury.”1

For a conspicuous and luxurious entrance to go unacknowledged in the dialogue of the play

would seem to be the only obvious exception in Aeschylus to the rule noticed by Oliver Taplin

that “all significant visual aspects of stage management are singled out for attention in the

words.”2 For Aeschylus not to have presented a busy royal procession, on the other hand, seems

to contradict the impression the playwright has had since antiquity for specializing in just such

spectacles.

Aeschylus’ ancient reputation for memorable coups de théâtre is summarized in the Life

appended to several of the existing manuscripts.3 It is from this Vita Aeschyli that we get the fa-

mous anecdote about the Furies in Eumenides being terrifying enough to induce miscarriage

1 Per. 607-9.

2 Taplin 1977, 75.

3 TrGF 3, T1.
 Batton 2!

among the audience, an example illustrating Aeschylus’ ability to “astound the audience’s vision

with brilliance through paintings and devices, altars and tombs, trumpets, images (εἰδώλοις), and

Furies.”4 The Aeschylean production comes off as quite a spectacle, intended to stun or shock the

audience with what is put in front of their eyes, rather than manipulate their emotions through

speeches and dialogue:

For this reason one could find many outstanding examples of his striking dramatic
contrivances but few aphorisms or pathetic scenes or other effects calculated to
produce tears. He used visual effects (ὄψεσι) and plots (µύθοις) more for the pur-
pose of monstrous terror (ἔκπληξιν τερατώδη) than for deceit.5

The Vita is no more reliable a work of literary criticism than it is a reliable biography, but this

last remark deserves some unpacking. Opsis and muthos are familiar resources for the tragic

poet. Aristotle has them among his list of the six constitutive elements of tragedy, along with

character (ἦθος), diction (λέξις), song (µέλος), thought (διάνοια). A corollary element is the

arrangement of events (ἡ τῶν πραγµάτων σύστασις). 6 In this scheme, muthos, the “soul of

tragedy”7 is the story (mythological--or not, in the case of Persians) to be adapted into dramatic

form. That adaptation is the arrangement of the plot into its order of scenes, the sustasis, which

Aristotle calls the “first and most important part of tragedy.”8 Opsis, meanwhile, for Aristotle,

refers to the arsenal of dramaturgical effects available in the theater that bring the story before

4τὴν ὄψιν τῶν θεωµένων κατέπληξεν τῆι λαµπρότητι, γραφαῖς καὶ µηχαναῖς, βωµοῖς τε καὶ τάφοις,
σάλπιγξιν, εἰδώλοις, Ἐρινύσι (TrGF 3, T1.14).

5δι! "κλογα# µ$ν παρ’ α%τ&ι τ'ι κατασκευ'ι διαφέρουσαι πάµπολλαι (ν ε)ρεθε*εν, γν&µαι δ$ +
συµπάθειαι + ,λλο τι τ&ν δυναµένων ε-ς δάκρυον .γαγε*ν ο% πάνυ· τα*ς τε γ/ρ 0ψεσι κα# το*ς µύθοις πρ!ς
1κπληξιν τερατώδη µ2λλον + πρ!ς .πάτην κέχρηται (TrGF 3, T1.7). Translation adapted from Lefkowitz.

6 Po. 1450a9-10. Translation here and below adapted from Halliwell.

7 ψυχ3 4 µ5θος τ'ς τραγ6δίας (Po. 1450a38).

8 "πειδ3 το5το κα# πρ&τον κα# µέγιστον τ'ς τραγ6δίας "στίν (Po. 1450b21).
 Batton 3!

the eyes of the audience, the visual presentation of the play including the devices and tools listed

by the author of the Vita. In the Poetics, opsis is regarded as the least essential element in

tragedy. “Opsis is psychogogic,” Aristotle says, “but not artistic and least proprietary to the poet.

For the power of tragedy exists even without contests and actors, and moreover the art of the

prop-master is more decisive for the efficacy of opsis than that of the poet.”9 Opsis is the cheap

way to make an impact on the audience. In a famous passage, Aristotle elaborates on his opposi-

tion of opsis and muthos:

For the muthos should be arranged so that even without seeing it performed, the
person who hears the events that occur experiences horror and pity at what comes
about (as one would feel hearing the muthos of Oedipus). To create this through
opsis has little to do with the poet’s art and requires additional equipment (khorē-
gias). Those who use opsis to effect not the fearful (to phoberon) but the terrify-
ing (to teratōdes) have nothing in common with tragedy, as it is not every plea-
sure one should seek from tragedy, but the appropriate kind.10

The Vita, while clearly having a different opinion than Aristotle’s about the value of sheer viscer-

al fright (ἔκπληξιν τερατώδη) as an appropriate effect of tragedy—seeing as it puts this in oppo-

sition to craftier ways of “cheating” (ἀπάτην) the audience into shedding tears—shows Peripatet-

ic influence in its vocabulary.11 This anonymous account agrees with the Poetics inasmuch as it

opposes theatrical spectacle with plot twists12 as alternative and independent ways of creating

9 Po. 1450b16-20.

10δε* γ/ρ κα# ,νευ το5 4ρ2ν ο7τω συνεστάναι τ!ν µ5θον 8στε τ!ν .κούοντα τ/ πράγµατα γινόµενα κα#
φρίττειν κα# "λεε*ν "κ τ&ν συµβαινόντων· 9περ (ν πάθοι τις .κούων τ!ν το5 Ο-δίπου µ5θον. τ! δ$ δι/ τ'ς
0ψεως το5το παρασκευάζειν .τεχνότερον κα# χορηγίας δεόµενόν "στιν. ο: δ$ µ3 τ! φοβερ!ν δι/ τ'ς
0ψεως .λλ/ τ! τερατ&δες µόνον παρασκευάζοντες ο%δ$ν τραγ6δί; κοινωνο5σιν· ο% γ/ρ π2σαν δε* ζητε*ν
<δον3ν .π! τραγ6δίας .λλ/ τ3ν ο-κείαν (Po. 1453b1-10).

11 Janko 1984, 224.

12The Vita uses the phrase α= διαθέσεις τ&ν δραµάτων equivalently to Aristotle’s < τ&ν πραγµάτων
σύστασις.
 Batton 4!

engaging drama. The Vita has Aeschylus deliberately eschew “reversals (περιπετείας) and twists

(πλοκὰς), as in the younger poets,” and think “grandeur (µεγαλοπρεπές) and the heroic

(ἡρωϊκόν) to be archaic, but that ingenious cleverness (πανοῦργον κοµψοπρεπές) and senten-

tiousness (γνωµολογικὸν) were foreign to tragedy.”13

Aristotle meanwhile makes some concession to opsis’ contribution to the pleasure of

tragedy later in the Poetics, when arguing for tragedy’s superiority over epic.

It follows that tragedy has all the things epic poetry does (and can even use its
meter), as well as having in so small part music and opseis, through which are en-
gendered the most vivid pleasures (ἐναργέστατα). Again, there is vividness (τὸ
ἐναργὲς) in reading and performance.14

The concession seems grudging, allowing that opsis is a sufficient, but not a necessary, means of

achieving vividness. Vividness Aristotle had earlier defined in the following way:

It is necessary to construct muthoi and work them out in diction so that it is as

much as possible placed before the eyes. For thus seeing things most vividly
(ἐναργέστατα), as if present at the events themselves, one will discover what is
appropriate and not likely miss contradictions. 15

The formula πρὸ ὀµµάτων τιθέσθαι and its equivalents occur frequently in ancient critics in ref-

erence to vivid language (ἐναργὲς).16 Enargeia is a critical term that refers to the visual clarity of

13 TrGF 3, T1.5.

141πειτα διότι πάντ’ 1χει >σαπερ < "ποποιία (κα# γ/ρ τ? µέτρ6 1ξεστι χρ'σθαι), κα# 1τι ο% µικρ!ν µέρος
τ3ν µουσικήν κα# τ/ς 0ψεις, δι’ @ς α: <δονα# συνίστανται "ναργέστατα· εAτα κα# τ! "ναργ$ς 1χει κα# "ν τB
.ναγνώσει κα# "π# τ&ν 1ργων (Po. 1462a13-18).

15Δε* δ$ τοCς µύθους συνιστάναι κα# τB λέξει συναπεργάζεσθαι >τι µάλιστα πρ! Dµµάτων τιθέµενον· ο7τω
γ/ρ (ν "ναργέστατα 4ρ&ν 8σπερ παρ’ α%το*ς γιγνόµενος το*ς πραττοµένοις ε)ρίσκοι τ! πρέπον κα#
Eκιστα (ν λανθάνοι τ/ )πεναντία (Po. 1455a21-25). On this passage see Bassi 2005, 256-257.

16 Meijering 1987, 14-15 and 49-52; Nünlist 2009, 198.

 Batton 5!

a description, “the graphic description that enthralls the audience,” in René Nünlist’s gloss.17 It

is achieved in some instances by techniques such as supplying precise details that allow the

scene being described to come to life in the mind’s eye. (Nünlist, by way of example, cites a

Homeric scholion praising a moment in Iliad 16, in which Homer has “described the dragging of

[Hector’s driver] Cebriones’ body most vividly (ἐναργέστατα), by adding the limbs which they

[Hector and Patroclus] were holding and pulling in opposite directions.” 18) In other instances it is

achieved by “the reduction of distance (temporal or spatial) between the events and the

audience,” by such means as the use of deictic references or use of the present tense, and, in

diegetic narratives, the use of direct speech.19 Enargeia is inextricably associated with the visual

sense, with “being shown” an image through words. Interestingly, in tragic scholia the term oc-

curs rarely, as Nünlist notes, “and then almost exclusively on narrative elements such as the mes-

senger speech.” He concludes, “It may well be that enargeia was considered a feature typical

primarily of narrative.” 20

Though the Vita refers to Aeschylus’ diction, metaphors, and “every device” (πᾶσι τοῖς

δυναµένοις) contributing to the grandeur of this style, it makes no connection between language

and any enargetic or vivid property. Rather, vividness in Aeschylus likelier corresponds to the

ekplēxis he is capable of eliciting in his audience (τὴν ὄψιν τῶν θεωµένων κατέπληξεν τῆι

17 Nünlist 2009, 194. See also Zanker 1981; Rispoli 1984; Meijering 1987, 29-52; Calame 1991; Kraus, et al. 2007,
7. The substantive enargeia is attested as early as the second century BCE in Philodemus (On Poetry 5, col 3.5-6;
see Obbink 1995.) though in scholia and earlier criticism the adjective and adverbial forms (ἐναργής, ἐναργῶς) are
how the concept is expressed.

18 Σ bT Il. 16.762-3, quoted in Nünlist 2009, 196. Translation adapted.

19 Clay 2011, 17.

20 Nünlist 2009, 98.

 Batton 6!

λαµπρότητι21). What the Vita emphasizes Aeschylus put before his audience’s eyes were not just

epithets and metaphors, but actual things—tombs, altars, Furies.

Energeia, “actuality” or “dynamism,”22 appears in the tragic scholia in the sense of pre-

senting something on stage directly rather than through a narration such as a messenger speech.23

Like enargeia, it is an essentially visual quality, 24 though also in common with enargeia it is

synesthetic. A scholion gives the following as one reason why, in Sophocles’ Electra, Klytaemes-

tra screams off stage as she dies, rather than have her death be described subsequently in a report,

that this way makes the event ἐνεργέστερον:

Furthermore now the spectator hears (ἀκούει ὁ θεατὴς) Klytaemestra’s cry at the
moment of her death, and the event is more dynamic (ἐνεργέστερον) than [if it
were] represented through a messenger. Also he avoids the obscenity of the spec-
tacle, while the vividness has been treated no less through the cry.25

Fundamental to energic (or energetic) vividness is immediacy. Klytaemestra’s scream is not me-

diated by a messenger’s report. In enargetic graphic description one receives visual information

verbally, through the ears; it is essentially ecphrastic. As the quasi-oxymoronic ἀκούει ὁ θεατὴς

21 TrGF 3, T1.14.

22Aristotle in the Rhetoric speaks of expressions that “put things before the eyes” (πρὸ ὀµµάτων ποιεῖν)
by giving a sense of animation or activity: λέγω δὴ πρὸ ὀµµάτων ταῦτα ποιεῖν ὅσα ἐνεργοῦντα σηµαίνει “I
mean that things are set before the eyes by words that signify actuality.” (Rh. 1411b2-3.) He cites
metaphors in Homer in which an inanimate object is granted a kind of agency by being the subject of a
personifying verb, or accompanied by a psychologizing modifier: ἔπτατ’ ὀιστός “the arrow took wing” (Il.
13.587.), or αἰχµὴ δὲ στέρνοιο διέσσυτο µαιµώωσα “the spear-point eagerly darted into his chest” (Il.
15.541.). In such metaphors, διὰ τὸ ἔµψυχα εἶναι ἐνεργοῦντα φαίνεται “it appears that the thing is actual,
through the personification” (Rh. 1412a2.).

23 Meijering 1987, 36-37.

24 Meijering 1987, 21-26.

25ν5ν τοίνυν βοώσης "ν τB .ναιρέσει τ'ς Κλυταιµήστρας .κούει 4 θεατ3ς κα# "νεργέστερον τ! πρ2γµα
γίνεται + δι’ .γγέλου σηµαινόµενον. κα# τ! µ$ν φορτικ!ν τ'ς 0ψεως .πέστη, τ! δ$ "ναργ$ς ο%δ$ν @σσον
κα# δι/ τ'ς βο'ς "πραγµατεύσατο (Σ Soph. El. 1404). Emphasis added.
 Batton 7!

indicates, this can be the case with energeia as well, though whether through the ears or the eyes

the important part is the immediacy of the sound or the sight itself.

The Vita makes Aeschylus out to be the poet of energeia. Of no use to him are twisty

plots, gnomic maxims, showing off one’s cleverness, appealing to intellection rather than the

straightforward and brilliant spectacle of scenes and choruses. He aimed not to induce pleasures

out of fear and suspense, but ekplēxis, a violently haptic reaction, which the Vita repeatedly

names as the affective response to his productions.

Many modern critics are in agreement with at least the general thrust of this ancient opin-

ion, that Aeschylus eschewed twisty plots. Commentaries on Aeschylus’ plays repeatedly empha-

size their plotlessness. “Persians… is plotless,” according to M. J. Smethurst.26 The Agamem-

non, notes T. J. Rosenmeyer, is not uncharacteristic of Aeschylus “in the apparent inadequacy of

anything that might conceivably be called a plot.” 27 It may by now be the communis opinio that

Prometheus Bound is misattributed, but for an earlier generation it was the plotlessness of the

play that bespoke its authenticity. A commenter in 1903 described that play as “the perfection of

Aeschylus’ art… a specimen, unique and unapproachable, of what that wonderful genius could

do in simple tragedy, that is to say, in the old, plotless, motionless, surpriseless drama, made up

of speeches and nothing more.” 28

26 Smethurst 1996, 78.

27 Rosenmeyer 1982, 311.

28 Mahaffy 1903, 34.

 Batton 8!

This comment however brings up a point tough to square with the perceptions of his an-

cient critics: “motionless,” surpriseless.” When scholars go looking through the plays for the

kinds of Aeschylean spectacles described in the Vita, they are actually quite difficult to find.

Oliver Taplin selected as an epigraph to the first chapter of his pioneering book Stage-

craft of Aeschylus a quotation from Kenneth Dover: “No one can write an adequate commentary

on a Greek play, or even edit it adequately, without producing it in his mind.” Reconstructing the

visual dimension of Greek tragedy, especially the period prior to the production of the Oresteia,

when questions regarding the staging conditions--such as the existence of the skēnē building--are

answerable only through inference and so terminally in dispute. What survives of the earliest

complete Greek tragedies are only manuscripts, lacking scene setting descriptions and stage di-

rections. It is up to the individual critic’s powers of imagination to supply stage business to ac-

company the words. More than with Sophocles or Euripides, Aeschylus’ plays have inspired a

sweeping variety of dramaturgical reconstructions, based on the assumed presence of props, spe-

cial effects, and silent supernumerary actors. Smethurst finds in Persians, for example, a play

closely related to the Japanese Noh tradition, austere and relying on a minimum of props and

stage business: “verbal and visual poetry rather than drama that can be defined by its plot and

action.”29 Edith Hall, meanwhile, as if committed to promote Aeschylus’ reputation for spectacle

as we know the Vita, sees an abundance of activity on stage throughout the play: “the mass pros-

trations of the chorus, the Queen’s splendid chariot, the libations, the prayers, Darius’ ghost, the

arrival of Xerxes and the final kommos provide a visual stimulation of the senses.”30

29 Smethurst 1989, 21.

30 Hall 1996, 198.

 Batton 9!

A similar discrepancy over visual stimulation exists in interpretations of the Seven

Against Thebes. Nearly a third of the play is taken up by the famous “shield scene,” where a

messenger reports to Eteocles the positions of the Argive attackers at the gates Thebes, with a

description of the device upon each one’s shield, while Eteocles names in turn a Theban champi-

on to oppose him. There are two speaking parts. Alan Sommerstein reads the scene as almost a

dance solo for Eteocles amid bustling attendants, where, once it becomes clear that it is his own

brother Polyneices that he himself will be duelling at the seventh and final gate, he asks a silent

attendant for his greaves. Thereafter, during the epirrhematic exchange with the chorus that fol-

lows the shield scene, he brandishes and dons additional pieces of armor until at last fully outfit-

ted, steeled to meet his fate but still committed to victory. The translator and critic Aaron

Poochigian, on the other hand, emphasizes not Eteocles’ resolution through the addition of props,

but his diminution through the subtraction of extras.31 He imagines the six Theban champions

fallen into line on stage as Eteocles one by one gives them their assignments, until at last he re-

mains alone on the stage with the messenger-scout, abandoned by fate and reluctant to face his

certain death.

Suppliants provides perhaps the starkest spectrum of dramaturgic reconstructions, owing

in no small part to the long held convention that it was the earliest of the surviving Aeschylean

plays and an example of a more primitive chorus-centric style of tragedy. This convention was

overturned almost overnight by the publication in 1952 by an Oxyrhynchus papyrus scrap from a

didaskalic list that seemed to re-date the play to no earlier than the mid-460s BCE, putting it

closer to the the Oresteia in time than either Persians or Seven. Even the islands of certainty

31 Poochigian 2006.
 Batton 1! 0

amid the oceans of lacuna that chart our knowledge of ancient tragedy are capable of tectonic

shift. Recent critics including Taplin envision the play with the familiar, conventional twelve-

member chorus standing in for the fifty daughters of Danaus. Earlier critics, however, preferred

to imagine a full fifty-singer chorus, 32 and at least one envisioned a veritable circus of activity

throughout the play, where each Danaid is accompanied by a silent handmaiden (taken as im-

plied from a single line in the last section of the play) and opposed by an equal numbered anti-

chorus of the Egyptians who have come to abduct them, putting more than 150 actors on the

stage at once.

In a scene in Terence Rattigan’s play The Browning Version, the humorless Classics mas-

ter Andrew Crocker-Harris scolds a pupil who has been a little too free in his translation of a sig-

nificant passage of the Agamemnon. “I am delighted,” he says to the boy, “of this evidence… of

your interest in the rather more lurid aspects of dramaturgy, but I feel I must remind you that you

are supposed to be construing Greek, not collaborating with Aeschylus.”33 However much such

discipline has its place in a lower fifth-form classroom, it is nonetheless apparently true that

young Taplow speaks to the interests, lurid and otherwise, of decades of working scholars of

Aeschylean tragedy.

To return, finally, to Persians: the play is throughout pervaded by a matrix of optical im-

agery and metaphor, and punctuated with virtual images conjured through words, from the

32 Kitto 1950, 24n3.

33 Rattigan 2000, 19.

 Batton 1! 1

Queen’s portentous dream she “seemed to see” (ἐγὼ 'δόκουν ὁρᾶν) the night before,34 to the

messenger’s eyewitness account of Salamis that he promises to “unroll” (ἀναπτύξαι) in front of

the Persians’ eyes like an illustrated scroll,35 to the ecphrastic tableau described by the ghost of

Darius, the heap of corpses to come at Plataea that will “voicelessly proclaim to the eyes of men,

even to the third generation, that one who is mortal should not think arrogant thoughts.”36 There

is an absence of reference throughout the play to tangible objects and tableaux that the audiences

in the theater would have seen for themselves. That is, until the climactic entrance of Xerxes be-

fore the final kommos song and exodos of the play. “Do you see what is left of my robes” he

asks, which the deictic pronoun to loipon tode, emphasizing the presence on stage of the actor’s

costume. As Sean Gurd has recently pointed out, the repeated words and cries and wails from

both Xerxes and the chorus—ἰὴ ἰή, ἰὼ ἰώ—“come closer than any other Athenian drama to a

kind of ‘absolute’ music. It is grief unmediated by a description of grief, presented instead

mimetically. In the final 40 lines of the play, for example, when extralinguistic cries increasingly

predominate, the ‘script’ starts to read more like a score, prescribing the timbral and rhythmic

part of the music whose pitches have been lost.”37 This is energetic poetry—foregoing the refer-

ential function of language for the sheer presence of the sound. The song is visually energetic as

well, with the most explicit deixis ad oculos in the entire play:

Ch. What of the Persians has not been lost, o afflicted one?
Xe. Do you see this here (τόδε) that is left of my clothes?
Ch. I see, I see.

34 Per. 188.

35 Per. 254.

36 Per. 818-20.

37 Gurd 2013, 122.

 Batton 1! 2

Xe. And this (τόνδε) quiver...38

The final part of the kommos is a sort of kinetic game of call-and-response, where Xerxes com-

mands an action (ἔρεσσ᾽ ἔρεσσε καὶ στέναζ᾽ ἐµὴν χάριν “row! row! and groan for my sake”) and

the chorus answers it (διαίνομαι γοεδνὸς ὤν “I wet my cheeks, lamenting”). 39 A repetition of

temporal deictics (νυν... νυν... νυν...) throughout the scene emphasizes over and over again that

this lament, this action of grief, is taking place right now in front of the audience’s own eyes and

ears. In a play that had previously been dominated by virtual spectacle, this is an irruption of the

real. In my reading the effect would be less effective if the play had been front-loaded with spec-

tacle at the beginning with a chariot procession. The original performance conditions of Persians

remain ultimately irrecoverable, but I propose that rather than assume feasts for the eyes at every

possible opportunity in Aeschylus--rather than follow the ancient readers in mistaking virtual

images for real ones--we let the plays themselves tell us where to look.F

38 Per. 1016-1022.

39Pers. 1046-1047. In some editions 1047 is transposed with 1039, αιGαιH αιGαιH δύα δύα. See Garvie 2009 ad
loc.
 Batton 1! 3

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