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256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1930
It is worth our while in the confusions and bewilderments of the present to consider the way by which the Greeks arrived at the clarity of their thought and the affirmation of their art. Very different conditions of life confronted them from those we face, but it is ever to be borne in mind that though the outside of human life changes much, the inside changes little, and the lesson-book we cannot graduate from is human experience.
The Greeks were the first people in the world to play
The circle is complete: a wretched populace with no hope save in the invisible, and a priesthood whose power is bound up with the belief in the unimportance of the visible so that they must forever strive to keep it an article of faith. The circle is complete in another sense as well: the wayfarer sheltering for the night in an abandoned house does not care to mend the roof the rain drips through, and a people living in such wretchedness that their one comfort is to deny the importance of the facts of earthly life, will not try to better them.
The absolute monarch-submissive slave theory of life flourishes best where there are no hills to give a rebel refuge and no mountain heights to summon a man to live dangerously.
[He who learns must suffer]. Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God
”We are lovers of beauty with economy” said Pericles. Words were to be used sparingly, like everything else. Thucydides gives in a single sentence the fate of those brilliant youths who, pledging the sea and wine from golden goblets, sailed away to conquer Sicily, and slowly died in the quarries of Syracuse: “Having done what men could, they suffered what men must.” One sentence only for their glory and their anguish.
“Brief is the growing time of joy for mortals. And brief the flowers bloom that falls to earth, shaken by grim fate. Things of a day. What are we and what are we not? Man is a shadow’s dream” – Pindar
“All arrogance will reap a harvest rich in tears. God calls men to a heavy reckoning for overweening pride” – Æschylus
The long days store up many things nearer to grief than joy
… Death at the last, the deliverer.
Not to be born is past all prizing best.
Next best by far when one has seen the light.
Is to go thither swiftly whence he came.
When youth and its light carelessness are past,
What woes are not without, what griefs within,
Envy and faction, strife, and sudden death.
And last of all old age, despised, Infirm unfriended.
Æschylus was the first poet to grasp the bewildering strangeness of life, “the antagonism at the heart of the world.” He knew life as only the greatest poets can know it; he perceived the mystery of suffering. Mankind he saw fast bound to calamity by the working of unknown powers, committed to a strange venture, companioned by disaster....
Prometheus, helpless and faced by irresistible force, is unconquered. There is no yielding in him, even to pronounce the one word of submission which will set him free; no repentance in dust and ashes before almighty power. To the herald of the gods who bids him yield to Zeus’ commands, he answers:
There is no torture and no cunning trick,
There is no force, which can compel my speech,
Until Zeus wills to loose these deadly bonds.
So let him hurl his blazing thunderbolt,
And with the white wings of the snow,
With lightning and with earthquake,
Confound the reeling world.
None of all this will bend my will.
HERALD: Submit, you fool. Submit. In agony learn wisdom.
PROMETHEUS: Seek to persuade the sea wave not to break.
You will persuade me no more easily.
With his last words as the universe crashes upon him, he asserts the justice of his cause: “Behold me, I am wronged”—greater than the universe which crushes him, said Pascal. In this way Æschylus sees mankind, meeting disaster grandly, forever undefeated. “Take heart. Suffering, when it climbs highest, lasts but a little time”—that line from a lost play gives in brief his spirit as it gives the spirit of his time.
The innocent suffer—how can that be and God be just? That is not only the central problem of tragedy, it is the great problem everywhere when men begin to think, and everywhere at the same stage of thought they devise the same explanation, the curse, which, caused by sin in the first instance, works on of itself through the generations—and lifts from God the awful burden of injustice. The haunted house, the accursed race, literature is full of them. “The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children.” Œdipus and Agamemnon must pay for their forefathers’ crimes. The stolen gold dooms the Volsungs. It is a kind of half-way house of explanation which satisfies for a time men’s awakening moral sense. It did not satisfy Æschylus.
He was a lonely thinker when he began to think “those thoughts that wander through eternity.” The Hebrew Ezekiel at about the same time perceived the injustice of this way of maintaining God’s justice and protested against the intolerable wrong of children’s suffering for their father’s sins, but his way out was to deny that they did. As ever, the Jew was content with a “Thus saith the Lord,” an attitude that leaves no place for tragedy in the world. He could accept the irrational and rest in it serenely; the actual fact before him did not confront him inescapably as it did the Greek.