Greek Drama (I) IT seems that on listening
to some Greek lines included in my talk the other day, many of you have
expressed a desire to hear a little more about Greek poetry. This then will be
my subject today. I
am particularly reminded in this connection of a line from Sophocles, the
dramatist – like the Latin sentence I quoted on the last occasion. Sri
Aurobindo himself had read out this line to me more than once and given it an
extremely beautiful interpretation. It is the opening line of Sophocles' famous
play, Antigone, which happened to be the second book I studied while
learning Greek. The first was Euripides' Medea, which is Media in
Greek – note here the play on long vowels to which I have referred in my last
talk. This
is how Sophocles begins his play with the following words put in the mouth of
Antigone: O koinon autadelphon Ismenes kara. "O Ismene, we two
have been born as if with one body", or
to put it a little more literally "O lovely head of Ismene, common to both, born of the
same self." What hidden depths of feeling
are brought forth in these few
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words! Very strange and peculiar is the character of this Antigone. Outwardly,
there is in her nature a strength, a hardness that
amounts almost to harshness. There seems to be no room there for any tender
feelings or love, and any kind of softness. There is only an unflinching
resolve to carry out her duty and fulfill her vow, the rude austerity of an
ascetic. Her
sister on the other hand is of a diametrically opposite nature. When she hears
of the daring and dangerous resolution of her sister to act in defiance of the
royal edict, she complains in frightened tones, "Such acts are for men,
they do not befit a woman, these defiant attitudes." She goes on to
suggest that even the work she has undertaken to give a burial to her dead
brother at all costs may not so much be an expression of her sisterly affection
as a token of her hard sense of duty in the fulfilment of a difficult vow. She
has been wandering day and night through the roads of alien lands hand in hand
with her old blind father borne down by fatigue. How pathetic are the words of
the old man almost on the verge of death: "Child of an old,
blind sire, Antigone, What region, say, whose
city have we reached? Who will provide today
with scanted dole This
wanderer? 'Tis little that he craves, And less obtains – that
less enough for me."
(Storr) But one may still wonder how much of this is proof of Antigone's true love for her father, and how much of it is born of the pride or glory in carrying out her duty. But it is not altogether like that. This fanatical devotion to duty, this harsh ascetic trait in Antigone is actually a pose, an outer mask. She has suppressed, forcibly pushed into the background her innate gift of affection, her volcanic power of love. There is one she has loved and still loves, but far
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turning her gaze upon this object of her love, she has hardly once taken his
name. She has tortured and sacrificed herself in order to forget about her
love. Not only has she suffered persecution herself – she has done so by her
own choice; she would drag along others as well, her dear sister and even her
dearest beloved, into the same persecution. There has been no respite for her
till the last refuge in death. But this is no other than a form of deep
affection and love, a reverse aspect. I have said in the beginning what depths
of feeling and intense love pervade her body, mind and heart; these have sought
to find their forceful outlet in her very first utterance: the twin sisters are
not two but are one in reality, not two heads but one as it were in possession
of two bodies. How much tenderness lies packed and hidden behind these simple
words! Let me repeat them: O koinon autadelphon Ismenes kara. "My own, my sister, O
beloved face, Tell me – of all the
curses of our race, What curse shall God not
heap on thee and me? Surely there is no pain,
no misery, No vileness or dishonour,
that we two Have not already seen." ( It
was Antigone’s hope that her dear sister would eagerly follow her with gladness
as soon as she heard her call. But the faith natural to her simple heart
received a rude shock when she had an unexpected refusal from her
tender-hearted sister. She hardened her heart and in her turn rejected her
sister and declared she would proceed all alone to carry out her duty, she
needed nobody’s help. She paid no heed to the later repentance and entreaties
of her sister. Her heart has been overflowing with tenderness and love, but these have found no way to an outward expression
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fulfilment. The tears of love have been gathering deep within her heart. She
says: "The
deep submerged tears as they shed will turn to ice and seize me all round and
will gradually form the tombstone over my body. Niobe, once queen of (2) The
key to the drama in Antigone is to be sought in a conflict or clash between the
claims of the state and the individual's right to follow the truth of his
ideal. The state demands the discipline of laws and the restrictions necessary
for an orderly collective life. It cannot tolerate a deviation or protest. It
does not grant to any individual the right to move a step away from the
prescribed norm. All this ends in tyranny and persecution. The individual on
the other hand tends and drives towards freedom and personal rights, the claim
to live his own life and follow his own ideals. In this drama, the head of the
state has issued orders that no burial rites be given to the deceased traitor
to his city, he has to be left at the outskirts of the city there to be preyed upon
by birds and beasts. His sister considers this to be an insult to her brother,
to her family and to the law of humanity. That is why she would not obey the
state's decree. She takes this to be an illegal, high-handed act on the part of
the state and its leader. Whatever be the reverence
due to the law of the state and howsoever clear its authority, it is a man-made
law, temporary and temporal, depending on circumstances. There is another kind
of law, an unwritten code derived from God and that cannot be transgressed: "Yes,
for these laws were not ordained of Zeus, And
she who sits enthroned with Gods below,
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human laws. Nor did deem that thou, a
mortal man, Couldst by a breath annul
and override The
immutable unwritten Laws of Heaven. They were not-born today,
nor yesterday; They die not, and none
knoweth whence they spring.
(Storr) These
words are reminiscent of the words of the Vedic Rishi who gave us a picture of
the "Infallible decrees" of Lord Varuna – adabdhani varunasya
vratani. There is no fault or sin in obeying the Laws of Heaven in
disregard of the laws of men. Antigone would be courting death, a cruel death,
at the hands of mortal man, in order to be true to a vow ordained by something
higher than man, and she does so in the end. There
is shown in this play another clash or conflict which takes place within
Antigone herself, in the depths of her inner being. This concerns her intimate
personal feelings, the satisfaction and fulfilment of her own life, the hidden
secret of her love. We have seen a king renounce his throne for the sake of his
personal love. We are also familiar with the spectacle of a man, or god-man,
sacrificing personal love for the good of the state. Antigone too walks on these
paths. She has not demanded the satisfaction of her personal, too intimately
personal needs. In her urge to carry out her vow, she has crushed under a
weight of stone the feelings, the impulses, the inspiration of her heart. Sri
Rama had sacrificed his love of wife out of consideration for his subjects; it
was part of his duty as king. He had, at least at one time, shown a greater
regard for his brother than for his wife. The words he has been made to say by Valmiki in this connection have attained celebrity: dese
dese kalatrani dese dese ca bandhavah tam
tu desam na pasyami yatra bhrata sahodarah
Page – 62 "Wives
one can get in every nook and corner, and relatives around. But I have yet to
find a country where one's brother is a true brother." These words of the poet
and sage have never been cherished among women, far less by the moderns. But
the strange thing is that Sophocles has put almost identical words in. the
mouth of Antigone, they sound like an echo. When she was accused of having thrown
away her heart's love and oppressed her beloved out of regard for what she
considered her duty, this is what she said in reply: "A husband lost,
another might be found; Another son be born if one were slain. But I, when Hades
holds my parents twain, Must brotherless abide for ever." ( The point to note is that
whereas in Valmiki a man is made to say that wives are available by the dozen
in every land, Sophocles makes a woman declare as if in retort that husbands
too are to be had in plenty. (3) Aeschylus,
Sophocles and Euripides are the three supreme creators of drama in ancient
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Euripides on the
other hand has in him all the doubts and questionings of the human mind, all
its curiosity and comment. He reaches out towards the modern mentality, has
almost come in line with it. It
was the custom in those days to write trilogies or tetralogies, that is, plays
grouped together in a series of three or four. Each of these groups was built
around the same theme and dwelt on the different parts of one and the same
story; but every piece was to be a self-contained whole, both as a story and a
play. Such for example was the Theben trilogy of Sophocles based on the story
of the Theben king, Oedipus, and his daughter Antigone, or else, the Orestenian
trilogy of Aeschylus dealing with the story of king Agamemnon and his son
Orestes – Orestes was the Hamlet of Greek tragedy. The fourth piece in a
tetralogy used to be something amusing, like a farce that rounded off the main
programme in a Yatra performance of But
the theme of tragic drama in Greek is invariably and excessively melodramatic,
with a full and free use of the terrible and even the horrid. Things like
patricide, matricide and infanticide, oppression and torture, abduction of
women, illicit love and incest are represented freely. One gets here the
impression of a primitive humanity with all its unbridled licence. A picture
is presented with fullest possible detail of the vital impulses in their
natural primitive unrefined state. Our Ramayana and Mahabharata too, no doubt, are replete with instances of this type of mentality. But it has been characterised there as being typical not of man, but of the titan, the demon and the ogre, it is not truly human. The names given to these types indicate their nature. These belong to the undivine nature, whereas man belongs to the divine. The struggle between the divine and the undivine, the gods and the titans, and the final victory of the divine and the gods, this has been the keynote of
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creative work in Indian art and literature, this is the characteristic manner
of the Indian conception of life. Undoubtedly,
man in his beginnings was like a primitive beast. But a way had to be found to
evolve out of this primitive state a superior kind of humanity. The attacks of
the lower nature, the primitive impulses were to be squarely met and caught by
the hands and held under like the horns of a bull. He was to learn to endure
calmly the elements that create difficulties, dangers and disorders. He had to
cross through them into a superior status. He had to see if the mad unseeing
impulses could not be changed into the prowess of the warrior, anger into fiery
energy, cruelty into valour; he was to see how far
the greed for things could be transformed into pure enjoyment. This has been a
necessary step in the evolution of humanity. It is this purifying or transformation of the lower nature
that has been called Katharsis by the Greeks. Spiritual seekers in The Greek dramatists have in this respect followed a double line of action or procedure. In the first place, no untoward event, be it murder or any undesirable act, could be represented on the stage, that is, openly in public. Any such thing forming part of the plot used to be described in the words of some character in the play; the Chorus was mainly entrusted with this task. Secondly, the story or plot of the drama was so chosen as to raise feelings of disgust or pity in the minds of the audience. Steeped in these feelings of disgust arid pity, the emotions were to get purified. The untoward events not being enacted before the eye, only a picture was presented to the imagination through the medium of language. The grosser things appear as if transfigured in the light of literary language. Besides, the Greek language itself has a power of its own, and this power has been utilised by the dramatists
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an instrument of purification. In this language of ancient Greece, there is
such simple beauty and harmony, such an attractive rhythm of movement, a light
and a clarity that anything expressed in this language partakes of its form
and structure and temperament, acquires as if by contagion a strange -lustre
and harmony. Impure and unbridled vital impulses form the subject matter of
Greek drama, but the mind and consciousness which the dramatists bring to bear
on their subject are full of calm and quiet, order and light. The language of
the Greeks has been a simple easy and natural instrument in their hands for the
work of purifying the heart and clarifying the mind and the inner being. (4) That
was the golden age of A remarkable thing about these ancients is that almost all of them lived to a ripe old age. They had such an abundance
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last days of their life. Sophocles went on writing plays till his ninetieth
year. He could count as many or more works to his credit than the number of
years in his life; he had written more than a hundred of which only about half
a dozen are still extant. About Euripides it is said that he had composed
twenty three tetralogies, making a total of ninety two pieces, or about one for
every year of his life; only some ten out of this number have survived. All of
these men were poets and artists and men of high intellectual calibre, but most
of them thought fit not to confine themselves within the inner sanctum of their
chosen work; they were also great men of action, they devoted themselves to
public work in the service of their state, they did a good deal of politics,
even took part in wars as common soldiers or as commanders. An amusing anecdote is told about Sophocles. Towards the end of his life, when he was nearing ninety, his son petitioned the court that his father had been suffering from mental derangement on account of age and in this condition had bequeathed his possessions to a grandson to the exclusion of the son. On being summoned before the court, Sophocles said these words to the judges: "If I am Sophocles, then I cannot have a deranged mind. And if my mind has got deranged, then I am no longer Sophocles." With these words, he read out some extracts from his play, Oedipus at Colonus, which he had just composed and asked the court, "Is it possible for anyone with a derranged head to write like this?" Needless to add, he was acquitted. This Oedipus at Colonus is the last piece he wrote and has been acclaimed with two of his other works as his finest achievement.
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