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The Greeks and Us
W. H. Auden
I
Once upon a time there was a little boy. Before he could read, his father told him stories about the War between the Greeks and Trojans. Hector and Achilles were as familiar to him as his brothers, and when the Olympians quarreled he thought of his uncles and aunts. At seven he went to a boarding school and most of the next seven years were spent in translating Greek and Latin into English and vice versa. Then he went on to another boarding school which had a Classical Side and a Modern Side.
The latter was regarded by boys and masters alike in much the same way as, in a militarist country, civilians are regarded by officers, and with the same kind of degrees of inferiority: history and mathematics were, like professional men, possible; the natural sciences, comprehensively labeled Stinks, like Tradesmen, were not. The Classical Side, too, had its nice distinctions: Greek, like the Navy, was the senior, the aristocratic service.
It is hard to believe now that this story is not a fairy tale but a historical account of middle-class education in England thirty-five years ago.
For anyone brought up in this way, Greece and Rome are so mixed up with his personal memories of childhood and classroom that it is extremely difficult to look at these civilizations objectively. This is particularly so, perhaps, in the case of Greece. Until near the end of the eighteenth century, Europe thought of itself less as Europe than as Western Christendom, the heir to the Roman Empire, and its educational system was based on the study of Latin. The rise of Hellenic studies to an equal and then a superior position was nineteenth century phenomenon and coincided with the development of European nations and nationalist feeling.
It is significant, surely, that when, today, an afterdinner speaker refers to the sources of our civilization, he always names Jerusalem and Athens, but rarely Rome, for the last is the symbol of a religious and political unity which has ceased to exist and the revival of which few believe in or desire. The historical discontinuity between Greek culture and our own, the disappearance for so many centuries of any direct influence, made it all the easier, when it was rediscovered, for each nation to fashion a classical Greece in its own image. There is a German Greece, a French Greece, and English Greece – there may even be an American Greece – all quite different. Had Holderlin met Jowett, for instance, one suspects that neither would have understood a word the other said, and their parting would have been cold.
Even within a single country different Greeces coexist. For instance here are two English caricatures:
Professor X. Reade Chair of Moral Philosophy. 59. Married. Three daughters. Religion: C of E (Broad). Politics: Conservative. Lives in a small suburban house stuffed with Victorian knick-knacks. Does not entertain. Smokes a pipe. Does not notice what he eats. Hobbies: gardening and long solitary walks. Dislikes: foreigners, Roman Catholicism, modern literature, noise. Cureent worry: his wife’s health.
Mr. Y. Classical tutor. 41. unmarried. Religion: none. Politics: none. Lives in college. Has private means and gives wonderful lunch parties for favorite undergraduates. Hobbies: travel ad collecting old glass. Dislikes: Christianity, girls, the poor, English cooking. Current worry: his figure.
To X, the word Greece suggests Reason, the Golden Mean, emotional control, freedom from superstition; to Y it suggests Gaiety and Beauty, the life of the senses, freedom from inhibitions.
Of course, being good scholars, both know that their respective views are partial; X cannot deny that many Greeks were attracted to mystery cults and addicted to habits upon which “the common moral sense of civilized mankind has pronounced a judgment which requires no justification as it allows of no appeal”; Y is equally aware that Plato of the Laws is as puritanical as any Scotch Presbyter; but the emotional tie to the Greece of their dears, formed in childhood and strengthened by years of study and affection, is stronger than their knowledge.
There could be no stronger proof of the riches and depth of Greek culture than its powers of appeal to every kind of personality. It has been said that everyone is born either a Platonist or an Aristotelian; but it seems to me that there are more contrasted and significant divisions than this, between, fore instance, the lovers of Ionia the lovers of Sparta, between those who are devoted to both Plato and Aristotle and those who prefer Hippocrates and Thucydides to either.
II
The days when classical studies were the core of higher learning have now passed and are not likely, in any future we can envisage, to return. We have to accept as an accomplished fact that the educated man of today and tomorrow can read neither Latin nor Greek. This means, I think, that, if the classics are to continue to exert any educational effect at all, a change must be made the emphasis and direction of Roman and Hellenic studies.
If Greek literature has to be read in translation, then the approach can no longer be an aesthetic one. The aesthetic loss in translation from one language into another is always immense; in the case of languages and cultures as far apart as Greek and English, it becomes practically fatal; one can almost say that the better a translation is as English poetry, the less like Greek poetry it is (e.g., Pope’s Iliad) and vice versa.
To begin with there is the prosodic difficulty; quantitative unrhymed verse and qualitative rhymed verse have nothing in common except that they are both rhythmical patterns. An English poet can have much fun attempting, as a technical exercise or an act of piety, to write quantitatively:
With these words Hermes sped away for lofty Olympos:
And Priam all fearlessly from off his chariot alighted,
Ordering Idaeus to remain i’ the entry to keep watch
Over the beasts: th’old king meanwhile stode doughtily onward,
(Robert Bridges. Iliad, xxiv, 468-71)
But no one can read this except as a qualitative meter of an eccentric kind, and eccentricity is a very un-Homeric characteristic.
Then there are the problems of word-order and diction; Greek is an inflected language where the sense does not depend on the position of the words in the sentence as it does in English; Greek is rich in compound epithets, English is not.
Lastly and most important of all, the poetic sensibility of the two literatures is radically different. Compared with English poetry Greek poetry is primitive, i.e., the emotions and subjects it treats are simpler and more direct than ours while, on the other hand, the manner of the language tends to be more involved and complex. Primitive poetry says simple things in a roundabout way where modern poetry tries to say complicated things straightforwardly. The continuous efforts of English poets in every generation to rediscover “a language really used by men” would have been incomprehensible to a Greek.
In his introduction to Greek Plays in Modern Translation, Dudley Fitts quotes a translation of a bit of stichomythy from Medea.
MEDEA: Why didst thou fare to earth’s prophetic navel?
AEGEUS: To ask how seed of children might be mine.
MEDEA: ‘Fore Heaven! – aye childless is thy life till now?
AEGEUS: Childless I am, by chance of some god’s will.
MEDEA: This with a wife, or knowing not the couch?
AEGEUS: Nay, not unyoked to wedlock’s bed am I.
This is, as he says, comically absurd, but what is the poor translator to do? If, for instance, he translates the last two lines into modern idiom, the must write:
MEDEA: Are you married or single?
AEGEUS: Married.
This is no longer funny, but has completely lost an essential element of the original style, the poetic ornamentation of simple questions and answers by casting them in the form of riddles.
It is significant that, in spite of the familiarity with and enormous admiration for Greek poetry of many English poets in the past, very few indeed show any signs of having been influenced by it in their style of writing – Milton and possibly Browning by the tragedians, Hopkins by Pindar, are the only names I can think of.
The attempt to translate the poetry of one language into another is an invaluable training for a poet, and it is to be hoped that new versions of Homer, Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Sappho, etc., will continue to be made in every generation, but their public importance is likely to be small.
Even when he is reading the epics or the plays, the average modern reader is going to find that a historical and anthropological approach is more fruitful than an aesthetic one.
Instead of asking “How good a tragedy is Oedipus?” or “Is such and such an argument of Plato’s true or false?” he will try to see all aspects of Greek activity, their drama, their science, their philosophy, their politics as interrelated parts of one complete and unique culture.
Accordingly, in selecting the material for this anthology, I have tried to make it an introduction to Greek culture rather than Greek literature. In a literary anthology it would be absurd to represent Greek tragedy by Aeschylus alone, omitting Sophocles and Euripides, but if one wishes to understand the form and idea of Greek tragedy, it is better to give a trilogy like The Oresteia than three separate plays by three authors; so to with all the other poetic selections which have been chosen for their representative character as literary forms rather than for their individual poetic excellences.
Again, in the extracts from the philosophers the intention has been not to give a comprehensive picture of Plato and Aristotle, but to show how Greek thinks dealt with certain kins of problems, for instance the problem of cosmology.
Lastly, Greek medicine and Greek mathematics are so essential parts of their culture, that they cannot be ignored even by a beginner.
The exigencies of space in a volume of this size exclude much important material, but I have only consciously excluded one author, for reasons of personal distaste. I believe, however, that I am aloe in find Lucian, one of the most popular of Greek writers, too “enlightened” for a generation as haunted by devils as our own.
stay tuned.. |
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