Tragedy compromises the individual, placing him in situations of risk and danger and often pain. Pain deals entirely with sensations rather than thoughts. It is an experience which tries to resist turning itself into ideas.
The fragility of our flesh can test the strongest of spirits. As put in Much Ado About Nothing:
‘For there was never yet a philosopher, that could endure the toothache patiently’ The weakness of the spirit when countered with the weakness of the flesh.’
Such a direct attack on our ability to hold both consciousness and logical thought is almost an attack on what it is we consider to make us unique as humans. It is not surprising, therefore, to see pain reduce humans to the level of the beast. The impact of suffering in this manner is seen throughout King Lear.
The chaos that descends around Lear leads him to observe that ‘man’s life is as cheap as beast’s’. Our mortality is made pressing clear to him and our lack of privileged detachment from time, danger or death makes him reassess his view of humanity.
Expressions of pain in Greek tragedy were composed of sounds and phrases which had a complexity and innate musicality, particularly when handled by the chorus. The language, structure and style of ‘English’ tragedy does not allow for such melodic pronouncements of pain. Italian Opera is a more direct descendant in that sense.
Shakespeare expresses pain in a number of ways, but none more often than the simple use of the word ‘O’. The single letter is used nearly 2500 times in his plays. It lacks the eloquence of the Greek howls, for which there is no singular or useful translation. Much has been written on the use of ‘O’ in Shakespeare, particularly in light of the rise of structuralism, post structuralism and linguistics. It has been used, it seems, as a device for a range of scholars from a broad array of fields to put forward intelligent, creative and original interpretations of Shakespeare. Whilst many make for interesting reading often the observation could be that it has become a vehicle to push other agendas and to represent the fluidity and openness of new academic methodologies. That said, amongst the mass of literature many strong and convincing arguments have been made.
Feminist interpretations (for want of a less loaded and unhelpful term) have shed light on Shakespeare’s depiction of Ophelia (and therefore more broadly his treatment of women) by analysing the use of the word and letter ‘O’ in conjunction with her character. It runs from her name through to her cries of anguish. O can be seen as a signifier of nothing, of the empty space, of the number zero. It is the space to be filled, the hole to be entered, a crude symbol of the female form, her sex, her mouth, as an object to be possessed. The ‘O’ is the infinite cycle, the signifier of nothingness, the abyss. Such interpretation needs to be careful to remain context dependant and to avoid merely projecting a wider sociological gender doctrine onto the letter and text. Yet there is no doubt of its importance to the character of Ophelia, whose role in Hamlet is limiting if not interesting. Hamlet displays a complexity of character and a combination of types which is in direct contrast to Ophelia’s character, who seems to be largely a vehicle to both develop plot and shed light on his character.
If the experience and understanding of pain is central to tragedy then how do we square that with a contemporary audience? Everyone understands pain, but it could be argued that we have become numb to depictions of human pain and suffering. Guy Debord’s ‘Society of the Spectacle’ (1967) puts forward, with heavily Marxist overtones, an argument for our increasing detachment from the world of pain outside of our personal existence. Television has become a vehicle through which we are subjected to constant images of suffering and barbarity, often from real life and recent time. Yet we view these images from a safe distance and become so accustomed to them that their visceral impact disappears. We still hold onto a sociologically constructed notion that we should feel upset and feel empathy, but it is a detached, objected, cerebral form of empathy, not the type that taps into us and touches our sensations beyond logical thought. It does not trigger our emotions in the same way it once did. If we buy this argument then it can certainly only have got worse in the intervening years. A number of technological advances have exacerbated the condition Debord describes, most notably the internet. Through the internet we are bombarding with such a mass of images and sensual experiences, with depictions of horror rife. Add to this various forms of 24 hour news, flashing us images from around the world, often live, of suffering, cruelty and horror. The result is an increasingly effective form of anaesthetic.
The response to this detachment is that writers, artists and directors have had to seek new ways to visualise pain, in an attempt to break through the barriers society has created. The most popular response has been what could be described as ‘horror porn’, where images of horror, barbarity and pain have been pushed to their absolute extremes and have been used to serve a singular purpose, to shock and unsettled. If this was once effective then now it is largely a vehicle for a number of things, but certainly not a way to make us actually feel for the victims. The answer, I believe, is to find ways to make people realise that they are not feeling anything. This happens in Warhol’s depictions of car crash victims. The screen printed image is repeated over a grid. We view it feeling a sense of detached remorse and upset. By the time you move down a few rows you start to become aware that this remorse is merely something we are telling ourselves to recognise, because this is the social convention. We become aware that we are not actually feel truly upset. This awareness, this emptying, is what opens the channels, for there is a melancholy to be felt for our inability to connect and to feel. Such a paradoxical strategy can be used as a way to open people up to a more primitive and instinctive and tangible form of feelings in the face of images of pain and horror. Comedy is a highly effective tool in this respect. We certainly need something to wake us up.
