The Antigone as a Trial Play
| Author | Roger S. Fisher |
| Pages | 1-20 |
¿
ONE
>
The
Antigone
as
a
Trial
Play
WHEN
THE
ATHENIAN
audience
entered
the
Theatre
of
Dionysus
to
watch
the
performance
of
the
Antigone
in
about
440
B.c.,
they
were
entering
an
ambiguous
performance
space.
The
theatre
at
Athens
was
not
only
a
place
where
dramas
were
performed
as
part
of
public
religious
festivals,
it
was
also
an
outdoor
auditorium
where
other
civic
events
such
as
trials
and
public
assemblies
took
place
(as
if
the
play
were
to
be
performed
in
Parliament
or
the
U.S.
Congress
before
an
audience
of
sitting
members).
Sophocles,
like
other
tragedians,
could
exploit
this
ambiguous
setting
to
give
his
Antigone
the
atmosphere
and
tone
of
an
Athenian
court
(see
Ap
pendix
A).
A
theatre
(where
a
trial
play
is
performed)
and
a
courtroom
(where
a
live
trial
is
performed)
share
several
features
in
common.
Both
are
audi
toriums
with
a
stage
and
an
audience
of
spectators
(the
word
“
theatre
”
lit
erally
means
a
Tooking-place
”
).
Both
are
socially
prescribed
places
where
a
legal
dispute
is
performed
between
two
antagonists
who
have
chosen
to
“
go
to
law
”
to
resolve
their
dispute.
Both
present
scripted
stories
written
by
a
professional
storyteller
(a
playwright
or
a
lawyer)
with
characters,
dia
logue,
choreographed
action
scenes,
and
arguments.
And
both
are
works
of
art,
with
costumes
(actors
have
their
dressing
rooms
just
as
lawyers
have
their
robing
rooms),
choreography
(with
ceremonial
entrances
and
exits
and
body
language
to
heighten
the
drama),
and
sets
(either
theatri
cal
backdrops
or
exhibits,
both
of
which
serve
as
visual
representations
of
[1]
Antigone
v.
Creon
reality).
But
most
important,
the
theatre
and
the
courtroom
share
an
em
phasis
on
how
language,
rather
than
live
action,
is
used
in
order
to
make
an
impression
on
the
audience.
Trial
plays
rarely
depict
live
action
(espe
cially
Greek
tragedies,
where
the
live
action
always
occurs
offstage
and
is
reported
by
messengers,
who
could
just
as
accurately
be
described
as
wit
nesses
giving
hearsay
testimony).
Similarly,
courts
of
law
are
not
places
where
live
action
takes
place
(exhibits
and
live
witnesses
substitute
for
that).
Finally,
when
the
trial
play
or
the
courtroom
drama
ends,
there
is
a
verdict
that
purports
to
end
the
conflict
(for
the
moment
at
least).
A
trial
play
usually
ends
tragically
(and
that
is
how
Antigone
ends,
with
three
suicides
and
the
ruin
of
Creon,
the
ruler
of
Thebes).
A
courtroom
drama
in
real
life
usually
ends
less
dramatically,
but
the
ending
is
almost
always
an
unhappy
one
for
at
least
one
(but
sometimes
both)
of
the
antagonists.
The
verdict
is
always
a
statement
about
the
meaning
of
justice,
but
only
in
the
self-justifying
manner
of
the
law,
because
a
trial,
whether
depicted
onstage
or
conducted
in
a
real-life
courtroom,
is
no
more
“
about
justice
”
than
a
symphony
can
be
said
to
be
about
music.
That
the
Antigone
has
something
to
do
with
the
law
is
obvious,
given
that
the
plot
centres
on
Antigone
’
s
defiance
of
Creon
s
decree
forbidding
the
burial
of
the
deceased
Polyneices.
When
the.
Antigone
is
regarded
as
a
play
about
law,
it
has
usually
been
in
reference
to
substantive
questions
of
legality
—
the
validity
of
Creon
s
decree,
according
to
Athenian
notions
of
lawfulness,
for
example,
or
the
potential
legal
relationship
between
Creon
and
Antigone
as
uncle
and
niece
under
Athenian
family
law
(see
Appendix
C).
But
in
a
trial
play
and
in
a
modern
courtroom
drama,
the
law
also
functions
as
a
social
discourse
that
goes
beyond
the
substantive
rides
enacted
by
a
legislature
(or
by
a
ruler
like
Creon).
A
trial
is
not
a
work
of
jurisprudence,
and
those
who
argue
that
the
crux
of
the
play
is
the
legitimacy
of
Creon
’
s
law,
or
the
conflict
between
legal
positivism
and
natural
law,
wish
to
make
the
play
into
a
conflict
over
the
priority
of
rules
and
to
seek
a
clear
answer
in
the
verdict
of
the
play
(as
if
it
were
an
appellate
decision
rather
than
a
trial
before
a
jury).
1
But
judges
are
not
storytellers,
like
playwrights
and
lawyers,
and
that
may
explain
why
U.S.
Judge
Richard
Posner
once
wrote
dismissively
that
no
one
reads
Kaf
ka
’
s
The
Trial
in
order
to
learn
about
criminal
procedure
in
early
twen
tieth-century
Prussia
(and
nor,
one
might
add,
would
anyone
read
the
[2]
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