From Sophocles to Miller—Tragedy’s Many Masks
I believe, for myself, that the lasting appeal of tragedy is due to our need to face the foot of death in order to strengthen ourselves for life.
It’s one of the most striking
images in Western Civilization; Sophocles’ King Oedipus of
Tragedy is not perennial. It has only blossomed as a
popular dramatic form during a few periods of history. The Greeks invented it,
the Elizabethans mastered it, and, most recently, Arthur Miller challenged it.
Although his plays conform to most of the conventions outlined in the Poetics, many critics refuse to
categorize All My Sons and Death of a Salesman as true tragedies,
citing Aristotle’s requirement that all tragic characters be “highly renowned
and prosperous” so that their fall excites greater fear and pity in the
audience. Miller, whose characters are neither renowned nor prosperous, refutes
this antiquated notion. “It is now many centuries since Aristotle lived,” he
writes in the forward to Four Plays.
“There is no more reason to fall down in faint before his Poetics than before
Miller is in agreement with the classic traditions of
The key to tragic heroism, however, is not in the flaw itself, but in the recognition of the flaw. Miller’s early works are often called “plays of accountability”, which requires the hero to face his own culpability in the horrors he has produced and accept, or maybe even inflict, his punishment. This is a point about which the Greeks would agree. Oedipus does not, for instance, blame his sordid predicament on fate, the gods, his father, or the Chorus. If he did, he would not be tragic. He would be no better than the hundreds of politicians or corporate executives we see on TV every day, calling for accountability, but hiding behind lawyers and spin doctors when their own culpability is called into question. No, Oedipus recognizes his error, and so inflicts a befitting punishment. He pierces his own eyes, transforming his moral transgression into a physical emblem of his crime. What world, state, or corporate leader would willingly do that today?
Well, maybe Tragedy still has a lesson for two to teach us after 2,000 years.
Dan Tarker, Literary Associate