In Aeschylus' dramas the will of the gods tended to override human
responsibility. An improvement could be effected by making the
personages real captains of their souls; drama needed bringing down from
heaven to earth. This process was effected by Sophocles. He was born at
Colonus, near Athens, in 495, mixed with the best society in Periclean
times, was a member of the important board of administrators who
controlled the Delian League, the nucleus of the Athenian Empire, and
composed over one hundred tragedies. In 468 he defeated Aeschylus,
won the first prize twenty-two times and later had to face the more
formidable opposition of the new and restless spirit whose chief
spokesman was Euripides. For nearly forty years he was taken to be the
typical dramatist of Athens, being nicknamed "the Bee"; his dramatic
powers showed no abatement of vigour in old age, of which the _Oedipus
Coloneus_ was the triumphant issue. He died in 405, full of years and
honours.
Providence has ordained it that his art, like his country's tutelary
goddess Athena, should step perfect and fully armed from the brain
of its creator. The _Antigone_, produced in 440, discusses one of the
deepest problems of civilised life. On the morning after the defeat
of the Seven who assaulted Thebes Polyneices' body lay dishonoured and
unburied, a prey to carrion birds before the gates of the city which had
been his home. His two sisters, Antigone and Ismene, discuss the edict
which forbids his burial. Ismene, the more timid of the two, intends to
obey it, but Antigone's stronger character rises in rebellion.
Loss of burial was the most awful fate which could overtake a
Greek--before he died Sophocles was to see his country condemn ten
generals to death for neglect of burial rites, though they had been
brilliantly successful in a naval engagement. Rather than obey Antigone
would die.
"Bury him I will; I will lie in death with the brother I love,
sinning in a righteous cause. Far longer is the time in which I
must please the dead than men on earth, for among the former I
shall dwell for ever. Do thou, if it please thee, hold in dishonour
what is honoured by Heaven."
Here is the source of the tragedy, the will of the individual in
conflict with established authority.
A chorus of Theban elders enters, singing an ode of deliverance and
joy; they have been summoned by Creon, the new King, uncle of Oedipus'
children. Full of the sense of his own importance Creon states the
official view. Polyneices is to remain unburied.
"Any man who considers private friendship to be more important than
the State is a man of naught. In the name of all-seeing Zeus I would
not hold my tongue if I saw ruin coming to the citizens instead of
safety, nor would I make a friend of my country's enemy. Sure am I
that it is the State that saves us; she is the ship that carries us;
we make our friendships without overturning her."
The elders promise obedience, but grave news is reported by a guard who
has been set to watch the corpse. Someone had scattered dust lightly
over the dead and departed without leaving any trace; neither he nor his
companions had done the deed.
When the Chorus suggest that it is the work of some deity, Creon answers
in great impatience:
"Cease, lest thou be proved a fool as well as old. Thy words are
intolerable when thou sayest that the gods can have a care of this
corpse. What, have they buried him in honour for his services to them?
Did he not come to burn their pillared temples and offerings and
precincts and shatter our laws?"
He angrily thrusts the watchman forth, threatening to hang him and his
companions alive unless they find the culprit.
"There are many marvels, but none greater than Man. He crosses the
wintry sea, he wears away the hard earth with his plough, ensnareth
the light-hearted race of birds, catcheth the wild beasts, trappeth
the things of the deep, yoketh the horse and the unwearying ox. He
hath taught himself speech and thought swift as the wind, hath learnt
the moods of a city life and can avoid the shafts of the frost; he
hath a device for every problem save Death--though disease he can
escape. Sometimes he moveth to ill, again to good; his cities rear
their heads when they reverence the laws and the gods; he wrecketh
his city when he boldly forsakes the good. May an evil-doer never
share my hearth or heart."
Such is the ordinary man's view of the action of Polyneices, for in
Sophocles the Chorus certainly represents average public opinion. It
is quickly challenged by the entry of Antigone with the Watchman, whose
story Creon hastens out to hear. With no little self-satisfaction the
Watchman tells how they caught the girl in the very act of replacing
the dust they had removed and pouring libations over the dead. Antigone
admits the deed. When asked how she dare defy the official ordinance,
she replies--
"It came neither from Zeus nor from Justice, nor did I deem that thy
decrees had such power that a mortal could override the unwritten
and unshaken laws of Heaven. These have not their life from now or
yesterday, but from everlasting, and no man knows whence they have
appeared. It was not likely that, through fear of any man's will,
I would pay Heaven's penalty for their infringement. Die I must, even
hadst thou made no proclamation; if I die before my time, I count
it all gain. If my act seem folly to thee, maybe it is a foolish
judge who counts me mad."
Creon replies that this is sheer insolence; it is an insult that he, a
man, should give way to a woman. He threatens to destroy both girls, but
Antigone is sure that public opinion is with her, though for the moment
it is muzzled through fear. Ismene is brought in and offers to die with
her sister; Antigone refuses her offer, insisting that she alone has
deserved chastisement.
In a second ode the gradual extinction of Oedipus' race is described,
owing to foolish word and insensate thought, for "when Heaven leads a
man to ruin it makes him believe that evil is good". A new interest is
added by Creon's son Haemon, the affianced lover of Antigone, who comes
to interview his father. This is the first instance in European drama of
that without which much modern literature would have little reason for
existing at all--the love element, wisely kept in check by the Greeks. A
further conflict of wills adds to the dramatic effect of the play; Creon
insists on filial obedience, for he cannot claim to rule a city if
he fails to control his own family. Haemon answers with courtesy and
deference; he points out that the force of public opinion is behind
Antigone and suggests that the official view may perhaps be wrong
because it is the expression of an individual's judgment. When he is
himself charged thus directly with the very fault for which he claimed
to punish Antigone, Creon lets his temper get the mastery; after a
violent quarrel Haemon parts from him with a dark threat that the girl's
death will remove more than one person, and vows never to cross his
father's doorstep again.
Antigone is soon carried away to her doom; she is to be shut up in a
cavern without food. In a dialogue of great beauty she confesses her
human weakness--death is near, and with it banishment from the joys of
life. Creon bids her make an end; her last speech concludes with a clear
statement of the problem. Who knows if she is right? She herself will
know after death. If she has erred, she will confess it; if the King is
wrong, she prays he may not suffer greater woes than her own.
A reaction now occurs. Teiresias, the blind seer, seeks out Creon
because of the failure of his sacrificial rites; the birds of the air
are gorged with human blood, and fail to give the signs of augury. He
bids Creon return to his right senses and quit his stubbornness. When
the latter mockingly accuses the seer of being bribed, he learns the
dread punishment his obstinacy has brought him.
"Know that thou shalt not see out many hurrying rounds of the sun
before thou shalt give one sprung from thine own loins in exchange
for the dead, one in return for two, for thou hast thrust below
one of the children of the light, penning up her spirit in a tomb
with dishonour, and thou keepest above ground a body that belongs
to the gods below, without its share of funerals, unrighteously;
wherefore the late-punishing ruinous gods of death and the
Furies lie in wait for thee, to catch thee in like agonies."
Cowed by the terror, the King hurries to undo his work, calling for
pickaxes to open the tomb and himself going with all speed to set free
its victim.
The sequel is told by a messenger who at the outset strikes a note of
woe.
"Creon I once envied, for he was the saviour of his land, and was
the father of noble children. Now all is lost. When men lose
pleasure, I deem that they are not alive but moving corpses. Heap
up wealth and live in kingly state, but if there is no pleasure
withal, I would not pay the worth of a shadow for all the rest.
Haemon is dead."
Hearing the news, Eurydice the Queen comes out, and bids him tell his
story in full. Creon found Haemon clasping the body of Antigone who had
hung herself. Seeing his father, he made a murderous attack on him;
when it failed, he drew his sword and fell on it--thus in death the
two lovers were not separated. In an ominous silence the Queen departs.
Creon enters with his son's body, to be utterly shattered by a second
and an unexpected blow, for his wife has slain herself. Broken and
helpless he admits his fault, while the Chorus sing in conclusion:--
"By far the greatest part of happiness is wisdom; men should
reverence the gods; mighty plagues repay the mighty words of the
over-proud, teaching wisdom to the aged."
To Aeschylus the power that largely controlled men's acts was Destiny. A
notable contrast is visible in the system of Sophocles. Destiny does not
disappear, rather it retires into the background of his thought. To
him the leading cause of ruin is evil counsel. Over and over again
this teaching is driven home. All the leading characters mention
it, Antigone, Haemon, Teiresias, and when it is disregarded, it is
remorselessly brought home by disaster. The dramatic gain is enormous;
man's sorrows are ascribed primarily to his own lack of judgment, the
tragic character takes on a more human shape, for he is more nearly
related to the ordinary persons we meet in our own experience. Another
great advance is visible in the construction of the plot. It is more
varied, more flexible; it never ceases developing, the action continuing
to the end instead of stopping short at a climax. Further, the Chorus
begins to fall into a more humble position, it exercises but little
influence on the great figures of the plot, being content to mirror the
opinions of the interested outside spectator. Truly drama is beginning
to be master of itself--"the play's the thing".
But far more important is the subject of this play. It raises one of the
most difficult problems which demand a solution, the harmonisation
of private judgment with state authority. The individual in a growing
civilisation sooner or later asks how far he ought to obey, who is the
lord over his convictions, whether disobedience is ever justifiable. If
a law is wrong how are we to make its immorality evident? In an age when
a central authority is questioned or loses its hold on men's allegiance,
this problem will imperiously demand an answer. When Europe was aroused
from the slumber of the Middle Ages and the spiritual authority
which had governed it for centuries was shattered, the same right of
resistance as that which Antigone claimed was insisted upon by various
reformers. It did not fail to bring with it tragic consequences, for the
"power beareth not the sword in vain". Its sequel was the Thirty Years'
War which barbarised central Germany, leaving in many places a race of
savage beings who had once been human. In our own days resistance
is preached almost as a sacred duty. We have passive resisters,
conscientious objectors, strikers and a host of young and imperfectly
educated persons, some armed with the very serious power of voting, who
claim to set their wills in flat opposition to recognised authority. One
or two contributions to the solution of this problem may be found in
the _Antigone_. The central authority must be prepared to prove that its
edicts are not below the moral standard of the age; on the other hand,
non-compliance must be backed by the force of public opinion; it must
show that the action it takes will ultimately bring good to the whole
community. It is of little use to appeal to the so-called conscience
unless we can produce some credentials of the proper training and
enlightenment of that rather vague and uncertain faculty, whose normal
province is to condemn wrong acts, not to justify law-breaking. Most
resisters talk the very language of Antigone, appealing to the will of
Heaven; would that they could prove as satisfactorily as she did that
the power behind them is that which governs the world in righteousness.
A somewhat similar problem reappears in the _Ajax_. This play opens at
early dawn with a dialogue between Athena, who is unseen, and Odysseus;
the latter has traced Ajax to his tent after a night of madness in which
he has slain much cattle and many shepherds, imagining them to be his
foes, especially Odysseus himself who had worsted him in the contest for
the arms of Achilles. Athena calls out the beaten hero for a moment and
the sight of him moves Odysseus to say:--
"I pity him, though my foe; for I think of mine own self as much as
of him. We men are but shadows, all of us, or fleeting shades."