To the Halls of Death, Alive and Breathing: Reading Sophocles in the 21st Century

Time and again it has been argued that great literature – or great art in general – is that which lasts, which stays relevant forever, unaffected by the march of time. By unaffected I mean that its importance as a cultural sign refuses to fade; for of course time affects art and that is exactly what makes it relevant: the elasticity of literature, its ability to shift according to the time. Most literature, of course can be ‘interpreted’ in various ways and made relevant to any time period; for as Pierre Macherey argued the act of reading is a ‘literary production’ like the act of writing. Reading, thus, is a re-writing perhaps. But nonetheless certain pieces of literature survive amongst the never-ending ocean of texts as those pieces of literature can be deemed relevant, for it is possible to read a text through a theoretical lens and thus produce a ‘relevant’ reading, but it is perhaps arguable that only certain texts admit such attention from a wider audience for the production of such a reading.

The aim of this article is not to argue over whether or not the relevancy of a piece of literature makes it ‘great’. Nor is it to argue that any text can be read as ‘relevant’. The point is to explore how Antigone by Sophocles is an example of relevant literature. For the conflict-ridden world of these plays reflects very much the state of our own. But in a world ridden with conflict, death, hunger, genocide, war, poverty and all sorts of violence, does the evaluation of a text mean anything? Is reading not an act of ‘passivity’ in a world that demands action? Perhaps so. Yet literature remains important for one reason; it reminds us of something deeply important: the humanity we all carry within us, and the humanity which we must preserve in the face of everything – literature might not be enough to do that but plays a necessary role by inviting us to reflect – both inwardly and outwardly – in a more critical manner.

Pakistan is going through a crisis; well, it has been for seventy six years. But today that crisis appears magnified, perhaps because those issues that once appeared only on the fringes have gained somewhat mainstream attention. Popular critiques of the State have given space to unheard voices – only if momentarily. The strongest example of this is the Baloch movement for missing persons[i]. Reading Antigone reminds one of the struggles of the Baloch women that marched to the country’s capital in such harsh conditions. For those unfamiliar with the story of Antigone, it is about a woman who stands against a tyrant king for the sake of her brother’s dignity. Creon, the tyrant king, makes it law not to bury her brother Polynices for he was a ‘traitor’. Despite the law, Antigone does what she deems right and buries her brother. Though what follows is grim for it is a Sophoclean tragedy, does this not remind one of the struggle of the Baloch women for the men of their families – the men who have been deemed ‘traitors’ just like Polynices? Whose bodies are found rotten and torn just like Polynices? The image of Polynices’ body reminds one of the grim images of the alleged mass graves found around Balochistan, where bodies of hundreds of suspected ‘terrorists’ have been allegedly dumped. And of course, the image of the tyrant is all too well-known to be pointed out here.

Yet, all is not lost as Antigone reminds us. If Polynices’s image is a grim one then that of Antigone is the opposite; one of hope. For her, resistance serves to remind the reader of resistance movements all across the world but specifically one at home, for it is the movement of many sisters struggling for the freedom, dignity and life of their brothers. In the beginning of the play she remarks to her sister that “our lives are pain”, which is true of the Baloch experience in Pakistan; their lives are indeed pain. Yet this pain does not defer Antigone, it shakes her resolve only momentarily for when Ismene asks her if she would “defy the city” she replies “I will raise a mound for him, for my dear brother.” Such is the resolve too of the Baloch women who, despite the State’s terror still carry on powerfully.

Though Antigone hangs herself in the end this does not mean she failed, for it is implied that in the afterlife she goes to her lost creed; her family. The Messenger speaks of how Creon’s dead son who was to be Antigone’s husband, “has won his pride at last/not here but in the houses of the dead.” Thus for Antigone, even in the face of death does not lose, she only gains eternal peace. If I were to interpret this, I would say that if all reading is a sort of ‘re-writing’ parallel literary production, then Antigone is a metaphor for history – especially history in the Marxist sense. For there the oppressed shall always win.

Creon succumbs to the greatest tragedy for he loses everything and realizes it too late. Earlier in the play Antigone prays to the gods to “let them suffer”, she means those who had wronged her – and they do suffer. Creon is proof of that. Not seeing it as a prayer answer, one can see this as the course of history, and the prayer of the oppressed is merely a symbol for their historic role which shall be fulfilled.

Thus, Antigone reminds us that after centuries of being first written – that no matter how strong, how vile the forces of tyranny might be, they will eventually succumb. It reminds us too that our struggles as human beings shall not go to waste, for these are struggles to preserve our humanity and our dignity, as the Guatemalan poet Otto Rene Castillo reminds us:

And also, that only through this struggle “do men become men/women become women” Sophocles reminds us of the grim realities of our time, but also of our capacity to struggle; to hope, which we carry within us. So it is relevant, as long as our struggles are relevant.