Midterm Essay: Power and Politics - Angelina Guo and Eva Jaku

Control is an aspect of our relationships that is often left to be ignored. It seems awkward –or even taboo –to describe our role in a dynamic as the controller or the one being controlled. However, control has always been in the same vein as power, and power will almost always result from the ways in which a person builds up their own position. Whether it be through manipulation, presentation, or the force of your own hands or words, wherever a power dynamic is present, there is never a promise of righteous authority. The only promise lies in the fact that the person– or people–with the most power progressively reached such a position. When looking at Oedipus Rex and Piranesi the ideas of political theory are highlighted in the way how Oedipus utilizes his power as a conventional tyrant and the tragic hero, as well as how The Other had a nigh-unshakable grip on Piranesi. Political theory can explain how power is salvaged and its corresponding dynamics are maintained and perhaps even broken off in both of these situations, even when the dominant party is not seemingly deserving of its position.

How does one cultivate power in the first place? It’s hard to put a formula to an abstract concept, especially when authority is different in different parts of the world in different eras and times. However, we may find the answer starting in a military strategist book written over two thousand years ago. Sun Tzu was a military general who lived during the Eastern Zhou period in ancient China. He infamously wrote The Art of War, a treatise dedicated to military strategy that is still widely known today –not because the tactics are necessary for most people to know, but because of the message of power and analysis of an opposing body it holds. Sun Tzu describes the art of war to be split into five distinct “constant factors”, one of which is “The Moral Law”; he wrote that this law causes subordinates of a powerful figure to “be in complete accord with their ruler, so that they will follow him regardless of their lives, undismayed by any danger” (Tzu 65). The name of this factor gives away a key component to cultivating power, which is the establishment of a duty to submit to those with authority. This, Tzu said, would be one of the components of absolute success. Most directly, Piranesi also displays a similar factor as to why the dynamic between the Other and Piranesi has lasted so long. At countless points in the first half of the novel, Piranesi describes the Other as a “scientist” --and a much better one than him, in fact (Clarke 15). This is one of the first introductions we have to the Other as readers. In turn, the perception of the Other is one of superior intelligence and being. Piranesi could never hope to approach his level of ingenuity, and he doesn’t think so himself, either. Thus, the dynamic is maintained, even when the dramatic irony from chapter to chapter thickens and leaves the reader questioning whether the Other is truly superior or if he’s simply manipulated Piranesi into thinking he is this way. 

However, past this limited dynamic, how does The Moral Law grow to be as powerful as Sun Tzu describes it to be? How exactly can the people follow a leader of a government, kingdom, or any kind of higher authority? The answer lies just a layer or so deeper than the aforementioned component to cultivating power: how effectively it is established. When being raised knowing the effects of power and reign over a regime, building up and maintaining an image of authority is easier —both in its creation and for the people to believe.

As the readers of Oedipus Rex know with context, Oedipus grew into tyranny and power. He was originally a peasant, running away from his family fearing the fate of a prophecy. This shows selflessness, and care. However, later on in the story, he believes he is above prophecy, and above everyone: showing character progression. This makes up the characteristics of a conventional tyrant. A tyrant grows with power, and “insolence breeds [tyranny]” (Sophocles 941). He feels for his people, his “children,” yet he does not take advice wholeheartedly or with precaution. He listens to what is convenient and disregards the rest with anger, such as the blind prophet’s oracle. This description of Oedipus acting out his tyrannical disposition is what Herodotus defines as “...neither legal constraint nor natural law [hindering] the conventional tyrant” (Jones, 2022). With this in mind, we can now relate conventional tyranny to the moral law factor inversely. It is natural for your people to overthrow you when you abuse them selfishly. It is also natural however, if you make selfless yet empty promises to fix a plague, and have built a reputation in saving the state — that the people around you will oppose you.

Oedipus Rex also mirrors The Moral Law factor in the way that he refuses fate until he cannot ignore it anymore, and his entire kingdom ends up following suit. The plague carries on, yet nobody dares challenge Oedipus’s authority until the hard truth is finally revealed, this being the harshly disregarded words of fate. Teiresias, a blind oracle, went to Oedipus to tell him his fate, the persistent truth. Oedipus ridiculed and disregarded Teiresias’ wisdom, his foresight. However, he was warned yet he did nothing to prevent this, did nothing to soften the blow. He thought he was above truth, above wisdom, a true tyrant. However, “even if [he is a] tyrant, he must treat as equal [Teiresias’] ability to contradict him” (Jones, 2022). The obvious happens, he shoots himself in the foot, the main injury being disregarding Teiresias. After this, it’s more than evident as to why Oedipus must lead himself to exile: to honor his own words and because the undying trust of the people detailed in The Moral Law has been lost. No longer would he be a strong ruler, even if he tried to salvage all the kingly power he could and keep his throne until the end. 

        Taking the words of Sun Tzu’s Moral Law and shining a pessimistic light on them is certainly working to shame the old ways power has been held above average citizens by a regime. In this, our interpretation of Sun Tzu’s take on the art of war also brings to attention The Communist Manifesto. Written by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, one of the most famous pamphlets in recorded history is relatively short, yet reaches out to appeal to a vast variety of people around the world. In its very first pages, the message the manifesto gives is powerful and indicates power in the masses backing its message, twisting the sour criticism of communism in the West and allowing readers to perceive such critique as acknowledging communism as a mighty power itself (Marx 55). An impactful, information-filled introduction to the ideology of communism, however, also lies in the details of their beliefs. First, their interests are aimed at explaining their opposition to the bourgeois class’s grip on society. The pamphlet also defines the bourgeois class, detailing them as the “owners of the means of social production and employers of wage labor” (Marx 57). Historically, the Communist Manifesto emerged from a time period where there was no middle class like there is today. Thus, even if the bourgeois weren’t exactly a noble class, they had an iron grip on the lives of most citizens. This had been a long-held “truth”, much like Oedipus’s role as the king of Thebes as well as the Other’s title as the superior scientist compared to Piranesi. However, yet another parallel exists between the three works: the idea of revolution stemming from dissatisfaction.

        What was the most effective method of eliminating the wrongfully powerful bourgeois? That, Marx and Engels answered, was the strength of revolting.  At the core of establishing communism is “the abolition of bourgeois individuality, bourgeois independence, and bourgeois freedom” (Marx 84). As an ideology centered around empowering the common people and eliminating the lower class by raising them up to a more enjoyable position in society, it butts heads with both the Other and Oedipus. In fact, it was ideologies similar to communism that empowered the eventual fall of both of these people. Oedipus’s fate becoming reality eventually led to him losing his crown, and the Other had his grip on Piranesi forcibly loosened when Piranesi eventually found out that he had trapped him in the House out of spite–along with the revelation that nearly everything the Other told him about the world was a lie. In other words, power corrupts, and when it corrupts one too extensively, the basic principles of maintaining a sound authority structure are ignored. Power, Oedipus and the Other presume in their actions, is all theirs. Thus, don’t they make the principles? Don’t they write history? 

        The fact is that they did–or, rather, they tried. What eventually happens in both works is a societal revolt not unlike the one detailed in The Communist Manifesto. This is what leads to the aforementioned fall of the tragic Oedipus and the manipulative Other. However, in order to highlight both of these situations, attention will first be brought to our conventional tyrant, Oedipus, who is paranoid about being overthrown. Any criticism, or foreseen downfalls, he responds to with anger. This paranoia increases as his people grow sicker and as the plague spreads more.

        If he was not a conventional tyrant but ruled with an iron fist, Sophocles’s tragedy would have not existed. But he also would have not ruled for long either, rather producing a story similar to Shakespeare’s play detailing Julius Caesar’s downfall. Tragic, yes. But not as merely emotional. Rather, we as the audience and the critics would have corrected his incompetence for being a strong ruler and blamed him for his own downfall. But we see the conventional and emotional Oedipus, too. He wants to save his people, he wants his kingdom to run in peace. Whether his desires are for good or for selfish and fearful reasons (due to the previously mentioned moral factor law) it does not matter, because we can sympathize with him as we watch his emotions take over his mind and life and when he realizes his regrets. This is known as a Tragic Hero. Aristotle’s definition of a Tragic Hero “is a literary character who makes an error in judgment that inevitably leads to his or her own destruction” (Notes). A tragic hero is made to be doomed from the start and made imperfect so the audience can see and relate to his flaws. Oedipus was doomed even before the story started. This fate of his was to kill his father and marry his mother. As a young hardworking man, he leaves everything behind to save his adoptive parents. As the audience and readers, we know. We know that he killed his father in the crash, and we know he would’ve felt remorse. And he did when he found out. This tragic flaw made us feel sympathy for him because he was doomed from the start. We’ve seen the slow turmoil building up, and we can’t do anything to warn him, just sit and let it happen. His flaws and his ignorance are what make us readers, the audience, sympathize with him more. With the conventional tyranny he follows, we can see all the flaws; his greed for power, his ignorance towards Teiresias, and his growing paranoia. And we can relate to why he’s fearful, and why he’s a conventional tyrant over any other form of tyranny. Because it’s a very human trait to keep a grasp on your achievements and possessions, even if society deems you don’t deserve them.

Another factor we as humans can personally agree on is that power is a societal construct. Hunter-gatherers in the pre-civil era may have had some sort of authority structure, but only when mankind evolved into civil communities did they figure out how to use power as we have been for millennia. Despite power only being able to be used in society, it’s the very same group that decides whether or not power is righteously earned. Thus, how do fearful leaders remain at the top? How do those that aren’t necessarily respected save face when that very same face is the image of unjust authority? In fact, the fear itself is exactly why undeserving rulers keep their spot at the top of the social hierarchy. Machiavelli was an Enlightenment-era philosopher that worked to explain the very fundamentals of power and how it is held best. At one of the cores of his most famous writing, “The Prince”, he emphasizes the role of the will of the prince–or the leader in whatever hierarchy this philosophy is being applied to–compared to the will of the people. More precisely, his idea entails that "since men love at their own will and fear at the will of the prince, a wise prince must build his foundation on what is his own and not on what belongs to others; he must only contrive to escape hatred" (Machiavelli 71). In this, Machiavelli implies that fear is more important to have in a power structure as the one holding authority than love–or wholehearted respect. This is a factor that kept Oedipus and the Other in power for so long. Oedipus made violent threats to those who opposed him and framed him for the fate he didn’t quite understand yet, and the Other’s image of superior intelligence, class, and wisdom was fuel to the toxic fire of manipulation. However, neither of them managed to avoid hatred, which eventually led to their demise as bearers of power. 

We’ve reached the climax and hit our lowest point, but the resolution of this story lies in the objectivity of power cycles. Piranesi and Oedipus Rex describe the peak and riddance of power, and since we don’t truly see the throne descend to anybody else in either fictional work, the audiences are left to assume that these kinds of situations are mere phenomena. In other words, genuine power will never fall from the hands of those who even marginally deserve it, and since these figures are respectively a tragic hero and an antagonist, their poetic rise and fall were because of their poetic character. However, the very structure of hierarchical power was never meant to be constant. This mold is a societal construct as well, so its craft was left in the hands of mankind. Joe C. Magee and Adam D. Galinsky explain this in their essay “Social Hierarchy: The Self-Reinforcing Nature of Power and Status” as “hierarchical differentiation”; this, more specifically, describes the conception of a hierarchy as people "[engaging] in creating a formal system with rank-ordered roles or [taking] part in a process of informal interaction where rank ordering... develops on at least one valued social dimension" (Magee 6). If something as imperfect as mankind made this structure, it’s bound to have its ups and downs. The fall of a good leader is to be expected, and the reign of a tyrannical ruler is also possible. There is no canon law-esque system put in place to check these people’s morals and intentions. In this, it becomes more clear that the ones who cultivate power mold the world and its structure as they please. It’s up to the people to allow them to keep their spot, yet at the same time, it’s up to the one with the power to influence their subordinates enough such that power is secured, just as the Other manipulated Piranesi and Oedipus took his place as a haughty, prideful, and tyrannical king. 

Just as Piranesi avoided an eternity of submission to the Other once he learned the man’s true intentions, education regarding the tools of power is just as important a tool as any other skill we acquire in an academic setting–if not even more important. After all, power penetrates nearly every aspect of our lives. It can shape the world around us, just as if we were in a benevolent, merciful labyrinth existing as a humble researcher. However, if we’re not aware of how power and authority come to be, will we not just fall into the trap of manipulation and remain ignorant? From political theory to the simplest, most minute details of how people perceive and maintain their relationships, power looms above all. What position you take is your choice alone, though. Will you be the powerful one–or will you be the one who submits to it?