Aristotle, in his Poetics,
famously defined tragedy as follows:
A tragedy, then, is the imitation of an action that is serious and also, as having magnitude, complete in itself; in language with pleasurable accessories, each kind brought in separately in the parts of the work; in a dramatic, not in a narrative form; with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its catharsis of such emotions. (translation by Imgram Bywater: 35).1
While there is no
universal agreement that Aristotle’s definition is the only or even the best
definition of tragedy, it does serve as a springboard for any discussion of the
tragic art. Why is generic definition
important? First, it provides the
prospective reader with a set of expectations about a work. Second, it provides critics a set of criteria
by which they can evaluate the quality of the work. Finally, because it assigns
qualitative value to a works: tragedy
for example is considered more important than romantic comedy.
But Brady is also a man swollen with pride and
supreme self-confidence. When he learns
that the formidable Henry Drummond is to be his adversary in court, he welcomes
the challenge.
First,
according to Aristotle, a tragedy is an “imitation of an action that is
serious.” Hamilton W. Fyfe, I think,
correctly defines the “imitation” as a “recreation of life” while O. B.
Hardison, adds that, “if they are well done, [tragedy] reveal(s) generic
qualities—the presence of the universal in the particular.”2 3 What Hardison
means is that the imitated action has relevance to a general public, that the
events, even if they are fantastical, can be imagined as relatable to the
proverbial everyman. Take for example,
Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex. Few of us will
ever be a king and even fewer will murder our father and marry our mother, but
most of us will occasionally undertake journeys of self-discovery which reveal
unpleasant and unexpected aspects of our personalities. And because we have experienced similar
journeys though of a smaller magnitude we are able to emphasize with Oedipus
and, hopefully learn from his suffering.
The “action” being imitated is, however, really less than a true
“recreation of life” because the actions portrayed are selected to advance a
particular story line and purpose. Time
is by necessity compressed. When Oedipus
sends for Tiresias, the blind prophet shows up immediately, as if he was
waiting just around the corner. We don’t
see Oedipus taking a bathroom breaks because it is not relevant to the purpose
of the action being imitated. From all
the events and actions that would naturally take place over the course of
Oedipus’ investigation, Sophocles only selects those particular actions that
advance the purpose of the story he wants to tell and leads the audience to the
generalization he wishes to make, i.e.,
Which severs life from death,
unscathed by woe.
The action need not be historically
accurate or even an actual event, but something that may have happened,
conforming to the laws of probably and necessity. The action must be unified and complete,
meaning it must present the actions in a logical sequence with a clear
beginning, middle and end; and incidents and actions must logically arise from
that which has gone before. Unlike the
epic or the history, tragedy is not designed to describe or explain what
happened, but instead is intended to evoke an emotional response. Unlike comedy, the other dramatic form
explored by Aristotle, which is intended to generate mirth, tragedy has a more
serious purpose: to arouse pity and fear in its audience.
Tragedy’s ability to arouse fear and
pity then purge these emotions from the audience is probably tragedy’s most
distinctive feature. We fear for Oedipus
because we can see where the action is going even if he can’t and we pity him
when all is finally revealed, resulting in his destruction. But does the end of Oedipus Rex result in a
catharsis of the fear and pity the tragedy provokes? In what ways might catharsis be
achieved? Aristotle does not explain,
but subsequent critics have debated both what catharsis means and how it is
accomplished. In general, the majority
opinion is that a successful tragedy will provide the audience a sense of
relief that helps them handle daily living in calmer fashion. In contemporary popular culture, the purging
of emotion by tragedy is akin to the theory that viewing violent films allow
the viewer to exorcise violent impulse by vicariously expending these impulses
by identification with the theatrical perpetrator of violence. This theory is of course highly
controversial, but if it were true it would provide a suitable parallel to
Aristotle’s theory of catharsis.
Tragedy may accomplish catharsis in
a number of ways. One that comes to mind
is the tragedy of the martyr, the man who suffers for his beliefs and is
ennobled by his courage in the face of torment and death. We fear for and pity William Wallace in Mel
Gibson’s 1995 Academy Award winning film Braveheart, but we are so inspired
by his courage in the face of a torturous death and the subsequent triumph of
his cause, that we leave the theater, not shuddering from fear or sobbing from
pity, but uplifted by his example. It
might also be suggested that catharsis can be achieved by the relief that no
matter how bad things might seem, they are better than they were for the tragic
protagonist. We might for example have
problems with our children, but for few of us will have things as bad as those
experienced by King Lear. We fear for
and pity Lear, but there may be a profound sense of relief in the fact that
they are happening to him and not to us.
Another theory of catharsis suggests that an individual can learn to
modulate their emotional responses to life events by identifying with and
learning from the suffering protagonist.
For example when watching the protagonist confront the death of a child,
the audience member may be better prepared to handle a real life tragedy by
having vicariously participating in a similar event before an actual tragedy
occurs in their own life. Finally, catharsis
might be achieved by simply overloading the emotions to such an extent that the
audience “short circuits,” that is they have nothing emotionally left to
give. A play like Romeo and Juliet might
achieve this effect. By the end of the
play, the audience may be “cried out” so to speak. They are numbed by the tragic events and
drained of the ability to further respond emotionally.
With all this being said, can we
classify Inherit the Wind as an Aristotelian tragedy? I believe that we can. I would suggest that Inherit the Wind has as its’ tragic protagonist Matthew Harrison Brady. The play, as we have seen in the previous
essay, is the imitation of an action that is serious: the struggle between science and faith, some
would say between reason and superstition.
One side wishes to push against the barriers to knowledge and the other
wishes to make the barriers more formidable.
One side wants to move forward regardless of consequences and the other
wishes to mark time, believing that things as they are “are good enough for
me.”
I again return to Aristotle’s Poetics
for th definition of a tragic protagonist.
Aristotle suggests that the actions of the hero of a tragedy must evoke
in the audience a sense of pity or fear. The pity arises when a person receives
undeserved misfortune and the fear comes when the misfortune befalls a man like
us. Like us, he is man “who is not eminently good and just, yet
whose misfortune is brought about not by vice or depravity, but by some error
or frailty,” either some weakness of character or some moral
blindness. Unlike most of us, the tragic
protagonist should be one “who is highly
renowned and prosperous” which adds to the seriousness of the action.
Matthew Harrison Brady is the
champion of the status quo. He is
renowned as a three time Populist contender for the presidency and an
enthusiastic supporter of Bible literalism.
He devoutly believes that Darwinism is an inherent threat to man’s
morality, an insult to man’s dignity and a frontal attack on religion. He
tells the reporters covering the case “that
here in Hillsboro we are fighting the fight of the Faithful throughout the
world!” While his oration is grandiose, his feelings are
sincere, In a quiet discussion with
Drummond, he shows his Populist roots by defending the faithful, saying:
These are simple people, Henry.
Poor people. They work hard and they need to believe in something… something
beautiful. They’re seeking for something more perfect than what they have…Why
do you want to take it away from them, Henry? It’s all they have. A golden
chalice of hope.
He believes he is a
defender of the people against the moral challenge of a world without
absolutes:
I
have been in many cities and I have seen the altars upon which they sacrifice
the futures of their children to the Gods of Science. And what are their
rewards? Confusion and self-destruction. New ways to kill each other in wars. I
tell you, going the way of scientists is the way of darkness,
In
the wake of the scientists’ contributions to the art of warfare, from gunpowder
to atomic bombs, his observation seems justified. Even Drummond gets this point:
…
progress has never been a bargain. You’ve got to pay for it. Sometimes I think
there’s a man behind a counter who says, “All right, you can have a telephone;
but you’ll have to give up privacy, the charm of distance. Madam, you may vote;
but at a price; you lose the right to retreat behind a powder-puff or a
petticoat. Mister, you may conquer the air; but the birds will lose their
wonder, and the clouds will smell of gasoline!”(Thoughtfully, seeming to look
beyond the courtroom) Darwin moved us forward to a hilltop, where we can look
back and see the way from which we came. But for this view, this insight, this
knowledge, we must abandon our faith in the pleasant poetry of Genesis.
The
difference between the two men is that Drummond is willing to pay the price for
what he sees as progress and Brady believes the price required for progress is
too high.
Brady
is at his core a good, but flawed man.
When Reverend Brown, in the throes of zealotry condemns his own
daughter, Brady steps up to rein Brown in and console Rachael. However, he too is prone to zealotry as he
shows in the courtroom when he badgers Rachel in attempt to win his case. This is the point where his passion overcomes
his reason and he begins to lose the respect and admiration of his followers.
Brady is also respected
by his courtroom adversary. In the past,
he and Drummond had been friends and although now separate, Drummond still
respects his old friend, saying after Brady’s death, “There was much greatness in this man.”
If the enemy sends its Goliath into
battle, it magnifies our cause. Henry Drummond has stalked the courtrooms of
this land for forty years. When he fights, headlines follow. (With growing
fervor)The whole world will be watching our victory over Drummond. (Dramatically)If
St. George had slain a dragonfly, who would remember him.
His pride, as with many
tragic heroes, is his fatal flaw. He is
not so much close-minded as he is so sure of the correctness of his position
that he cannot recognize the errors in his position. It is his pride that places him on the stand
as an expert witness on the Bible. At the onset of testimony he is thoroughly
self-assured, convinced that Drummond cannot possibly mount an argument
sufficient to weaken his beliefs or advance the defense of Bertram Cates, but
he underestimates Drummond’s effectiveness.
Drummond pushes and probes at some of the Bible’s inexplicable
passages. He mocks the idea that Jonah
was swallowed by “a great fish” and that Joshua caused the sun to stand still
in defiance of natural law. He calls
into question the “young Earth theory” of Bishop James Ussher (1581-1656), who
calculated from the Bible the precise day of creation: Sunday
23 October 4004 BC. Brady uses this
theory to refute Drummond’s geological proof that the Earth is millions of
years old. It is at his point that
Drummond closes the trap he has laid.
BRADY: the
Lord began the Creation on the 23rd of October in the Year 4004 B.C.
at- uh, at 9 A.M.!
DRUMMOND: That
Eastern Standard Time? (Laughter) Or
Rocky Mountain Time? (More laughter) It
wasn’t daylight-saving time, was it? Because the Lord didn’t make the sun until
the fourth day!
BRADY:
(Fidgeting) That is correct.
DRUMMOND: (Sharply) The
first day. Was it a twenty-four-hour day?
BRADY:
The Bible says it was a day.
DRUMMOND:
There wasn’t any sun. How do you
know how long it was?
BRADY:
(Determined) The Bible says it was a day.
DRUMMOND:
A
normal day, a literal day, a twenty-four-hour day? (Pause. BRADY is
unsure.)
BRADY:
I do not know.
DRUMMOND: What
do you think?
BRADY:
(Floundering) I do not think about things
that . . . I do not think about!
DRUMMOND:
Do
you ever think about things that you do think about? (There is some
laughter. But it is dampened by the knowledge and awareness throughout the
courtroom, that the trap is about to be sprung) Isn’t it possible that first day was twenty- five hours long? There was no
way to measure it, no way to tell! Could it have been twenty-five hours? (Pause.
The entire courtroom seems to lean forward.)
BRADY:
(Hesitates- then) It is . . . possible. .
.(DRUMMOND’S got him. And he knows it! This is the turning point. From here on,
the tempo mounts. DRUMMOND is now fully in the driver’s seat. He pounds his
questions faster and faster.)
DRUMMOND:
Oh.
You interpret that the first day recorded in the Book of Genesis could be of
indeterminate length.
BRADY: (Wriggling) I mean to state that the day referred to is not necessarily a
twenty-four-hour day.
DRUMMOND:
It
could have been thirty hours! Or a month! Or a year! Or a hundred years! (He
brandishes the rock underneath BRADY’S nose) Or ten million years!
Aristotle proposes that
“the most powerful elements of emotional
interest in Tragedy” are the recognition and reversal of fortune scenes. “Recognition, as the name indicates, is a change
from ignorance to knowledge” and is best when “coincident with a Reversal of the Situation.” In
the above exchange, we have Aristotle’s recognition and reversal. Brady is forced to recognize that the Bible is
open to interpretation , that the Biblical “day” of creation may not
necessarily be a literal 24 hour day and, if this single point is open to
interpretation then the entire canon may be open to interpretation. Brady’s core belief and that of his followers
in the courtroom is shaken and his credibility as defender of the faith has
been destroyed. Herein is the reversal. Brady has fallen, not only in the eyes of his
admirers, but more importantly in his own self-image. For perhaps the first
time in his adult life, Brady has been forced to examine his core beliefs and
found them wanting. Instead of standing
on firm ground, he has found shifting sand beneath his feet and he has lost his
balance. He is reduced to clinging to
his wife, crying in her arms, reduced to a frightened and humiliated child, saying
“Mother. They laughed at me, Mother! I
can’t stand it when they laugh at me!”
Brady’s subsequent collapse and death in the courtroom the following day
is anticlimactic. His literal death is
secondary to the death of his self-image, his supreme self-assurance. He died on the witness stand, not while
trying to deliver a speech no one wants to hear. To add to the tragedy, he is killed by an old
friend.
Drummond is the agent
of Brady’s destruction and I have to believe that Drummond knew the probable consequences
of his actions. When denied the option
of opposing the law prohibiting the teaching of Darwin with expert scientist testimony
Drummond is only left with the strategy of personal attack. In fairness, he is not the first to use the
tactic. Brady, in attacking Cates
through the testimony of Rachel Brown has already set the precedent. Ultimately the attack on Cates really doesn’t
matter; Cates motive really doesn’t matter.
Brady attacks Cates because he is personally offended by what Cates has
done and must show Cates up as actively antagonistic to religion and not simply
a supporter of intellectual freedom. In
other words, Brady must create a bogeyman that he can subsequently defeat.
Following his example, Drummond, unable to defend Cates’ crime unless he can undermine the legitimacy of the law, has been thwarted by the court. The only road open to him is to show that the guiding force behind the law, the literal interpretation of Genesis, is vulnerable to questioning even by the faithful and that any law that prohibits question is unjust. He chooses Brady as the symbol of literalism and Drummond undermines literalism by destroying its symbol. Brady could have refused to testify, but his pride compels him to do so. If he had refused to testify, the trial’s outcome would not have been altered in the least. Cates would have been found guilty and Drummond would have filed his appeal. Was it really necessary for Drummond to destroy Brady?
In tragedy, we expect a
certain inevitability, a certain sense that the events could only unfold as
they do. Drummond must attack close-mindedness wherever
he finds it. While he certainly knows
the attack on Brady and the faithful will not impact the court’s verdict, he
feels compelled to use the forum of the courtroom to advance the principle of
intellectual freedom against its’ suppression by unthinking religious
faith. His passion for his cause is no
less fanatical than Brady’s. His quest
is to advance his cause and ultimately, consequence, personal and societal, be
damned.
Brady, as we already
discussed, is obsessed with consequences.
He sees unrestricted scientific progress and knowledge as potentially
destructive. He believes that
unrestricted knowledge threatens man’s morals by weakening his faith in God and
moral absolutes. Tragically and
ironically, he lacks sufficient faith in the power of his religion to overcome
intellectual attacks. He fears “the
simple people” will degenerate morally if their faith in the literal word of
God as contained in the Bible is called to question. He must take the stand and answers Drummond’s
questions because he believes only he is able to stand firm in his faith
against the attacks of this “ agent of
darkness.” Tragically, he is wrong. It falls to Drummond to play St. George
against Brady’s dragon.
After Brady’s defeat
and subsequent death, Drummond seems overcome by a sense of sadness, but not
regret. His reaction is like that of a man who has to put down a good and
faithful dog who has grown dangerous. He
is sad to be the agent of its’ death, but he recognizes that it must be done
for the greater good. So it is with Drummond
who sees in Brady a great man, but one who, because of his greatness, can
impede the progress of man. Such a man
must ultimately be removed for Drummond’s vision of the greater good.
1.
Bywater, Imgram. With a preface by
Gilbert Murray. Aristotle on the Art of Poetry. New York: Oxford University
Press, 1920.
2.
Fyfe, Hamilton W. Aristotle's Art of
Poetry. London: Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1940.
3. Hardison
Jr., O. B. Aristotle's Poetics. Translation by Leon Golden. Tallahassee,
Florida: University Presses of Florida, 1981.
