The Darkness of Mere Being: Masking Queerness in Moore and Gibbons’ Watchmen

A silhouette style vector illustration

by Alexei L. Villareal

CONTENT WARNING: The following essay contains offensive language and discussions of sexual assault which some readers may find disturbing.

Superhero fiction has had a long history of presenting ensembles of characters that reinforce a bastion of heteronormativity. Amidst conventional representations of gender and sexuality, Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ Watchmen introduces a team of masked crimefighters who complicate the definition of heroism and redefine heroic sexuality. Since its publication in 1986 and 1987, the comic has been the recurring subject of extensive analysis for its intricate and colourful narrative frames, ever-shifting perspectives, and depictions of seemingly heterosexual characters inhabiting a world of dangerous queerness. With a cast of perplexingly complex heroes, Watchmen deconstructs the genre of superhero fiction by refashioning the heroic vogue of costumes, masks, and tights in order to expose the contradictions within its medium’s gendered and sexually bound conventions.

Throughout Watchmen, Moore and Gibbons refine the comic aesthetic by imitating industry practices while simultaneously reinventing them. They challenge the medium’s heteronormative attitudes and disrupt it with the existence of queer characters in spaces of heterosexual locales. Under Moore and Gibbons’ lens, any expression of gender and sexuality that defies the norm is queer and “uncontainable by a single, definite sexual identity” (Stein 31). From panel to panel and between gutters, heroes with deviant gender and sexual orientations occupy the pages of Watchmen. In his discussion of superheroes and popular body politics, Daniel Stein proposes an intersection of queer expression and heroic fashion that attributes the physicality of the body to the selected costume of the hero:

The superhero inhabits a body that deviates from real-life bodies and may therefore queer mainstream views of gender and sexuality rooted in references to the physical body. As a social outcast who must hide or sublimate a secret (and occasionally sexual) identity… the superhero has the potential to queer normative notions of male and female corporeality despite its overt promotion of an idealized and hypersexualized heteronormative body (20).

As Rorschach, Walter Kovacs restricts himself to his incognito to condemn lust (Moore and Gibbons I.9.3, I.22.5, II.67.2-3, V.155.5, IX.320.4-5). Under the guise of Silk Spectre, Sally Jupiter exemplifies sex symbolism, and is constantly hypersexualized by the perverted public (II.46.2-4, IX.309, IX.312). Dan Dreiberg cures himself of his erectile dysfunction with the sexual confidence he gains as Nite Owl (VII.226.3-8, VII.227.1-3, VII.231.7-8, VII.232.1-2, VII.239-240, XII.407.4; Paul 12:18-13:03). Alienated from his body, Jonathan Osterman’s romantic and sexual desires weaken as he appropriates the identity of Doctor Manhattan (Moore and Gibbons III.80). By donning a mask and costume, characters, both straight and queer, are able to explore avenues of their sexuality previously inaccessible to them.

The public and their perception of superheroes is crucial to understanding how the dichotomy of heteronormativity and queerness operates within the Watchmen universe. In a flashback, a mob of protesters take to the streets when confronted with the possibility of the implementation of a superhero task force. Unnerved by their anonymity, their placards read, “BADGES NOT MASKS” (Moore and Gibbons IV.132.4, VI.193.6). One rioter cries, “We don’want [sic] vigilantes! We want reg’lar [sic] cops!” (II.59.2). The heroes are also met with derogatory and homophobic slurs: the Comedian and Nite Owl are called “faggots” (II.59.2), Doctor Manhattan is referred to as a “big blue fruit” (IV.132.4), and unmasked in police custody, Rorschach is derided as a “goddamned queer” (V.172.5). As their taunts make clear, the public’s defamation of their heroes is deliberately homophobic. Othered for their queerness, the heroes are collectively made the subject of the public’s discriminatory slander. All throughout the comic, walls covered in graffiti read, “WHO WATCHES THE WATCHMEN?” (I.17.7, I.32.1, II.60.3-6, VI.193.6, VIII.247.9, VIII.248.7, VIII.272.7, VIII.274.5-6, XII.413.5). The public fears what they do not understand, and the possible existence of queer heroes in their midst heralds their civil unrest. With intense scrutiny, the public eye watches, keenly aware of the queerness that drives the vigour of their heroes.

Of the first generation of masked heroes known as the Minutemen, Ursula Zandt, the Silhouette is one of the few characters in the comic to be explicitly acknowledged as queer. Within the fiction, the most notable commentator on the sexual deviancy and queerness of the costumed heroes is Hollis Mason, the first Nite Owl. In his autobiography Under the Hood, he addresses the alleged rumours surrounding his masked peers’ sexual tendencies:

Yes, I daresay some of us did have our sexual hang-ups. Everybody knows what eventually became of the Silhouette and although it would be tasteless to rehash the events surrounding her death in this current volume, it provides proof for those who need it that for some people, dressing up in a costume did have its more libidinous elements… Yes, we were crazy, we were kinky… all those things that people say… we did too much good in our respective communities to be written off as mere aberration, whether social or sexual or psychological (Moore and Gibbons II.72).

In a newspaper article, the Silhouette was later revealed to have been “living with another woman in a lesbian relationship” (II.74). In fear of bad press, she was dismissed from the team and eventually murdered alongside her partner (II.74), implying that the gender and sexual identities of public figures must conform to the public’s heteronormative expectations. Unlike “a couple of the guys” (IX.312) on the Minutemen who were also gay, the Silhouette was the only one who had been publicly outed. As illustrated by her chosen alter ego and the shades of her jet-black ensemble (II.47.1-5, II.73), her queer existence is forcibly relegated to the shadowy backdrops of her heteronormative surroundings. Her death casts a shadow over the consequences the masked heroes must face should their queerness come to light.

The fictional public is not alone in their discomfort about queer masked avengers. In his essay, “Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis: The Ambiguously Gay Duo,” Robert Arp describes his discomfort with the projection of homosexuality onto Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis:

Superheroes are stereotypically hypermasculine “real men.” That’s why it’s hard to accept that Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis may be gay… I have to admit that when I first read about Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis, I said, “Oh, no,” and closed the book. I have a visceral negative reaction to the thought of another man looking at me with desire or “wanting me,” and I’m basically uncomfortable with the gay life style (Arp 185-186).

With his prejudicial remarks, Arp reinforces a common bias against gay masculinity. He argues that the homosexuality of Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis and their “ambiguously gay” relationship disrupts the hegemonic masculinity associated with their heroism. However, for as much as Arp suggests that their queerness is open to debate, both Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis are frequently recognized by their teammates as gay. Commenting on the gossip between Hooded Justice and Silk Spectre as “something of an item” (Moore and Gibbons IX.309), Hollis recalls that “even though Sally would always be hanging onto his arm, he never seemed very interested in her” (II.73, italics theirs). A letter to Sally Jupiter from Laurence Schexnayder, the Minutemen’s publicist, expresses concern for the team’s reputation if word of their love affair got out:

Nelly called last night, upset over yet another tiff with H.J. Those two are getting worse. The more they row and act like an old married couple in public, the harder they are to cover for… it would be the Silhouette fiasco all over again (IX.311).

If Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis’ homosexuality disturbs the reading experience of an uncompromising essayist, then their characterization as a queer couple ultimately establishes the context for the reception of other queer intimacies in Watchmen.

At a glance, the omnipotent and omniscient Doctor Manhattan appears to be the paradigm of heroism and masculinity. However, as a “puppet who can see the strings” (Moore and Gibbons IX.285.4) he becomes increasingly distant from humanity, acknowledging his fading attachment to the world: “I am tired of this world; these people. I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives” (IV.135.6). This sense of disinterest in human activity is conjoined with his lack of romantic and sexual inclinations. Prior to his accident, flashbacks reveal Doctor Manhattan as Jonathan Osterman in a healthy, straight relationship with a woman named Janie Slater. The heteronormativity of their romance is captured by traditional courtship: they enjoy casual banter over a beer (IV.115.5-6), go on dates at the amusement park (IV.116.2-5), flirt (IV.117.1), and have sex (IV.116.7-8). Following his disintegration, Jonathan’s appearance and outlook on life are irreparably reoriented. His relationship subsequently falls to shambles, prompting him to leave Janie for Laurie Juspeczyk. The permanence of Doctor Manhattan’s mask and laxity for the social significance of clothing then establishes the foundation for his body alienation and the construction of his own queer identity.

The metamorphosed union of Doctor Manhattan’s neo-divinity and proto-mortality disorients his sexuality in an analogous manner from which he is alienated from his body. In an attempt to satisfy both Laurie and a sense of productivity, he creates duplicates of himself while he works on a project in another room (Moore and Gibbons III.80-81). Laurie considers the act to be sexually transgressive, provoking her to leave him. As she walks out the door, Doctor Manhattan confesses that “[he does not] know what stimulates [her] anymore” (III.80.7) and that “[he] could not love her as she had loved [him]” (III.80.1). After their separation, Janie Slater harks back on her relationship with Doctor Manhattan in an interview, maligning what would today be seen as his aro-ace tendencies: “I said, ‘Jon, you know how every damn thing in this world fits together except people!’ He couldn’t relate to me. Not emotionally. Certainly not sexually” (III.81-82). When Doctor Manhattan idly holds Laurie’s bra in his hand, failing to understand its significance, the bra becomes a symbol for his sexual frustrations (III.85.2). While he would like to subscribe to romance and sex, aromanticism and asexuality are innate to his new form. As Dan and Laurie make plans for dinner, Doctor Manhattan smiles, looking onward (I.31.8-9). Toward the comic’s end, he presents the same smile when he happens upon their naked bodies (XII.407.4-5). Though the upturned corners of his mouth convey the acceptance of his aro-ace, Doctor Manhattan is finally able to embrace the queerness of his heroic identity, content that Laurie has found someone who satisfies her romantic and sexual needs.

Like Doctor Manhattan, the masked vigilante Rorschach expresses a queerness encoded within his perturbation from romance and sex. He is characterized by his iconic mask, a masqueraded identity of black ink on white fabric (Moore and Gibbons I.14.1). A troubled child, he was born Walter Kovacs, his father estranged and his mother a sex worker. Rorschach’s childhood largely contributes to the manifestation of his asexuality. As a young boy, he comes across his mother with a client one night (VI.181-182). From then onward, he begins to abhor sexual desire, feeling repugnance towards “dirty feelings, thoughts and stuff” (VI.210). As a child, he was described to be “quiet and shy, especially with women” (VI.208). On many occasions, Rorschach likens sexuality to sin, denoted by his low opinion of his mother (V.155.4, VI.186.2-3, VI.209, VI.189.8). While Walter Kovacs may have wrestled with sexual frustration, he later lapses into a preferable interpretation of his sexuality, or lack thereof, by assuming the role of Rorschach. With his mask, he becomes “free from fear or weakness or lust” (V.162.6). It is amorphous, blind, black and white, thereby typifying the binaries of his worldview (Paul 10:40-11:00). His upbringing has polarized him to a temper of anti-sexuality just as it has urged him to fight crime.

Together, his desire to enact justice and his lack of desire to enact his sexuality are consummated by his alter ego. When Rorschach identifies his mask to be “[his] face” (Moore and Gibbons V.162.7), his desire to be free from the constraints of sexuality is realized. By entrenching his outlook on his sexual orientation with a reference to his eyes, Rorschach implies asexuality and aromanticism within his gaze: “It was Kovacs who closed his eyes. It was Rorschach who opened them again” (VI.199.6-7).

Rorschach’s concept of romance and sex appear to soften whenever he is stripped of his mask. Although he maintains the general persona of his alter ego, he conversely deviates from his aromantic and asexual tendencies. When the two are alone together in the Owlship, Rorschach grips Dan’s hands in a handshake that lasts longer than Dan is comfortable with (Moore and Gibbons X.324.7-9, X.325.1-2). In her discussion of body representation in the comic book medium, Van Ness touches on facial expressions and body language cues as “two interrelated visual languages that we all use in our daily lives to convey (or suppress) information about our emotions to others” (Van Ness 42). Considering this handshake, if Rorschach does in fact experience romantic attraction, his body language in this scene suggests that it would likely be towards men.

Following in the footsteps of Hollis Mason, Dan Dreiberg assumes the heroic alter ego of Nite Owl in order to arouse his sexuality. Forced into retirement due to the Keene Act (Moore and Gibbons IV.133), Dan’s demotion from extraordinary hero to ordinary civilian slumps him into dispirited dejection, his lack of confidence pervading his casual dalliances with Laurie. In contrast, the salience of hegemonic masculinity in Watchmen is assimilated by Adrian Veidt, also known as Ozymandias. One night, as Laurie and Dan engage in clumsy, uncoordinated foreplay, Adrian’s muscular physique is highlighted during a live calisthenics demonstration, being glimpsed by the reader in alternating panels (VII.226-227). While the raw configuration of Adrian’s strength is admired by spectators, Dan on the other hand suffers from a bout of performance anxiety, resulting in the heat of the moment to come to a standstill (VII.227.2-3). The parallels between Dan’s struggle to perform sexually and the ease behind Adrian’s agility illustrate the superiority of one man to another. In Dan’s failure to assert his eroticism, Adrian steps in as the exemplary foil of heroism, where he “serves to move the narrative to a point of climax, an orgasmic opposite to [Dan’s] freezing in erotic contemplation” (Avery-Natale 78).

The symbolic nature of the costume is physically representative of the superhero’s disposition and makeup. According to Sara J. Van Ness, the Nite Owl costume, specifically in I.21.5, is emblematic of Dan’s manhood and virility:

Next to him hangs his unused costume, which appears to be in immaculate condition. His body, slumped over and shadowed, is directly contrasted to the hollow costume, which ironically stands prominently, illuminated from the front and casting a shadow behind it… The image suggests that the empty garments hold more authority than the man who once wore them. Who is really living in the “shadows” – Dreiberg the civilian or the former Nite Owl? (Van Ness 108-109).

Stripped of his costume and heroic identity as Nite Owl, the retired Dan is chagrined and impotent. In a dream, he sheds his emasculated skin to unveil his costume (Moore and Gibbons VII.228.6-10). He then undresses his costumed lover, revealing Laurie’s relaxed dishabille (VII.228.10-12). Two lovers face-to-face (VII.228.12), the stark juxtaposition between Dan’s masked Nite Owl and the unmasked Laurie equates Dan’s alter ego and costume to his sexual insecurities. As soon as he reclaims his heroic identity, Dan boasts swaggeringly, “I feel so confident it’s like I’m on fire” (VII.240.5). Van Ness observes that “not only were Dreiberg’s sexual inhibitions lowered, but so too were any feelings of doubt related to his costumed adventuring” (Van Ness 154). Seeing Dan’s newfound sexual confidence, Laurie wonders what changed, and he tells her, “I guess the costumes had something to do with it. It just feels strange, you know? To come out and admit that to somebody. To come out of the closet” (Moore and Gibbons VII.240.4). Dan’s costumed body is analogous to his sexuality. It disguises his queerness. By likening his sexual awakening to the act of coming out, Dan acknowledges that the costume which clads his body performs an iconographic and ideological function for his queer identity.

The flagrant objectification of the female action hero within the world of superhero fiction is genre standard. Through a comprehensive discussion of the role of embodiment and gender in the DC Universe, Edward Avery-Natale contends that “the female costume, which often accentuates the breasts and buttocks, represents the role of the female not only as hero but also as sex object” (Avery-Natale 79). Not only that, but he also goes on to stress how the comic book medium upholds heteronormative models of masculine scopophilia and voyeurism through its exploitation of text and image: “female characters in comic book form not only serve to be looked upon and objectified, but their objectification becomes an inherent part of the story, inseparable in this hybrid narrative format” (80).

In the limelight of the Watchmen universe, the first Silk Spectre, Sally Jupiter, was famous for her bombshell personality as New York’s beloved “voluptuous vigilante” (Moore and Gibbons IX.309), becoming one of the most popular sex symbols of her time. Being the only female member of the Minutemen following the Silhouette’s expulsion, Sally capitalizes on the public’s objectification of the female action hero and their superhero fanaticism by “dressing in a hypersexualized feminine style while acting out hypermasculine aggressive social behavior” (Donovan and Richardson 176). During a visit from her daughter, Sally flaunts the pornographic images of a Tijuana bible featuring herself (Moore and Gibbons II.46.2-3). While Laurie is appalled by the sexualization of her mother (II.46.4, II.50.2-5), Sally deems it “flattering” (II.46.4) and later bestows it to her future son-in-law Dan as a gift (XII.411.8-9). With the self-objectification of her celebrity and fame, Sally exhibits a subversive and queer sexuality, one that she is adored for in public, yet exploited and reproached for behind closed doors.

The rape of Sally Jupiter by Eddie Blake complicates the understanding of social narratives that link a woman’s reputation with her sexual behaviour. In a flashback, Sally is seen changing after a photoshoot when Eddie enters the room uninvited (Moore and Gibbons II.47.6-7). Though Sally rejects his advances (II.48.1-3), Eddie forces himself onto her before beating her in counter of her retaliation (II.48.5-8). Before things get worse, Hooded Justice walks in on and them intervenes (II.48.9, II.49.1-5). In the aftermath of the assault, both Eddie and Hooded Justice react to the incident with sexist attitudes, Eddie insists that “[Sally] wanted [him] to do it” (II.49.3). Hooded Justice behaves with similar slut-shaming disdain: “Get up… and, for god’s sake, cover yourself” (II.50.1). The implications of the attempted rape are only complicated by Eddie and Sally’s subsequent consensual sexual relationship (II.73, IX.301.2-4, XII.411.2-5). When asked about the incident in an interview years later, Sally has mixed feelings:

I don’t bear any grudges. That’s all. I know I should, everybody tells me I should but… You know, rape is rape and there’s no excuses for it, absolutely none, but for me, I felt… I felt like I’d contributed in some way… I really felt that, that I was somehow as much to blame for… for letting myself be his victim not in a physical sense, but… What if, just for a moment, maybe I really did want… I mean, that doesn’t excuse him, doesn’t excuse either of us, but with all that doubt, what it is to come to terms with it, I can’t stay angry when I’m so certain about my own feelings (IX.312).

Sally seems to have internalized a commonly held stereotype about her victimization as a survivor of sexual assault. By her own admission, she strays close toward the challenging boundaries of consensual non-consent and the acceptance of blame. After having been informed of Eddie’s passing, Sally laments, “Poor Eddie… Things change. What happened, happened forty years ago… It’s history” (II.43.7-9). Toward the comic’s end, Sally sheds tears and plants a kiss onto a photograph of Eddie (XII.412.4-7), the exact same photograph taken prior to her rape (II.46.4-6, VIII.247.5-8). By blurring the public and private contexts of bodily expression and erotic attachment, Sally thwarts the directionality of straight, heterosexual desire and instead claims a sexuality in flux, one that is queer and not properly defined by the binaries of heteronormative ascriptions.

Despite the immediate domain of her surroundings, the second Silk Spectre, Laurie Juspeczyk contradicts the prevalence of masked queerness present throughout Watchmen. Where most characters are motivated by altruism or sexual deviance, Laurie fights crime simply because she is expected to. Buzzing about the identities of the mysterious duo who rescued the victims of a tenement fire, Sally denies Hollis’s surmise that it was her daughter: “So who’s this woman? I… Laurie? My daughter Laurie? But she hated adventuring!” (Moore and Gibbons VIII.247.4). In an earlier conversation with Dan, Laurie realizes that her undertaking of masked crimefighting was not her decision in retrospect:

It’s just I keep thinking “I’m thirty-five. What have I done?” I’ve spent eight years in semi-retirement, preceded by ten years running round in a stupid costume because my stupid mother wanted me to… God, that was so dreadful… When I think back… Why did we do it? Why did we dress up like that? (I.33.5-7).

In this scene, Dan’s passive agreement and scruple with his own queer desires contradicts Laurie’s lack of queer identification (I.33.6-8). Later in the comic, she abandons her masked alter ego when she makes love with Dan whilst he remains sported in his own costume (XII.404.4-7). Donovan and Richardson suggest that “these may be markers that Laurie has finally declared independence from her mother and is at last defining herself” (Donovan and Richardson 183). Unlike Dan and her mother, Laurie does not need to mask her sexuality to fight the discriminatory attitudes which threaten theirs. As a straight woman in queer company, Laurie’s existence only emphasizes the significance of masked heroism as a queer tactic of visibility for those around her.

Several characters in Watchmen possess queer identities, have experienced sexual transgressions, bodily alienation, and are wrought with overt discontent towards romance and sex. The public outcry against closeted crimefighting in the Watchmen universe dampens queer expressions of sexuality. Reports of queerness among minor characters such as the Silhouette, Hooded Justice, and Captain Metropolis set the tone for the reception of queer heroism. The transinfinite existence of Doctor Manhattan obscures his inescapably queer affections. For Rorschach, to boast a costume and a masked identity is to repudiate romance and sex. In the case of Dan Dreiberg, the Nite Owl costume moderates his fluctuating sexual confidence and virility. Sally Jupiter’s hypersexuality and self-objectification are lauded in the public eye, yet chastened in private spheres. Sexual deviance and queerness are accented by Laurie Juspeczyk’s heteronormativity and rejection of masked heroism. By deconstructing the heteronormative conventions of superhero fiction with the masking of queerness in superhero alter egos and costumes, Watchmen complicates the praxis for which heroes personify gender and sexuality.

Works Cited

Arp, Robert. “Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis: The Ambiguously Gay Duo.” Watchmen and Philosophy: A Rorschach Test, edited by Mark D. White, Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2009, pp. 185-196.
Avery-Natale, Edward. “An Analysis of Embodiment Among Six Superheroes in DC Comics.” Social Thought and Research, vol. 32, 2013, pp. 71-106, KU ScholarWorks. doi.org/10.17161/STR.1808.12433.
Donovan, Sarah, and Nick Richardson. “Watchwomen.” Watchmen and Philosophy: A Rorschach Test, edited by Mark D. White, Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2009, pp. 173-184.
Moore, Alan, and Dave Gibbons. Watchmen: New Edition. Burbank: DC Comics, 2019.
Paul, Gavin. “Watchmen Lecture – Part II.” ARTS 001: Arts One, 4 Apr. 2022, The University of British Columbia. Vancouver, Canada. Lecture.
Stein, Daniel. “Bodies in Transition: Queering the Comic Book Superhero.” Navigationen – Zeitschrift für Medien– und Kulturwissenschaften, vol. 18, no. 1, pp. 15-38, media/rep/. doi.org/10.25969/mediarep/1832.
Van Ness, Sara J. Watchmen as Literature: A Critical Study of the Graphic Novel. Jefferson: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2010.

Photo via Flickr

by Johanna Clyne

Aphantasia is a condition where a person is unable to conjure images with their mind’s eye voluntarily. The phenomenon was first documented when Francis Galton described a trend among his colleagues, the vast majority of which claimed that “mental imagery was unknown to them” (Galton 302). The understanding of this phenomenon did not progress much after that until a study in 2015 found merit in Galton’s claims and that some people have been unable to conjure mental imagery since birth — a condition that they coined aphantasia (Zeman et al. 378). In 2019, I discovered this phenomenon and was blown away by the fact that some people live their lives with the ability to actually see things in their imaginations. As it turns out, I have lived with aphantasia all my life, and I simply did not know it.

Living with aphantasia may seem appalling to you if you have been visualizing for all your life; however, I do not know anything else. In my day-to-day life, I notice no difference between my imaginative ability and that of any other person. I do not see aphantasia as a condition to be cured or a disability to be pitied; I function just as well as anyone with the ability to visualize in almost every way. Almost. The place where I notice my imaginative abilities falling short is in comprehending visual descriptions of an object, place, or person that I have never seen before. Written descriptions of characters, scenery, and action scenes mean very little to me. I often skip what I can acknowledge intellectually as a beautiful passage of description because the stream of nouns and adjectives simply fails to conjure the desired images in my mind. Suffice it to say, ekphrasis is entirely lost on me.

In the 21st century, I can easily find reference images of the scenes that I fail to visualize. In reading Still Life with a Bridle, I had the luxury of searching the internet when I was unable to visualize for myself. The internet provides me with unlimited reference photos to understand the paintings that Herbert describes. I have no need for his descriptions to understand the artworks that he invokes. So his ekphrasis is useless, simple as that. Except, I don’t believe this to be true.

Ekphrasis functions not only to describe art but to imbue it with importance. While Herbert’s descriptions do not conjure up the image of these paintings before me, they give me a wealth of other important information. When reading of “old, intricate Gothic church towers above a group of fishermen, shepherds, and cows on the far shore of an imaginary landscape” (Herbert, 15), I inevitably fail to see the imaginary landscape, but Herbert is never merely describing a painting: he constantly provides guidance to his reader about what is important to notice in the frame, and pointing out the minute details that dramatically change how the painting is interpreted. Through ekphrasis, Herbert draws attention to the important aspects of the paintings in Still Life with a Bridle to the extent that, even for the aphantasic reader, the art can be appreciated in a non-visual medium.

In his description of Allegory of the Dutch Republic (117), Herbert offers physical descriptions paired with characterizing details. The first two sentences, containing the physical descriptions, are of very little use to an aphantasic reader. Being told that the model “has a country look: the pink cheeks of a shepherdess, round shoulders, [and] monumental legs firmly resting on the ground” (117) does not help me to conceptualize this painting beyond knowing facts about it that I could repeat. However, as the description continues, Herbert begins to guide the reader’s attention toward the details that are significant to him:

This is precisely what is most attractive in the painting: the contradiction between the elevated subject and its modest expression, as if a historical drama was played by a country troupe at a fair. The heroine of the scene does not resemble at all “Freedom leading people onto the barricades.” Soon she will leave the boring task of posing and go to her everyday, nonpathetic occupation in a stable or on a haystack (117).

For me, this passage is much more informative than the former because it is not describing what the painting looks like, but what Herbert sees in the painting. When originally looking at the painting, I did not notice the juxtaposition between the subject and her expression. My mind did not make the connection between an actor at a fair or a model that will soon return to her everyday life, but Herbert’s words bring this understanding of the painting into focus. In the context of the essay about the non-heroic subject, knowing that Herbert sees an actor or a model over the personification of victory or the glory of war drives home the essay’s message. Without having to visualize anything, Herbert’s ekphrasis expresses the significance of this painting to the essay.

Herbert’s description of Helena van der Schalke in his essay “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie” (68) similarly serves to draw our attention to certain aspects of the painting without the need to see or visualize the piece. For example, his description of the basket in her hand, which “destroys the static perpendicular axis of the composition [with] whirling movement, [and] restlessness” (68), gives the girl in the frame a life beyond the reach of the painting: we realize that the painting captures but a moment in the life of the small girl that Terborch endeavours to present, and that soon she will “run away to her inconceivable childish worlds” (68). Herbert again characterizes this painting as a living thing: “whenever I am in Amsterdam I visit and spend a few moments chatting with Helena van der Schalke” (68). Here, Herbert does not mention that Helena is contained in a painting and by using the term “chatting” we are influenced to think that Helena van der Schalke is capable of holding a conversation. These word choices set Helena up as someone beyond the frame of a painting and invite the reader to imagine the world that she lives in. In a way, seeing the frame around Helena traps her within the bounds of the painting. By relying on his ekphrasis to represent this painting Herbert creates a connection between reader and painting that would not be possible by simply looking at a picture on the page.

Herbert’s ekphrasis remains effective even when describing paintings that do not contain empathetic characters. In “The Nonheroic Subject” Herbert describes Hendrik Vroom’s Battle at Gibraltar on April 25, 1607 (116), in which ships collide and debris flies across the sky. In an essay about non-heroic subject matters, a battle scene seems out of place, however through his description, Herbert points out the non-heroism in this piece:

All this [is] seen as if through a telescope, from a distant perspective that dissolves horror and passion. A battle changed into a ballet, a colorful spectacle (116).

By pointing out that the scene is painted “as if through a telescope” (116) he changes the narrative that we tell ourselves when we imagine, or look at, this painting. Instead of a dramatic and heroic scene of war, we see a distant explosion, seen from the safety of shore. This shift in perspective gives scope to the viewer; we are no longer directly in the drama of the conflict, but sitting back and considering the scene rendered before us. The perspective removes any immediacy from the piece and encourages contemplation of how the themes of the essay apply to the painting. Herbert’s description removes the gravity of the piece and points out the distance and intricacy of the entire scene tying it into the theme of the non-heroic subject.

By describing the paintings of this text, Herbert is, significantly, not showing us these works of art. This is a frustrating choice for the aphantasic reader; just as easily as he describes “the flowers in this painting — quiet savants of nature, and helpless givers of delight — flaunt[ing] themselves” (40-41) he could have included a picture of Bouquet against a Vaulted Window. That he chose not to do this, and instead described each piece in detail, tells us that there is significance in the descriptions that he offers. Through his uses of ekphrasis, Herbert paints us a new picture in the place of those that he is referencing — one where the colours of the flowers do not matter so much as knowing that they are “exclusive sovereigns who domineer with an intensity and force never encountered until then” (41). For someone with aphantasia, this new painting is much easier to conceptualize because it does not matter what the painting looks like, so much as it matters that you understand the significance of the image that he creates with his words.

Ekphrasis proves efficient in creating a connection between the reader and the art that Herbert invokes. While the physical descriptions that he writes do not necessarily help the reader to know the work better, the way that he describes details of the artworks, like the swinging of a basket, the passing expression of a model, the distanced perspective of a tragedy of war, or the domineering presence of a bouquet, brings out the character captured in these works. For even the aphantasic reader, the characterization that Herbert brings through his descriptions of these paintings is far easier to understand than a picture on a page left up for interpretation. By guiding the reader through the process of engaging with these paintings, Herbert ensures that the elements that he relies on for his argument are noticed and understood. Though Herbert laments the difficulty of “translating the wonderful language of painting into the language… in which court verdicts and love novels are written” (97), he chooses to undertake the endeavour and does a wonderful job of giving meaning to these paintings through his use of ekphrasis.

Works Cited

Galton, F., 1880. “Statistics of Mental Imagery.” Mind 5(19), 301–318.

Herbert, Z., 1991. Still Life with a Bridle: Essays and Apocryphas, Toronto: Penguin Books.

Zeman, A., Dewar, M. and Della Sala, S., 2015. “Lives without imagery – congenital aphantasia.” Cortex 73, 378–380.

by Audrey Wahking

Set in Iceland’s Viking era, Grettir’s Saga follows the life of Grettir Asmundarson—a famously strong, cunning, and cursed man—as he fights enemies and rids Iceland of the undead, completing many cruel and heroic deeds along his journey.  While the text focuses primarily on Grettir and other men, women make up a large and vital part of the saga.  Women are frequently directly responsible for Grettir’s survival—Asdis provides Grettir with a critical weapon when he has none; Thorbjorn persuades farmers against hanging him.  Thorstein, Grettir’s brother and avenger, is ransomed by Spes.  Consequently, though Grettir’s Saga concentrates on the actions of men, it also explores the lives of women and offers a portrayal of the place and treatment of women in Icelandic society.  Generally unable to match the physical strength of men, women can achieve an exceptional status in their world by relying on other nonviolent resources and skills such as courage, mental fortitude, foresight, wisdom, community, and luck.  Ultimately, however, women must live in an inegalitarian society constricted by Iceland’s patriarchy; therefore, women who fall outside what society sees as natural are marginalised and feared.  Due to society’s male-centric view, women are often not seen as fully autonomous humans but as undervalued objects or workers to be bartered for, used, or stolen from other men.

In Icelandic society, it is a fact of life that women are physically weaker than men—Grettir demonstrates this idea when he laughs at Thorstein’s body, saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen arms more like tongs.  I would scarcely imagine you have the strength of a woman” (Grettir’s Saga 115).  Unlike men—who often physically fight to settle disputes and gain prestige through tests of strength—Icelandic women cannot rely on their muscles to advance their position in society.  As a result, they must use skills outside of physical strength to earn respect and thrive in their world.

An example of a powerful, nonviolent woman is Grettir’s mother, Asdis, who is widely respected for her bravery, mental strength, and foresight. When Grettir faces banishment, his father refuses to give him any weapons out of spite (Grettir’s Saga 44).  Asdis, however, recognises the dangers and uncertainties of the world they live in and decides to give Grettir a “fine” family sword against her husband’s wishes (Grettir’s Saga 45).  Asdis’ foresight in giving Grettir a weapon proves invaluable when Grettir later uses the sword to kill the revenant Kar (Grettir’s Saga 52) and eventually other foes.  Her uncanny foresight even allows her to accurately prophesize the deaths of Illugi and Grettir on Drangey island due to witchcraft.  While she cautions them that “[f]ew things are more powerful than the old ways of sorcery”, she knows that regardless of her warnings, her sons “will be cut down by weapons” (Grettir’s Saga 184). Though Asdis weeps afterwards at the thought of their deaths, she has the mental fortitude to do what she thinks must be done and send both her sons away, having prepared them as best she can.  Towards the end of the saga, Asdis demonstrates profound courage and self-possession when Thorbjorn Hook—the killer of Grettir and Illugi—confronts her.  After Hook arrives at her house with twenty men, he cruelly taunts Asdis in verse with the severed head of Grettir, telling her to “take care to cake it with salt” for it “will rot on you quickly” (Grettir’s Saga 217).  Contrary to Hook’s expectations, Asdis does not break down at the horrific reminder of her son’s death; instead, she retains her dignity and replies with her own scathing poem, saying: “Think how sheep leap down / to the sea when a fox gives chase: / for that’s how you’d have fared… before [Grettir’s] sickness struck.” (Grettir’s Saga 217).  Asdis’ scornful berating of Hook for killing Grettir dishonourably leads many to say: “it was no wonder that her sons were so courageous, when she herself was so brave in the face of such an ordeal as this” (Grettir’s Saga 218).  Asdis is so respected in her community that “all the people of Midfjord supported her” in the ensuing Althing (Iceland’s version of a legal trial), “even those who had earlier been Grettir’s enemies” (Grettir’s Saga 216).  Through completely peaceful means, Asdis is highly regarded in Icelandic society due to her extraordinary courage, mental strength in the face of hardship, and acute foresight.

Like Asdis, Thorbjorn the Stout is another woman whom society widely respects for her wisdom and decision-making.  Described as a “commanding and clever woman”, Thorbjorn takes control and makes “all decisions” when her chieftain husband Vermund is away. On one such occasion, she stops a group of farmers (who all “greet her well” and respect her) from hanging Grettir (Grettir’s Saga 141).  Even more impressively, Thorbjorn makes the famously obstinate and aggressive Grettir swear to stop raiding people in Isafjord and not take revenge on the farmers who captured him.  Though Grettir later admits “it had been the greatest test of his self-control not to strike those men who had been so boastful about capturing him” (Grettir’s Saga 142), he keeps his oath to Thorbjorn and even praises her with the poetic talent he usually uses to disparage others, calling her “wise in all matters” (Grettir’s Saga 143).  When pressed by her husband on why she saved Grettir’s life, Thorbjorn proves her wisdom by giving three reasons: Vermund’s prestige will grow when “it becomes known that [he has] a wife with the courage to act in this way”, Grettir’s kinswoman Hrefna asked her to look out for him, and Grettir is “a man who can do things others cannot” (Grettir’s Saga 143).  Thorbjorn’s third reason most reveals her rationality and wisdom because it demonstrates her ability to look past Grettir’s immediate transgressions against her people.  She acknowledges that, despite his flaws, Grettir can do many difficult and invaluable things, such as ridding the world of the undead.

The last chapters of Grettir’s Saga introduce Spes—another powerful woman who thrives in society through nonviolent means.  “[P]roud and strong-willed”, Spes uses her cleverness, high-ranking birth, community, and innate luck to command the men in her life and achieve every goal she sets her mind to (Grettir’s Saga 225).  Spes acts as a foil to the saga’s protagonist—where she maintains her agency, community, and good luck, Grettir fails to do the same.  While Grettir loses much of his agency after the revenant Glam takes away his ability to grow stronger, live in society, and not fear the dark (Grettir’s Saga 102), Spes keeps her agency and independence.  For example, Spes chooses to buy Thorstein’s freedom from the Varangians and succeeds “because of the position she enjoyed and her wealth” (Grettir’s Saga 226).  In saving Thorstein from death, she subverts the saga’s consistent portrayal of women as helpless damsels who always require men’s protection and possession.  When her husband Harald Signurdanrson complains that Spes spends his wealth too freely, she replies: “When we were married I told you… that I intended to remain free and independent and that I would be able to use your money in all matters that concerned me”, thus safeguarding her independence.  Though not all of Spes’ actions align with Christian moral standards—she continually lies and cheats on her husband with Thorstein—all of Spes’ choices are her own.  Furthermore, while Glam curses Grettir to struggle as an outlaw in the wilds alone (Grettir’s Saga 102), Spes maintains her supportive community of kin and women.  “Many wealthy women accompan[y]” Spes to her pivotal oath swearing (Grettir’s Saga 231), and her relatives win her Harald’s wealth by speaking up on her behalf (Grettir’s Saga 233). In contrast, Grettir is forced to spend much of his time in isolation—though he often “sought the support of many men of standing… always something got in the way so that no one took him in.” (Grettir’s Saga 144).  In addition to her intelligence and social status, Spes’ possession of luck also contributes to her power.  While modern western thought defines luck as coincidental or unpredictable, in the Icelandic sagas, the opposite holds true.  As Sommer notes, luck in Norse culture is a “quality inherent in the man and his lineage, a part of his personality similar to his strength, intelligence, or skill with weapons”, which expresses itself in “desirable characteristics” and “in events shaping themselves according to the wishes of the lucky man.” (275).  Endowed with Norse luck, Spes shapes every event to her advantage: she frees Thorstein, runs rings around her husband in an almost comical fashion, evades the death penalty for adultery, earns the respect of Thorstein’s Icelandic family, and eventually dictates the end of her and Thorstein’s lives.  Even after deciding to fully confess all her sins to the church in Rome, Spes only “received light treatment” and was “relieved, as much as possible, from all fines of penance” (Grettir’s Saga 237). Spes’ possession of luck serves to juxtapose Grettir’s characteristic bad luck.  While the hardships Grettir faces are often caused by his decisions, frequently, they are due to ill fortune, as seen when he accidentally sets a house on fire and kills twelve men (Grettir’s Saga 109).  Although they are unable to resort to brute force to make their way in the world like men, Asdis, Thorbjorn the Stout, and Spes demonstrate how women can gain power through nonviolent traits such as courage, mental fortitude, wisdom, community, and luck.

While Icelandic society allows resourceful or skilled women to gain influence in their communities, women who obtain power in seemingly unnatural or non-normative ways are ostracised and feared by society.  Towards the saga’s end, a female witch finally kills Grettir. Thorbjorn Hook, who holds the task of removing Grettir from Drangey island, calls upon his foster-mother Thurid, who “had been skilled in magic and sorcery” back when people “were still pagan” (Grettir’s Saga 201). After Iceland converted to Christianity, society shunned pagan rites and punished people who practised them in public with lesser outlawry, isolating people like Thurid (Grettir’s Saga 202).  Though Thurid is marginalised and considered unimportant, she succeeds where so many men have failed in killing Grettir.  Through witchcraft, Thurid sends a cursed tree trunk to Drangey that causes Grettir to injure himself severely (Grettir’s Saga 206) and sends Hook to finish a sickly Grettir off during a conjured storm (Grettir’s Saga 211).  In his dying days, Grettir admits his defeat by Thurid’s mighty hand, saying in verse, “Time after time I save / my neck from their probing spears… But, mumbling her spells, that haggard / crone with her stone-set necklace stumbled me…” (Grettir’s Saga 208). While many men swear revenge on Grettir for what he has done to themselves or their kin, very few succeed.  Conversely, Thurid accomplishes her vow to “avenge the harm that has been done to me” through her cursed tree trunk which cuts Grettir’s “right leg above the knee… to the bone”, just as Grettir shattered her leg with a thrown stone (Grettir’s Saga 204).

After Hook kills Grettir, Illugi, and their servant Glaum, he seeks compensation for ending the legendary outlaw’s life.  However, even Thorir—one of Grettir’s greatest enemies—refuses by saying, “I never intended to take his life by making myself a criminal or a conjurer as you have done.  Rather than seeing you paid, it seems to me that you deserve death for magic and sorcery” (Grettir’s Saga 216).  Although many men want Grettir dead, the fear and taboo of sorcery prevent them from condoning Hook’s accomplishment.  Even Hook himself appears uneasy or ashamed about the way he succeeded through Thurid’s sorcery, as seen when he blatantly lies to Grettir, saying, “Christ showed us the way” to Drangey (Grettir’s Saga 213). At the Althing, Hook goes unrewarded and is effectively banished from society for the crime of benefiting from magic (Grettir’s Saga 219).  People’s refusal to accept Grettir’s killing demonstrates the unease men and society show around women who cannot be controlled by ordinary means and gain power through mystical abilities. Regardless of her methods, Thurid was able to kill Grettir—a feat no man could accomplish with ordinary strength or trickery—yet she remained a marginalised and feared character, dismissed as possessing “no value in important matters” by society (Grettir’s Saga 202).

Although some women can attain exceptionality by standard or supernatural means, most ordinary women in Iceland live in a society that consistently devalues them, scorns and trivialises ‘women’s work’, and ignores the fact that women’s labour enables society to function.  On top of the ordeals of everyday life under Iceland’s patriarchy, women must face the additional danger of sexual violence as they are not viewed as fully autonomous humans.  As Evans points out, “The nature of skaldic verse is such that it both objectifies and immobilises its object. As it is the man who almost invariably speaks, the female object is denied voice as well as agency” (263-264).  Throughout Grettir’s Saga, women regularly remain unnamed and are treated more like static, interchangeable objects than individual people.  For example, although she speaks multiple times, Thorfinn Karsson’s wife is never referred to by name; instead, she is always the “mistress of the house” or the “housewife”, forever positioned in relation to Thorfinn and relegated to the role of wife.  In addition, during the Saddle-Head Verses chapter, Grettir speaks to two messengers: the saga names the first male messenger Halli; the second messenger goes only by “woman” or “well-born” lady (Grettir’s Saga 125).  Though both messengers are trivial characters and equally insignificant to the overarching plot, only the man is named.

Besides not giving female characters names, Icelandic society in Grettir’s Saga also disregards women by praising men for their public acts of heroism, leadership, and adventure, while typically trivialising the labour women undertake and expecting women to carry out domestic acts in private without recognition.  For example, when Asmund tasks Grettir with managing geese and rubbing Asmund’s back, Grettir derides the domestic work as “unimportant” or a “weakling’s job” (Grettir’s Saga 34-35).  In contrast, Grettir later approves of a horse herding role, praising it as “manly work” (though he later fails at this task as well) (Grettir’s Saga 36).  Throughout the saga, unnamed and invisible women “work the wool” (Grettir’s Saga 35), give directions (Grettir’s Saga 128), and “hang tapestries” (Grettir’s Saga 57).  While Iceland celebrates and records the public exploits of men (Grettir’s Saga follows a man’s life and adventures in outlawry), it minimises and devalues the ‘women’s work’ that allows households, farms, and society to function, reinforcing the idea that women are inferior to men and women’s labour should be taken for granted.

The terminology in Grettir’s Saga further underpins the idea of women as subordinate to men by characterising women more as valuable goods than fully independent people.  While describing the marriage of Onund (Grettir’s grandfather) and Aesa, the text recounts how Onund and his friend, Thrand, speak with Aesa’s father, Ofeig, while the voice of Aesa is noticeably absent.  Ofeig and Thrand bargain back and forth—Ofeig doubts Onund’s walking capabilities due to his wooden leg; Thrand counters that Onund is more “vigorous” than men with two legs.  Eventually, both parties strike “a bargain” by which Aesa is “bound by agreement to wait three winters” to marry Onund (Grettir’s Saga 13).  The materialistic terminology of bartering and trade that the saga utilises exemplifies how Icelandic society views women as prized objects belonging to men.  With the proper incentive, ownership of women can be transferred between men, as seen when “Asmund won Asdis”, thus becoming Asdis’ father’s “trusted friend” (Grettir’s Saga 33). On one level, men evaluate women as commodities instead of individuals, with suitors and fathers weighing various incentives such as wealth, familial prestige, and social network expansion while arranging women’s marriages.

Although most women accept and benefit from marriage, society’s underlying view of women as inferior, transferable goods leads women in Grettir’s Saga to face an additional threat that men do not: the risk of sexual assault.  The text describes characters like Thorir Paunch and Ogmund the Ill-Willed roaming the countryside and “taking men’s wives and daughters” to keep “them for a week or a half a month before sending them back home” (Grettir’s Saga 57).  The implicit sexual violence in this passage conveys the terrifying reality that Icelandic women face—it is not unheard of for women to be kidnapped and raped at the hands of stronger men.  When Thorir and his men arrive at Thorfinn’s house while he is away, Thorir tells Thorfinn’s wife, “You will receive a man in his place, as will your daughter and all the other women in this household”, causing the women to flee to the back of the house and weep with overwhelming fear (Grettir’s Saga 57).  Although Thorir is an outlaw of Iceland, his words and actions demonstrate society’s view of women as part of a man’s property that can be taken and abused as a form of retaliation against men.  After Grettir kills the would-be rapists, Thorfinn’s wife thanks him by saying, “You have freed me and my household from a shame.  We would never have recovered from this disgrace had you not saved us.” Interestingly, she believes that the shame of rape falls upon women instead of men, further illuminating society’s male-centric mindset wherein women are sexual objects that can be soiled or shamed for the advantage and satisfaction of men.

Though Grettir saves Thorfinn’s wife and household from the berserkers, winning Kar’s sax in the process, the saga’s protagonist himself later rapes a maidservant after she mocks his penis size.  The saga depicts the event as a humorous occurrence, focusing on Grettir’s witty and obscene verses and glossing over the actual assault.  However, the brief description of the characters’ physical actions belies the superficial comedy, instead conveying an undercurrent of violence and terror: Grettir “grabbed hold of [the maidservant]”, “threw her up” on a bench, and told her “Woman, prepare for action!”; the bystander farmer’s daughter “ran out” (perhaps in fear of becoming a second victim); the maidservant “screamed at the top of her lungs” (Grettir’s Saga 198).  In minimising the violence of the brutal rape and portraying it in a comedic light, the saga demonstrates how Icelandic society normalises sexual violence against women.

Grettir’s Saga portrays women as equally complex and varied in personality and skill as men. Their characters can range from the bravery and self-sacrifice of Asdis to the extreme cruelty of Thorbjorn Hook’s stepmother (who stabbed Hook’s eye out with his wooden toy) (Grettir’s Saga 188). Women fulfil many vital roles in society, from “guardians for family honour” to “political leaders, wives, lovers, mistresses of houses, independent widows, nuns, serving-maids, and witches” (Grettir’s Saga xvi). They must survive in the same harsh landscape as men; however, they face the additional challenge of living in a patriarchal society that devalues their worth as people and trivialises their everyday labour which enables society’s survival.  “To recognise this fact”, as Evans writes in their discussion of Icelandic saga masculinity, “is to recognise the contingency and fragility of masculinity, and its ultimate dependence on femininity.” (265).  All Grettir’s adventures—and indeed life itself in Iceland—are only possible because of the undervalued and invisible domestic and care work of ordinary women.  Ultimately, although women like Asdis, Thorbjorn the Stout, and Spes can attain power through societally endorsed traits such as exceptional courage, mental fortitude, foresight, wisdom, community, and luck, men generally treat women as manipulatable goods without complete control over their futures.  Women who gain power by supernatural means unknown to society are feared and rejected by men, while women without any extraordinary advantage face the dehumanising threat of sexual violence and rape.

Works Cited

Evans, Gareth L. “Models of Men: The Construction and Problematization of Masculinities

in the Íslendingasögur.” University of Oxford (United Kingdom), 2015.

https://www.proquest.com/dissertations-theses/models-men-construction- problematization/docview/1937369525/se-2?accountid=14656.  Accessed 22 Apr.

2022.

Grettir’s Saga. Translated by Jesse Byock, Oxford World’s Classic, 2009.

Sommer, Bettina Sejbjerg. “The Norse Concept of Luck.” Scandinavian Studies, vol. 79, no.

3, 2007, pp. 275–94, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40920756.  Accessed 22 Apr. 2022.

Photo via Flickr

by Josh Seaman

The Communist Manifesto, by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels claims that the material conditions of society are the foundation of our intellectual development. Their theory of dialectical materialism states that the notions we have about society are formed by our underlying social conditions. While their presented theory advocates for a revolution in the material conditions of society and the abolition of private property, many thinkers before Marx and Engels dealt with our relation to material conditions in society. In one of his most notable works, The Republic, Plato explores the significance of private property and its relation to idealism. As one of his most central and influential ideas, Plato contends that the essential nature of the world is based on abstract ideas, as opposed to material conditions. As Plato supports idealism as opposed to materialism, his perspective on the nature of the world directly opposes that of Marx and Engels. Contrary to The Communist Manifesto, The Republic contends that the fundamental abstract concepts of society, such as class, are the cause of our material conditions. As such, Plato’s theories on idealism demonstrate the necessity of private property. In the seventh book of The Republic, Plato demonstrates his perspective of idealism through the Allegory of the Cave. The Republic also demonstrates a utopian society in which the relation humans have to private property is a foundational aspect of this society. Although significant, the material conditions of Plato’s proposed society are founded from an idealist perspective and are therefore an effect of abstract notions as opposed to their cause. Contrarily, Marx contends that the material conditions of society are not only significant, but are the foundation of the development of society, and in turn abstract notions, such as class structure. While the development of materialism and idealism in their respective texts present a duality in thought and perspective, a comparative analysis of both philosophies expands our understanding of materialism and idealism as they pertain to societal and intellectual development.

Marx and Engels view private property as a detrimental construct of society that defines the development of our ideological perspectives. To understand the relation that communist ideology holds to materialism, it is important to first understand the manner in which Marx and Engels understand private property. Private property, in the Marxist perspective, is not the “hard-won, self-acquired, self-earned property” (Marx and Engels 82) of individuals. Marx and Engels refer to the form of property, such as land and modes of production, that allow one to increase their wealth at the expense of the large majority of society and “[exploit] wage labour” (82). The Communist Manifesto contends that the existence of private property is beneficial for only a small portion of society, and that “its existence for the few is solely due to its non-existence in the hands of [the] nine-tenths [of society]” (85). Private property not only creates a disparity between classes, but, as it is an aspect of material conditions, perpetuates the ideological premise that maintains this disparity: capitalism. As such, Marx and Engels believe the abolishment of private property would not only resolve inequality, but would eradicate the ideology that supports its maintenance. This is a direct result of their materialistic perspective, in that it is our material conditions that are the essence of our capitalistic ideology. It is only through a change in our material interactions and the manner in which we both perceive and utilize private property, that the ideological perspective of society as a whole can evolve. As the current material conditions form our understanding of society, an abolishment of private property, and therefore a change in the material conditions, would change our societal perspectives altogether. Through this perspective on private property, the role of material conditions becomes the foundation of our society as a whole. It is the materialist aspect of communist theory that necessitates the abolishment of private property for revolutionary change in society.

From the beginning of The Communist Manifesto, Marx and Engels demonstrate the essentiality of material conditions as it pertains to intellectual development and the development of society. Yet, Marx claims that “the history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles” (1), and as such, this raises the question of what importance does historical materialism hold? On the one hand, Marx and Engels contend that it is the material conditions of society that define its evolution, yet they claim that the struggle between classes is what ultimately defines the evolution of history. While these two ideas may appear contradictory upon initial reading, an in-depth analysis of historical materialist philosophy as a whole demonstrates how these two ideas are not only compatible, but necessitate each other. Although materialism contends that the intellectual development and evolution of society is defined by our material conditions, rather than having mutual exclusivity with class struggle, it is ultimately the root of class struggle altogether. Oftentimes, misconceptions about the relation between materialism and class struggle results from a misinterpretation of Marx and Engels’ writings. In his article, “The Consistency of Historical Materialism”, Richard Miller addresses the misconceptions surrounding historical materialism and how they can ultimately be resolved, in turn further demonstrating the significance of materialism as it pertains to class struggle. Miller responds to another article written by Stanley Moore, in which Moore contends that “major aspects of Marx’s theory of social development are mutually incompatible” (Miller 235). Although a common misconception about Marxist theory, Miller responds to Moore’s article by demonstrating the manner in which these misconceptions arise out of a misinterpretation of The Communist Manifesto. Miller approaches these misconceptions by contending that these aspects of Marx and Engels’ writings should not be taken in a literal manner, but as representative of their ideology as a whole. Richard Miller uses an analogy of a geologist, “to take a simple example, a geologist might say, ‘the history of the earth’s surface is the history of continental drift.’ If he means to explain ‘the general idea guiding his studies’ in plate-tectonics, we would accept his statement as a legitimate simplification of reality” (237). Although “the earth was once entirely covered with water” (237), the geologist in this analogy claims that earth’s history is defined by continental drift as a simplification of a more complex idea, yet we nonetheless can infer the meaning of this without assuming it to be literal.

In the same respect, in contending that the history of society is defined by class struggle, Marx and Engels are simplifying their philosophical perspective of historical materialism, and the resulting effect it has on class structure. Miller contends that reading The Communist Manifesto “requires a liberal interpretation” (238). Yet “a liberal interpretation” does not allow Marx and Engels to contradict themselves, but rather constitutes an understanding that their simplifications are understood within the context of, and as a referencing, historical materialism. When taken literally, their works may appear contradictory, yet to understand The Communist Manifesto and its implications, one must take into account the context of the underlying philosophical premise of historical materialism. As such, Miller demonstrates the manner in which the claim that historical development is defined by class struggle is a simplification of the general premise of The Communist Manifesto, as class struggle arises from material conditions. The application of Miller’s resolution to the misconceptions of historical materialism allows us to further our understanding of how historical materialism not only pertains to class struggle, but how our relationship with private property ultimately defines this class struggle.

While Miller’s work is more so concerned with solving misinterpretations of historical materialism, it nonetheless serves to further our understanding of the relationship between private property and intellectual development, and how it ultimately contrasts with Platonic idealism. In combining Miller’s interpretations of historical materialism with a comparative analysis of materialism and idealism, the contrast of these two schools of thought can be further understood. In understanding the significance of context and the manner in which Marx and Engels use the concept of class to simplify and demonstrate the effects of historical materialism, the perspective of historical materialism that they present in The Communist Manifesto and the inherent implications and natural consequences that arise, such as class struggle, become evident.

While Marx and Engels present a clear perspective on the significance of material conditions as they pertain to our intellectual development, an understanding of Platonic idealism can allow for a deeper and more enriched understanding of the significance of materialism and the interplay between material goods and abstract ideas or notions. Similarly, a profound understanding of materialism and its contextualization within Marxism allows for a better understanding of idealism. An analysis of the dichotomy of materialism and idealism serves to help better understand the relationship between material goods and ideas as it relates to both philosophies. This juxtaposition helps to form individual perspectives on the soundness of both philosophies and understand the reasoning behind the principles of each.

Plato’s idealism and perspective on the role that private property plays in society demonstrates a clear contrast to the materialist theory presented by Marx and Engels. While Plato recognizes the significance that private property holds in society, his idealistic perspective differentiates material conditions as influenced by ideas as opposed to being influential in intellectual development. In other words, Platonic idealism contends that material conditions arise as a result of pre-existing abstract notions, whereas materialism contends that material conditions are the root of the abstract notions of society. In the seventh book of The Republic, Plato presents the Allegory of the Cave. In this allegory, Plato states that there are “men in an underground cave-dwelling . . . their legs and necks in chains, so that they stay where they are and look only in front of them . . . higher up, a fire is burning behind them, and between the fire and the prisoners is a road” (514). Having been shackled in this cave their whole lives, their only perception of reality is the shadows cast on the wall of the cave in front of them, caused by the fire projecting images of what passes along the road of the outside world. Upon breaking free, one of the individuals leaves the cave and sees that his former perception of the world was nothing like its true form. Although an allegory, Plato contends that “[these people] are like ourselves” (515), in that our perception of reality is but a reflection of its true form. Plato uses this allegory to present his idealistic theory of the forms, which states that the basis of our reality is, in actuality, a reflection of true and perfect forms, or abstract ideas. Every material item, such as trees, rocks and animals, are reflections of the perfect forms of each. Similarly, individuals’ perceptions of abstract ideas, such as love and beauty, are also reflections of the true forms of these ideas. As such, the abstract notions of society, such as class structure, love and desire, are ultimately fundamental and inherent notions that define society and its structures, and are therefore independent of the material conditions of society. In understanding the basis of Platonic idealism, it becomes apparent how it contrasts to materialism. As the essence of society is based on abstract ideas, it follows that material conditions are only instrumental in the application of these ideas. The underlying concept of this philosophy demonstrates the relation that Platonic idealism holds to private property and its necessity within society, in that the material conditions of society are the direct result of the natural and essential characteristics of each individual and society as a whole.

While Marx and Engels perceive private property as ownership of the means of production in society, Plato understands private property as any form of material goods that can be owned by an individual. When explaining the role of private property in the kallipolis, his ideal city-state, Plato argues that private property is defined as “land or houses or money” (417). As such, private property is understood to be anything that relates to money or land ownership, and therefore constitutes any form of material good. While Marx and Engels contend that the abolishment of private property is necessary for an evolution of our intellectual development, their perception of private property as the ownership of the means of production ultimately informs the relationship that historical materialism has with private property. Similarly, Plato’s perspective on the role of private property within society, informed by his idealist perspective, is ultimately influenced by his perception of what defines private property. The discrepancy in the perception of what defines private property between Marxist materialism and Platonic idealism ultimately forms the basis of how these two philosophies function in relation to private property.

Plato applies his idealistic perspective to the significance of private property when formulating a utopian society. He believes that each individual is born with certain natural distinctions, and as such, the class structure of the kallipolis is based upon the essential characteristics of their souls. Plato uses a metaphor, known as the “noble lie” (414), to demonstrate the differences between the natural characteristics of different groups of individuals. He contends that the soul of each individual is made of either gold, silver or copper. The first class of people, the guardians with souls that are made of “gold” (415), are the leaders of society, as they are driven by their wisdom and “are capable of ruling” (415). The second class, the auxiliaries with souls of “silver” (415), are responsible for the protection of the city, as they are driven by their bravery and “courage” (416). Finally, the third class of people are the rest of society who have souls of “iron and copper” (415). This class of society is made up by the average citizens who work as tradespeople, farmers and so on, and are naturally defined by their passions and desires. The guardians and auxiliaries, with “divine metals always in their hearts” (416), should own no form of private property whatsoever, as they “have no need of men’s silver and gold; nay, [it] is an act of impiety to pollute their possession of the divine gold by conjoining it with the mortal” (416). Plato furthers this by declaring that the auxiliaries and guardians should “live in common, taking their meals at public tables” (417). Plato contends that should the auxiliaries or guardians “acquire land or houses or money of their own, and are men of business and farmers instead of guardians, they will become hated masters” (417). As such, Plato argues that the possession of private property by the middle and upper class would lead to corrupt individuals of these classes. Contrarily, although Plato contends that “no one shall have any private property, unless it is absolutely necessary” (416), the individuals with copper souls are driven by their desires, and private property therefore becomes a necessity to these individuals. The means to achieve food, drink and whatever else necessary to satiate their fundamental desires and appetites is deemed by Plato to be justified, as these desires are an essential aspect of their nature. The discrepancy in the relationship that silver and gold souls have with private property compared to those with copper souls demonstrates the foundational significance that one’s pre-existing nature holds in relation to their material conditions. Contrary to Marxist thought, Plato’s idealistic perspective demonstrates the manner in which material conditions obey the abstract ideas that form the essence of society.

Yet the significance of private property as it relates to Platonic idealism serves to not only demonstrate the importance of private property as a function of the kallipolis and as a result of Plato’s ideal class system, but how private property functions to solidify this class system. While contrary to the materialist perspective on private property, Plato contends that material conditions are the result of predetermined abstract notions of society, such as the metaphorical substance with which someone’s soul is made of, the kallipolis’ class system is nonetheless maintained by private property. As such, while Plato contends that private property does not inform the intellectual development of society, it nevertheless serves to further the implications of the ideas that govern our intellectual development. In her article, “The Private and the Common in Plato’s ‘Republic’”, the italian philosopher, Cinzia Arruzza furthers this idea by claiming that private property serves to “create a situation of fundamental asymmetry in the relationship between the classes” (215) of the kallipolis. Arruzza contends that the relationship between social classes and private property in the kallipolis helps to create a drastic separation between the class of the citizens and the classes of the guardians and auxiliaries. While Platonic idealism contends that the distinctions that form the three classes are natural distinctions that must be abided by, the allowance of private property for the average citizen, but not for the auxiliaries or the guardians, “[creates] a visible line of separation” (231) that serves to materialize the natural distinctions that form these classes. As Plato contends that rulers, and therefore those who lead a public life, must have the innate ability to philosophize, the justification for their ruling is a natural one. As the average citizen must “lead their life in the domain of the private” (231), their exclusion from the right to govern society is furthered by the relationship that each class has to private property. By simply having the ability to own private property, the citizen class solidifies the class distinction. Arruzza’s claim that private property solidifies the abstract notions that define our understanding of society, such as class structure, serves to further the understanding of Platonic idealism as a whole. In combining Arruzza’s claims about private property in the kallipolis with a foundational understanding of Platonic idealism, we can further understand the manner in which Plato’s perception of intellectual development through an idealistic lens results in the material conditions of society as being a consequence of, yet nonetheless instrumental in solidifying, the underlying ideas that govern society. As such, the relationship that each class has with private property serves to materialize these underlying ideas that stem from an idealistic perspective of society, such as class distinction. Furthermore, the in-depth analysis of interplay between private property and class distinction by Arruzza combined with a comprehensive understanding of Platonic idealism as a whole further demonstrates the duality of idealism and materialism as they pertain to private property.

While the manner in which Platonic idealism approaches the relationship with private property, as well as material conditions as a whole, holds similarities to the materialist perspective set forth by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, these two philosophies ultimately contrast significantly. While upon first glance of the manner in which Platonic idealism approaches material conditions, it may appear as though private property is the essence of class distinction and informs intellectual development, an in-depth understanding of the philosophy of idealism demonstrates how it starkly contrasts with that of materialism. While in both cases, the material conditions of society solidify abstract concepts, such as class structure, idealism ultimately perceives the material conditions of society, and thus the relationship that individuals have with private property, as being informed by the underlying ideas that govern society. Contrarily, materialist philosophy contends that the material conditions of society are what ultimately inform our intellectual development, and are therefore the essence of abstract notions. As such, through a Marxist perspective, the concept of class is manufactured by the material conditions of society. While both philosophies appear similar, when juxtaposed, the duality of thought becomes clear.

Yet, by understanding the dissimilarity in thought between Marxist materialism and Platonic idealism, we can further our understanding of the role that material conditions, and specifically private property, play in society. While an in-depth understanding of Platonic idealism allows for an understanding of the manner in which an idealist perceives material conditions as being informed by intellectual development and abstract notions, juxtaposing this philosophical perspective with that of historical materialism allows for a better understanding of the interplay between private property and abstract notions within Platonic idealism. Similarly, this juxtaposition allows us to better understand historical materialism within the context of Marxism by contrasting it with a philosophy that is essentially antithetical. While a fundamental understanding of Marxist materialism allows for an understanding of the essence of material conditions in the evolution of intellectual development and abstract notions, the contrast with idealist philosophy helps to further demonstrate the significance of private property as the fundamental principle of materialism.

In contrast with Marxist philosophy, Platonic idealism serves to further our understanding of both idealist and materialist thought. Marx and Engels contend that the material conditions of society are what influence our desires and intellectual development, and as such, in changing these conditions, our desires and ideological perspectives will adjust accordingly. Contrarily, Platonic idealism contends that the material conditions of society must comply with the essential natures of our souls, and the resulting abstract notions. In juxtaposing these two ideas, we can form a more clear picture of the relationship that materialism and idealism have with private property and class. The materialist perspective presented by Marx and Engels contends that private property perpetuates an unnatural class distinction that can only be changed through the abolishment of private property, thus evolving our material conditions. This contrasts with Plato’s idealism, which contends that private property is used to satisfy the natural desires of certain classes of society, with material conditions therefore being altered in accordance with these natural desires and distinctions. Through a comparative analysis of both philosophies, individuals and society as a collective can better understand the significant role that material conditions play, whether instrumental in our development or essential to it.

Works Cited

Marx, Karl and Friedrich Engels. The Communist Manifesto. Translated by Samuel Moore,

Washington Square Press, 1964.

Plato. The Republic. Translated by A.D. Lindsay, Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 1988.

Miller, Richard W. “The Consistency of Historical Materialism.” Philosophy & Public Affairs,

vol. 4, no. 4. Wiley, 1975, pp. 390–409.

Arruzza, Cinzia. “The Private and the Common in Plato’s ‘Republic’.” History of Political

Thought, vol. 32, no. 2. Imprint, 2011, pp. 215–33.