Ajax of Aegina, a pre-eminent Greek hero of the Trojan War, lives on in contemporary culture, in everything from a dishwashing liquid to a computer-programming language to a professional soccer team (for Amsterdam). A recent re-viewing of the film Troy made me want to go back to Sophocles’ original play Ajax; and re-reading Sophocles’ play from the year 441 B.C. reminded me how different Sophocles’ Ajax is from the depiction of Ajax in Wolfgang Petersen’s epic film from 2004.
Sophocles is remembered as one of the “Big Three” playwrights of classical Athenian drama, along with his predecessor Aeschylus and his younger challenger Euripides. Where Aeschylus tended, in his plays, to show two characters speaking, with a chorus providing commentary that reflected the likely response of the audience to the events unfolding on stage, Sophocles often showed interaction among three characters, rather than between only two – an innovation that opened up Greek drama by focusing audience attention on the characters rather than the chorus.
In the movie Troy, Ajax is played by Tyler Mane, a Canadian actor and former professional wrestler whose imposing size and build contribute to his portrayal of Ajax as a particularly intimidating Greek warrior. The Ajax of Troy dies heroically in single combat with the Trojan champion Hector, succumbing only after suffering many wounds. In Homer’s Iliad, by contrast, Ajax and Hector both survive their ordeal of single combat, and even give each other gifts! The death of Ajax in the original Greek mythology, as dramatized in Sophocles’ play, is not nearly as heroic as what German filmmaker Wolfgang Petersen presents on screen in Troy – but one could argue that it is much more interesting.
Sophocles’ Ajax begins with a dialogue that makes clear that Ajax’s career as one of Greece’s greatest warrior heroes has reached a decidedly non-heroic culmination. The downfall of Ajax began, it turns out, with the death of Achilles. To possess the armour of Achilles would have been a feather in the Corinthian helmet of any of the leading Greeks. Both Ajax of Aegina and Odysseus of Ithaca wanted the armour, and each was allowed to present his case. Ajax reminded his hearers that he was “Ajax the Great,” the greatest Greek soldier after Achilles, and stated that he deserved the armour for that reason alone. The clever Odysseus, by contrast, emphasized his strategic and tactical contributions to the Greek campaign against Troy. The judges – brothers Agamemnon and Menelaus, sons of the house of Atreus and leaders of the Greek forces – awarded the armour to Odysseus.
An enraged Ajax resolved to beat and murder Odysseus, Agamemnon, and Menelaus; but Athena, goddess of wisdom, harboured a grudge against Ajax because he impiously refused to seek the help of the gods in fighting the Trojans. Therefore, Athena induced in Ajax a temporary fit of madness, and Ajax killed the cattle and sheep that the Greeks had taken from the Trojans as spoils of war. In a moment, Ajax’s credibility and reputation are gone – lost to him forever. From now on, he knows, he’ll be remembered as the man who made war against livestock.
Those whom the gods want to punish, they hurt. Those whom the gods really want to punish, they humiliate.
Sophocles seems to be fond of what we nowadays might call the “big reveal” – when we get to see that Oedipus has blinded himself, or that Antigone has hanged herself. Similarly, in the play Ajax a set of doors is opened to show Ajax sitting among the animals that he has slain, in a manner that reveals the depth of Ajax’s degradation.
Ajax laments his disgrace: “Behold now the bold, the man stout of heart,/Who ne’er shrank in fight against foes -- behold/How I have spent my rage on beasts that feared no harm./Ah, me, the mockery! To what shame am I brought low!” He imagines “Odysseus the wise” exulting in Ajax’s fall and shame, calling Odysseus an “all-spying knave” and apostrophizing his one-time rival: “Villain, of all the camp the most foul and vile!/Huge laughter doubtless shakes thee now for sheer delight.”
Ajax still wishes that he could kill Odysseus – and Agamemnon and Menelaus, too, for good measure – but he knows that his opportunity to do so is gone forever. All that is left for him to do is to pray to Erebus, the personified darkness of the Underworld: “Receive, receive me your habitant./Receive me now no more worthy to seek help of the gods”.
A messenger subsequently describes Ajax’s hubris, along with the way in which he practically dared the goddess Athena to turn her wrath upon him.
[H]is father spoke to him
Wisely: “My son, seek victory by the spear;
But seek it always with the help of heaven.”
Then boastfully and witlessly he answered:
“Father, with heaven’s help a mere man of nought
Might win victory: but I, albeit without
Their aid, trust to win a victor’s glory.”
Such was his proud taunt.”
Athena, the messenger tells us, actually tried to give Ajax a second chance to demonstrate his fidelity to the Olympian gods, but Ajax persisted in his fatal pride:
Then a second time
Answering divine Athena, when she urged him
To turn a slaughterous hand upon his foes,
He gave voice to this dire, blasphemous boast:
“Goddess, stand thou beside the other Greeks.
Where I am stationed, no foe shall break through.”
By such words and such thoughts, too great for man,
Did he provoke Athena’s pitiless wrath.
Ajax, alone at the sea-side, subsequently meditates on his upcoming death. Placing the sword of Hector – “the gift of Hector, of all friends/Most unloved, and most hateful to my sight” – blade upright in the sand, he prepares to cast himself upon its razor-sharp point. Ajax acknowledges at last the power of the gods, and asks that Hermes, the messenger god who guides souls from life into death, guide him swiftly to the underworld. Anticipating, in a way, later developments of the play, he asks that Zeus grant him a quick death and provide for some messenger to notify Ajax’s half-brother Teucer of Ajax’s death – “Lest ere he come some enemy should espy me/And cast me forth to dogs and birds a prey.”
And, in a curse that would have resonated for this play’s original audience at the Theatre of Dionysus in Athens, Ajax calls upon the Fates to avenge him upon the House of Atreus –
…that they mark
How by the Atreidae I have been destroyed:
And these vile men by a vile doom utterly
May they cut me off, even as they see me here.
Come, O ye swift avenging Erinyes,
Spare not, touch with affliction the whole host.
And with that curse – one that looks ahead to the subsequent travails of the descendants of Atreus – Ajax takes his own life.
The play then turns to the question of what will be done with Ajax’s dead body. Menelaus, who knows that he would have been one of the prime targets of Ajax’s wrath, sees Ajax as a traitor to the Greek cause, and commands that the body of Ajax should be left unburied: “[T]here lives no man so powerful/That he shall lay this corpse beneath a tomb;/But cast forth somewhere upon the yellow sands/It shall become food for the sea-shore birds.” Like Creon in Sophocles’ Antigone, who ordered, after the Theban civil war, that the body of the rebel leader Polyneices should be left unburied, Menelaus is guilty of a terrible profanation against the Olympian gods.
It is left to Teucer to defy Menelaus’ impious decree. Teucer reminds Menelaus that Ajax was a leader with the same status as Menelaus, and that Menelaus has no right to regard Ajax as a lawless vassal: “It was not for the sake of your lost wife [Helen]/He came to Troy, like your toil-broken serfs,/But for the sake of oaths that he had sworn,/Not for yours.” While the Chorus, reflecting the audience’s likely sensibilities, expresses tentative disapproval of Teucer’s criticism of Menelaus – “Harsh words rankle, be they ne’er so just” – Teucer controverts Menelaus’ arguments:
MENELAUS: Is it right that my assassin should be honoured?
TEUCER: “Assassin”? How strange, if, though slain, you live!
MENELAUS: Heaven saved me: I was slain in his intent.
TEUCER: Do not dishonour then the gods who saved you.
MENELAUS: What, I rebel against the laws of heaven?
TEUCER: Yes, if you come to rob the dead of burial.
Agamemnon, who shares Menelaus’ wish to leave the body of Ajax unburied, seeks to silence Teucer; but Teucer’s words receive reinforcement from, of all people, Odysseus. He may have been Ajax’s worst enemy in life, but Odysseus pleads on Ajax’s behalf, calling him a noble foe worthy of a hero’s burial. Menelaus and Agamemnon relent – albeit with a notable lack of grace – and Teucer calls upon his attendants to help with the burial of Ajax, while the Chorus gets the last word, reminding the playgoer or reader of Sophocles’ time, or ours, that “before he sees, no man/May divine what destiny awaits him.”
I originally read Ajax as part of a Penguin Classics collection of Sophocles’ plays, and was glad to have the chance to read this particular play on its own. It is a compelling drama that provides valuable insights into the mindset of classical Greece – even if Ajax himself might have much preferred the heroic death that he is vouchsafed in the movie Troy.