Future Theatre Research: Origin, Medium, Performance-Text, Reception and Acting [1 ed.] 9781782842859, 9781845197742

Citation preview

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 19:25 Page i

From reviews of Prof. Rozik's previously published books “For more than thirty years, Eli Rozik has been among the best known international theorists of theatre, thanks to his wide-ranging books on theatre history and methodology . . . He makes a major and unique contribution to the field.” Marvin Carlson, Sidney E. Cohn Distinguished Professor of Theatre and Comparative Literature at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York “Eli Rozik joins a long tradition of scholarship on the performance codes of theatre, stretching from the Prague Linguistic School of the 1930s to contemporary writings in theatre semiotics, phenomenology, hermeneutics, and audience response theory . . . Rozik delivers a rich and complex investigation of theatre performance.” Thomas Postlewait, Editor of Studies in Theatre History, School of Drama, University of Washington Eli Rozik explores the principles that generated the theatre medium, and its possible roots in the preverbal imagistic mode of thinking. This mode characterizes the remnants of preverbal thinking, such as unconscious thinking (dreaming), the embryonic speech of toddlers, and their imaginative play and drawings prior to mastering verbal thinking. The book is a recapitulation of major findings regarding the nature of the theatre, its medium, fictional creativity, its main axis of interaction (stage– audience) and origin. Future Theatre Research also includes new unpublished studies on ethic, aesthetic and rhetoric uncharted aspects of the theatre experience, as well as on reception and acting. It addresses the principles of imagistic, metaphoric, symbolic and fictional thinking, which characterized preverbal thinking, and, following the invention of language, probably developed into a culturally-established nonverbal theatre medium. Eli Rozik’s book provides appropriate background material for pondering the possible developments of theatre theory in the future. The work has been designed to fit the structure of a university course, and will appeal to all those interested in broadening their knowledge and understanding of theatre art. Cover illustration: Iago and Roderigo in Michael Gurevitch’s production of Othello, The Jerusalem Khan Theatre, 2007. Courtesy of the theatre. Eli Rozik is Ph.D. and professor emeritus of theatre studies. He was twice head of the Department of Theatre Studies and Dean of the Faculty of the Arts at Tel Aviv University. He specializes in theatre theory, particularly in non-verbal communication in performance analysis; and has published numerous articles in international leading journals in Europe and the US. His books include The Language of Theatre, The Roots of Theatre – Rethinking Ritual and Other Theories of Origin, Metaphoric Thinking, Generating Theatre Meaning, Fictional Thinking, The Fictional Arts, Comedy: A Critical Introduction, Jewish Drama and Theatre, and most recently Theatre Sciences: A Plea for a Multidisciplinary Approach to Theatre Studies.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 19:25 Page ii

For Atara, All my life: My genuine love

@

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 19:25 Page iii

FUTURE THEATRE RESEARCH Origin, Medium, Performance-Text, Reception and Acting ELI ROZIK

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 19:25 Page iv

Copyright © Eli Rozik, 2016. Published in the Sussex Academic e-Library, 2016. SUSSEX ACADEMIC PRESS

PO Box 139 Eastbourne BN24 9BP, UK and simultaneously in the United States of America and Canada All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Rozik, Eli. Future theatre research : origin, medium, performance-text, reception and acting / Eli Rozik. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-84519-774-2 (alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-78284-283-5 (e-pub) ISBN 978-1-78284-284-2 (e-mobi) ISBN 978-1-78284-285-9 (e-pdf) 1. Theater—Philosophy. I. Title. PN2039.R79 2016 792.01—dc23 2015035665 This e-book text has been prepared for electronic viewing. Some features, including tables and figures, might not display as in the print version, due to electronic conversion limitations and/or copyright strictures.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page v

Contents Preface and Acknowledgements

ix

Introduction

1

Theatre Medium 1

Basic Iconic Units Imagistic definition of ‘iconicity’ Basic iconic units Real objects on stage

Part I 2

Iconic Figures of Speech

Stage Metaphor Verbal Metaphor Iconic metaphor Imagistic metaphor Stage symbol

3

Theatre Experience as Metaphor Stage metaphor Metaphoric fictional world Paradox of double reference Mechanism of textual metaphor Sophocles’ Oedipus the King García Lorca’s Yerma

4

Stage Allegory Metaphoric stage allegory Interpreting stage allegory Mixing praxical and allegoric features Mixed metaphor in allegoric texts

5

2 3 4 9

Speech-Act Stage Metaphor Ionesco’s Exit the King Speech-act metaphor on stage The predicate ‘is a metaphor’ Stylistic implications

13 13 18 24 25 31 32 33 35 37 38 39 43 43 47 49 52 53 54 54 55 61

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page vi

vi

Contents

6 Set and Costume Metaphor Metaphoric experience Set and costume metaphor Five basic models Set and costume mixed metaphor

Part II

Stage Conventionality

7 Stage Conventions Notion of ‘stage convention’ Kinds of stage conventions Functions of stage conventions Ironic conventions Aesthetic conventions Theatre norms

8 The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions Dramatic chorus Dithyrambic storytelling Bacchylides’ Theseus Dive Nature of dithyramb

9 Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero Confidant convention Lady Macbeth as confidant Confidential motifs Lady Macbeth’s transfiguration Poetic implications

10 Functions of Language in Theatre Ingarden’s approach Ingarden’s functions of language Language mediation Speech interaction Speech act theory Iconic interaction Stage Conventions

Part III

63 64 65 67 74

79 79 81 84 85 90 91 93 95 100 102 106 109 110 113 116 119 122 124 124 126 127 129 130 133 134

Fictional Thinking

11 Nature of Fictional Thinking Fictional world Structure and thematic specification Archetypal patterns of response Stratified structure of fictional world Structure of character Possible fallacies

139 140 142 143 146 151 151

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page vii

Contents vii Sophocles’ Oedipus the King

12 Sacred Narratives for Secular Spectators Basic features of ‘myth’ Functional approaches Mythical mappings Universality of mythical mappings Binding of Isaac Passion of the Christ

13 Theatre Ethics Hegel’s ‘ethical substance’ Aristotle’s ‘philanthropon’ Kant’s ‘categorical imperative’ Dramatic irony Synthesis of Hegel and Aristotle Sophocles’ Antigone

14 Theatre Aesthetics Aesthetic experience Kinds of aesthetic experience Functions of aesthetic experience Range of aesthetic experiences Objective/subjective dispute Objective and subjective principles On a possible aesthetics of theatre

15 Theatre Rhetoric Author–audience interaction Structural equivalence Rhetoric interaction Rhetoric pre-structuration Yerushalmi’s Woyzeck 91

Part IV

152 156 157 157 161 165 167 168 172 172 175 176 178 180 182 186 187 187 189 191 192 193 197 200 201 201 204 205 206

Reception

16 Implied Spectator Implied vs. real spectator Implied spectator and rhetoric structure Espert’s The House of Bernarda Alba Thinking experimentation

17 Theatre as Thinking Laboratory Scientific mode of thinking Theatrical thinking – A comparison

217 217 218 220 227 228 228 232

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page viii

viii

Contents

18 Vicarious Theatre Experience Fictional thoughts Metaphoric predication Ontogenetic development Delegating imaginative play Vicarious experience

19 Enigmatic Appeal of Titus Andronicus Synopsis Absurdist structure Structure of vengeance Reversal of structure Oxymoronic structure

Part V

248 249 249 250 252 256

Stage Acting

20 Acting Body States’ ‘binocular vision’ Principle of ‘acting’ Deflection of reference Expanded notion of ‘acting’ Semiotic limitations A personal experience

21 Back to “Cinema is Filmed Theatre” Barthes’ ‘uncoded iconicity’ Photographic indexality Photographic iconicity Cinema as the recording of a theatre-text

Part VI

237 238 240 241 243 244

261 262 265 266 268 270 272 276 276 277 282 285

Learned Intuitions

22 Creation of Imagistic/Iconic Mediums Preverbal thinking Invention of language and its innovations Adoption of preverbal principles by language Two-fold cultural role of language: Suppression of imagistic thinking Creation of iconic mediums Advent of the theatre medium List of Cited Theoretical Works List of Cited Theatre-Texts List of Cited Art Works (other than theatre) Index

291 292 293 294 295 295 296 296 298 304 308 309

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page ix

Preface and Acknowledgments Toward the 1990s, traditional theatre semiotics faced a dead end. Although this approach already ceased to view the play-script as the text of theatre art, it failed to provide the tools for the analysis of the performance-text; i.e., the actual performance on stage. This deadlock required a fundamental change of paradigm. The first step was made in 1991 through the establishment of the Performance Analysis Working Group, of which I was one of the founders, within the International Federation of Theatre Research (IFTR). The goal of this group was to develop a pertinent methodology for the analysis of performance-texts, in an inductive manner. During my numerous participations in the group I gradually became aware that in order to develop such a methodology, fundamental changes regarding traditional theatre semiotics were necessary. First, I found that traditional theatre semiotics does not provide an efficient definition of ‘iconicity’; second, it ignored the fact that the rules of fictional creativity are beyond semiotic methodology (cf. Elam: 98–207); and third, the complementary role of the spectator was not envisaged as yet, not to mention the fundamental distinction between real and implied spectator. Following these major insights, numerous subordinated adjustments became of necessity. Future Theatre Research is a systematic revision of all these newly raised questions and the suggested theoretical solutions. The book also attempts to address the questions that arise when envisaging the future of theatre research, in response to the shortcomings of traditional theatre semiotics, which will be specified below. A major presupposition is that these shortcomings have paralyzed theatre research, which is crucial for the understanding of this and related arts; which leads to the following conclusions: theatre research should be conducted, first, on a inductive manner: second, through a multi-disciplinary method, in contrast to the unitary one offered by traditional theatre semiotics; and third, on a inter-medial basis, in contrast to the tendency to ignore its fundamental affinity to various iconic arts. The following discussions coincide with my own findings during the last 40 years of theatre research, and published articles and books. In writing this book I have reviewed once again all previous theoretical insights and recast

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page x

x

Preface and Acknowledgments

them anew having in mind the future of theatre research. I have also added several previously unpublished studies. In the following chapters I intend to expand on the paradigmatic changes that, in my view, are vital for a renewed impetus in future theatre research. I see my work as wrapping up twentieth-century research. My main object of criticism is traditional theatre semiotics, which was oblivious to vital contributions to theatre theory prior to its advent, and blind to its own presuppositions, and the possible limitations of its own theory. In its utter complexity, theatre art is not an ideal object of scientific research. Nonetheless, theatre research should follow the rules of a scientific methodology, including an updated version of theatre semiotics; and, inter alia, it should expose all theories, including my own, to falsification, in the spirit of Karl Popper’s approach. I am deeply indebted to my wife Atara, whose love and encouragement made possible this book and so many other important things.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page xi

FUTURE THEATRE RESEARCH

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page xii

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 1

Introduction Theatre Medium

A first step is to explore the principles that characterize the theatre medium, and its possible roots in preverbal imagistic thinking. This mode of thinking is shared by remnants of preverbal thinking: dreams, daydreams, and speech of toddlers, imaginative play and drawings prior to mastering verbal thinking. Indeed, a main thesis of this book is that the theatre medium is rooted in preverbal representation and thinking, and a particular instance of the set of imagistic/iconic mediums. I suggest a redefinition of ‘iconicity’ under the assumption that the theatre medium reflects its roots in imagistic thinking and tests the efficacy of this definition in regard to four fundamental kinds of units: basic iconic units and real objects on stage in Part I; iconic figures of speech in Part II, and stage conventions in Part III. Later we shall probe the efficiency of this definition for the various functions of language in the context of performance-texts (see chapter 10). Chapter 1 suggests a new definition of ‘iconicity’ in terms of imagistic thinking; and examines the basic iconic units of this medium, including real objects on stage.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 2

1 Basic Iconic Units The universality of theatrical means of expression leads to the conjecture that their roots must lie in an elementary and vital faculty of the psyche. I have suggested elsewhere that these roots lie in the inborn capacity of the human brain to spontaneously create images, and employ them in thinking practices (Rozik, 2002: 247–69). In my previous research, I have repeatedly suggested to trace the roots of various forms of theatre semiosis back to the thinking principles of the preverbal mind, under the intuitive assumption that there is a fundamental affinity between them. In the light of this intuition, I have suggested to redefine ‘iconicity’ in terms of imagistic thinking (Rozik, 2008a: 21–33). I surmise that this principle is reflected in theatre art until present days. Future theatre research should probe this conjecture. My previous research implied several presuppositions concerning the preverbal mode of representation, with the following being vital to this study: the imagistic mode of representation that characterizes the art of theatre (a) is of biological origin, and is probably shared by other animal species; (b) was superseded by verbal representation, for being relatively ineffective; and (c) was probably, suppressed to the unconscious. The question is: how is it possible to inquire into the nature of preverbal representation, which, apparently, is not available to scrutiny anymore? It is widely presupposed, nonetheless, that remnants of preverbal thinking are found in expressions of the unconscious, such as dreaming and daydreaming; and in the imaginative play and drawings of infants, prior to the mastering of language. In the following chapters, I suggest several intuitions as to the principles of thinking that characterized the preverbal mind, which aim at supporting the thesis that the preverbal mind was characterized by imagistic, metaphoric, symbolic, and fictional principles, with the latter being subspecies metaphoric thinking. Future theatre research should keep on inquiring into the roots of the mode of thinking that characterizes the theatre medium.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 3

Basic Iconic Units

3

Imagistic definition of ‘iconicity’ Sigmund Freud was probably the first to systematically consider intuitions to the effect that the imagistic mode of representation and thinking is typical of the unconscious. He claims that, while dreaming, the brain goes into a process of regression: “We call it ‘regression’ when in a dream an idea is turned back into the sensory image from which it was originally derived. . . . In regression the fabric of the dream-thoughts is resolved into its raw material” (1978: 693). ‘Regression’ thus implies that (a) a translation from verbal into imagistic representation occurs; (b) there is a basic correspondence between verbally formulated thoughts and their correlated sensory images, e.g., between the phrase ‘red apple’ and the image ‘red apple’; and (c) an image is not a mere percept, i.e., a mental impression of something perceived by the senses, but employed as a basic unit of thought. ‘Regression’ also implies that thinking in images had been a preverbal mode of thinking, characteristic of mankind at its early stages of development (1978: 699–700). Freud thus follows Friedrich Nietzsche’s intuition that “in dreams we all resemble this savage. . . . in sleep and dreams we repeat once again the curriculum of earlier mankind. . . . the conclusions man still draws in dreams to present days for many millennia mankind also drew when awake” (1998: I, 17–18; Jung too adopts this view, 1974: 33). Freud even expects that a greater understanding of the dream-work would eventually lead “to a knowledge of man’s archaic heritage, of what is psychically innate in him” (1978: 700). Traces of preverbal imagistic thinking are also found in daydreaming, children’s imaginative play and drawings (Rozik, 2002a: 270–92). Both Nietzsche and Freud presuppose that during their gestation and childhood individuals recapitulate, in a condensed manner (ontogenesis), all the stages in the development of humankind (phylogenesis): “Behind this childhood of the individual we are promised a picture of a phylogenetic childhood – a picture of the development of the human race, of which the individual development is in fact an abbreviated recapitulation” (Freud, 1978: 699–700). Accordingly, Freud claims that dreams reflect a mode of thinking typical of childhood, which in turn too reflects the stages gone through by early humanity. This mode is characterized by formulating thoughts through images or, in Freud’s terms, “the methods of expression which were then available to him” (1978: 699; my italics). The assumption that the nature of dreams indicates the existence of an imagistic mode of representation at an early stage of human development implies that the mode of representation typical of waking life is essentially different. Although not explicitly stated, Freud identifies the latter with verbal representation, which, assumedly, has superseded the imagistic mode of thinking for being relatively inefficient: “What once dominated waking life, while the mind was still young and incompetent, seems now to have been banished into the night” (1978: 721); i.e., into the unconscious. Freud thus claims that “dreams think essentially in images” (ibid.: 113).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 4

4

Introduction

Basic iconic units If mental images are considered as basic units of thought, it is presupposed that these images are linked with abstract traits (signifieds) and structured by syntactic patterns. This is most plausible, not only for humans, before the invention of language, but also for other higher mammals, such as primates and dogs; as otherwise, it is impossible to understand how they assimilate experience and develop accommodation to the world. Following this line of reasoning, in Philosophy in a New Key Susanne K. Langer states that images are “our readiest instruments for abstracting concepts from the tumbling stream of actual impressions. They make our primitive abstractions for us, they are our spontaneous embodiments of general ideas” (p. 145). Moreover, images are “just as capable of articulation, i.e., of complex combination, as words” (p. 93). Imagistic thinking is thus anchored in perception, the raw material of mental representation. In her study, which attests to a thorough reading of Freud’s writings, Langer suggests the following definition of thinking: Man, unlike all other animals, uses “signs” not only to indicate things, but also to represent them. . . . We use certain “signs” among ourselves that do not point to anything in our actual surroundings. Most of our words . . . are used to talk about things, not to direct our eyes and ears and noses toward them . . . They serve, rather, to let us develop a characteristic attitude toward objects in absentia, which is called “thinking of” or “referring to” what is not here. (pp. 30–1)

It is correctly assumed that it is impossible to think about reality, if real objects are not represented in the mind, because thinking takes place when the mind does not react spontaneously to reality, but manipulates real stimuli in absentia; i.e., when mental representations are disconnected from the latter. Whereas animals react through pre-programmed patterns of acts, the human mind interpolates thinking between stimulus and reaction. Although it is usually presupposed that words represent reality in the mind, I suggest that mental images too fulfill this function, thus characterizing preverbal thinking ‘Thinking’ thus presupposes two main properties: (a) representation of things in the mind; and (b) manipulation of them in absentia; i.e., thinking takes place when such representations are disconnected from actual experience. This definition of thinking is meant to suit both verbal and imagistic representation. In The Intelligent Eye, R. L. Gregory considers that the eye is not only an “image-forming” organ, but also one of interpretation (pp. 12–15). Perception is thus conceived of as the prototype of thinking (p. 146): the eyes “freed the nervous system from the tyranny of reflexes, leading to strategic planned behaviour and ultimately to abstract thinking” (p. 13). In Langer’s view, “[e]yes that did not see forms could never furnish it with images” Furthermore, “[t]he eye and the ear make their own abstractions,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 5

Basic Iconic Units

5

and consequently dictate their own peculiar conception” (Langer: 90–1). Perceiving images as fundamental units of thought is amply supported by quite recent findings in neurobiology. In Descartes’ Error, Antonio R. Damasio asserts that having a mind means “the ability to display images internally and to order those images in a process called thought” (p. 89). Moreover, whatever is not “imageable”, including words and mathematical symbols, cannot be known and, therefore, cannot be thought (p. 107). In Image and Brain, following findings through digital methodology, Stephen M. Kosslyn asserts that “[i]magery [in the sense of mental representation] is a basic form of cognition, and plays a central role in many human activities – ranging from navigation to memory to creative problem solving” (1995: 1). He also distinguishes between ‘propositional’ and ‘depictive’ representation, the latter being stored in the brain spatially, like the objects they represent: “Depictive representations convey meaning via their resemblance to an object, with parts of the representation corresponding to parts of the object” (ibid. 5). ‘Depictive’ representation is evidently synonymous with ‘imagistic’ representation. Damasio distinguishes between “perceptual images” (e.g., running your fingers over a smooth metal surface); “recalled images”, which occur when one conjures up a remembrance of things, and images “recalled from plans of the future [that] are constructions of your organism’s brain” (pp. 96–7). The latter should be perceived as images that have been disconnected from actual experience, and have become units of thought. Such images are not exact reproductions of objects, qualities or acts, but a combination of faint reproduction and interpretation, “a newly reconstructed version of the original” (p. 100). Kosslyn characterizes thinking as hinging on two properties: “First, information must be represented internally; and second, . . . information must be manipulated in order to draw inferences and conclusions” (1996: 959). He thus reconfirms, on scientific grounds, Langer’s philosophical claim that thinking is the manipulation of real objects “in absentia” (p. 31), i.e., through their representations. On such grounds, I have suggested elsewhere to redefine ‘iconicity’ in terms of ‘imagistic thinking’ (Rozik, 2008a: 21–33). However, defining ‘iconicity’ in such terms raise two problems: a) Imprinting on matter: Spontaneous mental images are fundamentally figments of the imagination, i.e., non-material entities, which cannot be perceived by the senses of others, thus precluding the communication of thoughts. Mental images require, therefore, a material carrier to enable the communication of their representing function. Consequently, I suggest that an iconic unit is an image imprinted on matter; and that, in Saussurean terms, both the imprinted image and the imprinted matter constitute the signifier (signifiant in French: Saussure: 99) of an ‘iconic unit’. In this sense, ‘medium’ refers to the kind of imprinting material that enables images to be sensed by others, and thus their communication.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 6

6

Introduction

Each iconic medium is defined by the matter it employs for imprinting its images. Whereas most iconic mediums employ matters that differ from those of their models, underscoring thereby their signifying and communicative functions, the theatre medium is characterized by extending the principle of similarity, including identity, to the imprinting matters; e.g., images of human behavior are imprinted on actors’ bodies, images of costume on real fabric and images of light on real sources of light (Rozik, 2008a: 25–7). The signifier of the theatre unit is thus characterized by the application of the principle of similarity on both the imagistic and material levels. b) Mediation of language: In contrast to words, spontaneous mental images attach diffuse signifieds. In particular, they do not determine clear boundaries between core sense and associative peripheries, which might be even strictly personal, making interpersonal communication problematic. Assumedly, therefore, the human preverbal mind was quite unable to communicate thoughts (e.g., chimpanzees). It follows that in order for any iconic medium to become an established cultural system, it requires the mediation of language. Indeed, language is the main repository of relatively controlled abstractions. In Saussurean terms, the set of abstractions conveyed by an imprinted image is its ‘signified’ (signifié in French; Saussure: 99); i.e., the mediation of language bestows well established signifieds on imprinted images. Assumedly, such mediation happens spontaneously, because a brain conditioned by a language naturally assigns signifieds to imprinted images, according to the signifieds that conventionally categorize their models. Since an iconic unit conveys the set of abstractions culturally-associated with the class of its models, it can be used as a univocal unit of thinking and description. It is precisely thus that an imprinted image of an object and the verbal sentences used to describe it are equivalent, albeit in different systems of representation. It follows that all iconic mediums presuppose linguistic competence. Moreover, this equivalence implies that, in contrast to the usual perception, a word does not relate primarily to a real object but to its correspondent mental image. Both words and images are mentally represented in the brain, which explains the spontaneous translation from one mode of representation to the other (cf. Freud, 1978: 693). I contend that the definition of iconicity in terms of imagistic thinking applies to all the forms of theatre semiosis: basic iconic units, real objects on stage, metaphoric predication, symbolic representation and stage conventions; i.e., all these are explained by the very same principle, making superfluous the traditional semiotic thesis of ‘fundamental heterogeneity’. c) Imagistic syntax: Language mediation also operates on the syntactic level. Indeed, ‘thinking’ presupposes not only a mode of representation, but also a syntax, which according to Noam Chomsky, is basically innate. His thesis is corroborated by toddlers who, although not being taught, soon become competent users of syntax. We may thus assume that the preverbal brain was capable of intuiting syntactic predication and reference in the prac-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 7

Basic Iconic Units

7

tice of imagistic thinking. In other words, the basic organization through the subject-predicate pattern probably conditions not only verbal thinking, but also imagistic thinking, including dreaming and daydreaming. Assumedly, some aspects of the dream images function as subjects (identification of a referent) and some as predicates (categorization of a referent). Presumably, these occur also in animals; e.g., a dog chasing a cat spontaneously perceives initially the image of ‘cat’ (subject) and subsequently the compound image of ‘cat’ + ‘running away’ (predicate), which may change into an image of ‘cat’ + ‘climbing a tree’. Even in cases of a missing ‘subject’, which is elliptically present, these functions can be recognized, thus enabling the intuition of this basic syntactic structure. It can therefore be reasonably assumed that, despite differences, innate syntax is shared by and underlies both verbal and imagistic thinking, and that language mediation only formalizes imagistic syntax. On such grounds, I suggest that the holistic reading of an imprinted image functions as the subject of an iconic predication (identification of a referent), e.g., ‘the cat’; and the partial readings of its various traits, states or actions are its predicates (categorization of a referent); e.g., ‘is white’ and ‘is pouncing’. Therefore, an imprinted image is usually not a single iconic sentence but a configuration of such sentences, which I term ‘icon’, and which can be analyzed into a set of single sentences simultaneously predicated on the same subject; e.g., the apple ‘is red’ ‘is ripe’ and ‘is on the table’. Each of these predicates may change on the time axis; e.g., from ‘is ripe’ to ‘is rotten’. Iconic sentences thus neither preclude further analysis into their component functions, subject and predicates, nor their aggregation into a more comprehensive unit: the icon. Nonetheless, in contrast to the linearity that characterizes language’s syntax, due to its aural nature; iconic representation is pictorial, in the sense of the spatial coexistence of a subject and its predicates. Moreover, because of extreme similarity to its real model (including its material imprinting), it might appear that an iconic unit does not feature discrete signs. However, as suggested above, a mind conditioned by language cannot avoid deconstructing an imprinted image into its syntactic components, and reconstructing it through the inversion of the same rules; e.g., the imprinted image of a ‘cat’ (subject) that ‘is white’ and ‘running away’ (predicates). These syntactic components are perceived intuitively. If we accept Chomsky’s sensible thesis that the basic syntactic structures are inborn (1975), it follows that, at most, language mediation reveals this innate syntax also in imagistic texts, such as dreams and daydreams. d) Iconicity: An image thus becomes a cultural unit of signification and communication, and icon, under two conditions: imprinting on matter and language mediation. Moreover, the imagistic definition of ‘iconicity’ does not contradict Charles S. Peirce’s definition, based on ‘motivation through similarity’ (cf. 2.247 & 2.276ff), because the notion of ‘image’ too implies ‘similarity’ and ‘motivation’. These properties enable the reading of an iconic

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 8

8

Introduction

text by natural inference, i.e., with no need to learn the medium, due to the imagistic similarity to real or mental models. In addition, the imagistic definition reveals improved explanatory power over the traditional one: (1) it connects the iconic unit to the natural faculty of the brain to produce images and employ them as units of thinking; (2) it expands the set of models of iconic units to images solely created in the mind (e.g., the unicorn); and (3) it enables all forms of iconic semiosis to be read and interpreted through the very same method, including real objects on stage, iconic metaphors, iconic symbols, and stage conventions. It follows that (4) each iconic medium is homogeneous in itself and (5) homogeneity also characterizes the entire system of iconic mediums. Due to language mediation, an icon thus conveys the set of abstract traits (signifieds) culturally-connected to the class of its real model, and reflects syntactic organization. Therefore, such an imprinted and mediated unit can be used as a univocal unit of iconic description. The notion of ‘description’ presupposes the existence of a referent, which can be either real or fictional. In principle, ‘reference’ aims at mentally ‘picking up’ (or ‘identifying’) a set or subset of objects of description (referents), usually out of the sphere of the language/medium (Searle, 1985: 72–3). On such grounds, there is an existential gap between a description and its referent. However, whereas a description of a real referent can be either true or false; a description of a fictional referent is a set of clues for evoking it in the imagination of a receiver, with no independent object of description. In this sense, in evocative texts the said existential gap is thus eliminated: the referent is dependent on the description. Mediation of language, which applies to both the levels of imagistic/iconic signifieds and syntactic structure, implies the fundamental equivalence of verbal and imagistic/iconic texts. It follows that all that can be said through words about an imagistic or iconic text, and is true, is equivalent to the latter’s descriptive meaning. It is in this sense that a picture could be worth a thousand words. Due to this equivalence, the iconic medium of theatre, for instance, is capable of generating descriptions of fictional worlds that are highly univocal, no less than descriptions generated by language. It should be noted that the principle of ‘iconicity’ should not be understood in terms of ‘realism’ or ‘naturalism’. It merely means that in reading an iconic text the receiver relies on whatever element of similarity is found in it, however faint or stylized; e.g., the image of a man or woman drawn by a child. Consequently, the definition of ‘iconicity in the terms of ‘imagistic thinking’ proves advantageous in understanding the nature of the basic units of the theatre medium (a) it enables the application of a single principle, in contrast to the traditional semiotic thesis of fundamental heterogeneity; (b) it enables the application of a single principle to the various units of iconic description; and (c) it enables the exposure of iconic descriptions to verification. Imagistic thinking, which assumedly characterized the preverbal mind, was thus transmuted into a set of culturally-established and commu-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 9

Basic Iconic Units

9

nicative iconic mediums by the imprinting of images on matter and language mediation; e.g., theatre, opera, graphic novel, painting, drawing, puppet theatre, cinema and TV drama (see chapter 22).

Real objects on stage In contrast to the basic iconic units, real objects on stage cannot be said to be iconic, on the grounds of similarity, according to the traditional definition. Real objects are not similar to real objects, but actually are these objects. Petr Bogatyrev implies that the use of real objects (including actors’ bodies) on stage suppresses their typical practical function in favor of a signifying function (pp. 35–6); what Elam terms “semiotization of the object” (p. 8; cf. Fischer-Lichte: 130); and “iconic identity” (Elam: 22). In my view, although they are not similar to real objects, at least they are similar to imprinted images. In addition, they enact similar objects in a fictional world. In fact, they are kind of actors (see chapter 20). The question is: how can a real object become a functional equivalent to an imprinted image? Following Plato’s logic, we may conceive of a real object as produced by coupling an image (e.g., of a table) and a material (e.g., wood) (Republic, Book X, 419ff). In other words, there is no structural difference between an icon, as a particular configuration of imprinted images or, rather, a set of iconic sentences, intentionally produced for a stage production, and a real object, with both being characterized by combining a complex image and matter. While an icon purposefully conjoins image and matter in order to fulfill a descriptive function, the real object on stage has to be deconstructed into these two components in order to fulfill the very same function. Within the intentional space of a stage, therefore, it is sensible to read and interpret a real object exactly like an icon. In other words, although a real object on stage cannot be said to be iconic in the traditional sense, it is an imprinted image on matter, and its possible deconstruction attests to this duality. In this domain too, the imagistic definition of ‘iconicity’ reveals improved explanatory power over the traditional one. In fact, spectators do not notice the difference between an image, purposefully imprinted on matter for the stage, and a real object on stage. No spectator asks whether Bernarda Alba’s cane, which Adela breaks, is an image of a cane imprinted on wood, or a real one. The extension of the principle of similarity, to encompass the imprinting matter, most probably makes it extremely difficult to distinguish between the two. Elam terms ‘iconic identity’ the natural perception of real objects on stage; possibly under the assumption that identity is a particular case of similarity (p. 22). Furthermore, the actor/actress him/herself is a real object on stage that imprints changing images on his/her own body. And still the use of this real body on stage is the hallmark of theatricality. Bert O. States claims that “[s]tage images (including actors) do not always or entirely surrender their objective nature to the sign/image function. They

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 10

10 Introduction retain, in other words, a high degree of en soi” (p. 29). States examines various conspicuous examples, such as a real clock, running water and fire (States: 30). In all these cases, “something indisputably real leaks out of the illusion” (States: 31). He should have said, perhaps, something leaks out of the iconic nature of the theatre-text. An animal on stage is a good example because an animal may follow “its own inclinations” (States: 32); e.g., it may defecate on stage. In other words, in States’ view, it is virtually impossible to subordinate its behaviour to its acting role. Such a failure usually elicits laughter. Indeed, in some cases the reality of such objects may focus the attention of the audience upon them for their own sake. On such cases, States bases his thesis on the semiotic/phenomenological duality of theatre. However, the question is whether or not in cases of failing to fulfill their textual functions, real objects on stage should be taken as characterizing the art of theatre. I contend that it should not. These considerations lead to the conclusion that, from a semiotic viewpoint, imprinted images and real objects – although reflecting different principles of coupling images and materials within the intentional space of the stage – may fulfill the very same representing function. Future theatre research may refute this principle by showing that real objects on stage are perceived as natural components of a theatre-text, albeit conveying meaning through a different principle.

@ In this chapter I have suggested a new definition of ‘iconicity’, in terms of ‘imagistic representation’; and claimed that this definition reveals several advantages over the traditional definition in terms of ‘motivation through similarity’, particularly in the explanation of basic iconic units and real objects on stage. I leave the application of this thesis to iconic figures of speech and stage conventions for the following parts.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 11

PART I

Iconic Figures of Speech Figures of speech are not circumscribed to language, but are a ubiquitous phenomenon in all systems of representation, including imagistic/iconic mediums. The omnipresence of metaphor and symbol in all iconic mediums leads to the conjecture that figures of speech too were typical of preverbal thinking. Part I explores the figurative principles that characterize the theatre medium, ‘stage metaphor’ and ‘stage symbol’; in particular, chapter 2 ponders these two notions. The following chapters deal with further implementations of the metaphoric principle: chapter 3 reflects on the metaphoric nature of the theatre experience; chapter 4 applies the principle of ‘metaphor’ to stage allegory; chapter 5 examines the possible metaphoric nature of iconic speech acts; and chapter 6 considers the use of set and costume metaphor as an additional aspect of the metaphoric nature of the theatre experience.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 12

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 13

2 Stage Metaphor Analyses of play-scripts and performance-texts quite often employ the notions of ‘metaphor’ and ‘symbol’; namely, the existence of nonverbal metaphors and symbols in theatre-texts is widely and implicitly accepted. However, no adequate theoretical account has been offered as yet. Charles Forceville’s first attempt to explain pictorial metaphor in commercial advertising was published in 1991. In his Pictorial Metaphor in Advertising, despite his explicit allegiance to Black’s ‘interaction’ theory, with minor adjustments, his method of analysis can also be described as an application of Lakoff and Johnson’s theory that, in my view, reduces live metaphor to dead metaphor. Typically of modernist theories, Forceville’s analysis ignores nonverbal associations, which is a crucial modernist fallacy. This handicap is exacerbated in the context of a theory that attempts to explain nonverbal metaphor. Anyway, it is not verbal metaphor and verbal symbol in theatre-texts that should be perceived as the object of this study, but stage metaphor and stage symbol. A theory of stage metaphor presupposes two major requirements: first, a theoretical account of verbal metaphor and verbal symbol. Such a prerequisite does not imply that stage metaphor derives from verbal metaphor; but only presupposes that its theory developed since antiquity and is more advanced. And second, a theoretical account of the theatre medium, which is a particular case of the iconic system of representation and communication, because, as the wide use of ‘metaphor’ for different mediums presupposes, metaphors in different systems reflect an underlying common deep structure, and differences should be explained on the grounds of the specific qualities of each specific medium/language. In principle, there is no way to avoid striving for a unified theory of ‘metaphor’, which supports the use of the term for all possible mediums.

Verbal metaphor Modernism brought about a paradigmatic change in the theory of verbal metaphor, which had been widely and uncritically accepted for more than

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 14

14 Iconic Figures of Speech two millennia. The classic theory of metaphor (especially, Aristotle, Rhetoric & Quintilian, Instituto Oratoria) presupposes a predicative deep structure of double reference; e.g., by ‘Richard is a gorilla’, reference is allegedly made to both ‘Richard’ and ‘gorilla’, and the implication is that a literal comparison is expected to be made between the two. In contrast, modernist theory presupposes a predicative deep structure of single reference: only to the referent represented by the literal subject of a metaphor (Black, 1962: 233ff & 1988: 28); e.g., ‘Richard’. If metaphor were a case of double reference, contrary to experience, the interchange of the components’ syntactic functions would not affect its meaning; e.g., ‘this gorilla is Richard’ or rather ‘is human’ (cf. Henle: 190). The condition of single reference is satisfied by any modernist theory of metaphor. Furthermore, I assume that for the purpose of identification of cases of metaphor, at least, any modernist approach will do. Therefore, I shall question the modernist theory of metaphor only in cases of failure to contribute to a comprehensive theory of metaphor, including imagistic/iconic metaphor. The following paragraphs are restricted to a remainder of the main tenets of the modernist theory of verbal metaphor, which are relevant to a theory of stage metaphor: Most modernist theories of metaphor (e.g., Beardsley; Black, 1962 & 1988 & Searle, 1988) explicitly or implicitly concur with the following contentions: a) Metaphor should be seen as a standard means of predication (description of referents and/or their phenomena, whether real or fictional), and as alternative to literal predication. b) Metaphor reflects a predicative deep structure that underlies the generation of all its surface structures. c) A metaphoric predication presupposes that (1) the subject is always literal, as otherwise the actual referent cannot be identified; (2) the referent is known as otherwise the improperness of the predicate could not be established; and (3) the predicate includes at least one improper term. d) A predicate is ‘literal’ (proper) if it is used in accordance with the convention that connects a word with a set of referents, and potentially metaphoric (improper) if such a convention is breached. e) Despite being mutually alternative, literal and metaphoric descriptions have several features in common: first, there is no difference in their syntactic structure that reflects the basic relationship between a subject (referential function) and a predicate (categorizing function); second, there is no essential difference in the kind of categorization of the referent because in both cases the actual modifiers are literal: for example, in ‘Richard is a gorilla’, ‘is a gorilla’ evokes ‘is violent’ and, therefore, on this level, this metaphor is equivalent to ‘Richard is violent’; and third, there is no difference, therefore, between literal and metaphoric descriptions in regard to their truth conditions. These implications should be seen as reflecting the main achievements of the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 15

Stage Metaphor

15

modernist theory of metaphor, particularly the ‘interaction view’, in its endeavor to refute and replace the age-old ‘comparison view’. In contrast to the latter, which presupposes a predicative deep structure of double literal reference, modernist theory suggests a predicative deep structure of single reference, to the actual referent represented by the literal subject (Black, 1962 & 1988). Indeed, in metaphor double reference is only apparent. Nonetheless, modernist theory fails to account for the specific difference of metaphor; in particular, between the straightforward literal predication (e.g., ‘Richard is violent1’) and the indirect metaphoric predication (e.g., ‘Richard is a gorilla’, meaning ‘Richard is violent2’). Modernist theory thus fails to account for the specific difference between the literal modifier ‘violent1’ and the metaphoric ‘violent2’. In other words, it fails to establish the specific nature of metaphor and its preference under particular conditions. I have suggested elsewhere that the aim of the improper modifier (gorilla) is to attach distinct and alternative ‘referential (nonverbal) associations’ to the common literal modifier (e.g., ‘violent’; Rozik, 2008b: 46–9). ‘Referential associations’ are nonverbal recollections of real experiences mentally associated with words, due to those being employed for categorizing things (referents) in a world. Such nonverbal associations can be classified as sensory, emotional, ethical, aesthetic, modal (e.g., tragic or comic) and the like; e.g., in the context of ‘gorilla’, violent2 assumedly evokes apprehensive associations of animal violence. Whereas Paul Henle describes this difference in the vague terms of “feeling tones” (p. 190), ‘referential associations’ can be defined quite accurately. I thus claim that through metaphor the common literal modifier (verb or adjective) evokes distinct referential associations originating in the improper term (noun). It is worth noting that the modernist notion of ‘connotation’ does not distinguish between verbal (contextual) associations and nonverbal (referential) associations. My contention is that the generation of distinct referential associations is the specific difference of verbal metaphor. Since modifiers usually modify various nouns, in order to effectively fulfill their function they have to drop any recollection of previous particular referents. Therefore, specific referential associations are induced only by the combination of a modifier (verb or adjective) with a noun. A basic ‘triangular’ relationship between a modifier, a noun and their correspondent referential associations is thus generated; e.g., ‘Sally is a dragon’ (Searle, 1988: 101) should evoke the common literal modifier ‘dreadful’, which bears emotional referential associations originating in earlier experiences with dragons, which in this case stem from fictional worlds. Although this triangular model is valid for both literal and metaphoric descriptions, there are two basic differences that explain the specific nature of the metaphoric predication: (1) in metaphor the common literal modifier generated by the improper term potentially modifies two nouns, the literal subject (Sally +human) and the improper noun (dragon -human), thus creating two potential sources of referential associations, e.g., ‘Sally is dreadful’ and ‘A dragon is dreadful’; and (2) conventionally, preference is

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 16

16 Iconic Figures of Speech given to the referential associations originating in the improper noun (dragon). It follows that, first, the improper term of a metaphor too functions in a literal capacity, as otherwise it could not induce alternative referential associations and, second, improperness only exists on the syntactic level of relationship between the two nouns in their capacities of subject and predicate. Consequently, under special conditions, ‘dreadful’ plus referential associations originating in ‘dragon’ may prove more adequate than the literal predication. It can be concluded, therefore, that the basic difference between ‘violent1’ and ‘violent2’ lies in their alternative sources of referential associations. While the former induces those originating in the combination of ‘violent’ with the literal subject of a predication (Sally: +human), the latter originates in its combination with the improper noun of the metaphoric predicate (dragon: -human). Consequently, ‘violent1’ and ‘violent2’ are different and should be conceived of has having different truth conditions. Because the same modifier can induce referential associations with both the subject of the predication and the improper noun (e.g., violent), I term it ‘common literal modifier’. This modifier, together with the referential associations originating in the improper noun, constitutes the actual predicate of each verbal metaphor. Furthermore, the truth value of a metaphor depends not necessarily on the scientific knowledge of the improper term (e.g., gorilla), but mainly on the commonplaces associated with it: The gorilla metaphor can be “true regardless of the actual facts about gorillas . . . I am told . . . that gorillas are not at all fierce and nasty, but are in fact shy, sensitive creatures, given to bouts of sentimentality” (Searle, 1988: 102). What is required for this metaphor to work is, therefore, that the author and the receiver share the commonplace that gorillas are extremely violent. In some surface structures of metaphor, preference is marked by words such as ‘like’ and ‘as’. In contrast to the comparison view, however, I suggest that these particles are meant to indicate not a comparative relationship, but the activation and preference of alternative referential associations. This conventional marker is not essential to metaphor because preference is indicated in any case by the mere presence of an improper term. In other words, there is no difference whether the conventional marker of metaphor is explicit or not, with the mechanism of generating metaphoric meaning being the same; e.g., ‘Sally is like a dragon’ and ‘Sally is a dragon’. Moreover, there is no difference whether the common literal modifier is evoked by an associative process or is explicit in the initial predication; e.g., ‘Sally is like a dragon’ and ‘Sally is dreadful like a dragon’, with the mechanism of generating metaphoric meaning also in this case being the same. Metaphors can reflect various types of elliptical processes that can reduce their surface structures even to a single word; e.g., when a person is called ‘monster’. However, since missing components can be evoked on the grounds of the deep structure of metaphor, literal context and rules of ellipsis (Rozik, 2008b: 59–74), the missing components should be seen as ‘ellipti-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 17

Stage Metaphor

17

cally present’. The only term that must be actually present in the initial predication is, therefore, the improper term; indeed, without it, no improperness can be detected and no associative processes, including elliptical ones, can be set in motion. Improperness, which implies knowledge of the referent is, therefore, the actual marker of metaphor. The following diagram represents the deep structure of verbal metaphor: ref. assoc. (y) subject (Richard)

common literal modifier improper term (is violent) (gorilla)

(z) ref. assoc.

“Richard is a gorilla”, conventionally lends preference to the referential associations ‘z’, originating in ‘gorilla’. It should be noted that ‘Richard is a gorilla’ is metaphoric under two conditions: (a) Richard is the name of a man and not of a gorilla; and (b) ‘gorilla’ is not used for body-guard; as otherwise this predication is literal. The deep structure of verbal metaphor (Met) thus includes five verbal components: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

A subject–predicate syntactic pattern (+); A literal subject of the proposition (Sl); An improper noun-predicate (Nm); A common literal modifier (Ml); An optional preference marker (@);

There are also four extra linguistic components: 6. The object referred to by the literal subject of the predication; 7. The object apparently referred to by the improper noun of the predicate; 8. The ignored referential associations of the literal modifier (y) originating in Sl; 9. The preferred referential associations of the literal modifier (z) originating in Nm. A reader/hearer realizes this deep structure whether these components, apart from the improper term, are explicit in the surface structure of a specific metaphor or not; i.e., elliptically present. Metaphor can be formulized as follows: Met: Sl @ Ml + Nm = Sl @ Ml + z.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 18

18 Iconic Figures of Speech

Iconic metaphor It is assumed here that there is no difference between verbal and iconic metaphor in regard to their predicative syntactic structure (see previous section). In both cases, both types of metaphor are organized by a pattern of modification, in which an apparently improper sign (e.g., gorilla), verbal or iconic, is deliberately set in a modifying position, whether predicate or adjunct, with the latter being an implicit predicate. As suggested above, the holistic reading of an imprinted image is equivalent to the subject of an iconic sentence or cluster of iconic sentences; and its partial readings as the set of its predicates (see chapter 1). Within the context of the fictional arts, ‘character’ should be viewed as equivalent to ‘referent’: a character, as an extra-linguistic entity, is the object of description of both literal and metaphoric predicates. For example, in Ionesco’s Les Chaises, the old man is said to sob like a baby: Le Vieux: Sanglotant, la bouche largement ouverte comme un bébé. Je suis un orphelin . . . orphelin. (p. 136)

Although on stage the old man is represented by an actor, it is the character that is the actual referent of this stage direction – i.e., it is Old man that is the actual subject of modification of the verbal metaphor ‘sanglotant’ (it is the Old man that is ‘crying like a baby’). He is characterized as an elderly man, even if enacted by a young actor, and is obviously represented on stage by a set of iconic signs such as grey hair, wrinkled face and shaky movements. These modifiers are literal since they befit his being an old man. Since these signs identify him as a distinct character, we may view them as the modifiers of the subject (equivalent to adjuncts). Similarly we may view its actions, which interchange on the time axis, as predicates. The actual ‘crying’ of the actor on stage is then an enacted iconic predicate. In other words, if the predicate conforms to the nature of the fictional referent it is literal, if not it is potentially metaphoric; e.g., if the old man cries like an old man the predicate is literal, but since he actually cries like a baby the predicate is metaphoric; i.e., is a stage metaphor. In all kinds of iconic modification subject and predicate signs are produced simultaneously; i.e., this syntactic pattern, as mentioned above, is perceived pictorially, in contrast to the linear presentation of such a pattern by language; e.g., the presence of the old man and the crying are perceived simultaneously in contrast to their linear representation in the verbal stage direction. It follows, therefore, that the linearity of verbal metaphor is not an essential feature of the deep structure of metaphor, but derives from the particular nature of language. The fundamental equivalence of verbal and iconic sentences on both the lexical and syntactic levels, due to the mediation of language, supports the intuition that the deep structure of metaphoric predication is shared by language and all iconic mediums. It follows that the structural components

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 19

Stage Metaphor

19

of imagistic/stage metaphor too are equivalent to those of verbal metaphor. If it is assumed that also the rules of ellipsis are the same, all surface structures of stage metaphor would find their equivalents in surface structures of verbal metaphor, although some verbal surface structures are more articulated (cf. Rozik, 2008b: 105–22). Lack of full overlap between all verbal and all iconic surface structures probably reflects language’s advantage in articulating all the components of metaphor’s deep structure. My terminology too reflects the assumption of a common deep structure underlying both verbal and iconic metaphors, including stage metaphors. The following terms will be used for both: ‘subject of metaphor’ for the referent being represented and described (on the holistic level of reading the icon; e.g., ‘old man’); ‘improper noun’ (of the predicate) for the term (on the partial level of reading) deliberately used in a non-literal capacity (e.g., ‘baby’), for the sake of describing the literal subject of a metaphor (‘old man’); and ‘common literal modifier’ for the literal modifier (e.g., crying; partial reading), capable of modifying both the literal subject and the improper noun (old man and baby respectively). I presuppose that in closed similes, the common literal modifier is explicitly stated, as in ‘John is shrewd like a fox’; and implicitly stated in open similes, as in ‘John is like a fox’. In other words, I assume that metaphors and similes, open or closed, reflect the same mechanism of generating metaphoric meaning; e.g., ‘John is a fox’. What is conventionally termed ‘stage metaphor’ is a kind of iconic metaphor, in which a well established character presents a quality or act which, in the context of an improper term, is improper to its basic characterization. For methodological reasons I assume that this basic characterization is always literal. However, since not every modifier makes sense, we may say that any common literal modifier in the context of an improper term for any given characterization is only potentially a stage metaphor. For instance, in Ionesco’s Le Roi se Meurt: “Le médecin se retire. Il sort en s’inclinant comme une marionnette, par la porte à gauche au fond . . . ” (p. 68). The doctor is ‘leaving’, which is the common literal modifier. However, according to this stage direction, he moves in a way that evokes a marionette (improper term). We may conjecture therefore, that through his actual behavior on stage he is meant to induce a sense of mechanical behavior. In addition he evokes the merry associations originating in preceding experiences with puppet theatre:

⇐ improper literal + common literal subject modifier noun ———————————————————————————— Médecin + leaves moving mechanically ⇐ [like a] marionette The same approach applies to the following examples from Beckett’s Waiting for Godot and Fernando Arrabal’s Picnic on the Battlefield:

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 20

20 Iconic Figures of Speech 1) Vladimir: Stop it! Exit Vladimir hurriedly. Estragon gets up and follows him as far as the limit of the stage. Gestures of Estragon like those of a spectator encouraging a pugilist. (Waiting for Godot: 16). Vladimir + encouraging gestures ⇐ [like in a] boxing match 2) Zapo: Hands up! Zépo puts his hands even higher, looking even more terrified. Zapo doesn’t know what to do. Suddenly he goes quickly over to Zépo and touches him gently on the shoulder, like a child playing a game of ‘tag’. (Picnic on the Battlefield: 115)

In both these examples we find nonverbal behaviour described by a verbal metaphor in the stage direction. Since one of the functions of stage directions is to prescribe the nonverbal aspects of a theatre performance, it is quite natural that verbal metaphors appear as verbal equivalents of possible stage metaphors in theatre-texts. According to the same principle a verbal metaphor, which describes a stage metaphor, may well appear in the dialogue itself; e.g., in Ionesco’s Les Chaises: La Vielle: (toujours faisant écho.) Votre plus fidèle serviteur, Majesté! Le Vieux: Votre serviteur, votre esclave, chien, haouh, haouh, haouh, votre chien, Majesté . . . (p. 168)

The actual barking is a stage metaphor, which is described by the verbal one ‘your dog’. Both metaphors, verbal and iconic, convey the same common literal modifiers: ‘obedience’ and ‘trustworthiness’, along with the referential associations originating in the animality and servility of dogs: ———————————————————————————— Le Vieux + obedient ⇐ [like] a dog (+human) servile Similar considerations apply to the following example: in Arrabal’s Picnic on the Battlefield, M. Tépan is taking a photo of his son, who puts a foot on the prisoner’s stomach in a way that is reminiscent of a donjuanesque butcher: Tépan: It’s quite simple; try and look like the butcher does when he’s boasting about his successes with girls. Zapo: Like this? Tépan: Yes, like that. (p. 117)

———————————————————————————— Zapo + self-satisfied (soldier) conceited

⇐

[like] a donjuanesque butcher

Obviously, there is no way to trace a stage metaphor in a play-script unless it is translated into language, whether in stage directions or dialogue.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 21

Stage Metaphor

21

1 The shadow of a tarantula in Richard III, The RSC, 1984 (Sher: 102). Reproduced by kind permission of Nick Hern Books, publishers of Year of the King, copyright © 1989

However, this does not apply to a performance-text, in which the verbal metaphor is actually performed on stage. Furthermore, there is nothing to preclude the addition of a stage metaphor that reflects a particular directorial interpretation. For example, Bill Alexander’s production of Richard III at the Royal Shakespeare’s Company (1985), with Anthony Sher as Richard III, inspired the following description:

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 22

22 Iconic Figures of Speech His [Alexander’s] genius lies partly in a simple feat of stagecraft that has apparently occurred to no one else in the nearly four centuries the play has been produced: crutches. Sher uses them to transform the hunchbacked Richard into a menacing tarantula. In profile, his shadow casts the unmistakable image of a giant arachnid, a combination of posture, costume and lighting, skulking across the stage. His crutches are symbols of his deformity and his power. He rubs them together, insectlike. He turns them into swords. He uses them as phallic symbols as he probes beneath Lady Anne’s or Queen Elizabeth’s skirts. At times Sher is an amazing spider man, an acrobat who spins a web of evil all around him. At others he is a psychopath, a mass murderer who can switch his emotions on and off and is bound by no moral imperatives. (Treen & Foote; my italics)

Although there is no indication in the text for such a stage metaphor, in addition to Sher’s dexterous operation of the crutches as menacing weapons, the image of a huge tarantula created an overall stage metaphor of a sinister monster (Sher: 118): Richard + poisonous/murderous [like] [a tarantula]

In this case too, in the terms of Treen & Foote, the stage metaphor is described by a verbal one, albeit post factum. The same goes for additional stage metaphors in the same production, such as the use of crutches as swords or as phallic symbols. Sometimes the inspiration for a stage metaphor comes from a verbal metaphor in the verbal text itself, which is used with no intention of describing a nonverbal object on stage. For instance, the use of a huge robe for Macbeth at the end of the play, after having worn a fitting version of it, in the production of Macbeth, directed by Peter James, at the Shaw Theatre, 1973. The unusual robe was inspired by Angus’ lines, “now does he feel his title / Hang loose about him, like a giant’s robe / Upon a dwarfish thief” (V, ii, 20). The intention was quite clear: The actual huge robe made Macbeth appear as a dwarf in a giant’s robe. An additional example of iconic metaphor generated by the imagistic/iconic medium of drawing is presented on the opposite page. Two ladies are riding a car. The dents in the car indicate one or more accidents. The car also displays a series of drawings of little cars on its side. While the passenger looks at the little cars, and her facial expression indicates anxiety and astonishment, the driver is speaking (open mouth). The wording in the caption is, therefore, attributed to her. She refers to the drawings and explains: “My husband makes a fuss of every accident I have”. This is a speech act of blame in response to the nonverbal acts of blame implied in the cars drawn by her husband on the side of the car. These pictorial comments evoke the soldiers’ practice of depicting successful hits on the side of their war machines, such as armoured cars, tanks and airplanes. The driver is the literal subject of the metaphor (your driving). The drawn little cars are the improper terms of the iconic metaphors. They reflect the metaphoric

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 23

Stage Metaphor

23

2 “My husband makes a fuss of every accident I have.” (Author’s translation)

comments made by her husband on her war-like driving. The little cars thus associatively evoke ‘enemy’. The common literal modifier is: “[Your driving is] deadly dangerous [like operating a war machine].” Indeed, the referential associations originate in the way soldiers operate war-machines. These examples of nonverbal behavior belong in the domain of iconic description and communication. However, the theatre medium does not confine itself to nonverbal behavior; the imitation of verbal behavior is too encompassed by it. Speech acts are also part of human phenomenology and the imprinting of images of any phenomenon on matter is the inherent quality of iconic representation and communication (see chapter 10). The redefinition of ‘iconicity’ in terms of imagistic thinking, imprinting, and language mediation proves advantageous even for the elucidation of iconic metaphor, including stage metaphor, which is generated by the predicative literal relation between two imprinted images, the one functioning as the literary subject of the metaphor, and the other as its improper predicate. The principles of imprinting and language mediation also apply to the iconic speech acts, which constitute the backbone of fictional interaction, and even to iconic speech-act metaphor (Rozik, 2008a: 21–33; in particular, see chapter 10). In all cases, it is this improper relation between the iconic literal subject of predication and the iconic improper predicate that generates the common literal modifier and the improper referential associations activated by metaphor.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 24

24 Iconic Figures of Speech The existence of stage metaphor presupposes that iconic literal predication is possible. Nonetheless, as shown below, imagistic metaphor proves widespread on all the structural levels of theatre-texts and preverbal thinking (see chapter 3). In this section, I have presupposed that stage metaphor shares the structure of verbal metaphor, and its mechanism of generating meaning. Future theatre research should probe this thesis and, in particular, the shared principle of activation of nonverbal referential associations, which is crucial for the understanding of the theatre medium.

Imagistic metaphor Due to its characteristic activation of nonverbal associations, metaphor should be seen as reflecting an inherently nonverbal mode of representation and description. Furthermore, it can be reasonably assumed that preverbal imagistic thinking already employed an admixture of embryonic literal and metaphoric predication. It is a difficult to analyze a dream metaphor, under the assumption that dreams are less articulated, because of reflecting the spontaneous/inborn faculty of the human brain, as opposed to the extreme articulation of language. However, there is no problem in analyzing an imagistic dream metaphor, having in mind the tools developed for verbal metaphor, as one knows what to look for. In dreams too, the common literal modifier is evoked by the mere predicative relationship between the substituting image and the substituted one; and the improper associations are evoked by the mere existence of an improper term. For example, in Freud’s interpretation of his own dream, known as ‘Irma’s dream’, and according to his own principles, the syringe should be perceived as metaphorically-substituting for the dreamer’s image of his sex organ, due to being a pointed instrument that penetrates the flesh and a potentially contagious one, if not disinfected properly (1978: 194–5). The following diagram shows the structure of this metaphoric predication: associations (y)

subject (implicit: Freud’s sex)

common lit. modifier (contagious)

improper term (polluted) syringe

(z) associations of infection

The ultimate aim of metaphoric interpretation in general and dream interpretation in particular is not only to identify the referent, but also to

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 25

Stage Metaphor

25

determine how the common modifier, together with the associations originating in the improper term, describe the referent. In Irma’s dream the dreamer (Freud) possibly blames himself for not taking the necessary precautions in “curing” Irma. Imagistic thinking in general and imagistic/stage metaphor in particular presuppose the operation of inborn syntactic structures, due to metaphor fundamentally being a predicative phenomenon. In principle, in dreams predication can be either literal or metaphoric. Freud claims that “a dream never tells us whether its elements are to be interpreted literally or in a figurative sense” (1978: 456). I suggest, in contrast, that more often than not a dream-image is metaphoric.

@ Verbal, iconic, and imagistic metaphor reflect the very same structure and the very same mechanism of generating meaning. Future theatre research should expose this principle to verification and, if it cannot be falsified, theory should adopt it as true. Furthermore, future theatre research cannot avoid the application of the metaphoric principle because, as we shall see below, it is not only rooted in the preverbal mind; but also affects all the structural levels of the performance-text and theatre experience. Therefore, future theatre research should keep on developing a theory of nonverbal metaphor.

Stage symbol Following Peirce, traditional theatre semiotics employs ‘symbol’ in the sense of a sign that features an unmotivated relation between signifier and signified (sense 1), e.g., a word; meaning that there is no clue in the signifier for deriving its signified. This is not, however, the typical sense of ‘symbol’ in various disciplines such as psychoanalysis, religion studies and theories of the arts, theatre in particular. In these domains it is employed in the sense of a figurative use of a word (sense 2), which is characterized by evoking a set of diffuse associations in addition to its basic sense (signified) and correlated connotations; for example, the sign ‘cross’, whether verbal or iconic, is used in a symbolic capacity, if in addition to its literal meaning (stake, usually with transverse bar, used by the ancient Romans for crucifixion – COD), the receiver is also meant to evoke its contextual diffuse associations, both verbal (e.g., ‘sacrifice’, ‘devotion’ and ‘redemption’) and nonverbal (e.g., feelings of adoration and trepidation). I thus employ ‘symbol’ in the aforementioned second sense. Whereas, traditionally, this additional associative periphery was perceived as exclusively verbal in nature (e.g., Ricoeur: 21ff and Todorov: 9–38), I suggest that the additional associative periphery of symbols may include, on top of verbal associations, referential ones, similarly to verbal

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 26

26 Iconic Figures of Speech and iconic metaphor, and that those may be classified as sensory, emotional, ethical, aesthetic, modal (tragic or comic) and the like. Within the symbolic associative periphery of a symbol a distinction should thus be made between associations controlled by the sense of an image or icon and additional uncontrolled diffuse associations. It is in such a diffuse periphery, which include unconscious and culturally conditioned associations, that nonverbal associations reign supreme. Therefore, in contrast to Ricoeur and Todorov, the meaning of a symbol cannot be exhausted by words. This is also manifested by the fact that the same signs may convey different and even conflicting associative peripheries in different cultures; e.g., whereas the ‘Star of David’ bears positive emotive and value associations of Messianic redemption for the Jews, it was employed as a symbol of contempt and degradation by the Nazi regime. It is the nonverbal associations that make diffuse the associative periphery; as otherwise the import of a symbol could be verbalized. Consequently, a verbal symbol in sense (1) may or may not be employed in a symbolic sense (2) (Rozik, 2008a: 61–3). I suggest that the same definition applies to equivalent mental images and icons; e.g., the imprinted images of ‘owl’ (wisdom), ‘scales’ (justice), ‘Cross’ (martyrdom and redemption), ‘hammer & sickle’ (communism) and ‘flag’ (nationhood). The words in the brackets are obviously reductive paraphrases because their referential associations are not articulated. Associative peripheries attached to verbal and equivalent iconic units are similar because of representing the same objects, real or fictional, and because contextual associations are fundamentally attached to objects. Through recurrent experiences with signs, in real or textual contexts, these units become the carriers of such associations. This process of symbolic loading may take place either in the context of a culture (a symbol may exist prior to its inclusion in a text), or in the context of a work of art; e.g., the word and image of ‘seagull’ in Chekhov’s The Seagull (Rozik, 1988b). In this sense a motif is a symbolic phenomenon. Like a metaphor, a symbol is ‘trite’ if its associative periphery has dwindled to the extent that its meaning can be translated into words, which is not the case with vital symbols. A symbol can lose its associative power, under at least two conditions: when it is used too frequently and/or when it ceases to be part of a reloading context; e.g., the Christian symbol of ‘pelican and young’ was probably based on the belief that pelicans, wounding their own breasts, nourish their chicks with their own blood. Plausibly it was on such grounds that it became a metaphor of the Christ, which by mere reiteration became His symbol. The word or image ‘pelican’, which had formerly attached a sense of self-sacrifice for a believing community, probably lost its vitality following the decline in the belief of the alleged pelican’s “typical” behavior. Its inclusion in a dictionary of symbols was evidently the last nail in its coffin. Such dictionaries at most list paraphrases of symbols (e.g., Cirlot; and Vries). Dwindling associative peripheries attest to the evocative power of vital symbols.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 27

Stage Metaphor

27

Paradoxically, the sense of ‘symbol’ suggested above also contrasts its use by the psychoanalytic school, Freud in particular. Although Freud does not define ‘symbol’, from his actual use of the term it can be safely inferred that the predominant rhetoric theories of his time determined his views on ‘symbolism’ and even conditioned his approach to the interpretation of dreams. On the grounds of empiric evidence, Freud suggests a long list of symbols, which characterize dreams: All elongated objects, such as sticks, tree-trunks and umbrellas (the opening of these last being comparable to an erection) may stand for the male organ . . . as well as all long, sharp weapons. . . . Boxes, cases, chests, cupboards and ovens represent the uterus, and also hollow objects, ships and vessels of all kinds. Rooms in dreams are usually women. . . . and [s]teps, ladders or staircases, or, as the case may be, walking up or down them, are representations of the sexual act. (1978: 470–2)

This list reveals that Freud and the psychoanalytic school employ ‘symbol’ for what both ancient rhetoric and modernist theory term ‘metaphor’. In addition, their notion of ‘symbol’ is anchored in the classic theory of metaphor in terms of ‘comparison’; e.g., “[i]n a number of cases the element in common between a symbol and what it represents is obvious; in others it is concealed and the choice of a symbol seems puzzling” (1978: 468; my italics). When speaking of ‘ladders’ and ‘staircases’ as ‘unquestionably symbols of copulation’, Freud writes: “It is not hard to discover the basis of the comparison” (ibid. 472, footnote 2 [1911]; my italics). His Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis are equally enlightening in explicitly employing the term ‘tertium comparationis’ (1975: 152), which is typical of the comparison view of metaphor. In the terms of this study, these alleged symbols are ‘substitutional metaphors’, in which a single improper term (Nm) substitutes for the literal subject (Sl), which represents a single referential entity. Nonetheless, the predicative relation between the substituting and the substituted terms still obtains. In principle, the literal subject (Sl) can be absent from the metaphoric text, whether in verbal or imagistic/iconic metaphor, on condition that the dreamer knows the referent, even subliminally. Consequently, because of the consistent substitution of the subjects/referents, often by various improper terms, dreams present the appearance of ‘absurdity’ that is usually attributed to them, or of ‘allegory’ (Freud, 1978: 670), which in modernist terms should be viewed as a particular case of an expanded substitutional metaphor (see chapter 4). This may explain the obliteration of dreams upon waking up. Nonetheless, it is possible to discern the existence of symbols in dreams, in the above-suggested sense of relationship between an image and its contextual associative periphery. Metaphor may combine with symbol, particularly if the latter is used as the improper term of a metaphor, due to being rich in nonverbal associa-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 28

28 Iconic Figures of Speech tions; for example, in the fourth act of Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull, Nina says: “I think I now know, Kostia, that what matters in our work . . . is not fame or glamour, . . . but knowing how to endure things. How to bear one’s cross and have faith” (p. 181). Nina employs the ‘cross’ metaphor for describing her own suffering as a mediocre provincial actress. However, if considered as a symbol in the context of Christian culture, it yields the verbal associations of ‘extreme suffering’ and ‘martyrdom’, and the emotive associations originating in the crucifixion of Jesus, which make sense in the context of Nina’s life. Only such connotations can explain the possible paradox of having faith despite ‘enduring’ extreme suffering. Nonetheless, a symbol may also crystallize around a literal term; e.g., one of the oldest symbols of Judaism is the menorah. According to Exodus, 31– 40, the seven-branched candelabrum has been used, in a literal capacity, in the Temple of Jerusalem. Its symbolic meaning was probably established in light of the (alleged) mission bestowed by God on the Jewish nation to be “a light for the nations” (Isaiah, 42, 6). Upon the foundation of the State of Israel the iconic menorah has been adopted as its representative symbol. Symbols or, rather, associative-loaded signs, literal or metaphoric, may appear also in dreams. Consequently, ‘symbol’ should be used as referring to the relation between a signified of a (single) word or icon, with its diffuse associative periphery, whether the sign is used literally (properly) or metaphorically (improperly). A distinction should be made, however, between verbal associations, and ‘diffuse associative periphery’ which is, rather, a set of verbal and nonverbal associations, originating in diverse contexts and even in personal ones. It should be noted that the notion of ‘connotation’ does not distinguish between verbal and nonverbal associations. Furthermore, in contrast to ‘metaphor’, which denotes a predicative relation between two signs, ‘symbol’ denotes the relation between a single sign and its diffuse associative load. Every type of sign may carry a set of associations, originating in various sources, and the evocation of these depends on whether these sources are activated or not; i.e., on the kind of text. From a semiotic perspective, a dream can thus be defined as an imagistic text in which some images function literally (properly) and some metaphorically (improperly), while both may function in either a literal or symbolic capacity. We may assume that in dreaming, the dreamer subliminally knows what the real referents of his dream are. This is corroborated by the fact that under certain conditions, such as hypnosis (Fromm: 19) or dementia praecox dreamers have no problem in interpreting their own dreams (cf. Freud, 1978: 467; note 1). This knowledge makes the dreamer an indispensable partner in dream interpretation (Jung, 1974: 70) and explains its typical obliteration upon waking. Only if such knowledge is lost does the dream become a text to be interpreted on hypothetical grounds. There is no problem in interpreting symbols provided that we know their cultural associative loads; e.g., the menorah and the cross. However,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 29

Stage Metaphor

29

more often than not dream symbols are of a very individual nature, reflecting highly personal experiences. However, whereas individual symbols may be of crucial importance for therapeutic purposes, cultural symbols are indispensable for the interpretation of works of art, due to being culturallycreated artifacts. In the interpretation of both stage metaphors and symbols, the kind of figurative use, metaphoric or symbolic of an icon should be established first, and only then proceed to its pertinent method of interpretation. Like words, icons may be used either symbolically or not; e.g., an imprinted image of ‘a red traffic light’ either in a thriller film or in a book for novice drivers respectively. The problem is that. In contrast to metaphor, texts do not feature markers that distinguish between symbolic and nonsymbolic uses of a word/icon, thus precluding the prescription of a specific manner of reading and interpretation. Assumedly, a symbol will make sense in either a literal or figurative interpretation. How should then readers/spectators know whether to engage in symbolic interpretation? First, particular cultural domains promote a symbolic reading and should be seen as domain markers. Second, some texts may generate intentional gaps, and even not make sense at all, if some signs are not interpreted symbolically. Third, in some cases there is a clear advantage in such an interpretation. For example, in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King, while the act of blinding himself can be read only on a literal level, as Oedipus’ sheer self-punishment, reading ‘eyes’ as symbols of human understanding opens the text to additional and crucial dimensions. As suggested above, a symbol may make an excellent improper term of a metaphor, due to its rich associative load, e.g., ‘cross’ (cf. Chekhov’s The Seagull: 181); and a recurrent metaphoric predicate can eventually become a symbol; e.g., the lamb is a typical metaphor of Jesus, which by recurrent use it became His symbol. ‘Stage symbol’ should not be confused with ‘stage metonym’, which like a ‘verbal metonym’ is an elliptical ‘figure of speech’ in which a present term evokes an elliptic term to which it had been usually associated in previous contexts. For example, in Ionesco’s The Chairs, the empty chairs are stage metonyms of sitting people. In contrast, again, ‘symbol’ relates to a single term that induces diffuse contextual associations beyond its basic sense. Furthermore, whereas metonymy evokes elliptically missing terms, symbol induces less controlled nonverbal associations. A symbol can be either a metonym or not.

@ Because theatre too uses imprinted images in metaphoric and/or symbolic capacities, dreams and theatre reveal the same mode of representation, with both reflecting the nonverbal heritage of humankind. The omnipresence of stage metaphors and symbols in theatre performance-texts imposes a crucial task on future theatre research, on interpretation of performance-texts in particular.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 30

30 Iconic Figures of Speech The definition of ‘iconicity’ in terms of imagistic thinking proves efficient also for iconic symbols. An imprinted image or, rather, icon should be read and interpreted as a symbol if in addition to its basic literal meaning it is loaded with a diffuse contextual associative periphery.

@

@

Because of their built-in tendency to evoke nonverbal associations, cognitive disciplines plausibly reflect a tendency to intentionally ignore metaphoric and symbolic predication and representation, a tendency that is most conspicuous in modernist philosophy and science. Paradoxically, it is the assumption of this proclivity that reveals the existence of such associative peripheries. Therefore, in the context of a verbal culture, it must be presupposed that some domains, as mentioned above, enjoy a cultural permit to engage in metaphoric and symbolic reading and interpretation. In preverbal culture a distinction between core sense and referential associative peripheries is inconceivable. It may thus be assumed that the preverbal mind naturally operated metaphors and symbols. Future theatre research should focus on iconic metaphor, symbol, and additional figures of speech. It should also reexamine the thesis of their shared structure and mechanism of generating meaning, ponder their plausible preverbal roots, and even explore their possible structural functions.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 31

3 Theatre Experience as Metaphor It might appear that a fictional world is not and cannot be related to the spectator’s own world. Differences range from the minimal to the extreme, including worlds that reflect principles distinct from those of the real world. It may be asked, therefore, what is the reason for spectators to invest time and money in experiencing theatre fictional worlds that may differ considerably from their own worlds? What is the reason for their deep involvement with such worlds, usually explained in terms of ‘identification’ with characters; and for their deep expectations in regard to their fates, whether these expectations are eventually gratified or frustrated? And what is the nature of their pleasure or sense of frustration? This last question, quite explicit in theories of drama since millennia, implies that experiencing a theatre performance fulfils a crucial function in the economy of the spectator’s psyche. However, it is quite difficult to imagine and determine what this function exactly is, particularly in considering the inherent gap between the nature of the fictional world and the world of the spectator. I suggest that it is this inherent gap that hints at the possible solution of this problem. I intend to show that only ‘metaphor’ is the principle that can explain the total involvement of the spectator despite the existential gap between the fictional and the spectator’s real worlds. I thus contend that the theatre description of a fictional world is a potential metaphoric description of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs. Indeed, metaphor is the only form of description in which apparent difference plays a crucial structural role. Furthermore, both the main markers of metaphoric description — apparent improperness and apparent double reference, corroborate this thesis. In metaphor apparent double reference eventually proves single reference, and apparent improperness eventually proves utmost adequacy (see chapter 2). My thesis is, therefore, that the theatre performance-text, while appearing to refer to a fictional world and describe it, actually describes metaphorically the world of the spectator. In other words, the fictional world is the improper term of a metaphoric description of the spectator’s psychical

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 32

32 Iconic Figures of Speech state of affairs. It should be noted that ‘state of affairs’ applies not only to intra-psychical contents, but also to the subjective reflection of external conditions, social, political or other. This thesis presupposes that the performance-text is a kind of description and that its truth-value depends on both the nature of the described fictional world and the spectator’s state of affairs, which either satisfies or not the truth conditions of the metaphoric iconic description. I believe that otherwise the possible deep involvement of the spectator in the action of a fictional world cannot be explained. Dealing with this question thus requires both a sound poetics, i.e., a theory of the nature and function of fictional worlds; and a theory of stage metaphor. Since I have expanded on the latter above (see chapter 2), in the following paragraphs I present a brief outline of the theory of stage metaphor underlying the present thesis (for a relevant theory of fictional thinking, see chapter 11). Fundamentally, I believe that in order to substantiate the metaphoric thesis any theory of metaphor and fictional world might do. I shall illustrate my thesis through short and relevant analyses of Sophocles’ Oedipus the King and Federico García Lorca’s Yerma.

Stage metaphor The following principles are vital to substantiating the main thesis of this chapter: a) Nonverbal metaphor is not only a standard practice in imagistic/iconic mediums, including the theatre medium, but also the typical form of predication in preverbal/imagistic thinking, as corroborated by dreams and daydreams. A stage metaphor is a particular case of iconic metaphor. b) Imagistic/iconic metaphor indicates that the holistic reading of an icon corresponds to the literal subject of a verbal metaphor, as otherwise the referent of the description could not be identified; and the partial readings of its various aspects corresponds to the set of either literal and/or metaphoric predicates. c) The existence of predicates improper to the literal subject indicates the potential existence of an iconic metaphor, of a stage metaphor in particular. d) It might appear that the overall stage metaphor refers to both its literal subject and the improper term of its predicate, but this is only apparent. In fact, the iconic description of a fictional world only brings into play the improper component of the predicate, in its capacity of evoking improper referential associations.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 33

Theatre Experience as Metaphor

33

Metaphoric fictional world In contrast to poets, theatre authors (playwrights or directors) express themselves not through a thematic discourse (in the sense of a straightforward verbal description), but through the mediation of a world of interacting human characters (Frye, 1957: 365–7; cf. 33 & 52). In other words, the author’s single psyche is expressed by a multiple world of characters. This claim presupposes that the psyche is, following various principles, split into a set of entities, drives and inhibitions, and that each of them is personified; i.e., represented by a human character, and enacted by an actor/actress. By no means, this is foreign to the inborn thinking mechanisms of the psyche. Freud indeed suggests that “[t]he psychological novel in general no doubt owes its special nature to the inclination of the modern writer to split up his ego, by self-observation, into many part-egos, and, in consequence, to personify the conflicting currents of his own mental life in several heroes [characters]” (Freud, 1990a: 138). I do see every reason for applying this principle to all fictional worlds. This is exactly what Freud postulates also for the dream-work, which assumedly creates an imagined multi-character world, i.e., a fictional world, with each character personifying a psychical component of the psyche, such as unconscious drives, wishes and anxieties (Freud, 1978: 114; cf. Jung, 1974: 52). Freud also considers that the dreamer is thus represented in the dream, being its ‘referent’, in the terms of the present study: “Thus my ego may be represented in a dream several times over, now directly and now through identification with extraneous persons” (Freud, 1978: 435). This is even more plausible when considering a piece of fiction or theatre-text as a thought that the readers or spectators are expected to relate to themselves. In fact, Freud is suggesting here the general mechanism of creation of fictional worlds: the expression of a single psyche through a world of characters and their actions (cf. Frye, ibid.). Much has been said of a fictional world being an expression of its author. Since playwrights are represented on stage by independent characters, reflecting their own viewpoints, the conjecture is that authors express themselves through whole fictional worlds. The notion of ‘expression’ is thus synonymous with ‘index’, because a fictional work indicates the author’s image of the world, which usually differs from that of the characters. The author also commands ironic superiority in regard to the latter. It may be claimed, therefore, that the fictional world as a whole is a self-referential description of an author, similar to a self-referential poem or any other expressive text. As suggested above, in considering such an act on the author–spectator axis, it may be conjectured that in the process of experiencing a fictional text, the spectator may take over the function of referent. This principle is fully acknowledged in the theory of lyric poetry: the deictic terms of a poem, such as “I,” “you,” “here,” and “now” presumably refer to the subject, its object and the circumstances of the lyric utterance; i.e., to the poet and his psychical

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 34

34 Iconic Figures of Speech state of affairs. Due to their abstract nature, the referential function of these terms can easily be diverted from author to receiver who thus becomes their referent. This explains why readers of lyric poetry deem and praise such ready-made texts as expressions of themselves, as, for example, the reading of ready-made prayers. If the principle of expression adequately describes the relationship between the ‘I-playwright’ and his/her created fictional world, which is thus a self-referential formulation of his/her amorphous psychical state of affairs, we may assume that in watching a performance-text the spectator too may experience the above suggested substitution of referents. This is facilitated by the subject of the theatre expression, the author of the whole text, not being marked (‘0’ sign) or, rather, by posing no obstacle to such a substitution. In principle, there is no need to make the subject explicit if it is self-understood. In this sense, the contention is that this ‘0’ signifier functions exactly like the deictic ‘I’ of lyric poetry. The performance-text thus becomes an ‘I’-expression for the spectator. These considerations also apply to literary fiction (e.g., the novel), wherein authors too express themselves through fictional worlds. In this respect, the only difference lies in the use of two different mediums: language in the novel and theatre medium on stage. This may be extended to other fictional arts as well. All the iconic/fictional arts materialize the same principle: the fictional world is initially a formulation of the author’s amorphous state of affairs and, by a process of reading/watching, such a world eventually becomes a potentially-adequate formulation of the readers/spectators’ psychical states of affairs, regardless of whether they are aware of such a world lending them expression, or not. If indeed a single psyche is described by a set of human characters, it follows that the latter are personifications of aspects or components of the psyche. ‘Personification’ is a particular kind of metaphor, whose source of improper referential associations is the human domain. The implication of ‘personification’ is that it cannot be used for description of human beings who, in literal descriptions too, are sources of human referential associations. Nonetheless, it can aptly describe abstract aspects or components of human psyches such as unconscious wishes and anxieties. However, in theatre, no human-like image can be created solely on the abstract level of personification. No actor can be asked to enact a character on this level. This level should thus be seen as a fundamental improper layer of an overall stage metaphor that, in order to become a concrete source of improper referential associations requires the addition of particular qualities and drives. Indeed, in order to generate human-like behavior, a cluster of additional human traits must be postulated; in other words, a character. Furthermore, the use of live actors on stage lends an additional dimension to the basic attempt to create a personified world as an expression of a single psyche. In principle, the more a character resembles a real human being, the more the principle of personification materializes. On the level of bare personification, the above-mentioned apparent

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 35

Theatre Experience as Metaphor

35

improperness (to the psyche) and apparent double reference (to a fictional world and the psychical state of affairs) that characterize metaphor, is already found. These eventually prove to be utmost properness and single reference (see chapter 2). Nevertheless, apparent improperness and apparent double reference are the actual indicators of a potential metaphoric predication. The gist of the metaphoric nature of a fictional world lies in its ability to describe a psychical state of affairs through the literal modifiers shared by it and the spectator’s world and, in addition, through the referential associations originating in the theatre experience of the improper fictional world. In the simplest terms, experiencing a fictional world is tantamount to thinking by means of a metaphoric fictional narrative (see chapter 11).

Paradox of double reference It might appear that this line of argumentation, in support of the metaphoric nature of the fictional experience, leads to a paradox. If it is assumed that the theatre performance-text is a description of a fictional world, it follows that the latter is the referent of the former. This applies to any description through any medium, including language (fiction), and even to the inborn imagistic system of representation of the psyche, including dreaming, daydreaming and hallucination. Therefore, if a description refers to a fictional world, and the latter assumedly refers to the spectator’s world, the theatre-text would simultaneously refer to two different referents, which contradicts the notion of ‘reference’ (cf. Searle, 1985: 72–96). Indeed, by definition, the function of ‘reference’ is to point at a single object in the world as the object of description and, therefore, a description cannot refer to two different referents. As suggested above, the notion of ‘reference’ is vital for the understanding of the mechanism of metaphor because no improperness can be established without knowledge of the referent (see chapter 2); I note that traditional theatre semiotics has not operated the notion of ‘reference’). The same sentence/text can be either literal or metaphoric depending on the nature of the referent. In this sense, in a performance-text, the entire set of iconic indexes of actions and qualities produced by an ‘actor’ describes a referential ‘character’. On the level of iconic sentence, therefore, stage metaphor is possible on condition that a descriptive act of an actor is improper to the basic and assumedly literal characterization of a referred character (see chapter 2). Furthermore, whereas for traditional philosophy only real, including human entities, count as referents, modal philosophy, on the grounds of the theory of possible worlds, justifies the use of ‘reference’ for fictional worlds and their entities (in particular, see Doležel, 1998). Since a fictional world only exists in the imagination of author and/or spectator, the performance-text should be conceived of as a set of cues for the spectator to imagine such a world. In other words, basically, a perform-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 36

36 Iconic Figures of Speech ance-text is evocative, as all fictional creativity is. In principle, a performance-text can refer also to any existing and known reality, but its evocative nature is not impaired by this because of the fictional elements involved in the creation of such an image. The evocative function does not contradict the descriptive function either: by the same token a performance-text can both evoke and categorize a world through the signifieds of the evoking iconic sentences. The application of the notion of ‘reference’ to performancetexts thus proves most useful on the level of stage sentences and/or text in regard to a fictional world and its denizens. These considerations, however, do not solve the aforementioned paradox. The solution to the paradox lies in that reference is only the fundamental function of the subject of a predication, which can fulfill a categorizing function as well (cf. Searle, 1985: ibid.). In contrast, no predicate fulfills a referential function, in the sense of identifying and singling out a referent in a world, but is only meant to categorize it. If a fictional world is perceived as the improper term of a metaphor of textual scope, its referential function to a fictional world is only apparent, because its basic function is thus only to induce alternative referential associations. This function can be fulfilled by evoking either an existing world or creating a fictional one. Apparent reference to such a world for the evocation of improper referential associations substantially differs from actual reference to a set of objects of description. For example, the typical sentence “He hesitates like Hamlet” reference to Hamlet aims not at considering him as the object of description, but as a source of proper modifiers and improper referential associations. I claim that this principle of relationship also applies to the relation between Hamlet’s entire fictional world and the spectator. A description of a fictional world is, therefore, not meant to refer to a world, but to induce a set of improper referential associations. Consequently, double ‘reference’ (in the said sense) is only apparent, and is eventually resolved into single reference, to the spectator’s world. While the metaphoric thesis can apply to both, author and spectator, only the latter is the genuine object of the metaphoric iconic/fictional description. Whereas for the author the description of a world may be literal, the spectator cannot avoid experiencing it as a metaphor due to the inherent gap between these worlds. Moreover, authors may create fictional worlds in the expectation that they will make sense for audiences, without necessarily subscribing to its truth-value in regard to themselves. A possible conclusion from this line of argumentation is that the craft of the author of a theatre fictional world mostly lies in the ability to create a special artifact, capable of functioning as a potential metaphoric description of the spectator’s amorphous psychical state of affairs. It is the task of the spectator to decide whether or not such a potential overall metaphor aptly describes his/her own amorphous being. Bestowing cultural form on amorphousness is the name of the game.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 37

Theatre Experience as Metaphor

37

Mechanism of textual metaphor It is the inherent gap between the fictional world and the world of the spectator that supports the metaphoric relationship between them: between the personified world of characters and their actions and the state of affairs of the spectator’s single psyche. As suggested above, personification is supported by additional specific human traits, inherently different from those of the spectator and, in theatre, by also being enacted by a human actor. The elements of similarity between a fictional world and a spectator’s world such as shared qualities, motives, actions and/or viewpoints, should be seen as the common literal modifiers of the overall metaphor; e.g., the unbridled ambition of Macbeth. In contrast, the elements of difference, particularly the alternative referential associations activated by the unique nature of a fictional world, are the crux of the metaphoric description, whose (unmarked) subject refers to the spectator’s amorphous psychical state of affairs. On such grounds, it may be concluded that the predicative/descriptive relation between performance-text and spectator’s psyche satisfies the truth conditions of the predicate ‘is a metaphor’: a) The fictional world is not a literal but an apparently improper description of the spectator’s world, and thus equivalent to the improper term of a metaphor. b) The fictional world evokes literal modifiers capable of modifying both the fictional world and the real world of the spectator. c) These literal modifiers are meant to evoke alternative referential associations originating in the inherently improper fictional world, and not in the world of the spectator. Consequently, the metaphoric deep structure of the theatre experience can be represented graphically as follows: ref. associations ‘y’ (originating in the spectator’s world) the spectator’s

the modifier/s common

the fictional

world

to both worlds

world ref. associations ‘z’

(originating in the fictional world)

As suggested for smaller and simpler structures (sentence and motif), the deep structure of metaphor determines that the literal common modifiers can elicit referential associations originating in both the spectator’s world and the fictional world; but preference is given to the referential associations ‘z’ originating in the improper term, the fictional world.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 38

38 Iconic Figures of Speech In principle, a fictional world cannot be evoked, unless through a text generated by an established cultural medium. Theatre constitutes an iconic medium characterized by imprinting images on matter similar to their models. Imprinting transforms images into iconic signs/texts. Because of this imprinting, moreover, the performance-text features a material reality capable of creating referential associations by itself, thus affecting the spectator’s reading of the description of a fictional world. In this sense, referential associations activated and induced by a fictional world (described by the theatre medium) depend on the spectator’s actual experience of the performancetext. We should bear in mind, nonetheless, that referential associations are not circumscribed to the sensory aspects of the texts, but include emotional, ethic, aesthetic and modal aspects as well, all of which can be induced by a fictional “reality”, possibly enhanced by the materiality of the performancetext itself. Furthermore, the pleasure (or frustration) that a spectator experiences in watching such a text, including its effect on the aesthetic level, also becomes part of the set of the activated referential associations. The potential metaphoric relationship between the fictional world and the spectator’s psychical state of affairs applies to all mediums capable of “telling” fictional narratives; namely, to think and communicate thoughts through creating/experiencing fictional worlds, and can be illustrated by any of them. The following illustrations are restricted, however, to two representative examples: Sophocles’ Oedipus the King and García Lorca’s Yerma, with the first world being based on mythological sources and the second on (apparently) real narrative materials.

Sophocles’ Oedipus the King Freud claims that “[i]t is the fate of all of us, perhaps, to direct our first sexual impulse towards our mother and our first hatred and our first murderous wish against our father” (Freud, 1978: 364–6); or, in Otto Rank’s version, “our first impulses of hatred and resistance towards our fathers” (Rank, 1964). If the referent of this myth is ‘everyman’, as Freud implies, this cannot be a literal description of the human condition. First, because it refers to a fictional world in which the hero not only directs his “first sexual impulse” towards his mother, but actually marries and has children with her (i.e., commits incest). Second, because the tragic hero not only directs his “first hatred” (and, perhaps, murderous wish) towards his father, but actually kills him (i.e., commits patricide). If this myth indeed maps two of everyman’s fundamental universal and unconscious drives (see chapter 12), these differences preclude considering it as a literal description; and it is even meaningless, unless the principle of metaphor is invoked. Thus, Freud fails to establish that the myth of Oedipus is an unmistakable case of a metaphoric description of two universal psychical drives. This dramatized myth could have been a literal description only if the actual drives of a child were indeed incestuous and/or murderous,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 39

Theatre Experience as Metaphor

39

which is doubtful even at the so-called ‘Oedipal age’, especially if we consider that young children have no exact idea of what ‘marriage’ and ‘death’ mean. Moreover, the murder of a father, for example, could equally well be a metaphoric description of the child’s struggle against the intrusive invasion of his soul by adult social values, as epitomized by a father. Similar considerations apply to the marriage with a mother, in regard to the child’s struggle for her love. In Jean Cocteau’s The Infernal Machine, this metaphoric intent goes even further. In his account of the myth, after her death, Jocasta’s ghost appears before Oedipus and declares: “Yes, my child, my little child . . . the things that look abominable to humans, if you knew, from the place where I dwell, if you knew how little importance they have” (p. 188; my translation). In contrast to the source-myth, which presupposes that the gods impose a dreadful fate on Oedipus, and possibly under the influence of Freud’s teachings, Cocteau’s Jocasta exhibits a benevolent attitude to such a universal imposition. An often overlooked fact is that in this myth, Jocasta is as incestuous and Laius as murderous as Oedipus. In any case, the world of Oedipus is not the world of the spectator and metaphoric apparent improperness and apparent double reference is thereby established. The metaphoric quality of this myth, which describes two suppressed attitudes towards both parents, is reinforced by the family’s royal status and the setting of their story in the nation’s remote (or, rather, fictional) past, although it could have been set in any other ‘reality’.

García Lorca’s Yerma The action of this play is quite simple: it describes the constant efforts of a woman craving for a child, and her recurrent and final frustrations. Yerma is an innocent Spanish woman, reflecting a typical Catholic upbringing. She fails to understand even the relation between erotic love and childbearing. The play presents her inner conflict between her forceful drive for motherhood and her compelling chivalric sense of honor. Paradoxically, despite the incredible magnitude of Yerma’s maternal drive, her culturally-conditioned sense of honor prevails. Yerma is presented against the background of the Old Lady, who promotes the value of human happiness. This lady suggests an alternative perspective that bears far-reaching implications for the social and religious foundations of García Lorca’s contemporary Spanish society. She questions the commonplace notions of divinity and honor, and their alleged necessary bond. She is characterized as a pagan lady, who explicitly denies the existence of God and promotes Satan as the possible redeemer of the unhappy. Her attitude is diametrically opposed to that of Yerma, whose upbringing tells her that making love is justified only as a means of procreation. Because of her roots in the values of traditional society, Yerma is unable to adopt Old

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 40

40 Iconic Figures of Speech Lady’s attitude of possible redemption. In this sense, Old Lady implies that Yerma herself is the source of the tragic events, and is thus revealed as a personification of human experience, fulfilling an ironic function in the context of this fictional world. By stressing Yerma’s extreme ignorance and innocence, the playwright points to the actual cause of her self-victimization: the distorting nature of the contemporary Spanish social ethos. Yerma’s gradual loss of her gender traits, and even human self-image, should thus be attributed to her upbringing. She is an obvious victim of her own culture. This is reflected in the absurdist structure of the fictional world that presupposes the audience’s shared values, and is meant to eventually bring about the experience of the absurd. By the same token Yerma also “sins” toward the alternative values suggested by Old Lady, the natural right to childbearing and happiness, by failing to adopt them. She kills her husband, symbol of the value of honor and, in her eyes, the reason of her frustration, while being well aware that thereby she actually determines her tragic fate of eternal sterility. She thus nullifies her inner conflict, but at the cost of catastrophe. García Lorca has structured Yerma according to what may be termed the ‘Euripidean model’ of tragedy (e.g., Hippolytus). This model of absurdist tragedy constitutes an ironic inversion of Aristotle’s chief model, which culminates in a final accord of harmony between the severity of violation of a crucial value (hamartia) and the catastrophe of the tragic hero (Poetics, XIII). Through his suffering, the tragic hero is thus supposed to compensate for the severity of his/her violation, so that the value system, represented by the gods and shared by the audience, is reaffirmed, as in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King. This model only applies on condition that the action is interpreted from the viewpoint of a valid value system, shared by playwright and audience. In contrast, if this system is questioned, as it is by Euripides, the suffering of the tragic hero, who implements these values, is perceived as a futile sacrifice. The tragic action, instead of being a dramatic image of harmony and order, thus becomes a dramatic image of disharmony and disorder or, rather, an image of the absurd. Since fidelity to the value of honor was extremely cherished by the contemporary Spanish, including Yerma, it may be conjectured that the audience would have experienced her catastrophe as an absurdist final accord. Alternatively, from the “pagan” viewpoint, as suggested by Old Lady and implied by the entire text, this structure might have been perceived differently: as the befitting end for a character who both adhered to the established Christian-chivalric values, and violated the newly suggested values, such as ‘childbearing’, ‘love’ and ‘happiness’. García Lorca’s resulting model, which presupposes an alternative perspective, is thus more complex than the Euripidean one, in enabling both criticism of the old value-system and suggestion of alternative values as two sides of the same coin. Because Yerma is characterized as innocently materializing the dated values of her society, criticism is deflected from her to the Spanish ethos, responsible for both her upbringing and blind observance.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 41

Theatre Experience as Metaphor

41

Yerma presents a complex image to be experienced by the spectator as an overall metaphor of his/her own world. The fact that a woman is the central character of the play already establishes that – at least for male spectators – this cannot be a literal description of their predicament, but only a metaphoric one. The fact that she is barren establishes that – at least for mothers – this cannot be a literal description of their predicament either, but only a metaphoric one. Other differences between the fictional world and possible audiences, such as her peasant innocence, similarly constrain this image for them. What is then the common denominator (common literal modifier) between spectators (literal subjects), whether contemporary Spanish or others, and this fictional world (as the improper term of the predicate), which explains the immediate rapport between them all over the world? I suggest that Yerma epitomizes the perennial rift and struggle between nature and (dated) social ideologies. Thus Yerma’s predicament easily becomes an appropriate metaphor for all. The combination of positive referential associations of childbearing and the negative ones of unenlightened innocence explains the powerful impact of the play-script. While the common traits establish the bridge between audience and this fictional world, the alternative referential associations, originating in this fictional world, are meant to promote the negative feelings induced by this metaphoric self-description. Nevertheless, this negative self-image does not contradict the claim that the play can only work as a potential comprehensive metaphor of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs.

@ In reconsidering the fictional structures suggested by Aristotle, in the terms of ‘holistic metaphor’, it can be concluded that, in his view, the aim of the tragic experience is to attach a harmonious metaphoric predicate to the description of the spectator’s world. While his Poetics fails to envisage the possibility of absurdist fictional worlds, such structures can be derived from Aristotle’s own principles by simple inversion (cf. Poetics, XIII). Moreover, absurdist fictional worlds were in existence already in Aristotle’s times (see Euripides’ play-scripts). An absurdist fictional world stresses the subversive power of contradicting experiences. Such an overall metaphor of disorder, therefore, may lead the spectator to doubt the validity of his/her own image of the world. However, the mere fact of description through a medium creates the aesthetic detachment necessary for the spectator, in Nietzsche’s terms, “to gaze into the horror of individual existence, yet without being turned to stone by the vision” (Nietzsche, 1956: 102). Paradoxically, depending on the initial attitude of the spectator, an absurdist fictional world may also reaffirm an absurdist viewpoint, thus possibly producing a kind of harmonious experience. Such a response would support the existential need for an experience of reaffirmation. At this stage, the fundamental affinity between dreams and theatre should

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 42

42 Iconic Figures of Speech be stressed again. In both there is a transmutation of the inner world of the dreamer and spectator into a world of human characters and actions; i.e., into a fictional world. Furthermore, it may be assumed that both these personified worlds express/describe the inner world of the dreamer and spectator respectively. The difference lies in that, in contrast to theatre, dreams are unable to mobilize symbols of culture as barriers against amoral (neutral) and immoral disturbing forces from the viewpoint of waking life. Theatre can thus be conceived as a culturally-conditioned form of dreaming. Following these considerations, it may be safely argued that a crucial function of the dramatic arts is to create appropriate metaphors that can protect people from anxiety in the face of chaos, affording thereby a barrier that enables the spectator to daydream the dream of culture, or to create metaphors that can undermine such illusions.

@

@

Future theatre research should reexamine this metaphoric thesis and look for additional principles that explain the forceful appeal of fictional worlds, which are inherently different from the worlds of the spectators. It should also explore fictional worlds that are extremely similar.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:03 Page 43

4 Stage Allegory Traditionally, ‘allegory’ is a specific instance of metaphoric discourse, ‘symbolic’ in dated terms. Usually, and especially in the context of theatre, ‘allegory is traditionally defined in terms of ‘substitution’ and ‘personification’: a) ‘Substitution’ means the total or almost total replacement of a literal description by a metaphoric one on the structural level of an entire text. Nonetheless, even total substitution does not cancel the elliptic presence of the substituted literal stratum, towards which the metaphoric elements still maintain a predicative relationship. Therefore, the task of the spectator is precisely to detect the implied literal components and restore the entire network of relations as required by the deep structure of metaphor, as if the elliptic elements were actually present in the text. b) ‘Personification’ is a specific kind of metaphor, which stems from the classification of metaphors according to their semantic domains; in this case, the human domain. Consequently, the literal subjects of stage personification could be anything but humans; e.g., animals. Actually, the usual referents of personified descriptions are abstract mental entities that, as literal subjects of predication, are replaced by human characters, enacted by human actors. For instance, in Anonymous Everyman abstract entities such as Fellowship, Good deeds, Confession and Beauty are substituted by human characters, and meant to be enacted by human actors, who lend a concrete human dimension to the abstract treatment of the theme of ‘ars moriendi’ (art of dying); see title page, overleaf. It is noteworthy that extreme personification does not contrast naturalism, because everything that reinforces the human-like nature of the characters is akin to the allegoric principle.

Metaphoric stage allegory Pertinent examples of theatre personification of abstract ideas are found in the allegoric dramas of the Spanish Golden Age. For example, in Calderón de la Barca’s autosacramental La Vida es Sueño (Life is a Dream), God is represented — in contrast to the traditional Father, Son and Holy Ghost —

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 44

44 Iconic Figures of Speech

3 Title page of the English version of Everyman, c. 1530.

by three characters ‘Poder’, ‘Sabiduría’ and ‘Amor’ who express, in the manner of allegory, the idea of the Holy Trinity. Accordingly, the human being too is represented by three parallel characters – ‘Hombre’, ‘Entendimiento’ and ‘Albedrío’ – through which Calderón conveys the idea of man, created in the image of God, albeit of lower degree. Each of these characters on both levels is to be enacted by a single actor. Seemingly, in Le Roi se Meurt, Ionesco presents the narrative of a king facing death. However, careful scrutiny reveals that, as in the aforementioned autosacramental, the author depicts a dying person as a compound of three elements: King and two Queens. Queen Mary is clearly a representation of amor/albedrío; and Queen Margueritte — of sabiduría/entendimiento; with King Bérenger representing the bare human ‘ego’. Undoubtedly, Ionesco’s way of personification, which is much more individualized, makes the identification of the abstract literal subjects more difficult. However, as suggested above, extreme personification does not contradict allegory. The tendency of traditional theatre theory is to equate allegory with personification, as a kind of metaphor defined in terms of meaning. However, there is no reason for such a constraint. Not only the human domain, but other sources of improper referential associations can be employed too; such as animal (Ionesco’s Rhinoceros), vegetal (García

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 45

Stage Allegory

45

Lorca’s Blood Wedding), inanimate (Beckett’s Happy Days), and mechanical (Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape). The general phenomenon is thus ‘metaphorization’ (Rozik, 2008a: 59). I conclude, therefore, that the essential feature of allegory is the (almost) total substitution of the literal subjects of predication by a set of improper terms; i.e. allegory is a substitutional stage metaphor. Rhinocéros is perhaps the best known example of an animal stage allegory. Undoubtedly, this is a problematic play-script because the actual transformation of a man into an animal can be conceived of as a literal description of a metamorphosis, at least by a believer. In my view the answer is simple: in iconic mediums metamorphosis is the means to express the idea of becoming like something else, a fact that is corroborated by the language of dreams. Stage metamorphosis is thus a kind of iconic substitutional metaphor. The treatment of the transfiguration of Jean, who is the only one to undergo it on stage, is similar to an ordinary stage metaphor: as a predicate that departs from a well established characterization, including the description of his behavior in the stage directions in the guise of a verbal metaphor. Bérenger: Vous avez raison certainement. Cependant, je crois que vous passez par une crise morale. (Depuis un instant, Jean parcourt la chambre, comme une bête en cage, d’un mur à l’autre – La voix de Jean est toujours de plus en plus rauque). (p. 73)

Jean, who is basically characterized as a human being, suddenly starts displaying a kind of behavior reminiscent of an animal in a cage. Seemingly different is the treatment in the following example, in the same play-script: Bérenger: De telles affirmations venant de votre part . . . (Bérenger s’interrompt, car Jean fait une apparition effrayante. En effet, Jean est devenu tout à fait vert. La bosse de son front est presque devenue une corne de rhinocéros). (p. 77)

In a particular production the director must decide whether to have an excrescence on Jean’s nose in the actual shape of a rhinoceros’ horn or not. In any case, the principle of apparent improperness will materialize. Another example of animal allegory is the ‘ovejita’ (lamb) in García Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba. María Josefa, who bears the names of both the earthly parent of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, enters the stage with a live lamb in her arms. Since the lamb is the traditional metaphor for the Christ, the concrete lamb should be viewed as an iconic substitutional metaphor of Him. However, this peculiar Trinity of Mary, Joseph and lamb, suggests an interpretation of Christian faith which commends love and having children, an interpretation which is alternative to that of Bernarda Alba, and which is fully justified by the play-script and genuine Christianity.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 46

46 Iconic Figures of Speech An example of vegetal allegory is the tree that pervades the whole stage in the third act of García Lorca’s Blood Wedding: Second Woodcutter: A tree with forty branches. We’ll soon cut it down (p. 76).

In fact, this tree is no more than a translation of a verbal motif, which describes people metaphorically in terms of plants, into the iconic medium of the stage. Further examples: 1) Bridegroom: It’s a bad day for brides! Mother: A bad day? The only good one – like the breaking of new ground; the planting of new trees. (p. 72) 2) Mother: In the three years we were married he [my husband] planted the cherry trees. – those three walnut trees by the mill, a whole vineyard and a plant called Jupiter which had scarlet flowers – but dried up. (p. 43)

The fact that the huge tree on stage is a metaphoric representation of a human being is quite explicitly in the words of the bridegroom, when chasing Leornardo: “Do you see this arm? Well it’s not my arm. It’s my brother’s arm, and my father’s, and that of all the dead ones in my family. And it has so much strength that it can pull this tree up by the roots, if it wants to” (p. 80). Consequently, the woodcutters too should be seen as stage metaphors of people who collude to kill other people, especially for those engaged in the chase of Leonardo and the bride. Moreover, Moon, which is viewed as part of the collusion, is also personified as “a young woodcutter with a white face” (p. 77). The whole scene is thus an allegoric description of the forthcoming murder of a human being (Leonardo) who is the literal subject of predication substituted by the huge and regal tree on stage. Leonardo Felix is also described on the verbal level by metaphors of regal animals, as the horse (p. 40), and the lion (Felis Leo is the scientific name of the lion). An actor may opt for an interpretation which clearly enacts these metaphors, through movement or intonation reminiscent of a horse or a lion. A further example of such a vegetal stage metaphor is the tree in Waiting for Godot. Although trees could be seen as symbols of renewal and hope, this particular tree is consistently connected with suicide and despair. The leaves which grow on it by the second act could therefore be seen as the antithetical metaphors of growing despair. An example of mechanical allegory is the tape recorder in Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape. The tape recorder represents human memory. By listening to his old tapes, in which he also finds himself listening to yet older tapes, Krapp confronts various levels of his own past. Similarly, the growing mound in Beckett’s Happy Days presents an inanimate allegory of life which has gone by, which has died already. It is evident therefore, that the equation allegory-personification is unsus-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 47

Stage Allegory

47

tainable. Nonetheless, most cases of stage allegory are personifications. Theatre allegory is thus a special case of stage metaphor, whose specific difference resides in its being a total or almost total substitution of the literal subject by improper predicates. Total substitution might be mitigated on the discourse level by clear hints as to the identity of the real referents of the metaphoric description. In conclusion, all types of iconic metaphor in theatre-texts can be reduced to variants of the same deep structure; and what is usually called ‘stage metaphor’ and ‘allegory’ both conform to this basic principle. Future theatre research should focus on mastering the metaphoric principle on all the structural levels of the performance-text. At first glance, the metaphoric thesis might appear as an adequate description also for praxical (non-allegorical) fictional worlds. Indeed, such plays too apply the principle of personification in the sense suggested above. What is then the difference? In allegory, a stratum of literal abstract ideas and notional relations among them mediates between the overall metaphor and its ultimate referent, the world of the spectator. My exact contention is, therefore, that the metaphoric quality of fictional worlds also applies to allegoric fictional worlds. Whereas in praxical descriptions, the stratum of personification refers to spontaneously partitioned aspects of the psyche with no mediation; in allegoric descriptions the metaphoric stratum is meant to describe a mediating abstract stratum, which in turn literally describes the spectator’s psychical state of affairs.

Interpreting stage allegory The more pervasive is the substitution by the improper term the more is it difficult for the audience to conjecture the elliptic literal subject of predication. In Everyman, for instance, the literal subjects are disclosed by introducing the characters to the audience by their abstract ‘names’, before they speak; for example: 1) God: Where art thou, Death, thou mighty messenger? [Enter Death.] (63) 2) Everyman: Well met, good Fellowship and good morrow! [Fellowship speaketh.] (205) 3) Everyman: Where art thou, my Goods and Riches? Goods: [within] Who called me? (392)

Because of the typical consistency of allegoric substitution, and because improperness goes both ways, the feeling might be reversed: the abstract ‘names’ might be seen as departures from the ‘literal’ behavior of the characters within the fictional world. This feeling might be induced by considerations of quantity: all the iconic sentences and most of the verbal ones are metaphoric. Obviously, this fact should be disregarded. In the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 48

48 Iconic Figures of Speech previous examples from Everyman, the author hints at the literal subjects of predication and at the true syntactical functions of all the components, literal and metaphoric through the ‘introduction-convention’. Although there is no indication in this script as to the costumes of the characters, it is quite sensible to assume, as in most allegories, that they would have carried symbolic attributes which attested to the actual nature of the literal subject of predication. For example, Death would have carried a scythe, and Knowledge, a book. Modern examples of such allegoric clues are also found in modernist theatre; e.g., in Waiting for Godot: 1) Vladimir: To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us whether we like it or not. (p. 79; my italics) 2) Vladimir: I tell you his name is Pozzo.

Estragon: We’ll soon see (He reflects). Abel! Abel! Pozzo: Help! Estragon: Got it in one! Vladimir: I begin to weary of this motif. Estragon: Perhaps the other is called Cain. Cain! Cain! Pozzo: Help! Estragon: He’s all humanity. (p. 83; my italics) Again, these clues too (‘mankind’ and ‘humanity’) may appear as improper departures from the basic characterization of the dramatis personae and produce an effect of inverted metaphor, which should be disregarded. The task of the receiver is, therefore, to detect the proper and improper components and to determine the right functions and syntactical relations, according to the deep structure of metaphor. In Waiting for Godot this is relatively easy because of the conspicuous abstract nature of the clues: the whole play-script focuses on giving a metaphoric representation to Beckett’s perception of the human condition. Nonetheless, the more extreme is substitution, the more it requires an intuition of the literal subject of predication. Nevertheless, the playwright may opt for denying any disclosure and choosing to give no clue as to the identity of the literal subject. In such a case, the spectator is left with a text which presents only improper components. Since the structure of metaphor still requires a literal subject, the task of the audience is to speculate as to the missing literal element. For instance, for Ionesco’s Rhinocéros the transmutation of people into animals is usually explained in terms of ‘Fascism’, or ‘the existential propensity of mankind to an insensitive conformism’, or ‘to the absurd’ (Esslin: 125–7). Such suggestions concern the missing literal subject of predication. The obvious result is that the set of possible literal subjects of modification is expanded. However, it should be borne in mind that a metaphor does not make sense unless there is a modifier common to

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 49

Stage Allegory

49

both the improper noun and the literal subject of predication. This condition drastically reduces the options. Still, the problem of having at least several potential referents remains unsolved. In choosing this option, unless the deliberate intention is to be ambiguous or obscure, the playwright possibly seeks to increase the set of possible referents in order to widen the possible application of the overall metaphor. Nonetheless, the identification of the subject of predication does not complete the process of interpretation. All the suggestions mentioned above in regard to Rhinocéros only go part of the way. The next step is to determine both the common literal modifiers and the referential associations which are activated by the improper term; and, eventually, to establish how these components actually describe the referent. For this purpose it is immaterial to know the facts about real rhinoceros. The important thing is that they are usually thought of as being wild and dangerous, especially in herds, despite the fact that they are not.

Mixing praxical and allegoric features The usual presupposition is that fictional worlds are either ‘allegoric’ or ‘praxical’. I derive the term ‘praxical’ from Aristotle’s definition of tragedy in terms of imitation of ‘praxis’ (Poetics, VI, 2). The term is needed for regular plays, which only seemingly are literal, in contrast to ‘allegoric’ plays, which are manifestly metaphoric. Nonetheless, many praxical play-scripts feature allegoric characters, together with ‘praxical’ characters, human or otherwise. Some of the above-examples belong in this class – the trees in Blood Wedding and in Waiting for Godot, Krapp’s tape-recorder, and the like. Other examples readily spring to mind, such as the masks in García Lorca’s Yerma, the necrophiliac in Arrabal’s The Solemn Communion, the match-seller in Pinter’s A Slight Ache – as such a mixture has become common practice in modernist theatre. However, this is by no means a recent innovation. A quite early example is found in Calderón de la Barca’s comedy Life is a Dream: “(Abrense las hojas de la puerta y descúbrese Segismundo con una cadena y vestido de pieles. Hay luz en la torre)” (The doors open and reveal Segismundo, chained up and wearing a fur. There is a dim light in the tower; I, ii, 101; my translation). Although all the props, the chain, the fur, and the dim light could be explained in literal terms, in the context of Segismundo’s imprisonment, due to the poor conditions under which the Prince is held by his father, the fact is, however, that on a deeper level of interpretation these are stage metaphors: the chain stands for the deprivation of the basic human right to freedom of choice (libre albedrío); the fur stands for the animal condition in which he is held, and the dim light for his poor understanding. Furthermore, the ascent of Segismundo to the consummation of his human nature is structured according to the gradual acquisition of the corresponding three features that make a living creature a true human being: the human nature,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 50

50 Iconic Figures of Speech

4 Unbelievably baroque dress for Arrabal’s The Solemn Communion, 1970. Reproduced by kind permission of Alma Books.

freedom of choice and human understanding, which rules upon both. Segismundo accomplishes his full human essence at the end of the play when he reveals his father’s fundamental error: the imprisonment denied the prince of proper human upbringing, thus causing the realization of the ominous prophesy. Only then is the poor light, which characterizes Segismundo’s first appearance on stage, transmuted into a profusion of light. Light is also a frequent stage metaphor in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Most of the action unfolds in night scenes. Torches are prescribed; night is invoked (I, v, 50; III, ii, 46); “the instruments of darkness” (I, iii, 124) are given power; and “witchcraft celebrates” (II, i, 51). Rosse is amazed by “night’s predominance” and by the darkness, which “does the face of the earth entomb” (II, iv, 9). Darkness thus acquires mythical power: Macbeth: Almost at odds with morning, which is which. (III, iv, 125)

Lady Macbeth echoes Rosse’s words: “By th’clock ‘tis day, and yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp” (II, iv, 6); Finally, in Malcolm’s words: “the night is long that never finds the day” (IV, III, 240). Most of the scenes take place in the dark, indicated by torches. Obviously, ‘night’ and ‘darkness’ become substitutive metaphors, verbal and iconic, of the fertile soil for the predominance of evil; and human understanding, the usual referent of the ‘light’ metaphor is subdued. Within this context, when Lady Macbeth enters the stage with a taper she presents a metaphoric image of dwindling human understanding, in her desperate attempt to overcome her own darkness, which she herself had so fervently invoked. Lady Macbeth suggests a

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 51

Stage Allegory

51

process, which is diametrically opposed to the one Segismundo undergoes: from human being to animal condition (see chapter 9). Similar considerations apply to the first murderer when he strikes out the light in the scene of Banquo’s murder (III, iii, 17). In fact, since some stage conventions can be explained on the grounds of the substitutional or, rather, the allegoric principle, a mixture of literal and allegoric predications characterizes most fictional worlds. The ‘confidant’ convention, for example, was established in the theory of drama in the seventeenth century within the framework of neo-classical French theatre. Within this tradition the soliloquy was viewed as an anti-dramatic device or, rather, as an anti-realistic one. Therefore it was suggested that it had to be consistently substituted by a pseudo-dialogue with a functional character whose main role was to facilitate the disclosure of the interactive characters’ innermost feelings and thoughts, natural confidants, for the purpose of dramatic irony. With this purpose in mind confidants were characterized in such a way that disclosure became plausible, antithetically in particular (see chapter 9). The antithetical characterization of the confidant is illustrated by the Spanish Golden Age pair hero-gracioso. Apparently, such a pair was designed in order to preserve the moral and religious purity of the knighthero, without violating too overtly the audience’s familiarity with reality. Consequently, the servant was usually characterized by the antithetical features of the knight, such as evincing worldly appetites, unreliability, and even cowardice. Perhaps the most interesting example of antithetical characterization is found in Tirso de Molina’s El Burlador de Sevilla (The Trickster of Sevilla). In this original dramatic version of Don Juan’s myth, Catalinón, the gracioso, is characterized by a peculiar combination of piety and cowardice which is not only unusual but also in contradiction to the Catholic tradition, especially as he is designed in the comic mood. His master, Don Juan too evinces two contrasting traits: courage and heresy. The evil of such a combination was probably what Tirso had in mind as the main object of criticism. Thus the principle of antithetical characterization for Don Juan also accounts for the odd combination in Catalinón. In Molière’s Don Juan, Sganarelle, Catalinón’s equivalent, is characterized by the same contrasting traits – piety and cowardice – and by the same comic design. He is also bound for an unhappy ending like his master. But in contrast to the latter, who cannot claim to divine earnings, Sganarelle is left to bemoan his wordly ones. In Ionesco’s Les Chaises the old couple too is a clear embodiment of the same principle, the split of a basic human unit for the sake of the dramatization of soliloquy. Through their grotesque games, the old couple represents metaphorically the playwright himself in his own grotesque quest for meaning and redemption of the world, which ironically has already ceased to exist. The split of a human unit and its substitution by two human characters pervades the play in a way that clearly brings to mind the procedure of allegory.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 52

52 Iconic Figures of Speech Since the same allegoric principle applies to other theatre conventions, we may conclude that there are allegoric elements, in the sense of consistent substitutional metaphors, in almost every performance-text. Theatre can hardly do without mixing the principles of praxical and allegoric predication.

Mixed metaphor in allegoric texts Since metaphor does not change the basic literal meaning of a text, but only provides improper sources of referential associations, there is no reason why stage metaphors cannot be added at will, by actors or directors. Furthermore, according to the same principle there is no reason why stage metaphors relating to different sources of referential associations, improper to each other, cannot coexist in the very same theatre-texts, as in the Theatre of the Absurd (see Rozik: 1996).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 53

5 Speech-Act Stage Metaphor The notion of ‘speech-act metaphor’ might appear to be impossible, because of involving both a kind of description and an object of description. Whereas metaphor is a kind of predication or, rather, description; a speech act is a kind of an action; i.e., a referential entity. The term ‘speech-act metaphor’ is not meant to denote a verbal metaphor in the propositional content (p) of a speech act, either assertive or other, but a speech act in which the performative component, either verbally indicated or not, is metaphoric in itself. Indeed, there is no problem in having a metaphor in the propositional content of a speech act, as currently integrated in theories of both metaphor and speech activity; in particular, John R. Searle’s analysis of metaphor focuses on the propositional content of speech acts and is not conducted in terms of speech act theory (1988: 92–3). Speech act theory has actually contemplated the possible explanation of metaphor as a specific kind of speech act, combining proper (literal) and improper (non-literal) elements (cf. Searle, 1988). I employ the terms ‘proper’ and ‘improper’ in the spirit of Quintilian (VIII, vi): a word is ‘proper’ if it implements the convention, which underlies the association between a signifier and a set of referents; and is ‘improper’ if it breaches it. Any improper term is thus potentially metaphoric. Speech act theory, however, has not envisaged the possibility of a kind of speech act which is metaphoric on its performative level. As suggested above, the difficulty lies in integrating both a kind of description and an object of description. Seemingly, such a combination entails blurring the existential boundary between the description of a world and a referential world; or, in other words, between the linguistic/semiotic and the extra-linguistic/semiotic spheres. Even if we accept that speech-act metaphors do exist, they still require a theoretical explanation. I intend to show that speech-act metaphor in theatre (a) is conceivable; (b) is a particular case of (nonverbal) stage metaphor; and (c) is a frequent device in particular theatre styles. Moreover, such an account will not only solve the paradox of integrating the descriptive nature of metaphor and the referential nature of an action, but will also provide an

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 54

54 Iconic Figures of Speech indispensable tool for the interpretation of performance-texts in such styles. I intend to illustrate this peculiar type of stage metaphor by speech acts in play-scripts written in the style of the so-called Theatre of the Absurd, Ionesco’s Exit the King in particular, in which there are many instances of speech acts that can be understood, only if it is assumed that such a combination of principles is possible.

Ionesco’s Exit the King For those who are not familiar with the play-script, the following remarks may help in clarifying the examples provided below. The central theme of Exit the King is the human propensity to suppress the idea of death and its ominous meaning. The play portrays the last hours of dying Bérenger, the king of a fictional country. His denial of death is manifested against the background of his two wives, the two Queens, who are allegoric representations of two fundamental human attitudes to life: Queen Mary personifies the wishful principle and Queen Margaret the reality principle. Whereas the latter is rather cruel in her constant demands for awareness of death, the former is complacent and even supporting. Against this twofold background, the King himself is revealed as an allegoric representation of everyman in facing death. Indeed, the action of the play follows the pattern of Everyman in the medieval anonymous Everyman, from the moment the certainty of death dawns upon him until his actual death on stage. However, in contrast to Everyman, which aims at teaching the ‘art of dying’, Ionesco’s play-script precludes this Christian solace in its optimistic belief in life after death; in Exit the King death is final, the end of the human journey and, therefore, there is nothing to prepare for. It is the death of a universe. Exit the King is thus a secular morality play. Its mood is grotesque, in the sense of using comic devices to depict the saddest event in human life. In confronting death, the King alternatively behaves like a god, a king, a regular family man, a child and an animal. Although such inconsistency would appear to explain the sense of absurdity often attributed to the play-script; I believe that the principle of speech-act metaphor is capable of dispelling this sense of absurdity, by explaining this type of complex characterization as a kind of mixed stage metaphor, and restoring thereby the coherence and consistency in the King’s characterization and behavior.

Speech-act metaphor on stage Exit the King provides an example of a verbal metaphor in the propositional content of a speech act: Marguerite: . . . Now the kingdom’s full of holes as a gigantic Gruyere cheese. (p. 16)

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 55

Speech-Act Stage Metaphor

55

This speech act of blame (within a series of such speech acts) features an improper term (Gruyere cheese) in the predicate of its propositional content, which conveys a description of the kingdom’s state of affairs, and reflects Queen Marguerite’s realistic viewpoint. In contrast, the following speech act illustrates a ‘speech-act metaphor’: King: I order the trees to sprout from the floor. (Pause) I order the roof to disappear. (Pause) What? Nothing? I order the rain to fall. . . . I order a thunderbolt, one I can hold in my hand. (p. 34)

King Bérenger performs several speech acts of command which are improper to his characterization as king, while being appropriate only to the behavior of a divine being, because of presupposing authority over the elements. However, analysis of the play reveals that the intention is not to characterize the king as impersonating a god, but to describe him literally as a king and metaphorically as both reflecting divine nature and exhibiting diminishing power as he approaches death; i.e., as a failing god. In other words, his failure does not contradict the nature of these speech acts and his characterization as king. Such speech acts can be described as ‘the king issues commands like a failing god’. It is in this sense that a speech-act metaphor relates to the performative aspect of a speech act, which is metaphoric in itself. A description of the structure and explanation of the function of speechact metaphor involves three theoretical domains: speech act, metaphor, and iconicity, with the theatre being a particular instance of the latter. Since I have expanded on these matters in preceding chapters, I shall confine myself here to the features relevant to the notion of ‘speech-act metaphor’. In order to provide an effective description and explanation for such an unusual form of metaphor, a set of truth conditions must be satisfied. In the following I shall elucidate these conditions and suggest how speech-act metaphor satisfies them.

The predicate ‘is a metaphor’ What are the truth conditions of the predicate ‘is a metaphor’ or, in other words, under what conditions the verbal description of a verbal or iconic description in terms of ‘metaphor’, can be said to be literal and true? I suggest the following: a) If and only if it is a description generated by a system of representation and communication, whether verbal or iconic; i.e., in the case of the latter, if it is an imprinted and language mediated image of a speech act, performed by an actor. b) If and only if it features a predicative structure which reflects the descriptive structure of metaphor. c) If and only if the nominal predicate is improper and by the same token

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 56

56 Iconic Figures of Speech there operates a common literal modifier that makes sense as a literal description of both the agent of the speech act and the improper predicate; with the specific difference being the evocation of alternative referential associations, originating in the improper term; equally for verbal and nonverbal metaphor. d) If and only if the alternative referential associations are clearly preferred or, in other words, if the truth conditions of ‘is a metaphor’ are satisfied, and the predicate is thus true. a) Descriptive condition: The moment the actor’s description of a speech act is attributed to a (fictional) character, it resumes (a) its performative nature, and perceived as the performance of an action by the character; and (b) it implements the typical structure of ‘I’ + performative verb + ‘you’ + embedded sentence ‘p’ (see chapter 10). It is in this sense that it constitutes part of the interactive nature of the fictional action; i.e., it is employed for establishing or changing a state of affairs. The following are the different deep structures of real/fictional and iconic nonverbal acts and speech acts: 1.1 1.2 2.1 2.2

Real or fictional nonverbal act: I + act + you. Iconic description of a nonverbal speech act: S/he1 + act + s/he2. Real or fictional speech act: I + performative verb + you + that (p) Iconic description of a fictional speech act: S/he1 + perf. verb + s/he2 + that (p).

These deep structures reflect the difference between a description (1.2 & 2.2) and an object of description (1.1 & 2.1): whereas a real or fictional speech act is an ‘I’ act/action, an iconic speech act is a description of a fictional ‘s/he’ act/action. Because of its iconic nature, the medium of theatre provides the grounds for viewing speech acts produced by actors as descriptions made within a system of representation and communication (cf. Übersfeld, 1981: 51–83; cf. 1999 &; Elam: 21–7; Fischer-Lichte: 129–41; Carlson: 3–9; Rozik: 2002a: 34–47). Actors create descriptions of actions by imprinting images of acts on their own bodies/voices, and ‘deflecting reference’ to characters (see chapter 20), so that the iconic act is perceived as if performed by the character; e.g., an actor describes a nonverbal threat made by a character in a fictional world by iconically brandishing a fist in the face of another actor. At the opposite end of the theatre axis, on the stage-spectator level, the spectator understands the fist gesture by relying on the elements of similarity to its model, a real nonverbal act. Since a speech act is an index of an action and its performer, and an iconic act is a replica of an index, it thus combines the principle of similarity (to a real model), which defines ‘iconicity’ (Sebeok: 242–5; Pavis, 1996: 165–6) and the principle of contiguity which defines ‘indexality’ (Sebeok: 245–7; Pavis, ibid. 171). On the same grounds, an actor can produce a description of a fictional threat by imitating a speech act of threat, such as ‘I will smash your face’, while the spectator will equally rely

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 57

Speech-Act Stage Metaphor

57

on its elements of similarity in order to read it. The iconic principle thus implies that anything which is an object of description in the real world is transmuted into a description on stage. Moreover, the iconic replica of a speech act on stage features exactly the same components as a real speech act and only differs from the latter in being an iconic description of a speech act in a (usually fictional) world. The iconic speech act thus satisfies the essential condition of being a description produced within a system of representation and communication. Following this logic, three types of speech act can be discerned: (a) the real speech act (or model for an iconic speech act); (b) the iconic speech act, which is a description of a fictional act/action; and (c) the fictional speech act, which is a described speech act, and attributed to a character in a world. Since stage metaphor presupposes an iconic medium, the question, whether a particular speech act is employed in a literal or a metaphoric capacity, can be asked only in regard to type (b). b) Predicative condition: Verbal metaphor embodies a predicative structure (Black, 1962: 218–35; 1988: 19–43; Beardsley: 134–44; Sadock: 47). In contrast, real speech acts only seem to feature a predicative structure. The structure of a speech act encompasses four elements: a performer of the act (I, we); its object (you); a performative verb (f); and a propositional content (p). Although the combination of an ‘I’ and a performative verb appears to reflect a predicative structure, it is not: since the latter is not used in the capacity of a predicate but, conventionally, in the capacity of an act, i.e., as an index of an action, it is not a description of the speaker’s state of affairs but an index of it (cf. Dijk, 1977: 182). The performative verb is a verbal category that normally also describes the kind of act/action that is performed and, therefore, a speech act such as ‘I promise to buy you a [bike]’ can be categorized as ‘a promise’ and genuinely predicated on the I who made the promise (‘He made a promise’), which describes a referent in a world. In other words, the verb ‘promise’ can be used both in the capacity of descriptive category and, in particular cases and by convention, for performing the act itself; i.e., in a nondescriptive/indexical capacity (cf. Leech: 181 & 196). Moreover, a promise can be performed without an explicit performative verb, e.g., by uttering the propositional content with the typical intonation of promise (e.g., ‘I’ll buy you a [bike]’) or by a non verbal gesture symbolizing ‘trust me’, such as putting the palm of the right hand on the heart (cf. Austin: 73–6). A speech act in the real world is also an index of its performer and, therefore, following a syntactic analogy, it is self-referential and can be described only by a sentence that makes reference to the producer of the act himself, and to the spatial and temporal circumstances of its utterance by deictic terms (cf. Serpieri: 163–200). This suits its nature as the perceptible aspect of an action. In contrast, a speech act uttered on stage cannot be attributed to the actor who produces it, but is intuitively attributed to the character described by it; for example:

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 58

58 Iconic Figures of Speech King: [I order] Off with that Guard’s head, off with his head! (p. 32) In French: “Que la tête du Garde tombe!” (p. 27) – (that the head of the guard fall!).

Despite the actor producing an image of a speech act of command and imprinting it on his own body, it is understood not as an index of himself, but of the fictional king; i.e., the (implied) ‘I’ does not refer to the actor but to the king. I have elsewhere termed this principle, which characterizes acting, ‘deflection of reference’ (see chapter 20; and Rozik, 2008a: 79–82). The elliptical presence of ‘I + performative verb + you’ is typical of drama, which are conveyed non-verbally or self-understood, while articulating only the embedded sentence. ‘Deflection of reference’ is achieved by producing signs that identify a character other than the actor, in the capacity of agent of the fictional speech act. However, when an iconic speech act is perceived as predicated on a character (the referent of the subject signs), it resumes its indexical nature as if the character had produced the speech act itself. In other words, whereas a real speech act is not predicative/descriptive in nature, an enacted speech act is descriptive, because of being equivalent to a ‘s/he’ sentence, in which the subject of the descriptive sentence is ‘s/he’ and the entire speech act is the predicate; e.g., ‘s/he performs a speech act of command.’ By deflection of reference this descriptive sentence is attributed to a character. In this sense, an iconic speech act satisfies the condition of featuring a predicative structure which reflects its descriptive function. c) Improperness condition: Metaphor is characterized by the use of an improper predicate. As suggested above, a predicate is ‘proper’ (or ‘literal’), if employed in accordance with the convention that links it with a particular set of referents; or is ‘improper’, if it breaches such a convention (see chapter 2). Improper predicates are either potentially metaphoric or nonsense. Properness or improperness is thus determined by the nature of the referent. No sentence is literal or metaphoric in itself. As suggested above, the reading of an imprinted image on the holistic level is equivalent to the literal subject of a verbal sentence; and the readings of it on the partial levels are equivalent to the set of its predicates (see chapter 2). It follows that only on the partial level of reading the improperness of a predicate can be detected; for example, in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot: Estragon: . . . Why will you never let me sleep? Vladimir: I felt lonely. Estragon: I had a dream. Vladimir: Don’t tell me! Estragon: I dreamt that – Vladimir: Don’t tell me. Estragon: . . . It’s not nice of you. Didi. Who am I to tell my private nightmares to if I can’t tell them to you?

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 59

Speech-Act Stage Metaphor

59

Vladimir: Let them remain private. You know I can’t bear that. Estragon: Coldly. There are times when I wonder if it wouldn’t be better for us to part. (pp. 15–16)

Vladimir and Estragon display speech acts of blame, apology and veiled threat between two men, albeit these being characteristic of quarrels between husbands and wives. As such, they reflect the improper nature of these speech-act predicates, thus constituting potential speech-act metaphors. In current theory, speech acts are dealt with as if they invariably reflect the nature of their performers; e.g., if a king performs an order, it is presupposed that it certainly reflects regal characterization. This is a natural assumption, with such an order being an index of a king. If such a speech act were a description, it would have been equivalent to a literal one. However, a king can be described also as giving an order that is improper to his own characterization and thus constituting an alternative source of referential associations. Potentially, if such a speech act were a description, it would be a speech-act metaphor. In general, since an iconic speech act is a description of a character performing a speech act, I suggest that if the source of referential associations reflects its own characterization, it is literal, and, if it reflects an alternative source of them, it is potentially a speech-act metaphor. This principle also applies to nonverbal metaphors, including non-human sources of referential associations. Detecting alternative sources of referential associations presupposes, therefore, both knowledge of the qualities of the performing character, and knowledge of the qualities of the alternative source, which presupposes a different characterization, improper to the former. For example in Arrabal’s Picnic on the Battlefield: Bombs immediately start to fall . . . Mme Tépan goes over to one of the baskets and takes an umbrella out of it. She opens it. M and Mme Tépan shelter under it as if it were raining . . . (p. 119)

M and Mme Tépan act as if it is raining during a picnic. Since their overall attitude to war is reminiscent of a typical attitude to a picnic disrupted by rain, we may see their bourgeois nonverbal behaviour during their visit to their son in the battlefield as reflecting an improper predicate, which is potentially metaphoric. The alternative source of referential associations evoked by a speech-act metaphor, which as suggested above should be equivalent to an improper noun (e.g., rain), could be present in the text or elliptically present (see chapter 2). For example, in Ionesco’s Exit the King: Marie: Poor little chap, poor child! King: Child! A child! Then I can make a fresh start! I want to start again! (to Marie) I want to be a baby and you can be my mother. Then they won’t come for me. I still don’t know my reading, writing and arithmetic. [I want

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 60

60 Iconic Figures of Speech to go back to school and be with my playmates]. What do two and two make? (p. 47)

Marie employs the verbal metaphor ‘child’ in the embedded sentence of her speech act and the king accepts it first as a literal expression and then as a solution to his predicament. However, he gradually starts behaving like a young boy. Indeed, the last speech act “What do two and two make?” is in fact a speech act of question which is typical of a child and should be enacted in the typical intonation of a toddler. If the actor enacting the king indeed produces this sentence in a childlike manner and, under the assumption that ‘child’ is an improper predicate of ‘king’ (+adult), it is a potential speech-act metaphor: he (+king, +adult) asks a question like a child (-adult, -king). This metaphor (the childlike behavior of the king) is also employed for promoting a grotesque impression of the dying king. Marie’s verbal metaphor would appear to be a fitting description of the iconic metaphor. She conceives the king’s behavior in terms of an improper predicate ([behaves] like a child) which reflects both her own viewpoint and something in the king’s behavior which elicits her compassion. Ionesco implies that the Queen’s sensitivity should be matched by the King’s behavior, which should evoke that of a child. During rehearsals, the director would probably ask the actor to match the stage direction implied in the Queen’s words. However, in principle, in drama, verbal descriptions uttered by characters do not describe what happens on stage but what happens in a fictional world, while the same principle applies to iconic descriptions of speech acts. It should be concluded, therefore, that the verbal metaphor is not a fitting description of the nonverbal metaphor, but that both metaphors independently and equivalently aim at describing the same fictional behavior. In fact, however, this does not preclude the possibility of both functions being fulfilled correlatively. Additional sources of improper referential associations may relate to the nature of the situation in which a speech act is uttered. In addition to characterization, a speech act also reflects the fictional circumstances of utterance and may evoke a definition of the situation which is either proper or improper to it. For example, if in a wedding ceremony the groom-character says ‘Let’s shake on it!’ which is the conventional speech act for concluding a commercial deal, instead of ‘Yes, I do’, which is the conventional speech act for accepting the bonds of matrimony, his response should be understood as a metaphoric description of the expected speech act of consent in terms of a ‘business’ metaphor. Since these are ritualized forms of speech acts, any deviation is easily detected and construed either as a mistake (which invalidates the action) or as a potential metaphor. An iconic nonverbal act on stage, which evokes an alternative source of referential associations, is perceived as a potential ‘stage metaphor’. Therefore, due to its nonverbal nature, under the same conditions, an iconic speech act too should be seen as a particular case of stage metaphor (see chapter 5). Speech-act metaphor is thus a metaphoric description which

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 61

Speech-Act Stage Metaphor

61

affects our view of a fictional referent, through a specific kind of categorization, sharing with literal predication a set of literal modifiers and differing from their literal instances in evoking referential associations originating in improper terms. Speech-act metaphor thus satisfies the condition of featuring a predicate which is improper and by the same token both making sense as a literal description and being essentially different from it, with the specific difference being of the same kind as in verbal metaphor. All these examples feature common literal modifiers, as components of improper predicates. In fact, the very same approach applies to common literal modifiers as components of adjuncts, which are implicit predicates (cf. Sadock: 47). A mixture of different sources of improper referential associations may be expected as well. Such a specimen should be termed ‘ iconic mixed metaphor’.

Stylistic implications The use of mixed stage metaphor has far reaching stylistic implications: for the non-initiated they may create the impression of a chaotic or, rather, an absurd fictional world (cf. Esslin: xix ff.); especially, if the use of mixed stage metaphor is brought to the extreme. Such an impression may arise from an exuberant mixture of improper terms; for example, Exit the King features improper terms that belong not only in the divine domain, but also in the animal, domestic and childhood domains. I believe that this explains Martin Esslin’s conclusion that the Theatre of the Absurd creates an absurd image of the world. However, such an impression of absurdity does not reflect the actual intent of mixed speech-act metaphor and is fundamentally erroneous, unless the description of the fictional world itself aims at producing an image of absurdity, by purposefully frustrating the spectators’ archetypal expectations. An initial sense of disorientation and confusion may stem from the very nature of iconic mixed metaphor, in which the improper terms of the predicate enjoy concrete presence on stage. However, if speech-act metaphor is perceived as a possible feature not of the fictional world, but of the descriptive performance-text; and, if the text is read correctly, following the intrinsic rules of both iconicity and metaphor, any sense of absurdity should vanish. After providing the expected set of associations, verbal and nonverbal, the improper terms should be disregarded. Although the same applies to verbal metaphor, it is possibly easier to ignore an improper word than an improper image. Nonetheless, an impression of absurdity will persist only for those who confuse the stage reality for the fictional world. The way to read and interpret a stage metaphor, including a speech-act stage metaphor, is first, to evoke the referential associations originating in the improper term; then, to link these associations to the common literal modifier in order to describe the fictional referent; and finally, to disregard the improper source of associations, despite its concrete presence on stage.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 62

62 Iconic Figures of Speech Only after the speech-act stage metaphor has been read and interpreted appropriately should its descriptive elements be attributed to the fictional world. Speech-act stage metaphor may be responsible for initial obscurity, but not necessarily for absurdity. If read and interpreted correctly, therefore, iconic stage metaphor is not absurd in itself, although it may be intentionally used for such a purpose, as in comic or grotesque drama. Moreover, there is indeed a clear propensity to use speech-act stage metaphor in modernist drama, particularly in the Theatre of the Absurd, for the purpose of grotesque effects. Nonetheless, this is not of recent invention; in Aristophanes’ Frogs (479–92), for example, Dionysus, scared to death, craps in his pants like an ordinary human being. The main innovation of the Theatre of the Absurd probably lies in (a) introducing and operating mixed stage metaphors, speech-act stage metaphors in particular; and (b) handling serious themes, such as human frustration and death, in a comic mood; with the aim being to produce a grotesque image of the world. Although grotesque overtones are not the necessary result, the proliferation of mixed stage metaphor certainly creates a distinct type of theatre style.

@ The theatre medium transmutes the self-referential nature of an act into an iconic description of an act, thus enabling speech-act stage metaphor. This solves the paradox of integrating the referential nature of action and the descriptive nature of metaphor. Speech-act stage metaphor is in fact a particular form of stage metaphor; and stage metaphor is a particular case of nonverbal metaphor, which reflects the nature of iconic metaphor. The proliferation of (single or mixed) stage metaphor in modernist drama has reached such a degree that, for the first time in the history of theatre theory there is a need for a sound description of its deep structure, the generation of its surface structures, and its method of interpretation, in order to promote a deeper understanding of its use and effects. Future theatre research should focus on what may appear to contradict the rules of its medium and to expose the conclusions reached above to falsification (see chapter 17).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 63

6 Set and Costume Metaphor Set and costume are significant nonverbal components of the performancetext, and play a vital role in conveying the authorial conception of a fictional world, whether based on a pre-existing play-script or not. However, to the best of my knowledge, in the context of traditional theatre semiotics, their possible metaphoric contribution to the theatre holistic experience has never been addressed. As I have suggested above, on the structural level of such an experience, a theatre description of a fictional world is fundamentally a potential metaphoric description of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs (see chapter 3). Indeed, ‘metaphor’ is the only mode of description that explains the potential total involvement of spectators, despite the apparent gap between any description of a fictional world and their own worlds; i.e., despite the apparent improperness of such a description. I have also suggested that the metaphoric thesis settles the possible contradiction to the notion of ‘reference’ in seemingly referring, by the same token, to both a fictional world and the spectator’s psychical state of affairs. Actually, a single description cannot refer to two different referents: it is only the function of the subject of a predication that indicates reference. Whereas the apparent referent of the description of a fictional world is this world itself, in fact, it is only the description of the improper term of an overall metaphor; and only the spectator’s world is its ultimate and unique referent. Indeed, metaphor is the only form of description through which apparent improperness proves actual adequacy and apparent double reference proves actual single reference. In the following sections, I explore the function of set and costume on the structural level of interaction between the fictional and the spectator’s worlds. I claim that, in principle, set and costume too are subordinated to the metaphoric nature of the theatre experience. Although I focus on these two components of the performance-text as iconic means of description, other nonverbal means, such as props, lighting, music, sound, hairdressing and make-up, assumedly fulfill the very same metaphoric function.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 64

64 Iconic Figures of Speech The demonstration of the metaphoric thesis presupposes both a theory of stage metaphor and a theory of poetic structure. Although the following discussion is articulated in the terms of my own theory of verbal and nonverbal metaphor, I believe that any modernist approach would do (see chapter 2). I also believe that this thesis can be supported by any ‘poetic theory’, in the sense of the set of principles that structure fictional worlds (see chapter 11). The following discussion only presupposes the inherent difference between a fictional world, whatever its inner structure, and a spectator’s psychical state of affairs. Eventually, I illustrate the metaphoric thesis through pertinent analyses of set and costume in the theatre productions of Federico García Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba, Jean-Paul Sartre’s adaptation of Euripides’ Trojan Women, Georg Büchner’s Woyzeck, Beckett’s Waiting for Godot and the stage adaptation of the biblical narrative of Jephthah’s daughter.

Metaphoric experience The metaphoric nature of the theatre experience is substantiated by both the theory of metaphor (see chapter 2) and the fictional structure of the fictional world, built on the fundamental stratum of personification (see chapter 11). Moreover, only a description generated by an established language or iconic medium can evoke a fictional world in the minds of receivers, and theatretexts actually reflect the existence of such a medium. Due to the imprinting of images and language mediation, the theatre medium is capable of generating descriptions of fictional worlds that are highly univocal, no less than those generated by language (see chapter 1).As suggested above, in the process of experiencing a fictional text, the spectator can take over the author’s function of referent (see chapter 3). The gist of the metaphoric nature of a fictional world lies, therefore, in its ability to describe a psychical states of affairs through literal modifiers shared by the fictional and the spectators’ worlds, further modified by referential associations originating in the experience of an improper fictional world. Such a metaphoric experience lends cultural expressive form to an amorphous psyche. Since a theatre description of a fictional world is a macro-set of images imprinted on various matters, similar to their models, a performance-text exhibits a material reality capable of eliciting sensory referential associations by itself — thus conditioning its reception by the spectator. Nonetheless, as suggested above, referential associations are not circumscribed to sensory experiences, but also include emotional, ethic, aesthetic and modal associations as well (see chapter 2), all of which can be induced by a description of a fictional world, although not necessarily by its specific materiality. Furthermore, the pleasure (or discontent) experienced by a spectator in watching such a text, including its effect on the aesthetic level, also becomes part of the set of induced referential associations.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 65

Set and Costume Metaphor

65

Since the interaction of a metaphoric description and its (apparent) referent determines the set of verbal and referential associations that is activated, and the ultimate referent of such a description is the spectator’s psychical state of affairs, it is the task of the scholar to ponder the possible nature of such a metaphoric relationship.

Set and costume metaphor In contrast to traditional theatre semiotics, which maintains that theatre employs a variety of codes, I have suggested elsewhere that the theatre medium is homogeneous, and that the apparent diversity of iconic units is explained by the images being imprinted on matters, similar to the materials of their models, and thus designed and produced by different professional experts. In other words, set and costume are designed and produced by professional designers and artisans who imprint images of stage objects and garments on real materials, similar (including identical) to their real models. Set and costume, which are imprinted images of objects and garments, like their real models, have a multiple indicative power: first, they are generic indexes of traits shared by a group of characters such as nationality, culture, period, subculture, fashion, class, profession, gender and age, and their common circumstances such as season, climate and part of the day; and second, by the same token, they can also indicate individual traits such as temperament, mood, personal inclinations and even peculiarities. Each of these traits can evoke specific verbal and referential associations, with the latter being the hallmark of metaphor predication. I claim that, in principle, these associations are in line with and subordinated to the overall metaphor that a director intends to create. Although this metaphoric function is fulfilled through set and costume in various ways, due to considerations of space I restrict the following discussion to the indication and characterization of a cultural period through set and costume in diachronic productions of canonic play-scripts and narratives. I suggest that the set and costume of a performance-text fulfill a complementary metaphoric function on the level of relationship between the period/subculture of a fictional world and that of the spectator. In principle, the set and costume of a production that sets a fictional world in a period different from that of the spectator support the inherent improperness of a fictional world, which is the marker of metaphor and triggers its specific manner of generating meaning. However, setting such a world in the present of the spectator does not necessarily contradict its metaphoric function and structure. First, such a fictional world can be set in a different subculture, e.g., the village milieu of Federico García Lorca’s Yerma for the bourgeois audience of Madrid. And, second, even if it is set in exactly the same milieu, such as an intellectual milieu of an actual bourgeois audience, apparent improperness can be established on other grounds; e.g., Chekhov’s The Seagull. Furthermore, similar considerations

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 66

66 Iconic Figures of Speech apply to set and costume that have been neutralized, in the sense of not indicating any particular period/subculture, e.g., Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. I also assume that each period can evoke different expectations and associations, referential associations in particular. For example, the Roman culture might induce associations of might and majesty; the Middle Ages – associations of ignorance and brutality; the Baroque period – associations of extreme ornamentation, refined manners and rationalism; the Romantic period – associations of emotionality and intuitiveness; and the Modernist period – associations of efficiency and utilitarianism. Similar considerations apply to subcultures during the same period, such as the milieus of working people, villagers, and gangsters. In principle, it is not the accurate knowledge of a period or subculture that is expected to be evoked through a metaphor, but the commonplaces associated with it. Again, I note that a metaphor can produce an experience of truth even if its verbal and referential associations are false, provided that these associations are held to be true and shared by author and audience (see chapter 2; cf. Black, 1962: 229). The implication is that the same fictional world can evoke and induce different associations in the contexts of different cultural audiences. Specific set and costume may also contribute to the inner logic of a fictional world, in the sense of supporting the plausibility of certain events in the context of a specific period/subculture. I also contend that plausibility too is part of the metaphoric input of a fictional world. For example, although Yerma’s barrenness could have been solved nowadays through artificial insemination, this was unthinkable in the context of the Spanish village of the 1930s. There is a conscious, reasonable and acknowledged tendency of directors to create fictional worlds that are relevant to their synchronic audiences. In addition, it can be reasonably assumed that the notion of ‘relevance’ may have been understood differently by playwrights, directors and scholars throughout the ages. I believe that the metaphoric thesis, regarding the relationship between a fictional world and the spectator’s world, explains the phenomenon of relevance through canonic fictional worlds set in periods/subcultures different from those of the actual audiences, with no modification, because difference underlies metaphoric improperness. Directors may have attempted actualization through modernist set and costume, typical of the spectators’ synchronic culture, with no actual necessity. However, as we shall see below, such a procedure does not contradict the metaphoric thesis, but only requires additional considerations. We should distinguish between set and costume that reflect the naïve viewpoint of characters (such as personal taste and/or peculiarities) and those that reflect the ironic perspective of an author, playwright or director, which usually pervades an entire fictional world. Although, it is the ironic perspective that is meant to shape the expected perception of a fictional world by the audience, ‘dramatic irony’ implies the interaction between the ironic and naïve viewpoints (see chapter 13).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 67

Set and Costume Metaphor

67

The spectator’s familiarity with a canonic play-script might produce a particular tension between a diachronic production, which reflects a director’s creative interpretation, and its source-text. The original play-script may trigger the expectation for setting its fictional world either in the period of its playwright or in that of its fictional “existence”. In fact, directors are constrained neither by the setting of the original play-script, nor by that of its fictional world. They are free to choose from a range of possible periods, including their own. Therefore, any directorial decision can create a tension between the actual setting of a performance-text and the spectator’s expectations, which should be perceived as a clue to the innovative interpretation of a director. For the purpose of simplifying the argument, I suggest the following five models for the analysis of productions of canonic play-scripts/narratives for diachronic audiences: (a) setting a production in the past of either the playwright or the narrative source; (b) setting it in the synchronic period of the director/audience and (c) setting it in any period other than the one established by either the playwright’s past or the director’s present, whether in an interim past period or the future (e.g., science fiction). I also suggest two additional models for play-scripts or performance-texts that involve abstract characterization: (d) setting an abstract fictional world in a concrete period/subculture; and (e) setting a concrete fictional world in an abstract milieu. Possibly, there is nothing new in this typology, but only in regard to the different metaphoric functions of such decisions.

Five basic models The following are brief and pertinent analyses of examples of each of these models. They focus on the metaphoric functions of set and costume in diachronic productions of canonic play-scripts/narratives, and their subordination to an overall metaphoric experience. Nonetheless, occasionally, I make reference to additional nonverbal components of a performance-text fulfilling similar metaphoric functions such as props, lighting and music. Model ‘A’: A director’s decision to set a canonic fictional world in a playwright’s original period, which supposedly takes place in a more or less remote past. Such a decision contributes to the diachronic spectators’ sense of improperness that characterizes metaphor. In such a case, the corresponding set and costume fulfill a complementary metaphoric function in evoking the commonplace associations attached to such a period in the spectators’ minds. I illustrate this model by Nuria Espert’s production of García Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba (1936), at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre, London, 1986. The play-script focuses on Bernarda’s self-image of class superiority, and her realization that only Angustias, the daughter from her first husband, possesses the adequate dowry to “acquire” an appropriate match. Against

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 68

68 Iconic Figures of Speech such a background, Bernarda’s vow to keep all her other daughters unmarried, taken at the funeral of her second husband, leads to disaster. Adela, her youngest daughter, believing that her mother shot her lover, Angustias’ fiancé, commits suicide. The mother’s tyrannical way of controlling her daughters’ lives instills a sense of imprisonment, and the heat of the Andalucian summer a sense of suffocating hell. However, Bernarda’s observance of the typical values of the Spanish village, family honor in particular, precludes any interpretation of Bernarda as a villain. She is more the victim of her own culture, which has sanctioned these values, focusing thereby the author’s cultural critique. The typical tendency is to interpret this play-script as a metaphor of political tyranny, the nature of Fascism in particular. In contrast, Espert’s interpretation anchored on a deeper human level: it is Bernarda’s intolerance, rooted in the values of her own society, which leads to the tragic end. Although Espert’s production was addressed to audiences with more tolerant values, she viewed intolerance as the common ground for their possible involvement because “every tolerance has its limits. There is no absolute tolerance” (Rozik, 1988a). In other words, in her view, society is intolerant in nature, and the spectators are its actual or potential victims. Her intention was, therefore, to present this fictional world as a metaphor of society’s victimization. The prison metaphor was not only conveyed by Bernarda’s restrictions, but also by the set. The stage enacted a secluded patio, surrounded by tall and derelict walls, within which the “inmates” moved. The implied white façade of the house, which is typical of Andalucian villages, and blocked the neighbors’ view into the patio, was probably intended as a metaphor of social hypocrisy; and the strong lighting, which represented Andalucian extreme heat as a metaphor of the house being like a boiling pot. Three generations of women populated the stage. Most of them were dressed in mourning clothes: black costumes, black socks, and black shoes, as expected from Spanish women in mourning. The women attending the funeral too were dressed in similar manner. Bernarda’s decision to impose eight years of mourning conveyed a sense of stifling the natural drive for life. Adela’s green dress thus indicated her mental rebellion against Bernarda’s rule (p. 1462). Maria Josefa, who was correctly interpreted not as a mad old lady, but as representing the true and alternative interpretation of Christian values (she holds a lamb in her arms, the metaphoric symbol of Jesus, and bears the names of both His earthly parents, Mary and Joseph), was dressed in a transparent wedding dress, which aimed at correlating her nude old flesh with her existential yearning for human happiness. She represented the genuine dreams of her oppressed granddaughters. The original setting of this fictional world in a backward Spanish village was intended as a derogatory metaphor for the bourgeois spectators’ own society who actually shared the very same values. Furthermore, in Espert’s hands this setting became a metaphor of the fundamental oppressive nature of society. Setting her new interpretation in its original milieu reactivated the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 69

Set and Costume Metaphor

69

apparent improperness of the set and costume, to create a universal metaphor for any audience in the world (for an expanded discussion of this production of The House of Bernarda Alba, see chapter 16). Similar considerations apply to diachronic productions of play-scripts whose fictional worlds are usually set in the past of a playwright, such as Shakespeare’s Macbeth, or in the past of its narrative source (e.g., Holinshed). The gap between these periods does not affect the sense of metaphoric improperness of what is equally perceived as a remote past by a modernist audience. Model ‘B’: In recent years, directors have attempted to achieve relevance to the worlds of contemporary spectators through introducing elements of actual reality into productions of canonic play-scripts through devices such as verbal references to the present, contemporary music and set and costume typical of the audience’s culture. It might appear therefore, that such a procedure counteracts their metaphoric function. Setting a dated fictional world in a modern milieu, however, may fulfill a different metaphoric function: indication of the intended new (modernist) referent of the fictional metaphor. Indeed, the apparent double reference of metaphor allows allusion to a period either in the role of improper predicate, the intended referent, or both. The determination of the exact function is, therefore, a matter of interpretation; for example, Holk Freytag’s production of Les Troyennes, Sartre’s adaptation of Euripides’ Trojan Women, at the Habimah Theatre, Tel Aviv, 1983. This production hinged on equating the Greek troops with the Israeli forces occupying the West Bank and the Gaza Strip; and the Trojan women and children with the Arab women and children in contemporary refugee camps (cf. Rozik, 2008a: 222–36). This was achieved by both retaining the original Greek and Trojan identities of the characters, and their narratives, and adding clear nonverbal allusions to the present Israeli and Arab identities through set, costume, props, sound, music and body language. The Greek soldiers were dressed in light khaki uniforms, badges, army boots and guns of various kinds that, although not typical of IDF (Israeli Defense Forces), were meant to be perceived as such by the audience. The Trojan women were dressed in long black robes, shawls and flat shoes, reminiscent of Bedouin garments, and meant to evoke Arab women, without contradicting the possible garments of the Trojan women. They also carried shabby old-fashioned suitcases and bundles, as if tied up in a hurry, characteristic of refugees in flight. Although the set did not replicate any refugee camp, whether in the occupied territories or other countries, it too hinted at such a camp. On an initially bare stage, the women were engaged in building a few tents, with wooden sticks and scraps of cloth, in clear allusion to refugees preparing to shelter in a makeshift refugee camp. There was a background sound of diving jet bombers and electronic noise. The music was a combination of oriental motifs played on the flute and electronic tunes. There was also a scene of typical oriental drumming. The evident intention

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 70

70 Iconic Figures of Speech underlying all those images was, while preserving the Trojan verbal and referential associations, to actualize the ancient metaphor. In the Trojan Women, performed in 415 BCE, Euripides employed the tragic outcome of the Trojan War as a metaphor for the warmongering policy of Athenian authorities. In adopting the viewpoint of the defeated women he denounced the deceptive logic of imperialist war, implying thereby that their fate could have been also that of the Athenian men, women and children. Freytag’s two-fold characterization, particularly on the nonverbal level, did not change the nature of the original metaphor, but merely stressed its new referent by taking advantage of the apparent double reference of metaphor. Evidently, the gist of such a procedure was actualization. The Israeli/Arab characterization should be seen, therefore, as indicating the actualized literal subject of the ancient overall metaphor. This directorial decision deflected the original criticism of Euripides to that of the Israeli occupation of Palestinian territories. However, this intention could have been spontaneously perceived by the audience in any case, on the grounds of both intertextuality and the common nature of these political situations, under the assumption that the play-script was known to them. In this sense, the use of modern set and costume was fundamentally redundant. Attempts to discredit the production as a mere piece of anti-patriotic propaganda, favoring the enemy, was probably the fate of the first production of the play in ancient Greece too. Model ‘C’: For a diachronic audience, a directorial decision to set a (canonic) fictional world, neither in the period determined by the playwright, nor in the period of the synchronic audience, probably indicates the creation of an additional metaphoric dimension. Such a decision, on condition that the audience is acquainted with the source play-script, creates a triangular intertextual relation between the supposed original setting, the alternative setting, and the modernist audience. I illustrate this model through Rina Yerushalmi’s production Woyzeck 91, of Büchner’s Woyzeck (1836), at the Itim Theatre, Tel Aviv, 1991 (cf. Rozik, 2008a: 250–65). The narrative of Büchner’s Woyzeck is based on a journalistic report. Doctor and Captain, although designed satirically, were meant to portray the typical scientist and army officer in Büchner’s own society; and the appalling act of murdering Marie was meant to be a metaphor for the joint responsibility of Doctor and Captain for Woyzeck’s dehumanization. In other words, the intention was blunt criticism on the playwright’s own contemporary establishment and its spurious morality. Although no stage directions prescribe a particular period on the level of set and costume, it can be assumed that the play-script presupposes reference for Büchner’s contemporary Germany. In contrast, Yerushalmi set this fictional world neither in this period nor in the present of her prospective audience but in an intermediate past: Nazi Germany. The almost empty stage, featured a skeleton, a drug cart, a white screen,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 71

Set and Costume Metaphor

71

two white tables and two slide-projectors; and the actors enacting Doctor (played by an actress) and the students, dressed in typical white gowns, created the visual image of a classroom of a medical school. The medicalacademic image was complemented through slide projections of bodily organs, lectures about them and physical examinations. In other scenes, the same actors/students were dressed in military uniforms, which did not identify any particular army, and created the images of an army barrack or a canteen. However, Captain was dressed in the uniform of a Nazi officer, which created the context for the medical set and the students to be perceived as part of the criminal Nazi machine. The medical and military images, which alternated and combined, were meant to evoke the Nazi era of scientific experimentation with human beings, which aimed at the improvement of an allegedly superior race at the expense of an allegedly inferior one. They actually conveyed a sense of criminal complicity between military aggressiveness and scientific experimentation for the application of ‘scientific selection’ to the human race, which for the Israeli audience also evoked Nazi Germany. In his research, Doctor implied the possibility of pushing evolution a step further, in an attempt to create a race of supermen. Simultaneously, Captain spoke of a super-race in Nazi terms. Woyzeck 91 ended with a grotesque duet by Doctor and Captain in which they explicitly expressed their views. Whereas Doctor praised man as the jewel in the crown of evolution, Captain, riding skates, indulged in a series of totalitarian slogans such as “All people should unite to create a single soul, a single thought, a single will, for the purpose of materializing the objectives of humanity.”; and “It is the willingness to die for mankind that makes our country immortal.” Eventually, in their contrapuntal duet, the voice of Captain predominated, thus creating the image of ultimate subordination of science to militarism, thus casting irony on the idea of evolution itself. The concomitant image of defeated Woyzeck dying at the table was meant to be a metaphor of the sacrifice of humankind on the altar of the evil alliance of the gods of criminal war and spurious wisdom. Eventually, all sang a fictional national anthem. Reference to the past Nazi culture through set and costume supported this innovative overall metaphor based on Büchner’s Woyzeck. Whereas Büchner intended a shocking metaphor for his contemporary bourgeois audiences, Yerushalmi created a metaphor that any Israeli or any contemporary spectator could willingly adopt. Whereas Büchner aimed at an experience of absurdity, Yerushalmi intended an experience of harmony with held beliefs. Knowledge of the intertextual relation between the playscript and the performance-text, however, reveals that Yerushalmi did not dispose of the original metaphor, but only added a new historical dimension to the widespread dehumanizing collusion of militarism and science: the Nazi metaphor. The result was a mixed metaphor. Model ‘D’: A directorial decision to set a canonic fictional world, which originally had been set in an abstract milieu, in a historically and geographic

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 72

72 Iconic Figures of Speech concrete reality, set and costume in particular. This decision may indicate the intention of either creating a concrete metaphoric predicate or suggesting an actualized referent; for example Ilan Ronen’s bilingual production of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, at the Haifa Municipal Theatre, 1984. The play-script reveals a clear tendency to the abstract characterization of the fictional world. The stage directions, including those for set and costume, do not indicate any concrete characterization, such as culture, period, social class, profession and age. The play-script also avoids ethical characterization, leaving little ground upon which spectators could establish their attitudes to the characters. It only prescribes that Didi and Gogo wear rags and hats and Gogo – also boots, which indicate very little. The set consists only of a mound and a tree, bare of leaves in the first act and displaying a few leaves in the second. The action is meant to take place on ‘a country road’, with no spatial/geographical identity, and during evening time, the second act a day after the first, both with no temporal/historic identity. It can be conjectured, therefore, that Beckett’s intention was to create a fictional world, on the level of ‘every-man’, in every-place and at every-time, in his absurd and grotesque every-expectation for every-redemption from every-divinity, with every-spectator being the possible referent of this overall metaphor, created on the level of almost bare personification. The abstract nature of this frustrating and grotesque metaphor probably indicated the intention to create an abstract description valid for any particular expectation of salvation in the spectator’s mind. In the Haifa Theatre production, in contrast, Didi and Gogo were characterized as Arab builders in expectation of a day’s work, Pozzo as a Jewish contractor and Lucky as an old Arab slave. They also spoke their respective languages. The fact that Arab actors enacted Didi, Gogo and Lucky, and a Jewish actor enacted Pozzo stressed national characterization. The set closely followed the stage directions for the spatial organization of the stage; but in place of the tree there stood a pillar of concrete, half cast, the iron skeleton partly protruding, and surrounded by building blocks strewn about on the cement-like floor. In the second act, the cast part of the pillar was higher, recalling the growing tree. Similarity of layout emphasized the transition from concept to concept and indicated intertextuality. While describing a building site, this set preserved the sense of emptiness and dreariness of the play-script. Didi and Gogo were dressed in shabby clothing, typical of Arab builders. Didi wore a knitted cotton cap, Gogo a ragged one, and Lucky a cap typical of an Orthodox Muslim. In contrast, Pozzo was dressed in elegant, clean and pressed garments – a beige suit, a white shirt, sunglasses, and a hat that combined the features of a pith helmet, with its colonialist connotations, and a ‘kova tembel’ (a ‘silly hat’), typical of the Israeli pioneers. Lucky’s load characterized his despotic master: a surveyor’s tripod, a set of scrolled building plans and a briefcase. Pozzo’s attitude to Lucky was indicated by a master and dog metaphor; but, in place of the rope in the play-script, Lucky was attached to Pozzo by a dog’s collar and a typical surveyor’s measuring

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 73

Set and Costume Metaphor

73

5 Ronen’s production of Waiting for Godot, cartoon by Zeev, Haifa Municipal Theatre, 1984. Courtesy of the theatre.

tape, while the latter spurred on Lucky with a whip. In the second act, a harness used by guide-dogs for the blind substituted for the dog’s collar. The Haifa production preserved the allegoric structure, absurd ending and grotesque mood that characterize the play-script. However, in terms of ‘metaphor’, such an image could be read in two alternative ways: (a) as creating a concrete metaphoric predicate for the existential yearning for redemption, grafted upon the original abstract personification, or (b) as indicating the actualized referent of the abstract metaphor: the present of the Arabs’ predicament. According to the first reading, the Arab yearning for national redemption and its constant frustration were employed as a metaphor, i.e., a concrete source of negative ethical referential associations, for the existential yearning for redemption. According to the second reading, the Arab yearning for a day’s work pointed at one of the possible real situations to which the abstract metaphor could refer. Both readings presuppose intertextuality, and thus the audience’s previous knowledge of the playscript. I conjecture that the second reading accurately reflected the director’s intention of actualization (cf. Ronen: 239–49). In regard to diachronic productions, fictional worlds set in a mythical past may raise a similar problem because such an imaginary milieu cannot be characterized by any historical set and costume. Therefore, it is the task of a director to establish the exact period/subculture, including the set and costume meant to fulfill a metaphoric function; e.g., an ancient Greek setting. Neutralization of set and costume, which do not indicate any particular period/subculture, is an option too.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 74

74 Iconic Figures of Speech Model ‘E’: There is also the opposite directorial decision to set an originally concrete fictional world in an abstract setting. Such a decision, which is usually meant to stress the universality of the narrative, while paradoxically actualizing it thereby, does not contradict the metaphoric thesis because improperness is indicated not only by set and costume. It merely renounces the improper referential associations of such a concrete setting, while preserving the substratum of personification. I illustrate this model by the scene devoted to the narrative of Jephthah’s daughter (Judges, 11, 29–40) in Rina Yerushalmi’s production Vayomar, Vayelekh, the first part of her dramatization of the Bible, at the Itim Theatre, Tel Aviv, 1997 (cf. Rozik, 2008a; 130–2 & 143–5). Throughout the centuries, this narrative has been interpreted only from the perspective of the patriarchal Jewish ethos, commencing with the Biblical narrator, through the commentaries of the Midrash and ending with the Zionist attitude to the Bible as the epitome of the national and universal ethos. All these interpretations have ignored the basic human right of the individual to self-fulfillment and happiness, women’s rights in particular. In this production Yerushalmi suggested an alternative interpretation, advocating the reconsideration of this narrative, to fit the current cultural climate, through stressing Jephthah’s daughter’s neglected fundamental human right to realize her femininity. Ultimately, in this production, this narrative became a metaphor of her sacrifice on the altar of dated patriarchal values. This scene was performed against an empty set, on a bare floor; and the actress, who enacted both the daughter and the Biblical narrator, was dressed in a plain black dress, which no reference to the conventional perception of Biblical locations and garments. In other words, set and costume were abstract in the sense of evoking no particular culture. Obviously, for Israeli audiences, who command a vast knowledge of the Bible, the creation of intertextual relations between the target- and source-texts was inevitable. Furthermore, the abstract set and costume, meant to stress the universality of the message, were subordinated to the new metaphor and aimed at leading the spectators to reconsider the Biblical narrative in the light of modernist values.

Set and costume mixed metaphor The metaphoric nature of the fictional world does not preclude the parallel attribution of iconic/metaphoric predicates that are improper to one another, what is usually termed ‘mixed metaphor’. For example, in addition to the fundamental metaphoric relation between the Trojan War and the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, as suggested above, the Habimah production of Trojan Women featured additional stage metaphors, improper to one another. For instance, the theatre and caricatural uniform of “general” Menelaus, with its exaggerated display of military paraphernalia such as badges, medals and binoculars, did not identify any known army. Lack of

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 75

Set and Costume Metaphor

75

identification was ambiguous: while abstracting the idea of army command, it referred metaphorically to operatic theatricality, lending a ludicrous dimension to his military pretense. Furthermore, Helen, attired in a tight and sexy blue dress and high-heeled shoes, with flowing blond hair, was “displayed” in an iron and glass cage, illuminated by neon light, reminiscent of whores in a red-light district. The associations of operatic theatricality and prostitution lent a derogatory innuendo to the “heroic” Greek quest to avenge Helen’s elopement.

@ The above-discussed typology aims at opening the way to a productive analysis of nonverbal elements in diachronic productions of canonic playscripts/narratives, within the wide context of performance analysis. In other words, this typology, which possibly does not exhaust all possible models, is not suggested for its own sake, but is subordinated to the general intent to promote performance analysis in the quest to understand the ways performance-texts generate meaning. Specific analyses, therefore, should be carried out for any production that materializes these or any other models in an inductive manner. The main conclusion to be drawn from this study is that each directorial decision reflects different preferences for the actualization of canonic playscripts/narratives or, rather, for their adaptation to ever-changing diachronic audiences. The conclusions of this study also apply to the setting of a fictional world in any period or subculture by any modern or postmodern playwright. The main innovation of this typology lies in the thesis of the complementary metaphoric function of set and costume, and its subordination to the metaphoric function of a whole fictional world on the axis of performancetext – spectator. Such subordination reveals the fundamental unity of any directorial concept of a fictional world. Future theatre research should not overlook this vital metaphorical dimension and probe it again and again in additional instances of actualization.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 76

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 77

PART II

Stage Conventionality Part II explores the principles underlying ‘stage conventions’ as one of the forms of theatre semiosis; and their functions in the description of fictional worlds (see chapter 1). The notion of ‘stage convention’ indicates a departure from the principle of ‘motivation’ on the grounds of ‘similarity’ that characterizes ‘iconicity’. Indeed, as suggested above, the main text of theatre, the performance-text is imagistic/iconic in nature. Traditional theatre semiotics has quite consistently ignored the entire domain of stage conventions despite their crucial function in generating theatre meaning. In the framework of Peirce’s semiotics, the notion of ‘convention’, which characterizes, for example words, is usually perceived in opposition to motivated or, rather, non-conventional relations between signifier and signified; e.g., theatre and painting. A distinction is thus made, in Peirce’s terms, between signs that present a motivated relation between signifier and signified, such as similarity in ‘icons’ and contiguity in ‘indexes’, and signs that do not exhibit any kind of motivation, such as ‘symbols’. ‘Nomotivation’ means that receivers have no clue as to the sense of each sign, and have to rely on a previous learning of its sense. In contrast, in order to capture their senses, imagistic and iconic signs are expected to rely on the principle of ‘similarity’ to their real models. The signified is then evoked by mediation of language: which is the signified assigned by language to such a model. Therefore, imagistic and iconic texts can be read by natural inference, even if the principles generating these mediums are unknown. In theatre, even language is primarily employed in iconic dialogue, which is a form of interaction, due to language being employed in a performative capacity. In contrast, stage conventions typically operate language in a descriptive capacity; i.e., in performance-texts, the use of words in a descriptive capacity is not missing, but only relegated to a secondary role, especially when voiced through stage conventions, either by functional characters or interactive characters in functional situations.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 78

78 Stage Conentionality Chapter 7 focuses on the nature of stage conventions; chapter 8 reflects on the ancient Greek chorus as the possible matrix of stage conventions; chapter 9 examines the relations between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth in terms of the ‘confidant’ convention; and chapter 10 reconsiders the functions of language in the theatre, whether in a performative or descriptive capacity, in the context of the basically nonverbal nature of the performance-text.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 79

7 Stage Conventions The iconic sign, which is perceived as a motivated sign, characterizes the theatre medium; in other words, there is no need to learn any sign prior to engaging in reading a theatre-text. Natural inference is thus the dominant principle of theatre art. In this sense, seemingly, the notion of ‘stage convention’ cannot be incorporated within the frame of reference of ‘iconicity’, thus contrasting the homogeneity of the theatre medium. In contrast, I suggest that this notion simply derives from the nature of the imagistic/iconic sign by simple cancellation of the principle of similarity, which characterizes the iconic system of representation and communication. I intend to demonstrate that (a) stage convention presupposes at least the partial cancellation of the principle of ‘similarity’, which thus prevents natural inference; (b) cancellation is never absolute, and the traces of similarity usually allow some degree of natural inference; and (c) recognition of its function in the description of a fictional world is an additional clue to the underlying principle that characterizes each stage convention. In principle, there are several constraints that can prevent the full description of a fictional world solely through the iconic medium; and, therefore, these constrains determine the need for stage conventions. Accordingly, I also intend to show that (d) stage conventions fulfill definite functions in descriptions of fictional worlds; (e) for this purpose, some stage conventions rely on the iconic features of other mediums; and (f) stage conventions still are images imprinted on matter, as otherwise they could not be perceived by receivers, thus assisting theatre communication. In this sense, theatre-texts are homogeneous in nature.

Notion of ‘stage convention’ ‘Convention’ is used here not for the imprinted images of conventional indexes used by people independently from the iconic medium; e.g., in various cultures, ‘shaking hands’ is a conventional sign of ‘friendship’ and ‘’good will’. An imprinted image of such a gesture is not a convention, but a regular iconic sign.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 80

80 Stage Conentionality In principle the relation between a word or icon to its signified cannot be of similarity, because of the abstract nature of the latter. For example, the imprinted image of a tree is read as ‘tree’, because of its topographic similarity to a real tree, and because language assigns it the signified/sense ‘tree’ (language mediation). In contrast, the word ‘tree’ requires previous acquaintance with the conventional relation between the signifier ‘tree’ and the model ‘tree’. Indeed, there cannot be a motivated relation of similarity between the word or imprinted image ‘tree’ and its signified, because a signified is a set of abstractions, with no perceptible semblance. Similarity may obtain only between the signifier of a sign and its real model. In this sense, in verbal signs (words), the signifier-referent connection is conventional in nature. This is corroborated by that in different languages the same signified ‘tree’ is conveyed by different signifiers, such as ‘tree’, ‘baum’, and ‘arbol’; with none of them being similar to the signified. Nonetheless, iconic signs are motivated because, due to the relation of similarity between signifiers and their real models, the senses connected to the former are evoked by mediation of language (see chapter 1), albeit indirectly. Whereas for a word the receiver cannot infer its correlated signified from any feature of the signifier, the iconic sign enables the spontaneous inference of the signified through the principle of similarity to real models, which provide the respective signifieds. It follows that the receiver of a performance-text needs not to learn the theatre medium prior to reading its texts. Moreover, for any possible culture, the fact that the minds of receivers are conditioned by a language makes the referent-signified connection readily accessible. It is even not necessary to go through the process of abstraction, which is a viable procedure. I thus have contended elsewhere that the signified of an imagistic/iconic sign is accessible through mediation of language, which assigns its system of signifieds to the entire system of iconic representation and communication (Rozik, 2008a: 25–7). The claim that iconic signs, theatre signs in particular, are motivated by similarity between signifiers and their real models raises two problems: (a) some iconic signs replicate not real models, but images created in the human imagination; e.g., a unicorn. Therefore, it can be claimed that also an iconic unicorn replicates the perceptible aspects of its mental image (e.g., horse + horn); and (b) in iconic communication the principle of similarity does not necessarily apply to the matter on which the mental image is imprinted, an aspect that is not addressed by the traditional theories of ‘iconicity’. The fact is, however, that each iconic medium employs a typical matter for imprinting its images; and each iconic medium is thus characterized by its matters of imprinting, and their constraints. For example, the image of a horse can be imprinted on bronze (sculpture) or paint on canvas (art). In fact, any material is potentially suitable from imprinting. As suggested above, without imprinting on matter the communication of images would be impossible (see chapter 1). Therefore, a clear distinction between the imagistic and the material components of the iconic signifiers is mandatory.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 81

Stage Conventions

81

Whereas dissimilar materials underscore the communicative intent of imprinted images, the theatre medium is characterized by similarity also on the material level, primarily through the imprinting of human images on flesh and blood actors. This basic principle encompasses non-human ‘actors’ as well: e.g., the typical stage image of a horse is a real horse, which enacts a fictional horse. Furthermore, iconic clothes, which enact fictional clothes, are imprinted on real fabric, swords are usually imprinted on real metal, and images of light are imprinted on real sources of light. Nonetheless, similarity on the material level does not preclude communication. It should be emphasized that what actually matters is similarity on the material level, and not necessarily identity; thus, for example, on a stage, fake pearls may create the impression of genuine pearls, depending on context. The ultimate judge of similarity is the spectator because it is his/her task to read the senses of the iconic signs according to the principle of similarity. Consequently, the partial or total cancellation of similarity between a signifier and a referential model creates a stage convention, since it prevents indirect inference of the signified from the signifier via the real model; i.e., it abolishes the reading principle of iconicity. As we shall see below, total cancellation should be seen as a theoretical model, because in fact it does not apply to any known stage convention, in Western theatre at least. Still, I suggest such a model for ‘stage convention’, because I consider that all its variants presuppose it.

Kinds of stage conventions It might appear that the notion of ‘iconic convention’ involves a contradiction in terms. The question should be: what is iconic if the reading principle of similarity is abolished? However, as we shall see below, in the theatre, total cancellation of similarity never obtains. In other words, in order to understand the various types of stage conventions the aforementioned theoretical model should be qualified in various ways. Since the theatre medium maintains the principle of similarity on both the imagistic and material levels, this principle can be departed from on either level or both as follows: a) Material conventions: cancellation of similarity on the material level b) Imagistic conventions: cancellation of similarity on the imagistic level 1) distortion of imagistic elements 2) partial cancellation of imagistic elements 3) borrowing of imagistic elements c) Dual conventions: cancellation of similarity on both the material and imagistic levels.

a) Material conventions: departure from the principle of similarity on the material level usually indicates the transition from the theatre medium to another iconic medium through the imprinting of images on materials

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 82

82 Stage Conentionality different from those of their real models, such as a street set painted on a backdrop (e.g., Serlio’s sets). Such a departure does not impair the spectators’ inference capacity, due to imprinting on matter and language mediation remaining intact. In such a case, conventionality lies in the borrowing from another iconic medium, and mixing iconic mediums within a single iconic text. Nonetheless, the way in which the actors relate to such elements, apparently foreign to the theatre medium, their movements and gestures, which embody the principle of similarity on the material level, and the predominance of human acting, indicate the actual subordination of other mediums to the theatre medium.

6 Sebastiano Serlio, set for tragedy, 1545.

b) Imagistic conventions: in principle, departure from the principle of similarity on the imagistic level may impair the spectators’ ability to infer the sense of the iconic signs, since the reading principle of similarity, naturally granted to them, is abolished. Consequently, stage conventions have to be learned prior to reading iconic texts. In fact, such extreme cases of cancellation of similarity, at least in the European theatre tradition, hardly exist. Cancellation is always incomplete. The following are three variants of incomplete cancellation that affect iconic communication on the level of the stage-audience axis: 1) Distortion: Some conventions present images that are distorted to various degrees; for example, when actors speak loudly to the extreme, even when whispering, in order to facilitate aural reception at the last rows of large theatres; or when the play-script prescribes poetic diction and rhythm, in contrast to real speaking. In such cases the remaining elements of simi-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 83

Stage Conventions

83

larity are the key to the appropriate reading; while the elements of distortion should not be attributed to the described fictional world. 2) Partial cancellation: Some conventions present a partial cancellation of the principle of similarity, as when a particular location is associated with a single object in the minds of spectators; e.g., a Venetian location that is represented on stage by a single gondola, while other typical objects, such as canals, small bridges and narrow streets, are omitted. In such cases, the correct reading and interpretation obviously rely on the existing elements, and other typical objects are expected to be evoked by contiguity. Another example: in constructivist sets, a fictional place may be represented by the spatial relation between various flat surfaces. In such a case, the correct reading and interpretation rely on the movements and gestures of the actors or on verbal descriptions, which evoke the missing elements of the set. 3) Borrowing: Some conventions actually borrow iconic semblance from models of objects that are not supposed to be part of the fictional world. For example, the indication of places by signs written on street signs, such as ‘living room’ and ‘the court’. This procedure is borrowed from street signs in villages or cities. Appropriate reading and interpretation should attribute what is printed on the signs and overlook the nature of the sign itself. c) Dual conventions: A stage convention may depart from the principle of similarity concomitantly on both the material and imagistic levels; for example, a non existing door can be represented solely by the movements and gestures of an actor on stage, opened and closed, whenever, the actor approaches the place where it is assumed to be, so that the image of a door is evoked. In other words, an iconic ‘0’ sign may represent a fictional object by a missing signifier. Another example of double departure: a stage prop that represents utterly different fictional objects, as the Japanese fan, which may represent a sword, a shield, or a cup of tea, depending on the way the actor manipulates it. Such a convention should be seen primarily as an imagistic convention, since it potentially impairs the reading ability of the spectator, unless he is familiar with the convention. In any case, the correct reading is made possible by relying on the iconic manipulation of the fan. The principle of similarity is also cancelled on both the imagistic and material levels when a stage convention borrows the basic forms of literary description; namely story-telling and description; e.g., in the exposition. In such a case, although images are not imprinted on matter, they still are conveyed by the evocative power of words. Because of this evocative power, words too constitute a special medium for imagistic communication, which does not contradict the nature of theatre art, and should be seen as a specific kind of borrowing from another imagistic medium. It follows that literature can be perceived as an imagistic medium. Such a borrowing does neither impair the theatre’s ability to describe fictional worlds by imagistic means, nor the spectators’ ability to read theatre-texts, because of being familiar with the employed language in any case. Nonetheless, there still is a problem:

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 84

84 Stage Conentionality in itself, a literary description cannot become an integral part of the iconic text, unless presented in the concrete guise of the stage, as when voiced by an actor. This function is usually carried out by actors who enact functional characters or by interactive characters in functional situations; for example in soliloquy. Actually, the ultimate key for the correct reading and interpretation of a stage convention is the function it fulfills in the description of a fictional world.

Functions of stage conventions I assume that the main function of the theatre-text, which is the description of a fictional world, can be carried out by the iconic medium in its basic imagistic/iconic guise. There are, however, various constraints, imposed on iconicity, which require theatre conventions in order to carry out the crucial task of producing a full description of a fictional world. The knowledge of these constraints may assist in revealing the function of a stage convention; i.e., the kind of information that it may provide. These constraints are as follows (additional constraints may be added): a) Performance constraints regarding technical and budget obstacles in producing some iconic descriptions; e.g., the imprinted image of a sea, a forest or passing train. b) Perception constraints regarding the spectators’ limitations in particular domains, such as concentration and sensory perception; e.g., out loud speaking and even amplification, and exaggerated gestures. c) Stylistic constraints regarding departures from real models because of aesthetic considerations (see chapter 14); e.g., speaking in iambic pentameter or through sung arias. d) Decorum constraints regarding limitations imposed by the synchronic value system of the audience; e.g., the ekkyklema for scenes of extreme violence. e) Medium constraints regarding the limitations of a specific iconic medium in conveying various types of information; e.g., the non-represented parts of the fictional world, its non-sensory aspects and its conceptual or value meaning (see below). The underlying aim of a theatre-text is to overcome all such limitations and compensate the audience for the shortcomings of the theatre medium. In other words, such deficiencies compel theatre authors to employ stage conventions, as the only way to fulfill the chief function of fully describing a fictional world. The conjecture is, therefore, that the intuition of the function fulfilled by a convention is a necessary condition for the appropriate reading and interpretation of what is conveyed by it. A clear distinction should be made between convention and function.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 85

Stage Conventions

85

Whereas the former is defined by the type of departure from the principle of similarity, the latter is defined by the kind of constraint it overcomes or, rather, by the type of information it contributes to the description of a fictional world. Whereas stage conventions are integral means of the theatre medium, functions relate to aspects of the fictional world. Furthermore, there is no necessary correlation between a particular convention and a certain function. In fact, a given convention may fulfill different functions, and a given function may be fulfilled by different conventions. The set of conventions that can fulfill the same function constitute a paradigm, from which the author may choose to fulfill a particular function, or create a new convention to be added to the existing paradigm. It may be even assumed that no theatre author is free to avoid conventions, unless s/he has decided to impoverish the description of a fictional world. Within the set of functions that conventions are meant to fulfill, the ironic conventions should be accorded special status due to circumventing the viewpoints of the interactive characters and to providing information that is critical for the creation of ‘dramatic irony’ (see chapter 13).

Ironic conventions The iconic mode of describing a fictional world through the viewpoints of its interactive characters poses a serious problem for an author who wishes the audience to understand this world better than the characters themselves. This constraint dictates a set of conventions whose main function is to convey the appropriate information and means of understanding a particular fictional world through circumventing its characters. These conventions convey more information and advantageous conceptual frames of reference, as understood by the author. In other words, they reflect the author’s need to guide the audience for the formation of an ironic viewpoint. Therefore, we may see these conventions, as ways of indirectly addressing the audience for fulfilling these ironic functions. Basically, some ironic conventions employ functional characters (cf. Van Laan, 1970: 11) or interactive characters in functional situations. Therefore, for the interactive characters, it is useful to distinguish between ‘in character’ and ‘out of character’ participation (Bradbrook: 111), with the latter being used for characters in situations that instead of satisfying their own needs, they reflect the ironic needs of the author. Functional characters do not present behavior that is observable in the real world, such as people whose sole function is to listen to other people, enable the revelation of their innermost thoughts and feelings, or interpret their actions for the sake of onlookers. Thus functional characters too may impair the inferential capacity of the spectators. In fact, they are kinds of borrowing from foreign models. Nonetheless, functional characters are usually disguised to the extent of being characterized like interactive characters: authors usually assign them human characterization, secondary

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 86

86 Stage Conentionality fictional actions and parallel endings; e.g., Sganarelle bemoaning the loss of his gains, in parallel to Don Juan being engulfed by the fire of Hell in Tirso de Molina’s The Trickster of Sevilla. Functional characters often reflect the authors’ intentions to integrate them into the fabric of the fictional world; e.g., the chorus is characterized as ‘the old men of Thebes’ in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King, and the confidant Théramène, as a tutor, in Jean Racine’s Phèdre. These conventions, which are imprinted images on the bodies of actors, lend an iconic dimension to the verbal descriptions of vital aspects of a fictional world, so that they appear as if these verbal descriptions are voiced within the fictional world as an integral part of its dramatic texture, without losing ironic authority. In voicing the author’s perspective these characters are personifications of the authorial perspective. In the following sections I suggest three basic ironic functions: a) The description of the non-perceptible aspects of an action; b) the description of the non-represented parts of an action; c) the ironic cognitive and ethical conceptualization of an action.

All the conventions that fulfill these functions reflect medium constraints. a) Description of the non-perceptible: no iconic medium is capable of describing the non-perceptible aspects of an action (medium constraint); e.g., mental events such as intentions, purposes and thoughts. Because of the imagistic nature of the theatre medium its signs are restricted to the concrete features of objects that can be replicated. While in real life such inner phenomena can be and usually are appropriately inferred, in theatre-texts, this is not always the case. Sometimes, the mental constellation of a character is more complicated, and occasionally it willfully attempts to mislead other characters. In such a case a character may mislead the audience too. There is a need, therefore, for a reliable account of mental events. This urge does not reflect the needs of the character, but rather that of the author (ironic function). Indeed, it is usually claimed that in soliloquy a character behaves ‘out of character’ (for ‘dramatic irony’ see chapter 13). Most conventions that fulfill this ironic function reflect medium constraints, due to resorting to verbal descriptions in an evocative capacity or to background music. In regard to verbal description, the pertinent principle of reading them is that of semantic equivalence between verbal and iconic descriptions. Moreover, since they reflect the ironic needs of an author, they should be accorded authority, higher than to descriptions of interactive characters (in character). For example, what Hamlet says in his soliloquies is of more consequence that what he says in front of other characters. It is noteworthy, that this set of conventions tends to present an action from two perspectives, the naïve and the ironic. A perspective is naïve from the viewpoint of an ironic viewpoint. In principle, the author’s perspective needs not to be more adequate than that of the characters, albeit usually

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 87

Stage Conventions

87

perceived as advantageous, if the author articulates a perspective that reflects the value system held to be true by him/herself or the audience. This duplicity creates two types of scene, which are usually performed in succession: interactive and ironic scenes, albeit converging on the same fictional events. As for all conventions, the features of a convention per se, should not be attributed to a fictional world, to a character in particular; e.g., the fact that a character soliloquies does not entail, self-awareness, frankness or poetic eloquence. In theatre, scenes that portray concealed levels of experience, such as dreams, daydreams, memory or vision, are usually indicated by changing lights, while such descriptions may be either iconic or verbal. These scenes too indicate an ironic function. The set of conventions capable of fulfilling this function includes the following: soliloquy to audience (Iago, in Othello, I, ii); soliloquy to self (Hamlet and Claudius, in Hamlet, III, iii); aside (in Macbeth, I, iii); reading aloud a personal letter or diary ( Lady Macbeth, Macbeth I, v); dialogue with confidant (Phèdre and Oenone, in Racine’s Phèdre, I. iii); dialogue with coriphaeus, (Creon, in Sophocles’ Antigone); confession (Masha and Trigorin, in Chekhov’s The Seagull, III, i); happy and sad masks (in Greek tragedy); background music (in Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman); and aria (cf. Yerma and Victor: “Porque duermes solo pastor?”, in García Lorca’s Yerma). b) Description of the non-represented: The authorial need to provide full information to the audience is often restricted by two basic constraints: (a) the limitations of a theatre performance, as a social event, reflecting the ability of the audience to concentrate effectively, and even their willingness to devote definite time and money to the theatre experience; and (b) the nature of the iconic medium, which in contrast to language, is unable to provide telescopic descriptions of events non represented on stage. These constraints are easily overcome by series, whether in television, cinema or, occasionally, theatre. In regard to theatre, usually, time is culturally restricted and, therefore, we may detect two complementary functions: (a) exclusion of scenes that may prolong the performance beyond a certain limit; and (b) inclusion conventions that provide information, of what is not iconically-articulated, in telescoped verbal guise. Such scenes are usually inserted in between the interactive scenes, either at the beginning of a performance or after an interval. Such episodes, which do not enter iconic representation in their right time or place, should be viewed as ‘out of focus’ against the background of the iconic representation of an action in interactive scenes. Telescopic description is provided only by language in its story-telling and depictive capacities. Since iconic description is at the heart of theatre semiosis, telescopic description aims at creating an alternative perspective on the iconically depicted events. The pertinent reading principle of such conventions is based on the fundamental semantic equivalence between verbal and

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 88

88 Stage Conentionality iconic descriptions. In other words, what is told or depicted verbally should be seen as an integral part of the description of a fictional world. Often, most important scenes are relegated to off-stage (usually due to decorum considerations), and to verbal description, meaning that verbal descriptions are not necessarily less important than iconically depicted scenes. Nonetheless, the difference between verbal and iconic descriptions should not be overlooked. It might be conjectured that the iconic scenes provide the main perspective from which the spectator is invited to perceive the verbal descriptions. In cases, the information provided for the audience, is often known to the characters, which underscores the ironic function of a convention (e.g., the dialogue between Hippolyte and Théramène in Racine’s Phèdre, I, i). This function should also include the verbal characterization of the dramatis personae, which is imposed by the short scope of the theatre performance. Verbal characterization is alternative to presentation of characters in preceding events, prior to the iconically-described action on stage, from which characterization is supposedly abstracted. Characterization is a crucial function in drama because the meaning of actions and the expectations of future ones are determined by it, because of referring to the motives and qualities of a character that are reflected in all its actions. Since characterization is vital to the interpretation of an action, the performance-text must be complemented by conventions, which are essentially the same as for the non-represented events of the action, except in their organization of data: temporal for storytelling and atemporal for characterization. The notion of ‘exposition’ refers to such a combination of both telescoped storytelling and verbal characterization, while some of the conventions that fulfill these functions do not necessarily constitute an exposition. For example, the function of shaping expectations by anticipating how the action may develop, including flashback, should be seen as a particular case of verbal or iconic description of out-of-focus narrative material, functioning on the ironic level. The set of convention that can fulfill these functions include: (a) exclusion conventions (marking the exclusion of one scene or more): chorus (e.g., in ancient Greek theatre); interludes (e.g., in Spanish Golden Age theatre); playing music (e.g., in French classicist theatre); emptying the stage (e.g., in Elizabethan theatre); curtain (e.g., in modern proscenium stage); blackout, lighting effects, mechanical changes, set changes by handymen, and freeze (e.g., in modernist theatre). (b) Inclusion conventions (marking the inclusion of one scene or more): chorus (e.g., in Sophocles’ Antigone); prologue (e.g., in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet); epilogue (e.g., in Plautus’ The Prisoners); servants’ exposition (e.g., in García Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba, act I); interactive characters’ exposition (e.g., in Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, act I); messenger (e.g., in Euripides, Medea, 1138ff); overthe-wall account (e.g., in Synge’s The Playboy the Western World, act III); and ekkyklema (Jocasta’s death in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 89

Stage Conventions

89

c) Cognitive and ethical conceptualization of the action: In themselves, iconic descriptions do not convey cognitive or ethical meaning, which is usually ascribed to them by functional or interactive characters in their verbal descriptions. In principle, the same event can be categorized differently, depending on the terms of reference of a character or the author. Therefore, the expected categorization from an authorial viewpoint, alternative to that of the interactive characters, requires functional characters that operate stage conventions. This is imperative the wider is the gap between the categorization of the interactive characters and the expected categorization by the audience, as in the creation of a pagan fictional world for a Christian audience; e.g., in Racine’s Phèdre. It might appear, therefore, that this ironic function is superfluous, because the spontaneous tendency of the spectators is to categorize the fictional action in the terms of their own culture. Nevertheless, in fact, the conventions that convey the ironic viewpoint are never absent. This indicates that these conventions reflect the authorial need to guide the audience to the appropriate categorization of a fictional world. These conventions operate even if such a cultural gap does not exist. Ironic categorization applies to an entire fictional world, to both its verbally and iconically described aspects. The principle of interpretation that underlies the conventions capable of fulfilling this function is that the authorial viewpoint is more valid than that of the interactive characters, except for those that operate ‘out of character’. Indeed, the authorial viewpoint is usually conveyed by functional characters or interactive characters in functional situations. These conventions couple human-like behavior with the use of language in a descriptive capacity. Since in both cases, these characters reflect the needs of the author, they should be seen as personifications of the ironic viewpoint. It is the gap between the ironic conceptualization and the naïve one that constitutes ‘dramatic irony’. The set of conventions that fulfill this function includes: chorus (e.g., Sophocles’ Antigone, 33–75); honest man (e.g., Cléante in Molière’s Tartuffe); God (e.g., in anonymous Everyman); prophet (e.g., Teiresias, in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King); king (in Lope de Vega’s Fuenteovejuna); doctor (e.g., in Macbeth, V, i); old man (e.g., Clotaldo in Calderón de la Barca’s Life is a Dream); ballad singer (in Brecht’s The Three-Penny Opera); interactive character (e.g., Hippolyte in Racine’s Phèdre, V, i); overall metaphoric motif (e.g., seagull in Chekhov’s The Seagull); and overall symbolic motif (e.g., cherry orchard in Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard). The function of such conventions may be reversed, and even made to convey the naïve viewpoint; e.g., the goddesses in Euripides’ Hippolytus; Clarín in Calderón de la Barca’s Life is a Dream; and the chorus of laundresses in García Lorca’s Yerma (see figure overleaf). Ironic conventions pose a dilemma: on the one hand they play a crucial role in conveying the ironic viewpoint on the fictional world, which is essentially different from those of the interactive characters, while on the other hand, they evidently depart from the iconic nature of the performance-text. Consequently, in different styles we may detect different solutions to this

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 90

90 Stage Conentionality

7

The laundresses scene in Ophira Henig’s production of Yerma, Herzlia Ensemble, 2008. Courtesy of the theatre.

basic tension, from straightforward presentation of the convention, in the sense of departure from real models, to extreme disguise. Paradoxically, the latter may counteract their communicative function, due to blurring their ironic function (cf. Van Laan 1970: 16).

Aesthetic conventions A performance-text aims not only at describing a fictional world, but also at bringing about an aesthetic experience. I assume that the aesthetic function subordinates all the others. For this and additional reasons, we may conclude that semiotic considerations do not suffice for the thorough understanding of the theatre experience (see chapter 16). Despite the aesthetic experience being holistic in nature, objective aesthetic principles may be discerned within the fictional world itself. Since in this context I relate to the performance-text, it should be stressed that aesthetic relations are created on both the signified (fictional interaction) and the signifier level (iconic text); i.e., on the level of its perceptible qualities. Thus, such relations too shape the experience of the spectator on the harmony-disharmony axis. The iconic medium is not aesthetic in itself. The aesthetic function, therefore, derives not from any deficiency of the theatre medium, but from the need to experience artifacts aesthetically; i.e., the aesthetic function rather imposes its harmonious or disharmonious patterns on the performance-text. These imposed patterns should be perceived as stage conventions because of affecting the imagistic aspects of iconic representation and communication:

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 91

Stage Conventions

91

they distort the imprinted images in order to conform to the requirements of aesthetic principles; i.e., they too affect the very principle of reading a performance-text. Nonetheless, such distortions usually do not preclude the appropriate comprehension of a text, although this being possible. Such distortions are usually termed ‘stylization’. The underlying reading principles of these conventions requires that we complement what is missing and overlook what is distorted; e.g., when an actor sings when declaring his love. It does not follow that in the fictional world singing is used for declaring. In other words, aesthetic distorting elements should not be attributed to the described fictional world, such as poetic speech to a character that excels in the prosodic aspects of his soliloquies. The aesthetic function underlies the following conventions: (a) visual harmony: static pictorial harmony (e.g., in set, costume and light), and dynamic rhythmic harmony (e.g., in dance vs. walk); and (b) aural harmony (e.g., poetic vs. prosaic speech and musical background).

Theatre norms The notion of ‘norm’ refers here to the principle underlying the preference of a particular convention over others for performing a certain function, within the same paradigmatic set, during a certain theatre period (cf. Burns, 1972: 28); for example, the preference of the confidant convention over soliloquy in Classicist theatre, for allegedly “realistic” reasons. Norms derive from a broader aesthetic approach or, to be more precise, from a comprehensive aesthetic ideology, which becomes trendy during a cultural period. Such shifts also explain the openness of the paradigmatic sets of conventions, which fulfill the very same function, including new ones, which are created on the grounds of new aesthetic ideologies; e.g., the confession convention, typical of Chekhov’s dramas, instead of the soliloquy, in line with the naturalistic trend of promoting the elimination of stage conventions altogether. Norms also account for the preference given to sets of different conventions that fulfill different functions, which present a kind of affinity among them, because of also reflecting a unified aesthetic approach; e.g., the distribution of functions of exposition and value characterization among interactive characters, and the use of central metaphoric or symbolic images for the purpose of dramatic irony. As a result of such affinity, a particular style may be characterized by the set of conventions it prefers; i.e., by its underlying norms. The in praesentia links between conventions, which perform different functions, in a performance-text; and the in absentia links between conventions that may perform the same function, explain the possibility of translation of a performance-text from one stylistic trend to another on the sheer level of conventionality; such as the translation of Euripides’ Medea to the norms of French classicism in Pierre Corneille’s Medea. These consider-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 92

92 Stage Conentionality ations are usually taken into account when producing a canonic play-script for a diachronic audience.

@ All the ironic and aesthetic conventions discussed above, affect the principle of similarity that characterizes the imagistic/iconic theatre medium. Nonetheless, the principle of similarity is never totally abolished. At least the physical behavior of the actors in the context of a convention still preserves the predominance of the iconic principle. In the case of reverting to verbal description the principle of equivalence between verbal and iconic descriptions applies. In the case of extreme departure from the principle of iconicity, such as the borrowing of imagistic semblances from other human phenomena, understanding the function of a convention is of major assistance. All the functions dealt with above reveal that no performance-text is free from stage conventions. In fact, these conventions and functions affect entire performance-texts (cf. Burns, 1972: 83). The invention of a new convention, which fulfills a particular function, usually reflects the aim of integrating conventions into the iconic fabric of a performance-text. In general, families of conventions have undergone processes of evolution from straightforward conventionality, to disguise, and eventually to attempts to abolish them altogether: e.g., from bare soliloquy, to confidant, and eventually to confession to another interactive character. In principle, however, even extreme disguise does reveal that theatre art cannot do without conventions, unless it settles for less than a full description of a fictional world. Indeed, iconic representation alone cannot fulfill all that is expected from a performance-text. Stage conventions cannot be traced back to preverbal thinking, because of reflecting the shortcomings of iconicity employed as a cultural medium and verbal complementation (see chapter 8)

@

@

Stage conventions indicate that only indirectly are they rooted in the faculty of the brain to spontaneously produce images and use them in thinking processes. Stage conventions must be images imprinted on matter as otherwise they could not be communicated; i.e., perceived by the senses of receivers. They also presuppose a verbal culture. Future theatre research should not overlook this cultural dimension of theatre. Accordingly, it should focus on charting all possible conventions and explaining their vital functions.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 93

8 The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions Greek tragedy has always been a source of wonder, which probably stems from the feeling that drama came into being as close to perfection as possible. We admire the ability of early tragedy to present fictional worlds in full, as if each functional component of its structure had completely developed, and no aspect of both the fictional world and authorial conditioning of its perception neglected. In addition, its consummate poetic quality makes the achievement even more enigmatic, particularly when it is realized that it took only a few decades for tragedy to evolve from birth to maturity. This could have been explained only by simply assuming that tragedy, as a new genre, originated in an earlier already mature art form. Indeed, two well known theories, Aristotle’s Poetics and the Cambridge School of Anthropology (CSA), presuppose that Greek tragedy evolved from previous cultural mature forms. The former suggests that tragedy evolved from dithyrambic poetry, and the latter from dramatic elements found in Greek ritual, an assumption made explicit by Jane E. Harrison (1951: 35–8), Gilbert Murray (Excursus) and Francis M. Cornford (p. 4), a group of scholars known as the Cambridge School of Anthropology (CSA). Since the ritual theory of origin was absolutely refuted by Arthur Pickard Cambridge already in 1927, it is quite surprising that its impact is still felt even in the theories of later leading scholars, such as Ernest T. Kirby (1975) and Richard Schechner; and that almost no theatre historian doubts that theatre in general and tragedy in particular originated in ritual, until present days (Rozik, 2002a). However, even if this thesis is accepted, dramatic elements in ritual could not have been more than embryonic, and would not explain tragedy’s structural complexity and sudden maturity. In contrast, Aristotle, who was relatively closer to the events, does not mention such a possible ancestry and definitely advances a different explanation: tragedy developed from dithyramb (Poetics, IV, 12), which had been a form of choral storytelling. The claim that dithyramb itself developed from ritual is immaterial (Kirby, 1972: 167ff), because, as amply demonstrated by

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 94

94 Stage Conentionality Pickard Cambridge, if at all, it severed its ties with ritual long before the advent of tragedy (1962: 82). Since dithyramb had been a complex and already mature form of storytelling when tragedy was created, we may believe that Aristotle’s theory suits better the facts and possibly settles the aforementioned amazement. The question still is, whether or not traces of this development can be found in tragedy itself? Neither Aristotle nor the CSA made any attempt to support their theories by focusing on considerations of medium; i.e., on the reflections of the preceding medium in the structure of tragedy. Whereas the CSA attempted to find traces of ritual in the fictional structure of the narrative; Aristotle probably relied on the sublime nature of the fictional world depicted in dithyramb. Both approaches, however, are self-defeating, because, in principle, the development or creation of a medium has nothing to do with the mood of the worlds it describes. In contrast to both theories, I suggest that the traces of such a development lie in the nature of the tragic chorus, as a remnant of an original storytelling medium. The key to the sense of maturity that ancient tragedy commands thus lies – and this is my first thesis – in the multi-functionality of the chorus in tragedy, with its functions being the traces of transition from choral storytelling to choral tragedy. It may be assumed, therefore, that dithyramb, being a mature form of storytelling, with all the complexity evinced by Greek storytelling since Homer, features all the elements necessary for the description of a fictional world and conditioning its reception by an audience. The introduction of the first actor by Thespis, who most probably enacted the tragic hero, marked the creation of tragedy as a theatre genre, and the later addition of second and third actors by Aeschylus and Sophocles (Poetics, IV, 13), reflected the gradual process of dramatization of the original storytelling form, which probably did not come to an end before the chorus itself was abolished. It may be surmised, therefore, that in this process of transmutation, initially, any function of storytelling that could not be enacted on stage by actors remained a choral function in tragedy and, therefore, these functions are the actual traces of transition from choral storytelling to tragedy, and explain the rapid maturation of tragedy. The very same conjecture explains both the functional complexity of the chorus, since it emerged from a fully developed choral form, and the eventual withdrawal of the chorus from the theatre, because of being essentially foreign to its medium. Originally the chorus was not a theatre convention, but an import from choral storytelling. As I shall attempt to demonstrate below, its behaviour is not typical of theatre conventions. Nonetheless, and this is my main thesis: the chorus definitely is the matrix of most theatre conventions; those that fulfill ironic functions in particular. In the process of dramatization, theatre developed an entire set of theatre conventions which were entrusted with fulfilling the choral functions that could not be enacted on stage. It is in this sense that these conventions are the progeny of the chorus. We may envisage,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 95

The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions

95

therefore, a continuous process from dithyramb, via tragedy, to subsequent forms of theatre in which the same functions are fulfilled by various functional characters or interactive characters in functional situations, enabling thereby the functional perfection of theatre-texts. It is noteworthy that the development of tragedy from dithyramb constitutes no evidence for the creation of the theatre medium of tragedy, which could have been adopted from previous dramatic genres, such as pre-existing comedy.

Dramatic chorus Recent findings in the theory of the theatre art reveal that it is constrained by psychological and cultural limitations, and by the types of description its medium cannot afford. Such limitations remain a problem in all theatre styles and are always reflected in their stage conventions, which must be used or created in order to overcome them. It is natural therefore, that in order to understand the fullness of classical theatre we look at the complex functionality of the chorus, especially in fulfilling ironic functions. The assumption of this multi-functionality is widely presupposed and tacitly accepted. In this study, it is assumed that (a) function does not equal convention; (b) the same function can be fulfilled by different conventions and the same convention can fulfill different functions; and (c) whereas conventions are part of the medium, functions are part of the fictional structure (see chapter 7). The theatre, which essentially operates an iconic medium, describes fictional worlds in which characters are independent of the author in their actions and perceptions of their own worlds. In contrast, all the ironic functions reflect the authorial need for controlling the impact of the fictional world on the audience. In other words, these functions reflect the ‘intrusion’ of the author, who thus establishes an indirect channel of communication with the audience, with the iconic enactment being the direct one; and fulfills an ironic function by providing full information on the fictional world and appropriate notions for the audience’s understanding. In Greek tragedy, the authorial intervention in the fictional interaction is carried out by the chorus, which usually employs language in its descriptive capacity, in contrast to the iconic description of verbal interaction, which usually employs language in its performative capacity. In subsequent drama all these choral functions are fulfilled by functional characters or fictional characters in functional situations, while still using language in its descriptive capacity. In the following sections I suggest a short description of various ironic functions, followed by illustrations. The use of examples from playscripts is made under the assumption that the typical stage conventions of a period or style are already inscribed in such scripts: a) Description of offstage (off-place and off-time) events: The stage enacts only a fragment of the fictional world and determines thereby the exis-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 96

96 Stage Conentionality tence of an offstage or, rather, a non-enacted part of the fictional world. The term ‘off stage’ refers to space and/or time different from those enacted by the space and time of the stage; i.e., what is usually called ‘offstage’ is in fact an ‘off-iconic’ description. Since the ultimate aim is that the audience be acquainted with all the aspects of a fictional world, offstage must be described by other means and usually it is by verbal description. In other words such descriptions fulfill the authorial function of conveying the necessary information for the creation of dramatic irony; e.g., the description of the war between Polyneices and Eteocles. in Sophocles’ Antigone (99–161), and the murder of Agamemnon in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers: Chorus – Know then, they hobbled him beneath the armpits, with his own hands. She wrought so, in his burial to make his death a burden beyond your strength to carry. The mutilation of your father. Hear it. (439–43)

In subsequent theatre forms, this function is fulfilled by various conventions, such as prologue, epilogue, servants’ exposition, characters’ exposition, and messenger. b) Verbal characterization: Iconic description on stage focuses only on a fragment of a character’s behaviour, the meaning of which can be determined only by assuming particular intentions, purposes, thoughts and even ethical proclivity. Verbal characterization is, therefore, a crucial function that enables both the interpretation of single actions, on the grounds of the nature of a character, and the shaping of expectations for its future actions, providing thereby the necessary conditions for the creation of dramatic irony. Characterization can be abstracted from a series of actions, prior to the main one, as in TV series. In principle, no iconic medium can produce telescoped characterization, which is only possible through verbal description. Authoritative verbal characterization is thus a shortcut means of description required by the usual short scope of theatre drama. Since verbal characterization refers also to offstage behaviour, it should be conceived of as a variant of the previous function, that together are usually termed ‘exposition’, a typical function of the chorus in tragedy; for example, in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King and Antigone: 1) Chorus: I know that what the Lord Teiresias sees, is most often what the Lord Apollo sees. (Oedipus the King, 284–6) 2) Chorus: The girl is bitter. She’s her father’s child. She cannot yield to trouble; nor could he. (Antigone, 471–2)

In subsequent theatre forms, this function is fulfilled by various conventions, such as those employed for the previous function.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 97

The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions

97

c) Description of non-manifest aspects of an action: Iconic representation is unable to provide firm information on the non-perceptible aspects of a character’s actions, but only in the form of inference from outward appearances. Iconicity reproduces the perceptible aspects of its models. In most cases, therefore, more reliable information must be provided through verbal description for the purpose of dramatic irony. In Greek Drama such information is usually conveyed by dialogue with the chorus or coryphaeus; e.g., Creon’s words in his dialogue with the chorus after his confrontation with Teiresias: Creon: . . . My mind is torn. To yield is dreadful. But to stand against him. Dreadful to strike my spirit to destruction. (Antigone, 1094–6)

In subsequent theatre forms, this function is fulfilled by various conventions, such as soliloquy to audience and to self, aside, reading personal documents, confidant and confession. d) Interpretation of the action: Iconic representation does not provide categorization in terms of the prevalent religious, philosophical or ideological values of the audience. If the intention is to foster an ironic viewpoint in the audience, this must be done by functional characters or characters in functional situations in verbal manner; e.g., the choral song on humankind in Antigone, 332–73, or in Oedipus the King: Chorus: If a man walks in haughtiness of hand or word and gives no heed to Justice and the shrines of Gods despises – may an evil doom smite him for his ill-starred pride of heart! (884–8)

And in Libation Bearers: Chorus: Right’s anvil stands staunch on the ground and the Smith, Destiny, hammers out the sword. Delayed in glory, pensive from the murk, Vengeance brings home at last a child, to wipe out the stain of blood shed long ago. (646–51)

In subsequent theatre forms, this function is fulfilled by various conventions, such as the honest man, God, a prophet, a doctor, an old man and a ballad singer. Another form of interpretation, typical of Greek tragedy is the narration of relevant myths at appropriate moments that sets the action into a wider context, and lends a dimension of general principle to the event; in particular, because all these events are interpreted from the perspective of the same

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 98

98 Stage Conentionality value system. This procedure also reflects the authorial intention to create an ironic point of view; e.g., the stories of murder within the family (of a daughter, a father and step father) perpetrated by characters in Libation Bearers (603–38) or in Antigone: Chorus: Danae suffered too. She went from the light to the brass-built room, chamber and tomb together. Like you, poor child, she was of great descent, and more, she held and kept the seed of the golden rain which was Zeus. Fate has terrible power. You cannot escape it by wealth or war. (944–52)

e) Monitoring audience response: The chorus also engages in such a monitoring by guiding the spectators to develop the appropriate expectations, emotions, and feelings. This is also done verbally and because of ironic considerations; e.g., in Oedipus the King: Chorus: Why has the queen gone, Oedipus, in wild grief rushing from us? I am afraid that trouble will break out of this silence. (1074–6)

And Libation Bearers: Chorus: Now to my supplication, Zeus, father of Olympian gods, grant that those who struggle hard to see temperate things done in the house win their aim in full. (783–7)

Monitoring response may also fulfill a ‘naïve’ function, in the sense of becoming an object of dramatic irony. Nonetheless, the main function is always to manipulate the audience to the desired final experience, which is too a fundamentally ironic function. Functions ‘a–d’ reflect the authorial intention to induce an understanding of the action, which is different than and superior to that of the characters, what is usually termed ‘dramatic irony’ (cf. Sedgewick). All these functions circumvent the characters perspectives and create an indirect channel of communication with the audience, which is alternative to the iconic description of the action. All of these conventions use language in its descriptive capacity. In fact, all these functions betray the omniscient or, rather, ironic storyteller, who, assumedly, was the central feature of dithyramb or similar kinds of choral storytelling. Function ‘e’ too reflects the omniscient storyteller who knows how to foster anxiety, which is a prerequisite of catharsis. This set of ironic functions of the chorus conflicts with another tendency reflected in tragedy from its inception: to dramatize all the functions which

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 99

The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions

99

aim at conditioning the reception of a fictional world. The first step with this aim in mind has been the characterization of the chorus itself as a collective character, such as the foreign serving-women in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers; or the old men of Thebes in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King. Characterization implies their becoming an integral part of the fictional world. Aristotle states that the chorus should be characterized as any other character (Poetics, XVIII, 7), reflecting thereby an already well-established practice. Such a shift in the perception of the chorus is revolutionary since it results in bestowing a naïve viewpoint on the chorus, which changes thereby from an omniscient or, rather, ironic storyteller, to an alazonic one. Moreover, characterization subordinates the chorus to fictional time; i.e., the chorus is unable to know what did not happen as yet. For example, in Oedipus the King, Oedipus recurrently says things that are clearly designed as objects of dramatic irony; e.g., “because of all these things, I fight in his defense as for my father” (263–4; my italics). The audience needs to know very little of the mythical narrative in order to capture the ironic intent. However, paradoxically, at this stage of the narrative the chorus knows and understands less than the audience. The chorus, as expected from a character that lives in the midst of an action in progress, follows the events from its restricted viewpoint, which parallels that of the audience: all witness the unfolding action. This transition from omniscient to witness narrator is used by the playwright for monitoring the response of the audience. Apparently, a character cannot be part of the fictional world and command a genuine ironic viewpoint, unless it is characterized with singular powers, like the seer Teiresias. Nonetheless, the tragic chorus indicates that the naïve viewpoint does not preclude its ironic function. In fact, the typical Greek chorus manages to combine both points of view. In most cases, it is this combination that shapes the ongoing experience of the audience. Moreover, the naïve perspective may become ironic, through anagnorisis, which in some cases is the process the audience is also meant to undergo. For example, in Oedipus the King the chorus shares the King’s alazonic position during most of the play, until both realize what had really happened and its meaning. Nevertheless, from the beginning, the chorus also guides the audience to a possible ironic vantage viewpoint, particularly by the proper categorization on the abstract level of value and belief. Since the chorus is characterized as a collective character, which reflects an attempt to dramatize it, the rule is that the naïve function tends to be dominant; i.e., the ironic functions are fulfilled only on condition that they do not contradict the naïve perspectives; e.g., the above-mentioned choral song on humankind in Antigone, 332–73. Eventually, in fulfilling all these functions, on the naïve/ironic axis, the chorus has been replaced by a host of conventions. Whilst the chorus itself, as a remnant of a storytelling form, is definitely not iconic, since there is no such a model in reality (a collective character), the general trend was and still is to dramatize the functions of the chorus by lending pseudo iconic appearance, to newly created conventions. The actual kinds of synchronic

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 100

100 Stage Conentionality stage conventions also was, and still is, determined by the aesthetic ideology of each period and/or artistic movement. In this sense, we may view the nontheatrical chorus as the matrix of most theatre conventions. We may also contend that the first steps towards real dramatization were made within Greek tragedy itself. There are, indeed, functions that are already fulfilled by non-choral conventions, such as the messenger, the confidant (e.g., Ismene in Antigone), and the ekkyklema. Furthermore, in the history of theatre various kinds or, perhaps, phases in the creation of conventions can be detected: (a) by lending “realistic” motivation to functional characters as members of the fictional world, e.g., nurse, teacher or friend in classicist drama; and (b) by blurring the distinction between functional and interactive characters; e.g., the ‘confession’ convention in Chekhov’s play-scripts. Although on the level of function there is no difference between chorus and subsequent conventions, there is a crucial difference between them on the level of medium: whereas most theatre conventions feature iconic elements, even if borrowed from foreign or even irrelevant phenomena, the chorus has no imagistic basis whatsoever, since there is no model in reality for collective behaviour, let alone speaking. This difference bears evidence to the chorus being a residue of the artistic form from which tragedy evolved: the dithyramb. Therefore, the use of a chorus on stage in later periods can only be referred to the inner tradition of theatre itself, particularly, to the transitional phase from dithyramb to tragedy. In other words, the chorus is essentially foreign to the theatre medium. In my search I have detected three more ironic functions of the chorus: (a) identification of characters when actors enter the stage; e.g., “I see Orestes’ old nurse coming forth, in tears” (Libation Bearers, 731); (b) description of exiting characters; e.g., “Lord, he [Haemon] has gone with all the speed of rage” (Antigone, 765); and (c) description of facial expressions; e.g., “Ismene is coming out. . . . with clouded brow and bloodied cheeks, tears on her lovely face” (Antigone, 527–30). These functions are explained by the use of masks. The introduction of masks for interactive characters logically led to the use of masks also by the characterized chorus. Chorus and masks, however, despite their widespread use in various styles throughout theatre history, including modern theatre (e.g., O’Neill and Brecht) are clearly not essential to theatre medium.

Dithyrambic storytelling Methodologically, the aforementioned functions of the chorus should also be found in dithyramb, since these definitely are the typical functions of the omniscient storytelling. This section heavily relies on the findings of PickardCambridge, who probably was the most cautious historian of ancient Greek drama and dithyramb. Interest should focus on the nature of dithyramb prior and synchronically

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 101

The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions 101 with the creation of tragedy; in particular, at the moment it occurred to Thespis to introduce an actor in its performance. Unfortunately, knowledge about dithyramb at this stage of development is quite scanty: “the history of the dithyramb proves to be a somewhat puzzling and disappointing affair. No complete dithyramb, except those of Bacchylides, survives, and those, in their quite gracefulness seem to belong almost to another world from the fragments of Pindar, in which the spirit of Dionysus is at least discernible” (Pickard-Cambridge: 80–1). It should be noted that Bacchylides created dithyrambs some hundred years after the advent of tragedy. Aristotle, who undoubtedly has had first-hand knowledge of this genre, which still enjoyed popularity in his days, mentions it as one of the major kinds of imitation, with epic poetry, tragedy and comedy (Poetics, I, 2). His familiarity with the dithyramb considerably reinforces his claim on the origin of tragedy, although he wrote the Poetics some two hundred years later; and, according to various sources, the dithyramb had changed substantially since the creation of tragedy. Indirectly, dithyramb links tragedy with Dionysiac ritual: “The dithyramb probably originated in Phrygia, or at least among ThracoPhrygian peoples, and came to Greece with the cult of Dionysus. We hear of it first as a riotous revel-song at Paros” (Pickard-Cambridge: 47). The earliest mention of dithyramb is found in a fragment of Archilochus of Paros, who probably wrote his poems during the seventh century BCE: “Here the dithyramb is distinctly called ‘the fair strain of Dionysus’. Its special connection with Dionysus throughout its history is sufficiently attested” (Pickard-Cambridge: 5). In most cases the name ‘dithyrambos’ is used for both the song and “Dionysus alone of the gods” (Pickard-Cambridge: 10). Arion, who lived in Corinth during the reign of Periander (c. 625–585 BCE) is known to have introduced various innovations: he “first produced a chorus which kept to a definite spot (e.g., a circle round an altar) instead of wandering like revelers at random; and he made their song a regular poem, with a definite subject from which it took its name” (Pickard-Cambridge: 20). Later innovations, which are associated with Lasos, (born approximately 548 BCE), regard “the institution of dithyrambic contests in Athens, and some elaboration of the rhythms and the range of notes employed in [its] music”. And also, “he may have inaugurated that predominance of the music over the words against, which . . . Pratinas shortly afterwards protested” (Pickard-Cambridge: 23–4). Since Thespis had his first victory in a public competition in Athens c. 534 BCE, and probably had created tragedy some years before, it may be concluded that the innovations of Lasos are quite contemporaneous with Thespis’ crucial innovation: the introduction of the first actor. Simonides (c. 556–467 BCE) was probably the most successful and famous poet of dithyrambs: in an extant epigram he claims to have won fifty-six dithyrambic victories, but, unfortunately, “no fragment of Simonides that is certainly dithyrambic survives” (Pickard-Cambridge: 27). Of Pindar (518– 442 BCE), to whom tradition attributes two books of dithyrambs, only some

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 102

102 Stage Conentionality fragments remain: “[t]he pindaric dithyramb was . . . an antistrophic composition dealing with special themes taken from divine and heroic legend, but still maintaining its particular connection with Dionysus, who is celebrated, apparently at or near the opening of the song, whatever its subject” (PickardCambridge: 38). Pindar was contemporaneous with Aeschylus (c. 525–456). In fact, the only extant complete texts belong to Bacchylides who was writing from c. 481 to 431 BCE (almost contemporary with Sophocles: c. 495–403 BCE). The poems xiv–xix in the papyrus are explicitly labeled ‘dithyrambs’. Most of these, however, are prominently pieces of storytelling. One of these works is most interesting because of its dramatic quality: No. xvii, named Theseus’ Dive, “is a lyric dialogue in dramatic form, and is unique in extant Greek literature” (Pickard-Cambridge: 44). I have chosen to analyze this dithyramb because of its prominent dialogue and completeness. Although Bacchylides wrote his dithyrambs almost a century after Thespis and, assumedly, the dithyramb developed in a different direction, this poem is still very close to the nature of tragedy:

Bacchylides’ Theseus’ Dive 1str. 1

The dark-prowed ship, with bold Theseus and fourteen more Ionians, the sheen of youth upon them, cut through the Cretan sea. 5 The bright sail caught the full north wind that armed Athena sent and in his heart King Minos felt an itch of lust, love-crowned 10 Aphrodite’s sacred gift. He did not check his hand but let it stroke the girl’s white cheek and she cried out, for she was Eriboea, 15 bronze armed Pandion’s child. And Theseus saw it all. Beneath his brow his angry eye rolled dark, a sordid pain tore at his heart 20 and, “Son of Strongest Zeus,” he called, “You guide an unclean thought within your mind. A hero curbs his violence!

ant.

What regal Moira ratifies 25 as mine from god – what Justice

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 103

The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions 103

30

35

40

45

weighs out as my fated share I will fulfill, when it may come, but you must check the outrage you intend! Perhaps the child of Phoenix (she of lovely name) did lie with Zeus once under Ida’s crag, did give you birth, a strong man among men; yet I was born to wealthy Pittheus’ child who slept beside Poseidon Water-Lord and got as gift a golden crown from blue-locked Nereids. So, Captain of the Cnossians, I now demand from you cessation of this violence. I would not choose to see the holy light of dawn if insult came from you to any of this company. I’d sooner show you what this hand can do. All to come is shaped by god.”

ep.

So the spear-skilled warrior spoke and his contemptuous pride struck all on board with awe. 50 But then the heart of Helius’ kin grew angry, and he spun a dreadful plan in his response. “Almighty Father Zeus.” he prayed, “hear me! If the white-armed girl of Phoenix bore me 55 as your son, then send a sign: a darting fire-tressed bolt of lightning from the sky! And if in truth it was to earthquake god Poseidon that the maid of Troezene 60 bore you, then you may bring this golden finger ring of mine up from the salt sea! Dive, and pay a visit to your father’s halls but first observe how well 65 he listens to my prayer, the thundering son of Cronus, sovereign of all!”

2str.

And strongest Zeus did hear the perfect prayer, did saw the seed of overweening honour for King Minos,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 104

104 Stage Conentionality 70

75

80

85

ant. 90

95

100

105

110

ep.

that the son he loved might be admired by all: he sent a lightning bolt. And when the warlike hero saw the portent he called for he pointed to the high fair sky and spoke. “Theseus, you are witness to the signal gift Zeus sends me. Dive now into the roaring sea. No doubt your father, Lord Poseidon Cronus’ son, will make your deed’s fame spread far across the timbered land.” He spoke; the others’ spirit did not shrink. He took his stand upon the rowing bench and made his dive, the kindly brackish wave receiving him. Amazement filled the heart of Zeus’ son; he gave command to run the strong-built ship before the wind, but Moira had another course in mind. The racing keel sped on, northwind rushing from the stern, and all that godlike group of young Athenians trembled as their hero leapt into the sea. Tears fell from tender eyes that watched this rough necessity but sea-bred dolphins came and swiftly carried Theseus to his hippic father’s realm. he stepped into the hall of the divinities and there he saw the fabled girls of Nereus and was afraid, for lights leapt from their shining limbs like sparks, and strands of gold wound through their hair in diadems as, circling in their play, they danced on sea-wet toes. He saw as well his father’s wife, august, wide-glancing Amphitrite, mistress of the lovely house. She wrapped a purple cloak about him,

then placed upon his uncut curls the perfect rose-dark wreath

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 105

The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions 105 115

120

125

130

that on her wedding day sly Aphrodite once gave her to wear. nothing that the gods desire should be beyond the faith of thinking man! He showed himself beside the ship’s light prow, and oh he checked the Cnossian king’s plan now as he rose up, unwet, out of that sea, a marvel to them all! The godly gift clung shining to his limbs and bright-robed Nereids with festive newmade melody cried out in praise; the Sea sang too, and close at hand the godlike sweet-voiced youths intoned Apollo’s song. O Delian one, let dancing Cean men rejoice your heart and grant to us a godsent portion of good things. (Burnett: 18–21)

Bacchylides tells the story as an omniscient storyteller. Nothing escapes his knowledge: (a) the nature of his characters; e.g., Theseus is a bold (1) and spear-skilled warrior (47); King Minos is a warlike hero (71); and both are descendants of gods and heroes – all of which lend a sense of might to their mutual challenging. (b) Their feelings; e.g., King Minos “felt an itch of lust” (8–9); “a sordid pain” tore at Theseus’ heart (19); and King Minos heart “grew angry” (51) at Theseus’ boldness; and the others’ spirits “did not shrink” at the King’s challenge (82). The author also knows the intentions of King Minos (51) and even those of Zeus (70). (c) The religious meaning of the story; e.g., “Nothing that the gods desire/ should be beyond the faith of thinking man!” (117–18). (d) Things that happen in places that cannot be seen by mortals; e.g., the description of Theseus’ visit to Poseidon’s realm in the depths of the sea (lines 101–7). (e) There are also descriptions of a nonverbal action and face expressions. And (f) Bacchylides dexterously monitors the response of the audience by stressing the feelings of awe (49) and dread (93) of Theseus’ young companions; i.e., of the naïve interactive characters. In conclusion, all the ironic functions of the tragic chorus are also fulfilled in this choral song, while their reduction to a few words is explained by the short scope of the text. Furthermore, these functions are found, not in the dialogue between King Minos and Theseus, but in the storyteller’s part of the text, reconfirming thereby the contention that those elements that could not be dramatized, in the guise of verbal interaction, were rendered by the storytelling chorus and remained as functions of the chorus in tragedy. The use of dialogue as part of storytelling introduced the independent and usually naïve viewpoints of the characters. The naïve feelings of Theseus’ companions – who from an ironic vantage point should not have worried,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 106

106 Stage Conentionality still serve the ironic purposes of the storyteller, since he is interested in shaping the audience’s response for cognitive and cathartic purposes. Naïve and ironic viewpoints converge at the end, when the youngsters witness Theseus’ feat. So the principle of compatibility between both the naïve and ironic perspectives materializes as well. Oral storytellers usually enact characters in their dialogue. They thus convey a twofold viewpoint, ironic and alazonic. The extreme flexibility of the storytelling medium enables the storyteller to wander from one role to another in evoking single handed a whole fictional world. Assumedly, the transition to drama requires that each character be enacted by a different actor, at least in verbal interaction. This was the innovation of Thespis. The difference between single and choral storytelling resides precisely in that the latter can afford actors for each character to be enacted. It may be concluded, therefore, that the multi-functionality of choral storytelling also buttresses Aristotle’s theory that tragedy evolved from dithyramb. The paradox lies in that the traces of the origins of tragedy lie in the non-theatrical elements of tragedy and not in the fictional ones, as assumed by the CSA.

Nature of dithyramb Despite of a lack of sufficient evidence, some general conclusions on the nature of dithyramb, which are crucial to our query, can be drawn: a) Dithyramb was definitely a storytelling choral song, performed in front of an audience: At Athens the dithyramb was danced and sung by a chorus of fifty men or boys. The name kuklios choros, which always means dithyramb, probably derived from the dancers being arranged in a circle, instead of a rectangular formation as dramatic choruses were (the circle may have been formed round the altar in the orchestra). There is no reason to doubt (though the fact is never expressly stated) that the performances took place in the theatre. (Pickard-Cambridge: 48–9)

Differences among the various kinds of choral songs, particularly between dithyramb and paean (hymn in honor of Apollo), are quite insignificant and allow us to conclude that as such the dithyramb could have been the ancestor of tragedy; for example, Anne P. Burnett’s reservations in regard to Theseus’ Dive are based on the last few lines in honor of Apollo and not on considerations of form (Burnett: 15). b) The chorus is an unusual and even artificial form of storytelling which might have had its origins in ritual; otherwise it is difficult to explain how the typical and traditional single storyteller became a choral body. However, its original religious character vanished rather quickly (Pickard-Cambridge:

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 107

The Chorus: Matrix of Stage Conventions 107 82). From an early stage, the aition of Dionysus had not been the theme of dithyramb and, as far as evidence goes, he is only given recognition in a few lines, probably, as patron of the genre. Moreover, all extant fragments and full texts indicate that at an early stage in the development of dithyramb any connection with ritual, apart from marginal reverence, had been severed. It may be concluded, therefore, that the connection with ritual was lost within the tradition of dithyramb itself, before tragedy was born. c) Extant evidence indicates that dithyramb consistently narrated a particular episode of the saga of a hero or god, not necessarily of Dionysus, as the name of the genre suggests. However, “[t]here is nothing in this to disprove [its] Dionysiac character: the themes of the dithyramb, as of other literary forms, were doubtlessly extended in range as the time went on” (Pickard-Cambridge: 12). We may conclude, therefore, that the transition from Dionysiac to heroic narrative took place within the tradition of the dithyrambic genre itself – alongside its secularization – also prior to the birth of tragedy. d) There is not enough evidence “of the spirit in which the dithyramb, as a form of religious celebration, was regarded during the classical period. After the jolly drinking song of Archilochus passes out of view, we are not told whether the lightheartedness of early days was still attached to it, or whether it was solemn, as tragedy was” (Pickard-Cambridge: 81). Extant fragments and the dithyrambs by Bacchylides indicate, however, that at the time of the advent of tragedy dithyramb was solemn in its mood. If such a transition took place, it too happened before the advent of tragedy. e) Dithyramb was probably performed without masks: The dancers were crowned with flowers and ivy, but there is no suggestion . . . that they wore masks. . . . It is much more likely that the literary dithyramb was the modification of a revel in which the revelers did not pretend to be any other than themselves – human worshipers of Dionysus, and in which they were crowned with flowers and ivy (like revelers at feast), but not masked. (Pickard-Cambridge: 50)

This is consistent with and reinforces the tradition that Thespis experimented with various types of make-up and masks while introducing the first actor into his partly dithyrambic and partly tragic performance (PickardCambridge: 110). The masks of tragedy’s chorus were probably introduced following the attempt to portray the members of the chorus as characters in a fictional world. f) The dramatic nature of Theseus’s Dive by Bacchylides indicates that a tendency to introduce dialogue was a vital impulse within dithyramb itself. It is widely accepted that dialogue can exist within an oral storytelling form. Furthermore, in oral storytelling there is a clear tendency to enact speaking characters, even by a single storyteller (cf. Alexander & Govrin). The most relevant features of dithyramb in regard to Greek tragedy thus are as follows: a combination of storytelling, dance and music, in choral

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 108

108 Stage Conentionality form, solemn style and serious/sublime mood, featuring a narrative of gods and/or heroes, which used to be performed in front of audiences and within a lose framework of Dionysiac worship.

@ The answer to our puzzle, in regard to tragedy’s perfection of form, lies in that tragedy originated from a fully developed storytelling form, explaining thereby its short evolution to maturity and proving thereby that Aristotle has been right. We thus understand both the functional complexity of the tragic chorus, and its fullness in conditioning the audience’s reception of the fictional world. The introduction of the first actor in dithyrambic performance has been revolutionary, because the medium of theatre was thereby adapted to the rendering of serious/sublime narratives. Serious action thus became ‘shown’ (iconically described) and not ‘told’ (verbally described). The moment the first actor enacted a character, the chorus was drawn to enact characters as well and, thereby, started its decline. While retaining its verbal medium, it gradually receded to the background and become an accessory to the interactive characters. Dithyramb engendered dialogue or, rather, verbal interaction from within. All that could not be enacted, particularly the ironic functions, remained part of the chorus. The ironic superiority of the playwright is thus equivalent to the omniscient storyteller. The tendency to bestow even dramatic appearance on these functions explains the permanent effort to create new conventions that suit the aesthetic sensibilities of diachronic audiences. The dithyramb proves that the chorus, a remnant of choral storytelling, is foreign to the medium of theatre, and constitutes the matrix of theatre conventions. The evolution of theatre reflects a constant effort to dramatize what is not dramatic in nature and the abolition of the chorus thus marked the final establishment of theatre as an absolutely independent medium and art. Future theatre research should focus on detecting additional functions of the Greek chorus, and monitoring the development of additional stage conventions originating in the dithyrambic tradition.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 109

9 Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero In his seminal essay “Some Character Types Met with in Psychological Work”, Freud reports the discovery of a particular technique in Shakespeare’s dramatic works, which was made (in an unpublished article) by Ludwig Jekels: “He [Jekels] believes that Shakespeare often splits a character up into two personages, which taken separately, are not completely understandable and do not become so until they are brought together once more into a unity. This might be so with Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. In that case it would of course be pointless to regard her as an independent character and seek to discover the motives of her change, without considering the Macbeth who complements her” (Freud, 1990b: 307); who is complemented by her, I would suggest. Both splitting a human unit, and representing the resulting components through personifications, probably reflect a primeval mode of representing or, rather, thinking about the world which can be found in dreams and hallucinations. When Freud considers the ‘referent’ of a dream, in modernist terms, he definitely points at the dreamer himself; and implies that it is his psychical components that are personified: “my ego may be represented in a dream several times over, now directly and now through identification with extraneous persons” (1978: 435). This line of argumentation is made prominent by Carl G. Jung: The whole dream work is essentially subjective, and the dream is the theatre in which the dreamer is himself the scene, the player, the prompter, the producer, the author, the public, and the critic. This simple truth forms the basis for a conception of the dream’s meaning which I have called interpretation on the subjective level. Such an interpretation, as the terms implies, conceives all figures in the dream as personified features of the dreamer’s own personality. (1974: 52)

Furthermore, “the dream is a spontaneous self-portrayal, in symbolic form, of the actual situation in the unconscious” (ibid. 49).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 110

110 Stage Conentionality On similar grounds, I have claimed that a fictional world, described by the theatre or another iconic medium, is a potential representation of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs, including conscious and unconscious layers (see chapter 3). This thesis presupposes the common roots of dreaming and theatre (cf. Rozik, 2002a: 247–69); and explains why authors of fiction and drama avoid thematic formulation of their thoughts and feelings and express themselves, rather, through fictional worlds, i.e., through worlds of characters and their actions (cf. Frye, 1957: 365–7). In this sense, drama is primarily a representation of a single human psyche my means of a multiple world of personified characters. This general dramatic principle also applies to the level of stage conventions; in particular to ‘soliloquy’ and ‘confidant’: the mere creation of a confidant reflects the assumption of a unity underlying the main character and his double. I intend to show that in Shakespeare’s Macbeth the expected tragic experience of the audience is determined by the manner the playwright employs the confidant convention. In this context, we should remember that playscripts usually reflect the set of conventions typically used in the theatre for which they were written. Since the structure of the hero definitely conditions the response of the audience, it follows that the way it is split, and its parts are personified, have a decisive role in determining the tragic impact of the fictional world on the audience. My thesis is that Lady Macbeth is designed according the model of the confidant convention and thus constitutes the essential devise in making a tragic hero of Macbeth. It is not my intention, however, to reduce the extraordinary quality of the play to the mere, albeit skillful, use of a convention, but to indicate a principle that may enable us to better understand the unique nature of this play-script. From a methodical viewpoint the following sections reflect a novel approach to Macbeth. As suggested above, I assume a basic difference between the rules of representation governing the medium of theatre and those governing fictional thinking and, in principle, the fundamental independence of each domain in regard to the other (see chapter 11). The following analysis thus applies a combined method: it looks both at the effect of a specific way of using a convention, which belongs in the sphere of the medium, and at the expected effect of the fictional world on the synchronic Elizabethan audience, which pertains to the sphere of fictional thinking. Although recent research has focused on the history of performance of Macbeth, the assumption that the conventions in vogue in a particular period are reflected in the play-script is still valid (cf. Bartholomeuz, and Rosenberg). In other words, the following analysis combines a semiotic and a poetic approach; the latter in the Aristotelian sense (Aristotle, Poetics).

Confidant convention As a culturally-devised convention, the ‘confidant’ was introduced in the theatre for the sake of avoiding the overt address to the audience, typical of

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 111

Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero 111 soliloquy (Corneille, 1964: 193). In this sense, the confidant should be conceived as an attempt to dramatize soliloquy or, rather, to disguise its conventional nature and, as reflecting the communication needs of the author and not of the soliloquist character. The overt address to the audience, which characterizes soliloquy, transgresses the implicit presupposition of the theatre that the fictional world is devoid of audience, like the real world. The soliloquy, nonetheless, reflects the function shared by a family of conventions, which is primarily to disclose, for the audience, the feelings and thoughts of a character that for various reasons, it cannot reveal in front of other characters. This family of conventions includes the following: soliloquy (to audience and to self); aside (to audience and to self); confidant; dialogue with coryphaeus; reading of personal writings (diary, letter and the like); confession; background music; and the like. Whereas soliloquy reflects the existence of an indirect channel of communication between author and audience, which circumvents the interactive characters, the confidant convention is meant to create the illusion that disclosure is achieved within the fictional world, between two characters, without transgressing the existential boundary between stage and audience. The confidant convention thus establishes a pseudo-dialogue which both preserves the functions of soliloquy and does not violate a basic presupposition of the fictional world: the denial of an audience. Moreover, according to ‘speech act theory’ dialogue is not an exchange of verbal descriptions, as usually perceived, but an exchange of verbal acts, which indicate actions, affect other characters, and constitute the overall interaction of a fictional world (see chapter 10; cf. Austin, and Searle, 1986: 1–29). In contrast, the confidant convention is not part of an exchange of actions that affect one another and, usually, not even heard by other characters. It is verbal and descriptive in nature and, at most, only adds a further dimension to verbal interaction, as when revealing the feelings and/or the reasons for a character’s actions. Whereas dialogue is at the heart of drama, soliloquy/confidant is a necessary accessory. This chapter aims at showing that the confidant (a) is a stage convention due to departing from the principles of similarity and motivation that characterize the theatre medium, which typically replicates the concrete aspects of a real interaction; (b) since it departs from these principles, it requires special rules of reading and interpretation; and (c) typically, it fulfills the function of revealing unexposed aspects of a character; and operates on the fictional level of dramatic irony. This function is determined by both a limitation of the theatre medium, which this convention is meant to overcome, and the contribution that it makes to the description of a fictional world. Methodically, the adequate reading/interpretation of a convention requires the following questions to be answered: What is its kind (according to its departures from a medium)? What is its function (on the level of a fictional world)? What is its degree of authority? And what should be attributed to the fictional world or be ignored? The receiver, on the other hand,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 112

112 Stage Conentionality should first identify a convention, and only then apply the relevant rules of reading and interpretation. The confidant convention may be characterized as follows: a) In principle, a confidant is the double of an interactive character. It presupposes a basic distinction between an ‘interactive’ character, who is essential to the action of a fictional world, and a ‘functional’ character, who operates on the author–audience axis of communication; and is essential to dramatic irony. It is only interactive characters that are split and personified. b) The existence of a double facilitates the exposure of the non-perceptible aspects of the interactive character – thoughts, feelings and intentions – in the guise of a (pseudo) dialogue. Such an exposure reflects the needs of the author, on the author–audience axis – and not those of the interactive character. c) The confidant is not a mere duplication of the fictional character. In order to foster the dialectic nature of the disclosure the pair is characterized by opposing traits, such as heroic-coward, pious-profane and wise-foolish. This principle also applies to other levels of characterization, such as the social (e.g., master-servant) and the modal (e.g., melodramaticcomic). Dialectical characterization enables a clear exposition since unexposed features are better projected against the background of their opposites. d) Disclosure – the typical function of this convention – is lent realistic support by characterizing the double as a natural confidant, to whom it is sensible to reveal innermost thoughts and feelings, such as nurse, friend or spouse. e) Dialectic characterization actually indicates that, rather than being a clone, the confidant is the outcome of splitting a character’s basic unity into two dramatis personae. The dialogue between them thus aims at representing the inner dialogue within a real human being. f) Splitting a human unity and the actual representation of the parts by both an interactive character and a functional character, enacted by two actors, indicate that both are instances of personification: a particular kind of stage metaphor (Rozik, 2008b: 82–103). g) The basic unity which underlies the character-confidant pair is also manifested in that the confidant usually displays a parallel action, with similar developments and ends, such as marriage or death. Like dialectical characterization, corresponding action also echoes, on a lower level, the action of the interactive character. While these actions reflect an attempt to disguise the functional nature of confidential characters, i.e., to seemingly assimilate them into the texture of the fictional world, they are still an integral part of it and play a crucial role in the overall effect of the play-script. h) Similarly, in order to disguise the functional nature of the confidant, it is usually given personal traits, beyond functional needs. However, the difference lies in that the traits of the interactive character derive from the overall experience the author plans for the audience, whereas, the traits of

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 113

Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero 113 the functional character derive from those of the interactive one, albeit by mere contrast. i) The confidant scene, like soliloquy, constitutes a duplication of the interactive-scene: while the latter is devoted to further the action between interactive characters, the former is devoted to interpret it, from the perspective of an unexposed side of the interactive character. While the interactive scene is essential to the development of a fictional action, the confidant scene is essential to the formation of an expected perception of the fictional world on the level of communication between author and audience, which is the most effective channel for establishing the ironic superiority of the audience. j) The fundamental unity underlying the interactive and functional pair of characters is clearly reflected in that, in subsequent uses of the same myth, playwrights may transfer traits from one to the other; for example, in his Préface to Phèdre, Racine states: J’ai même pris soin de la rendre [Phèdre] un peu moins odieuse qu’elle n’est dans les tragédies des Anciens, ou elle se résout d’elle-même à accuser Hippolyte. J’ai cru que la calomnie avait quelque chose de trop bas et de trop noir pour la mettre dans la bouche d’une princesse qui a d’ailleurs des sentiments si nobles et si vertueux. Cette bassesse m’a paru plus convenable a une nourrice, qui pouvait avoir des inclinations plus serviles, et qui néanmoins n’entreprend cette fausse accusation que pour sauver la vie et l’honneur de sa maitresse. (Racine, 1950: 745)

Such a transaction is usually conditioned by the type of experience, tragic or otherwise, that the playwright intends for the audience. k) The confidant convention, like other conventions, can be used for other dramatic functions, such as exposition of the non represented parts of the action (offstage), value-characterization of the characters’ actions and, particularly important for the theoretical purposes of this study, monitoring the expectations of the audience and determining the nature of their dramatic experience, tragic or otherwise. Following these considerations, the notion of ‘confidant’ has acquired a slightly wider sense than the usual one in the European tradition, especially in French theatre criticism, which introduced this notion into the theory of the theatre.

Lady Macbeth as confidant It is in the wider sense suggested above that I contend that, in contrast to any pseudo-’psychological’ approach, Lady Macbeth is fashioned according to the principle of ‘confidant convention’ (cf. Knights, Brooks: 22–49 & Bradley, 1961: 277–337). In other words, Lady Macbeth does not represent a whole human being, but a personification of an aspect of a psychical unit, of which Macbeth too is a partial personification.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 114

114 Stage Conentionality First, she is not an interactive character in the sense of not being essential to the development of the action. She is never involved in the actual doing of things, neither in the assassination of the King, nor in others. She does not even issue the orders. Her claim regarding the resemblance of King Duncan to her father (II, ii, 12), which allegedly prevents her from any actual deed, should be understood as an attempt to disguise her functional role. Similar considerations apply to her leaving the daggers on the guards’ bodies after staining them with blood. Second, Lady Macbeth engages in dialogue almost exclusively with Macbeth: approximately 300 verses while with Macbeth or alone, in contrast to approximately only 30 verses with other characters. Furthermore, most of her scenes are devoted to the exposure of Macbeth’s inner feelings and thoughts. Macbeth never uses asides in her presence. Although he engages in soliloquies, their motifs do not differ essentially from those in his dialogues with his wife. There is also an extended double aside when both converse at the banquet (III, iv, 57–82). It should be borne in mind that the aside also belongs in the family of conventions which usually convey the unexposed aspects of a character. Lady Macbeth appears alone on stage with the sole purpose of reading Macbeth’s letter, which is a disclosure of a personal text, an additional member of the same family of conventions. There is even evidence of Macbeth having confided his dagger hallucination to her: “This is the very painting of your fear: This is the airdrawn dagger, which you said, Led you to Duncan” (III, iv, 60–2). This indicates that she preserves her basic confidant function even in offstage events. Third, Lady Macbeth is characterized as Macbeth’s wife, a natural confidant, and as his closest partner in an action whose main objective is to bring about the consummation of a ruthless ambition. Moreover, the narrative is in line with a stereotypical ambitious woman who relentlessly pushes her husband beyond morality. The treatment of this archetypal character seems to be almost in the spirit of naturalism. One cannot avoid seeing, however, that this basic relationship of man and wife, like the famous confidant roles of nurses and teachers, is also the best way to justify the disclosure of the innermost feelings and thoughts of the main interactive character. Even their sharing the same motivation and similar catastrophes substantiates the contention that the confidant convention is the underlying principle of their relationship. Fourth, although it might appear that their contrasted characterization is sheer coincidence, this well designed opposition of traits, however, squarely befits the dialectic nature of the confidant convention. For example, Macbeth’s moral hesitation is contrasted to Lady Macbeth’s total lack of moral scruples. The same applies, for example, to his heroism, loyalty to the King and anticipation of guilt. This basic contrast also justifies the inference of other opposed features, even if not stated explicitly: e.g., her willingness “to catch the nearest way” (II, ii, 18) and her lack of “th’ milk of human kindness” (I, v, 17). Contrasting characterization thus facilitates the dialec-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 115

Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero 115 tical disclosure of Macbeth’s feelings and thoughts in all their complexity. Fifth, the ultimate proof of the basic unity, which underlies the royal couple, lies in the transference of traits from Macbeth to Lady Macbeth. This becomes most evident when the play is compared with the original story in Holinshed. In this manuscript Macbeth is clearly characterized by courage and cruelty, a most negative combination in the eyes of medieval culture: Macbeth a valiant gentleman, an one that if he had not beene somewhat cruell of nature, might haue beene thought most woorthie of the gouernement of a realme. (Holinshed: 167)

Holinshed excels in a detailed description of an instance of Macbeth’s cruel nature, when he enters the castle and finds Mcdowald lying dead among the corpses: when he beheld, remitting no peace of his cruell nature with that pitiful sight, he caused the head to be cut off, and set vpon a poles end, and so sent it as a present to the King . . . (p. 169)

The abuse of the dead body of a soldier, even if a traitor, who, instead of surrendering, had already committed suicide in recognition of his defeat, characterizes Macbeth as a base human being, in modern times as in the Middle Ages. In contrast, Shakespeare’s Macbeth kills Mcdowald in the battlefield and is praised for heroism and loyalty, with no trace of cruelty. Cruelty is thus transferred to Lady Macbeth, who in Holinshed does reveal no sign of such a nature: his wife lay sore vpon him to attempt the thing, as she that was very ambitious, burning in vnquenchable desire to beare the name of a queene. (p. 172)

In clear contrast, in Shakespeare, she personifies pure evil. Her model can also be found in Holinshed, a few pages away, in the story of the murder of King Duff by Donwald and his wife: Donwald this being the more kindled in wrath by the words of his wife, determined to follow her aduise in the execution of so heinous an act. . . . Then Donwald, though he abhorred the act greatlie in heart, yet through instigation of his wife hee called foure of his seruants vnto him . . . (pp. 164–5)

Through transference of cruelty to Lady Macbeth, Shakespeare creates a Macbeth who is most ambitious and, at the same time, ethically scrupulous. Furthermore, the fiend-like nature of Lady Macbeth, who focuses most of the audience’s disgust, enables the creation of a Macbeth as a basically a posi-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 116

116 Stage Conentionality tive character who fails only on one account, ‘unquenchable’ ambition, in accordance with Aristotle’s hamartia-catastrophe model (Poetics, XIII, 3–4). Furthermore, the fact that Lady Macbeth is mentioned in a historic source does not contradict the fact that, in this particular play, she is modeled according to the principles of the confidant convention. Fifth, the confidant role of Lady Macbeth is also manifested in a set of crucial verbal and nonverbal motifs which are employed almost exclusively in the confidential scenes with her husband. These motifs are also used to reflect the extreme transformation undergone by Lady Macbeth towards the end of the play. It is my intention to show that despite radical change, Lady Macbeth preserves her dialectical opposition to Macbeth, reflecting thereby Macbeth’s own radical transformation and thus maintaining her basic confidant function. This is evident when comparing some motifs used by Macbeth in the scene following the murder of the King (II, ii) and by Lady Macbeth in the somnambulant scene (V, i).

Confidential motifs I suggest six motifs that reflect both Macbeth’s state of mind after the murder and the change undergone by Lady Macbeth, and their complementary function in the characterization of Macbeth as a tragic character: (a) ‘doing the deed’, (b) ‘the sorry sight’, (c) ‘washing hands’, (d) ‘murdering sleep’, (e) ‘saying amen’, and (f) ‘sickness’. a) Doing the deed: When returning from murdering Duncan Macbeth says: “I have done the deed” (II, ii, 14). He does not use the proper term ‘murder’ or, rather, ‘murther’, which he prefers for describing what he did to his sleep (II, ii, 35). It is evident therefore, that ‘doing the deed’ is a euphemism for ‘murder’. The same principle applies to all the forms of the verb ‘do’, such as ‘do’, ‘done’ and ‘undone’ which proliferate in the play-script. The use of this euphemism should be examined in the context of Macbeth’s unwillingness to confront the meaning of his action, e.g., “I am afraid to think what I have done” (II, ii, 49), and should be interpreted as an index of guilt. For Macbeth ‘deed’ is usually associated with ‘hand’, which thus symbolizes human action. Whenever ‘hand’ substitutes for ‘deed’ it becomes a synonymous euphemism for ‘murder’; e.g., “From this moment, / The very firstlings of my heart shall be / The firstlings of my hand” (IV, i, 146). Macbeth is equally unable to stop the ghastly chain of murder and bearing the pricks of his conscience. Nevertheless, he still attempts to come to terms with his predicament through terms that, at least, less aggravate his soul. b) The sorry sight: when returning from perpetrating the murder Macbeth says: “This is a sorry sight” (II, ii, 20). He then refuses to go back to the chamber and smear the guards with the blood of the victim, so that suspicion would fall on them, because “Look on’t again I dare not. What

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 117

Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero 117 hands are here? Ha! They pluck my eyes” (II, ii, 57). Macbeth is, however, an experienced soldier, characterized as a man who is accustomed to such sights (I, ii, 22). It transpires, therefore, that it is not the blood that disconcerts his soul, but the meaning of his action. Consequently, the motif of ‘sorry sight’ should be understood as an additional index of guilt, which on the level of interpretation is synonymous with the above-mentioned motif of ‘deed’. Similarly to the pair ‘deed-hand’, ‘sight’ is consistently associated with ‘eye’, which thus symbolizes human understanding; e.g., “The eye wink at the hand, yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see” (I, iv, 52). Moreover, before the murder, ‘sight’ concerns his visions, which clearly convey his reluctance to perform the ‘deed’. This sentence thus reflects Macbeth’s basic mistake: although Macbeth is inclined to think that consummation may ease his compunctions, soon enough he discovers that “present fears” are more excruciating than “horrible imaginings” (I, iii, 137). In other words, these visions forebode the real meaning of the deed and the aftermath sights only confirm his visions. Macbeth’s attempts to suppress his guilt feelings do not lead to stopping the bloody chain of events, but solely to avoiding both imagining and actual seeing: “But no more sights” (IV, i, 155). Eventually he discovers that neither “hard use” (III, iv, 142), nor the use of surrogate killers can mitigate his guilt feelings (cf. the murder of Banquo: III, i and III, iii). Macbeth’s recoil from sights is clearly related to the crucial motif of ‘darkness’, which permeates the entire play-script, since darkness is the natural ambience for those who try to avoid seeing (cf. Holland: 57). c) Washing hands: When Lady Macbeth confronts Macbeth’s perplexity, she tries to smooth down things: “A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it then!” (II, ii, 66) She responds, in fact, to Macbeth’s innermost thoughts: “Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood / Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather / The multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red” (II, ii, 59). Lady Macbeth speaks literally: washing the hands would eliminate the unique evidence of murder and clear them of suspicion. ‘Washing’ thus becomes part of the overall motif of ‘deception’. In contrast, Macbeth speaks metaphorically, obviously referring to his feelings of guilt, from which no actual washing can release them. The hyperbolic metaphor of ‘ocean’, which is in clear disproportion to the amount of blood on his hands, thus becomes totally commensurate with the intensity of his feelings. In addition, for an Elizabethan audience ‘washing hands’ is a typical allusion to Pontius Pilate and emphasizes the gravity of murdering a King. Through his proverbial ‘I wash my hands’ Pontius Pilate claimed innocence and refused to share responsibility for the crucifixion of the Son of God. Macbeth uses the same motif – in the same spirit – for stating his feeling that nothing can ever release him from guilt. The killing of the King thus echoes the murder of the King of Heavens. d) Murdering sleep: As mentioned previously, Macbeth does not use

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 118

118 Stage Conentionality ‘murder’ for the killing of the King Duncan, but uses it only for what he has done to his sleep: “Methought, I heard a voice cry: ‘Sleep no more! / Macbeth does murther Sleep’, the innocent Sleep; . . . Glamis hath murther’d Sleep and therefore Cawdor / Shall sleep no more” (II, ii, 34–42). Sleep is qualified as ‘innocent’ and appropriately personified in order to suit the metaphor of ‘murder’. ‘Innocent sleep’ should thus be understood as the sleep of those who are not afflicted by pricks of conscience. The other sleep, the nightmarish one, will continue to haunt Macbeth’s soul until the very end. The murder of innocent sleep thus becomes an additional euphemism for guilt. e) Saying Amen: Macbeth relates that immediately after the murder of the King he was unable to say “Amen” in response to the “God bless you” in the guards’ prayers. He wonders: “But wherefore could not I pronounce ‘Amen’? / I had most need of blessing, and ‘Amen’ / Stuck in my throat” (II, ii, 30–2). Paradoxically, Macbeth murders and yet expects to be blessed. Again, this contradiction is a clear indication of both his guilt feelings and agony. It should be borne in mind that ‘Amen’ is not only a ritual response of assent to the content of a prayer, but essentially an index of participation in the collective address to God. Through his incapacity to say ‘Amen’, Macbeth excludes himself from the community of believers; i.e., he actually excommunicates himself. We may even surmise that this sense of exclusion explains the absence of Christian terminology in Macbeth’s words until the end of the narrative. Since the play-script was written for a Christian audience the absence of such terms is most significant. f) Sickness: The murder of ‘Sleep’ and the inability to say ‘Amen’ logically introduce the motif of sickness into the play; for example: (1) Lady Macbeth: These deeds must not be thought / After these ways: so, it will make us mad. (II, ii, 32–3) (2) Lady Macbeth: . . . to think / So brainsickly of things. (II, ii, 44–5)

g) Guilt: All the preceding motifs create the more comprehensive motif of ‘guilt’, which fulfils a crucial function in the characterization of Macbeth as a tragic hero. On the one hand, because of unrestrained ambition he commits an atrocious crime, and on the other, he reveals the presence of the basic positive characterization required for the hamartia-catastrophe structure of action to materialize. Scholars, who have suggested ‘fear’ as the common denominator of all of Macbeth’s expressions, have made a two-fold mistake. First, they have accepted the naïve viewpoints of the characters, in particular that of Lady Macbeth, who in this case is meant to be the object of the audience’s irony (cf. Campbell: 208–39 & Coleridge: 64); and second, they have not made a clear distinction between fear of painful consequences and fear that reflects the anticipation of moral compunctions. Lady Macbeth thinks that Macbeth’s fear contradicts his manliness, whereas the audience is expected to think the opposite; namely, that his fear is an additional index of his basic positive nature. Whereas ‘fear’ in the first sense does not contribute to our

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 119

Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero 119 understanding of the structure of the fictional world; in the second sense, as an index of guilt, it does. The use of a series of motifs, which despite variety convey the same underlying feeling of guilt, supports the interpretation of each one of them as a token of guilt; and transmutes them into variations on the same theme. The fact that all of them are performed in front of Lady Macbeth supports the contention that she functions as Macbeth’s confidant. Obviously, Macbeth could not have uttered all these in front of other characters without incriminating himself. Moreover, the scene under scrutiny (II, ii) reveals one more feature of this convention: the principle of duplication of scenes, the one for the fictional interaction and the other for the purpose of dramatic irony. Although the actual killing is not presented iconically on stage, it certainly could have been had Shakespeare wanted so. Focusing on Macbeth confiding his innermost thoughts on stage thus reflects the authorial intention to marginalize the effect of the killing itself in favor of stressing the tragic effect of witnessing the agony of the tragic character.

Lady Macbeth’s transfiguration There is general agreement among scholars on Lady Macbeth’s incredible transformation. It might appear that her change is extreme to such a degree that may jeopardize her fictional unity, since in the last scene her behavior manifestly contradicts her previous characterization. Such a metamorphosis puts a correct question mark in regard to her coherence and consistency as an independent character. The more we agree with Doctor Johnson that “Lady Macbeth is merely detested” (Bradley, 1961: 317), the more difficult becomes the solution of the problem; with the reason being that, if so, the transfiguration is even greater. A. C. Bradley prefers the other way. He attempts to find in the early Lady Macbeth the embryo of the eventual one, and contends that in the end her suppressed humanity surfaces. He thus sets out to find indications to the existence of this suppressed ‘humanity’. His best example is, perhaps, Lady Macbeth’s claim that if the King did not resemble her father, she would have done the deed by herself (II, ii, 12; Bradley, 1961: 310). Such an excuse could certainly be understood as an indication of a nature softer than what she actually purports to be. Nonetheless, in the context of this fictional world, and under the assumption of her confidant role, the same expression can be construed as an instance of disguise of her confidant function, since her claim excuses her from action. In fact, had Lady Macbeth committed the murder, the entire structure of the fictional world would have changed. Similar considerations apply to Lady Macbeth’s fainting, which for Bradley is an additional indicator of suppressed ‘humanity’. One cannot deny that fainting is usually viewed as an index of humanly, and particularly of womanly weakness. Nonetheless, in the context of the thematic texture

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 120

120 Stage Conentionality of the play-script, and her specific characterization, there is no reason whatsoever why her fainting should not be viewed as an additional attempt at deceiving her guests. Even if we insist on seeing it as a token of human weakness, it can still be explained in terms of contrasting characterization against the background of Macbeth’s magnificent recovery and display of confidence towards the end of scene II, iii. Following the confidant principle, essential to this convention, any change in the interactive character is likely to be dialectically reflected in his counterpart, thus making psychological explanations superfluous. The transmutation of Lady Macbeth is clearly indicated, in her last scene, by the way she articulates the very same motifs of guilt voiced by Macbeth in the scene following the murder of King Duncan. In her somnambulant state she reverts to most of these motifs, which now reflect her substantial change: motifs of guilt now refer to herself, as if she had eventually accepted her husband’s feelings of guilt and self-castigation. a) Doing the deed: Lady Macbeth too employs the verb ‘do’ as a euphemism for the murder of the King. In an earlier scene she says: “Things without remedy should be without regard: what’s done is done” (III, ii, 11). In her last scene, however, she expresses a view that stands in overt contradiction to her previous words: “What’s done cannot be undone” (V, i, 64). In other words, she now conveys a clear sense of regret and guilt, indicating that she has now reached her husband’s preceding level of insight. Even ‘hands’, the natural symbols of ‘doing’, are used in the same euphemistic spirit, her failure in physically washing her hands, is a stage metaphor of her inability to undo the past. b) Sorry sight: Lady Macbeth carries a taper, which obviously suggests an attempt to overcome ‘darkness’, a crucial motif in the play-script, in verbal and iconic guise. Ironically, her summoning of darkness (I, v, 50–4) has been granted. If ‘darkness’ means ‘no more sights’, in Macbeth’s terms; she is now trying to see, i.e., to overcome darkness. Indeed, ‘light’ is a universal metaphor of human understanding and, therefore, the irony is quite evident: the taper is a feeble source of light and she is sightless. In metaphoric terms, she is thus presented in her futile attempt to cope with her own darkness. c) Washing hands: Lady Macbeth constantly rubs her hands in the manner of washing, trying to rub off the King’s imaginary blood, which had adhered to her hands. This gesture too echoes Pontius Pilate’s plea. Although immediately after the murder she articulates a literal version of ‘washing hands’; in act V it becomes a stage metaphor for her own inability to prevent her feelings of guilt. Even Macbeth’s hyperbolic metaphor of “multitudinous seas” (II, ii, 61, which indicates a vast amount of blood and utter stubbornness, is echoed by Lady Macbeth who conveys the same hyperbolic sense of guilt in terms of smell: “Here the smell of blood still; all the Perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! Oh! Oh!” (V, i, 47). d) Murder of sleep: Through her sleepwalking Lady Macbeth translates

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 121

Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero 121 the verbal metaphor of ‘murder of sleep’ into a stage metaphor. There is, however, a basic difference: whereas Macbeth claims that he has murdered his own (innocent) sleep, it is Lady Macbeth who now suffers the consequences; it is she whose nights are haunted by nightmare. If the motif of ‘murder of sleep’ reflects feelings of guilt, it is now Lady Macbeth who is haunted by them. e) Sickness: The entire scene is witnessed by Doctor, who should be seen as a personification of cure in the context of the verbal motif of ‘sickness’. This widespread motif presents the characters and the land as afflicted by a metaphoric illness, which can be cured only by God (as a metaphor for the condition of the country, see for example, IV, iii, 31, 40, 105, & 146; V, ii, 27; iii, 50–6). In Doctor’s own words, Lady Macbeth’s mind is “diseas’d [with] rooted sorrow” (V, iii, 40-1). Doctor thus conveys a sense of his own uselessness: “More needs she the divine than the physician. – God, God forgive us all!” (V, i, 71–2; cf. V, iii, 39–45). Lady Macbeth tried to protect her husband from the sickness of his mind, when he was trying to understand his own incapacity to respond ‘Amen’ to the guards’ prayers. Eventually she brought sickness of the mind upon herself. Most motifs of guilt have thus been transferred from Macbeth to Lady Macbeth, as if she adopted his earlier viewpoint. Simultaneously, Macbeth undergoes a similar but contrasting process: he seems to have succeeded in suppressing his own feelings of guilt and remorse, as if he had accepted his wife’s earlier attitude. At this stage one conclusion can be safely drawn: there is a clear swapping of perspectives. However, although this can be explained in psychological terms, given the nature of the play-script, it is more appropriate to do so in terms of the typical stage conventions of the period. As suggested above, Lady Macbeth’s transformation should be explained in terms of the confidant convention and its contribution to the structure of the dramatic action. It should be noted that, although some of the attitudes, which characterize Lady Macbeth in the early scenes recur in her last one, these are definitely not crucial ones. Their recurrence in act V only indicates the turmoil that has made prey of her soul; e.g., “Fie my Lord, fie! A soldier and afeard?” (V, i, 34). Consistently, Lady Macbeth mirrors dialectically the transformation of Macbeth, who definitely is the pivotal character of the play, in his quest to overcome his feelings of guilt. It can be concluded, therefore, that her main function is to personify whatever he thinks that he has managed to suppress. Whereas at the beginning of the play he attempts to deny his evil inclination to murder the King, at the end he attempts to deny his guilt feelings. Probably, in creating a character such as Lady Macbeth Shakespeare’s intention has been to indicate the persistence of such motives and feelings in Macbeth despite denial. In other words, Lady Macbeth stands for all that Macbeth wishes and believes to have managed to suppress. Therefore, both constitute a unity which is split according to his misconception of his own human nature, and then personified accordingly. The truth underlying this approach is: a human being can neither suppress his evil inclinations, nor his

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 122

122 Stage Conentionality good ones. In creating Lady Macbeth who mirrors Macbeth’s aberration, immediately after the murder of the King and subsequently prior to his defeat, Shakespeare dramatizes the inner struggle that takes place in his damned soul. The playwright thus brings the confidant convention to a supreme dramatic achievement. In addition, if Lady Macbeth is indeed a confidant, any question regarding coherence and consistency in her characterization should be addressed to her not as an interactive character, but as mirroring the main interactive character.

Poetic implications In sharp contrast to Holinshed, Shakespeare characterizes Macbeth as undergoing a process of complete metamorphosis, from being a basically positive character, who is afflicted by a tragic flaw, to being an utter villain. Lady Macbeth thus enables the playwright to initially subtract from him sheer evil and eventually attach to him the feelings of guilt and remorse that he believes to have forgotten. Macbeth is meant, therefore, to be perceived by the audience as both afflicted by pricks of conscience and responsible for the evil intent. In this case subtraction and addition aim at the same effect: to save Macbeth from being a human monster and to preserve the spectator’s basic empathy to his suffering, an essential condition for the tragic experience, according to Aristotle (cf. Poetics, XIII). Splitting a tragic character and restructuring it as a dialectical unity of main character and confidant is a dramatic solution to the representation of the psychological split between cherished and suppressed drives/qualities. This solution explains the implied spectator’s intuition that Macbeth is not a villain, of the kind of Iago and Goneril, despite his gradual sinking into sheer criminality. Lady Macbeth is thus meant to attract all the negative feelings of the audience until the murder of the King and to draw a deep sense of humanity towards the end. This dialectical double of Macbeth thus enables the author to monitor the response of the spectator; i.e. to determine the tragic effect of this fictional world on the synchronic spectator.

@ This combination of semiotic (confidant convention) and poetic methods of analysis (structure of fictional world) confirms from a different perspective Ludwig Jekels’ intuition in regard to the underlying unity of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, the split, and their twofold personification. By the same token his intuition supports the results of the present study. In fact, a triple method of research – semiotic, poetic, and psychoanalytical (the personified representation of the psyche and the possible response of the audience) – has been applied. Such a combination may enable research to cope with similar

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 123

Lady Macbeth: In the Making of a Tragic Hero 123 complexities of other theatre-texts. Future theatre research cannot avoid being pluri-disciplinary. It should also focus on the possible structural functions of particular conventions.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 124

10 Functions of Language in Theatre The description of the basic units of theatre medium, basic iconic units, real objects on stage, stage figures of speech, and stage conventions, reveals that on the level of medium, the theatre is nonverbal in nature. On such grounds, the question is: whether or not language, in its various functions is altogether excluded from the performance-text? In this regard, Roman Ingarden’s “The Functions of Language in the Theater” (1958) has been a landmark in modernist theatre theory. Since its publication several methods of research, in particular pragmatics and philosophy of language, have radically changed the way the functions of language in theatre-texts are perceived. More than half a century after the publication of this paper, it is sensible to address this question once again and suggest a theory that truly reflects the present state of the art.

Ingarden’s approach For Ingarden the genuine text of the theatre is the ‘stage play’, which is distinct from both the play-script and the ‘individual stage performance’. ‘Stage play’ is a theoretical construct that indicates the existence of a matrix theatre-text or, rather, ‘production’ in current theoretical terms, which generates each stage performance and, therefore, should be seen as the main object of inquiry (p. 318). Ingarden also distinguishes between the main text (Haupttext) and the side text (Nebentext) (p. 377): “The main text [Haupttext] consists of the words spoken by the represented persons [characters], while the side text [Nebentext] consists of information given by the author for the production of the work” (ibid.). Whereas Ingarden implies that ‘main text’ refers to the verbal components of the ‘performance-text’, in the terms of this study; ‘side text’ clearly refers to the stage directions. The latter are not meant to be a component of the performance-text: “when the work is performed on stage the latter [the side-text] are totally eliminated” (p. 377); and in their stead,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 125

The Functions of Language in Theatre 125 “another medium of representation” is employed. It follows that, whether the production or the performance-text is the object of inquiry, stage directions have no stand in identifying and defining the possible functions of language in theatre. Together with the verbal main text, nonetheless, Ingarden hints at the existence of “another [nonverbal] medium of representation that operates within [the stage-play]” (p. 377). He thus refers to “the visual aspects, afforded and concretized by the players and the ‘décor’, in which represented things and persons, as well as their actions, are depicted” (p. 377) He even suggests that “in a stage play they [the linguistic formations] are not the only (and perhaps not even the main) means of representation” – p. 392). Although he does not propose anything about the nature of this medium, he implies that both mediums, verbal and visual, depict persons (characters) and things, which belong in a represented (fictional) world. He thus grants descriptive power to the ‘visual aspects’, albeit without explaining how these perform such descriptive task (see chapter 1). He also implies a distinction between aural and visual mediums, which supposedly corresponds to the distinction between verbal and nonverbal elements. However, such a distinction cannot be maintained since most stage signs usually involve a combination of both, as the notion of ‘iconicity’ already presupposes. The ‘verbal-visual’ dichotomy, still accepted by many a scholar, introduces a fundamental duality that is detrimental to the theory of theatre semiosis. While appearing to oppose the traditional literary approach to drama, it actually preserves it, because of presupposing that it is language that plays a crucial role in this medium of representation and description. Furthermore, it implies that the ‘main text’, when transferred from page to stage, does not change, in contrast to the side-text, as if dialogue conveys a definite meaning, independently of its concomitant nonverbal elements. Such an assumption is disproved by the fact that the same play-script can generate different productions, even when reflecting “faithful” interpretations. Actually, words being equal, the nonverbal components play a crucial role in determining the ultimate meanings of a dialogue. Indeed, viewing the verbal expressions as having a definite meaning is a fallacy that betrays the literary approach to drama. Nonetheless, Ingarden does not ignore the nonverbal components of the performance-text, as other theories do. Furthermore, stage directions are not necessarily substituted by other signs in the stage play, but may be ignored and even changed. In performance-texts, I suggest, the nonverbal signs that assign definite meaning to the spoken words indicate that the play-script is not a text in the strict sense of the word, but only a verbal notation of all the verbal and only some of the nonverbal components of the performance. Therefore, in the absence of notation of most nonverbal signs, a play-script is essentially ambiguous. Still, in assuming that each verbal component obeys its own rules, Ingarden preserves the umbilical cord linking theatre to literature. His most extreme conclusion is that “the stage play is a borderline case of the literary work of art” (p. 377). In contrast, I view the theatre as a unitary nonverbal

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 126

126 Stage Conentionality mode of representation reflecting the imagistic/iconic principle. I do not refer here to theatre ideologies that aim at banishing language from theatre altogether; but, simply stress the crucial function of the nonverbal aspects of dialogue.

Ingarden’s functions of language Ingarden suggests four functions of language in theatre: (a) representation; (b) expression; (c) communication; and (d) interaction: a) Representation: “of objectivities that are meant intentionally in the spoken words by their meanings [in the sentences in which they occur]” (p. 381). I assume that ‘Objectivity’ is synonymous with ‘referent’. This function thus focuses on the verbal categorization of fictional entities, whether iconically present on stage or only evoked through a verbal description; e.g., in the exposition. As regards their mode of representation, they seem at first glance to be entirely on the same level as objectivities in a purely literary work. On closer examination . . . the manner of their appearance is somewhat different because at least some of them stand in various relations to the objectivities shown on stage . . . and in this way achieve a character of reality [vividness] that is more suggestive than that of objects represented in a purely literary work. (Ingarden: 379)

Ingarden intuits that the mediation of visual means of description bestows additional evocative power to words, in comparison to literature. b) Expression “of experiences and the various psychic states and events of the persons speaking them. These expressions, which are effected through the manifestation qualities of the tone of speech, are inserted into the total expression function performed by the speaker’s gestures and facial expressions” (pp. 381–2). This function does not focus solely on language itself, but also on the concomitant nonverbal signs; i.e., on the indexical qualities of speech in regard to emotions, feelings and states of mind. c) Communication: “What is said by a given person is communicated to the other person, the one to whom the words are directed” (p. 382). This function focuses on the descriptive capacity of language, which is, in fact, already implied in (a) and (b), since, assumedly, it is verbal categorization and expression that the speaker conveys to the hearer. I contend below that dialogue is predominantly not an axis of communication, but an axis of interaction (cf. ‘d’). d) Interaction: “In all ‘dramatic’ conflicts . . . speech directed at someone is always a form of action for the speaker and basically has real meaning for the events shown in the play only if it really and essentially advances the developing action” (p. 382). This function focuses on the potential capacity

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 127

The Functions of Language in Theatre 127 of speech to change states of affairs within the fictional world. ‘Action’, should be defined as a doing that establishes or changes a state of affairs (cf. Dijk, 1977: 167–81). Ingarden makes a further distinction between two functions of the same words: between words “[spoken] within . . . the represented worlds, i.e., among the characters; [and the same words as] directed to the audience” (p. 380; cf. 394); i.e., on the theatre (stage-audience) axis. Moreover, “[w]ords and sentences which constitute the ‘main text’ are [also] presented to the audience in their concrete phonetic form, by represented persons, i.e., by being actually uttered by the actors” (p. 378). The terms ‘represented persons’ and ‘represented worlds’ refer to characters and to their own (fictional) worlds respectively. These two functions thus reflect the use of language either on the fictional axis (character–character) or on the theatre axis (stage–audience). In his attempt to solve this twofold function of the very same words, Ingarden invokes their aesthetic effect on the audience (p. 394). According to Ingarden’s own theory, the aforementioned four functions correspond to the fictional axis. i.e., within a fictional world, and the further distinction corresponds (a) to the fictional axis and (b) to the theatre axis. I accept the second distinction between the fictional and theatre axes as a major contribution to theatre theory, while rejecting the intuition that the stage-audience axis reflects mere communication. I approach the functions of language in theatre from a diametrically opposed viewpoint. I suggest that in theatre theory language is the object of inquiry, only as fulfilling particular functions in the imagistic/iconic text. On such grounds I suggest three elementary functions of language: a) Language mediation: language is a constitutive component of iconic signs and sentences in all imagistic/iconic mediums (see chapter 1). b) Speech interaction: the imprinted images of verbal indexes of actions, i.e., speech acts, assumedly produced by the characters. This function corresponds to Ingarden’s function ‘d’. c) Stage Conventionality: The verbal description of various aspects of the fictional worlds, which do not find expression through imprinted images, but only through stage conventions, which operate verbal descriptions. I maintain that that in all these domains, language functions differently from language in discursive texts, because of being subordinated to the imagistic/iconic principle.

Language mediation Aristotle postulates a fundamental distinction between two basic modes of rendering a narrative or, rather, describing a fictional world: story-telling (in the form of narrative) and drama (in the form of action) (Poetics, VI, 2).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 128

128 Stage Conentionality Whereas in the former, the narrative is described by a language, which is its unique medium, in drama it is described through the ‘mimesis’ (imitation) of the action itself. ‘Story-telling’ means that: (a) language describes a narrative (fictional world) through its typical descriptive (categorizing) capacity, both on the lexical and syntactic levels; and (b) since fictional worlds do not exist by definition, language is used as a cue for the creation of the macro-image of a fictional world in the reader’s imagination; i.e., in an evocative capacity. However, whereas the notion of ‘imitation’ is widely redefined in terms of ‘iconicity’ (similarity and motivation), I have redefined ‘iconicity’ in terms of ‘representation through images imprinted on matter and language mediated’ (see chapter 1). I note that these three terms ‘imitation’, ‘iconicity’, and ‘imagistic representation’ share the notion of similarity to their models in the real world. Indeed, already Peirce’s notion of ‘iconicity’ actually challenged the distinction between verbal and visual means of description, and thus revolutionized theatre theory. Unfortunately, Ingarden does not apply the notion of ‘iconicity’. My redefinition of ‘iconicity’ in terms of imagistic thinking, imprinting of images and language mediation, also presupposes similarity to real models, and implies that such images can be articulated into sentences and entire texts. As suggested above, imagistic/iconic signs feature signifiers and signifieds, and are organized into sentences by syntactic patterns mediated by language (see chapter 1). Moreover, iconic sentences, icons, and iconic texts can be read by natural inference on the grounds of the principle of similarity to real models that underlies their formation. For example, whereas in story-telling a fictional chair is described by the word ‘chair’, in theatre, an imagistic/iconic medium, the image of chair is imprinted on real matter, whether the chair is real or intentionally made for the stage, while bearing the signified ‘chair’, due to language mediation. On the syntactic level: the iconic equivalent of the verbal description ‘the chair is broken ‘ is the imprinted image of a broken chair. As suggested above, the distinction between the subject and the predicate of an iconic sentence is a matter of reading according to the rules of the medium: The reading of an imprinted image on the holistic level is the equivalent of the verbal subject and the reading of its partial features is equivalent of its verbal predicates. A description of a fictional action is thus a series of changing predicates referring to the various characters in the narrative. The notion of ‘description’ implies the notion of ‘reference’. Iconic descriptions too refer to extra-semiotic entities, whether in the real or fictional worlds; e.g., a chair on stage, whether real or iconic, does not refer to itself, but to a chair in a world. In this sense, the actual chair on stage enacts a fictional chair or, in other words, it is a kind of actor. The human actor too, produces iconic signs and sentences that refer to a (fictional) character; for example, an actor climbing the stairs on stage, should be “read” by the audience as producing an iconic (descriptive) sentence referring to a character climbing the stairs. Actors replicate real indexes, which are meant to refer not to themselves, but to the characters they describe. I have termed

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 129

The Functions of Language in Theatre 129 this principle ‘deflection of reference’, because, on the fictional level, these indexes are supposed to be produced by the characters themselves (Rozik, 2008a: 79–82; see chapter 20). Iconic sentences include the images of the way people speak, their words and concomitant nonverbal indexes, such as intonations, facial expressions, and bodily gestures. A theatre-text should thus be seen as an entire set of iconic predications on the time and space axes. Since fictional worlds do not exist by definition, iconic texts too are evocative, in the sense of being cues for the spectators to create an image of such a world in their minds. Due to language mediation, iconic descriptions are no less univocal than verbal ones. In this sense, the distinction between aural and visual signs is immaterial, because the models of iconic signs and sentences usually combine both. Since Ingarden’s theory does not command the notion of ‘iconicity’, he could not have developed the notion of ‘language mediation’ as the essential function of language in theatre representation. Nonetheless, the function of language in formalizing the representative function of iconicity does not impinge on the fact that any iconic medium, including theatre, is nonverbal in nature.

Speech interaction Ingarden suggests that one of the functions of language is, instead of describing states of affairs, to perform actions, which advance the overall action of a fictional world, as quoted above: “In all dramatic conflicts . . . speech directed at someone is always a form of action for the speaker and basically has real meaning for the events shown in the play if it really and essentially advances the developing action” (p. 383). Furthermore, “words spoken by a represented person [a character] in a situation signify an act and hence constitute a part of the action, in particular in the confrontation between represented persons [characters]” (p. 386) Indeed, Ingarden reveals a keen sensitivity to the ‘active’ function of language in both real life and theatre. Under the influence of speech act theory we should use ‘performative’ or, rather, ‘interactive’, for this ‘active’ function. Furthermore, Ingarden presupposes that the interactive function of language in the real and fictional worlds is basically the same; and even suggests that much can be learned from this function in theatre, about the same function in real dialogue (p. 391). Following speech act theory, real dialogue should be perceived, therefore, not as an interchange of verbal descriptions, but as an interchange of acts that indicate actions; in other words, real dialogue is a form of interaction. The same applies to the imprinted images of dialogue. In other words, stage dialogue is an iconic description of a fictional verbal interaction. In the next section I suggest a brief introduction to speech act theory. It is noteworthy that Ingarden first published his article in 1958 in Polish, three years after J. L. Austin’s lectures were delivered in 1955, and four year before

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 130

130 Stage Conentionality these lectures were published in 1962. Since none of these theories relies on the other, their suggestions should be perceived as parallel discoveries.

Speech act theory In terms of speech act theory, a ‘speech act’ reflects the use of language not for describing an object, but for doing something upon a human object. This is the main innovation of Austin’s How to Do Things with Words (pp. 1– 11). In other words, a speech act is the performance of an action through the act of uttering a verbal sentence. An act (or doing) is the set of perceptible aspects, an ‘index’ in Peirce’s terms, of an ‘action’, on a part-whole basis, which is defined here as “an event [intentionally] brought about by a human being, which aims at changing a state of affairs” (cf. Dijk, 1977: 167–78). In this sense, a performance of an act differs from a description, which only aims at referring to and categorizing a state of affairs, without thereby changing it. Neither an act nor an action belong in the sphere of description through a certain language/medium: they are events in a world, and as such, they are only objects of verbal description (reference and categorization). Whereas the categories of ‘truth’ and ‘falsity’ apply to descriptions of acts, they do not apply to the acts themselves: because an act cannot be false. By the same token, it cannot be true either (Austin: 70). Moreover, since speech acts are motivated by intentions and purposes of performers striving for their goals, they can only end in success or failure. An act can be performed either verbally or non-nonverbally; therefore, a speech act is a particular case of an act/action, whose specific difference resides in using a verbal utterance, reflecting the intention of establishing or changing a state of affairs. In Austin’s words, a case in which “[t]he uttering of the words is, indeed, usually a, or even the leading incident in the performance of an act” (Austin: 8). Therefore, again, ‘dialogue’ usually is not an exchange of descriptions, but an exchange of verbal acts. In other words, dialogue is a kind of interaction. Because of the principle of similarity, which underlies iconic representation, a stage dialogue is an iconic description of a fictional interaction between characters (Rozik, 2011a: 115). In other words, fictional dialogue is part of the overall action of a fictional world, as suggested by Ingarden. It is fictional dialogue that resembles real dialogue. Because of their nonverbal nature, a chain of interaction may combine verbal and nonverbal acts; e.g., a punch in the nose may be the re-action to a verbal offence. Speech acts reflect a common deep structure which features the following functional components: (1) ‘I’/’we’ (the performer of the action), (2) a performative verb (the nature of the act/action), (3) ‘you’ (the object of the action), and (4) an embedded sentence ‘p’ or, rather, ‘proposition’ (Searle, 1985: 29– 33), as follows:

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 131

The Functions of Language in Theatre 131 1 & 3) Deictic terms (‘I’ and ‘you’), which refer to the participants of the interaction and categorize them as ‘agent’ and ‘object’ of the speech act respectively. These pronouns indicate that an interaction can take place only between an ‘I’/’we’, as the performer/agent of an action, and a ‘you’, as the object of an action. As interaction proceeds, the referents of these two deictic terms interchange on the time axis. Whereas ‘I’ sentences can be either performative or descriptive, ‘he’ and ‘she’ sentences can only be descriptive. The combination of deictic terms, particularly to the agents and objects of an action, and a performative verb in the present tense, which is inherently deictic to the ‘now’ of a speech act, reflects the self-referential nature of speech acts, in the sense that an act refers to both an action on a partwhole basis, (an act is the perceptible aspect of an action), and to its doer (the ‘I’/’we’ of the speech act). 2) A performative verb, which is a verb that can be used both for indicating the ‘illocutionary force’ of an action, and for categorizing it; i.e., “[t]he metalinguistic character of performatives is in fact the key to their nature: because they impose a label on themselves, they not only make clear their own illocutionary force (f), but also categorize it” (Leech: 181–2). Examples of performative verbs of speech acts are: ‘command’, ‘promise’, ‘declare’, ‘challenge’ and ‘apologize’. In speech acts, such verbs are always in the present indicative, because the present time is the only time in which an action can take place (cf. Austin: 60). 4) An embedded sentence (p) in which words are used in the descriptive mode of language; i.e., ‘p’ is a verbal description of a state of affairs. It is the nature of the act/action that determines how this embedded description is to be understood; e.g., as an actual, possible or other state of affairs (Searle, 1985: 30); i.e., ‘p’ is a regular verbal sentence that features a subject and a predicate. The overall structure of a speech act (e.g., ‘I order you to close the door’) thus reflects the existence of two constituent strata: the structure of an action (‘I order you that ‘x’) and the structure of a descriptive sentence (x = ‘You close the door’) which is subordinated to the former. ‘Subordination’ means that the same sentence ‘p’ can be understood differently, if embedded in different speech acts. Consequently, the deep structure of a speech act can be formulated as follows: ‘I + f + you + (p)’. A speech act is ‘explicit’ if its surface structure articulates all the components of the deep structure (Austin: 69). Under typical conditions of verbal interaction, however, most speech acts are ‘primary’ (ibid.); namely, their twofold deep structure is not fully articulated on the level of the surface structure. This is because (a) the indication of the participants (‘I’ and ‘you’) is usually obvious, and (b) the nature of the action (f) may be indicated by means other than performative verbs, including nonverbal ones. Consequently, the (usually termed) ‘primary’ speech acts, which only feature an embedded sentence (p), is the most common form of speech activity (Austin: 71–2: Note: “‘making explicit’ is not the same as describing or stating (at least in philosophers’ preferred sense

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 132

132 Stage Conentionality of these words) what I am doing.” Furthermore, “the element that makes explicit the illocutionary force (f) need not be a verb. . . . it could be some prosodic or paralinguistic feature” (Austin: 76; cf. Lyons, 1988: 743). This is conspicuous in dramatic dialogue too. From the subordination of ‘p’ to the nature of the speech act in which it is embedded follows that a primary speech act must be disambiguated. Indeed, the same ‘p’ may be understood differently in the context of different intentions and purposes. The most important means of disambiguation belong in a vast set of nonverbal indicators, such as intonation, facial expression, body posture, proxemic behavior, and hand gesture. Since an action is defined in terms of aiming at changing a state of affairs, ‘intentionality’ is part of its definition. Teun A. van Dijk identifies two kinds of intentions: ‘I’ intention (‘illocutionary force’ in Austin’ terms, or just ‘intention’) and ‘P’ intention (‘perlocutionary effect’ in Austin’s terms, or just ‘purpose’) (cf. Dijk, 1977 on ‘action theory’: 173ff & Elam: 169). “By its perlocutionary effect is meant the [speech act’s] effect [beyond intention] upon the beliefs, attitudes, or behaviour of the addressee and, in certain cases, its consequential effects upon some state-of-affairs within the control of the addressee” (Lyons, 1988: 731). The particular intention of changing a certain state of affairs is categorized by the performative verb, which is also used for such a purpose in descriptive sentences. In contrast, the purposes of an act, which refer to the expected results of an action at the object’s end, are usually not articulated in actual speech acts, and their categorization depends exclusively on interpretation. It is because of the non articulated components, particularly intentions and purposes, that a speech act requires an act of interpretation by the addressee. In Dijk’s terms: An essential component in the definition of action turned out to be the various mental structures ‘underlying’ the actual doing and its consequences. This means that actions cannot as such be observed, identified and described. We have access to them only by the interpretation of doings. Such observable parts of acts, however, may be highly ‘ambiguous’ . . . We understand what somebody ‘does’ only if we are able to interpret a doing as a certain action. This implies that we reconstruct an assumed intention, purpose and possible further reasons of the agent. (Dijk, 1977: 182)

Since a speech act is a verbal index of an action, the addressee is not supposed to read it, but to categorize it as to the kind of action it indicates, which is a genuine descriptive verbal activity (cf. Leech: 196), and a necessary step prior to reaction, if the addressee wishes his own act to suit the intentions and purposes of a previous doing. A categorization by the addressee may thus be either true or false: indeed, the addressee may correctly perceive the nature of the preceding action, as he may not. Even if such a categorization, prior to response is not made explicit, it should be presupposed if the intention is to understand the nature of the response.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 133

The Functions of Language in Theatre 133 Therefore, explicit characterization by the addressee may be a clue to the nature of the act/action performed at him/her. A reaction thus features two elements: a categorization of the previous speech act and a subsequent speech act response.

Iconic interaction Because of the principle of similarity underlying iconic representation the same principles apply to dramatic dialogue; for example, the following sequence from Sophocles’ Oedipus the King: Teiresias: All of you here know nothing. I will not bring to the light of day my troubles, mine – rather than call them yours. Oedipus: What do you mean? You know of something but refuse to speak. Would you betray us and destroy the city? Teiresias: . . . Why is it you question me and waste your labour? I will tell you nothing. Oedipus: You would provoke a stone! Tell us, you villain, tell us, and do not stand there quietly unmoved and balking at the issue. Teiresias: You blame my temper but you do not see your own that lives within you; it is me you chide. (327–38; my italics)

‘Refuse’ and ‘question’ are subsequent categorizations of the nature of previous speech acts (illocutionary forces); ‘provoke’ refers to the possible effects on the addressee, Oedipus (perlocutionary effects); and by ‘blame’, the prophet correctly categorizes Oedipus’ previous speech act. Indeed, Oedipus has been blaming him. Ingarden should be granted with the right intuition of the active function of language in drama: “active discourse seems to be the ‘normal’ form of disclosure in the stage play. The speaker genuinely influences the person addressed” (p. 388). Ingarden’s use of ‘influence’ should be seen as corresponding to Austin’s ‘perlocutionary effect’. He also employs additional correlative terms, such as ‘intention’ and ‘effectiveness’, through which he stresses the interactive quality of stage dialogue. Even the terms ‘speech act’ (p. 391) and ‘interaction’ (p. 389) are used in his text, at least in the translation. Unfortunately, Ingarden has not developed a full theory of speech interaction. Austin’s theory, in contrast, can apply not only to real speech acts, but also to their iconic replicas in theatre and other arts. Similarly, although the starting point of Ingarden’s theory was the verbal interaction on the fictional level, his approach can also apply to real speech activity on the grounds of the principle of similarity. Indeed, the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 134

134 Stage Conentionality structural similarity between fictional verbal interaction and real dialogue, allows for inquiring the interactive nature of dialogue in one domain for the benefit of the other. There is a difference, however, between the imprinted image of a speech act, which is a description of a speech act, and both the fictional and the real specimens (Rozik, 2008a: 41–4). The imagistic/iconic mode of representation transmutes an ‘I’ speech act into a description of such an act; i.e., into a ‘s/he’ speech act, as indicated by the following deep structures: A real or fictional speech act: I + performative function + you + (p) An iconic speech act: S/he1 + an imprinted image of a performative function + s/he2 + (p).

These deep structures of speech interaction reflect the difference between a possible object of description and a description, respectively. In this sense too, on the level of real interaction, speech interaction is nonverbal in nature, because of indicating not verbal descriptions but actions; and the same applies to the descriptive level of the iconic performance-text. As suggested above, Ingarden is not aware that dialogue is a matter not of communication, but of interaction on the fictional axis (character-character), not to mention the theatre axis (stage-audience). The latter too is not an axis of communication, but of interaction, because of the rhetoric nature of the performance-text (see chapter 15). Actors thus perform imprinted images of speech acts, which are indexes of nonverbal actions, and attribute them to characters in a fictional world. The moment a stage speech act is attributed to a character it recovers its selfreferential nature.

Stage conventions A suggested above, stage conventions typically employ language in a descriptive capacity (see above). Is this a special dispensation accorded to stage convention, which in any case apparently contradict the iconic nature of the theatre medium? Does this dispensation contradict the homogeneity of the theatre as a nonverbal medium? This is a fact and its recognition possibly solves the problem. Nonetheless, it is also possible to consider the possible performative use of language through stage conventions. The speeches of functional characters and interactive characters in functional situations can be perceived as assertive speech acts: “The point or the purpose of [assertive speech acts] is to commit the speaker (in varying degrees) to something being the case, to the truth of the expressed proposition” (Searle: 1986: 22). Such an act is characterized by uttering a sentence (p) in the context of an assertion or rather ‘claim’; meaning that the agent is ready to warrant its truth, by providing relevant evidence. This is supported by that such assertive speech acts are performed by characters that usually

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 135

The Functions of Language in Theatre 135 fulfill an ironic function, which by definition are perceived as enjoying superior authority; and, in other words, which are supposed to be truer than characters’ descriptions of their own predicaments. Furthermore, the facts are that (a) there is no difference between the performance of assertive and other kinds of speech acts; and (b) these acts are voiced by actors on stage, as otherwise they could not be perceived by the spectators; i.e., they are imprinted images of assertive speech acts. In this sense too they are iconic in nature. These considerations may solve the problem of the possible heterogeneity of the medium of theatre; but, I reckon that this explanation is quite problematic too. Perhaps it is for future theatre research to offer a final solution to this problem. Moreover, stage conventions borrow the descriptive capacity of language, as it may borrow other iconic mediums. Ingarden’s classification leads to the conclusion that what functions as a literary description within the iconic description of a fictional world reveals that the verbal medium of literature is capable of articulating an imagistic description of a fictional world, by the evocative power of words. In turn, this leads to the conclusion that literature itself is an imagistic (non-iconic) medium of description, albeit through words.

@ The theatre medium is not a combination of aural and visual mediums, but a unitary medium based on the imagistic principle, which acquires its communicative capacity mainly by the imprinting of images on matter and language mediation. Language thus plays a constitutive role in the creation of iconic mediums, by attaching distinct and quite definite signifieds to the imprinted images, and well-determined boundaries between core sense and the various kinds of associations, which in some cases can be even personal. Indeed, the latter may jeopardize any kind of interpersonal communication. The theatre medium is basically nonverbal on two levels: due to being iconic, in contrast to verbal, and due to imprinting images of nonverbal indexes of human behavior, including speech interaction. This principle may be extended to include the use of language in a descriptive capacity through stage conventions. Moreover, even verbal descriptions voiced by stage conventions must be images imprinted on matter, as otherwise, their communicative function would be precluded.

@

@

In describing a fictional interaction, the theatre medium is more adequate than language: while a literary work can describe speech acts only by notation of their wording and additional verbal descriptions of their nonverbal indicators, in the linear order typical of language, a performance-text can describe them by iconic images of such acts imprinted on actors’ bodies, and

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 136

136 Stage Conentionality present all their verbal and nonverbal components pictorially; i.e., at once, like in real life. In contrast to traditional theatre semiotics, therefore, I conclude that the theatre medium is nonverbal on two levels: (a) as a medium that operates not words, but imprinted images; and (b) as a medium that replicates nonverbal models in the real world, including speech acts. It is a motivated medium, in contrast to the conventionality of language and, in this sense, theatre is a homogeneous nonverbal medium.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 137

PART III

Fictional Thinking A performance-text is a macro-unit composed of a descriptive text, generated by the theatre medium, and a described fictional world, generated by the rules of fictional thinking (henceforth ‘poetic rules’). These components are integrated to such an extent that can be distinguished from one another only through analysis. Since the descriptive component was the object of scrutiny so far, this part considers the preverbal principle of ‘fictional thinking’; i.e., thinking through real or fictional narratives, which is analyzed here as subspecies ‘metaphoric thinking’. Chapter 11 ponders the nature of this peculiar mode of thinking; chapter 12 considers the nature of sacred narratives and their appeal for audiences who do not attribute belief to their sacredness, including secular ones; chapters 13, 14, and 15 reflect on the advantages in developing ethic, aesthetic and rhetoric disciplines for the purpose of sound analyses of play-scripts and performance-texts.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 138

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 139

11 Nature of Fictional Thinking Patrice Pavis defines ‘fiction’ as a “[t]ype of discourse that refers to people and things that exist only in the imagination of their author, then in that of the reader/spectator” (1996: 149); and Bruce Wilshire states that ‘fictional’ is used “to distinguish works of art depicting beings or events that never actually occurred from works depicting things that did actually occur”, and employs this term “in a generic sense to refer to all works of fine art in respect to their being embodied by beings which have a reality distinct from whatever actual things or inactual things are depicted by them” (p. 28). Although basically true, these definitions fail in one crucial respect. They imply that, for example, the lives of Isaac, Jesus Christ and Macbeth, who are perceived as historic personae in the Bible and Holinshed, have nothing to do with fictionality. Similar considerations may apply to both mythical characters such as Oedipus, Clytemnestra and Medea, and pagan gods such as Aphrodite, Artemis and Dionysus, for people who believed in their real existence either in the remote past of the nation or in a different existential sphere. To be precise, this definition fails to account for the sense of “reality” that these personae command even in the minds of people who do not believe in their existence altogether. I propose, therefore, that the worlds of these human beings/gods too, as depicted in the Bible, mythology and the arts, totally or partially reflect the workings of the fictional mode of thinking. By ‘fictional world’ I refer here to a world of characters and their interactions; including their circumstances, their temporary and final successes or failures, and the meanings of their worlds, which embody the principles of ‘fictional thinking’. The fictional domain thus includes not only descriptions of obvious fictional worlds, but also of real or believed to be real human or divine beings whose lives have been fictionalized; i.e., processed by the rules of fictional thinking, while excluding factual descriptions of real people and events, such as documentary reports and historic studies. I suggest the following principles that characterize the fictional mode of thinking: (a) it reflects a mode of thinking through creating, telling, or expe-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 140

140 Fictional Thinking riencing fictional or fictionalized narratives, i.e., fictional worlds are thoughts formulated in the manner of fictional narratives; (b) fictional worlds reflect a definite deep structure, which underlies their creation; and (c) fictional thinking is a particular instance of metaphoric thinking, in the sense of potentially form-ulating or, rather, bestowing metaphoric form on the amorphous stirrings of the readers/spectators’ psyches, like any other kind of thought. Northrop Frye advocates a fundamental distinction between ‘fictional’ and ‘thematic’ literary texts, which are the two basic options available to authors for expressing themselves: either through a world of characters and their actions or through a straightforward verbal description respectively; for example, whereas novels and ballads are fictional, lyric poems and essays are thematic (1957: 33ff, 52ff, 365 & 367). It is the aim of this chapter to also reconfirm the rules that characterize the fictional mode of thinking, as suggested above, and ponder its possible preverbal roots.

Fictional world Frye clearly develops a fundamental intuition of the psychoanalytic school: the distinction between “fictional” and “thematic” literary texts, which are the two basic options available to writers for expressing themselves: either through a world of characters and their actions (ibid.); or a straightforward verbal description respectively. Indeed, Freud suggests that “the psychological novel in general no doubt owes its special nature to the inclination of the modern writer to split up his ego, by self-observation, into many part-egos, and, in consequence, to personify the conflicting currents of [the author’s] own mental life in several heroes” (1990a: 138; my italics). In other words, the psychological novel reflects the principles of ‘self-reference’ and ‘multiple personification’. Accordingly, Jung claims that “the dream is a spontaneous self-portrayal, in symbolic form, of the actual situation of the unconscious” (1974: 49). As suggested above, the psychoanalytical school employs ‘symbol’ and ‘symbolic’ for phenomena that the classical and modernist theories term ‘metaphor’ (see chapter 2). Frye’s notion of ‘fictional’ implies that the amorphous psychical state of affairs of a single author finds expression through a multiple world of characters and their actions. ‘Psychical state of affairs’ means here the constellation of conscious and unconscious intuitions, emotions and attitudes in the receiver’s psyche. It is sensible to infer, therefore, that Frye’s notion of ‘fictional creativity’ too implies the principles of ‘self-reference’ and ‘multiple personification’. It should be noted that ‘personification’ is a particular kind of metaphor, whose improper sources of referential associations lie in the human domain. In the terms of this study, these expressions of the psyche in dreams and daydreams, which in fact are self-referential narratives, should be seen as spontaneous fictional worlds. The main difference between

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 141

Nature of Fictional Thinking

141

daydreams and dreams lies in that the former express drives that can be accepted by consciousness, and only the Ego is ashamed to reveal them, while the latter may express even suppressed drives. Following these implications, I see every reason for applying the principles of ‘self-reference’ and ‘multiple personification’ not only to the psychological novel, but to all fictional worlds. Indeed, it is widely acknowledged, even by those who do not accept the therapeutic methods of psychoanalysis, that the human psyche spontaneously creates fictional worlds that reflect its innermost intuitions and feelings. In contrast to the verbal mode of thinking, I suggest that the fictional mode of thinking is further characterized by: (d) the mind spontaneously creates narratives; i.e., worlds of characters and their actions, whether based on pure invention or modification (fictionalization) of real ones; e) these characters reflect the personification of psychical entities or drives, and often embody psychical archetypes; (f) the possible fates of these characters arouse spontaneous expectations, reflecting the values of the receiving community, which are biologically-generated and culturally-conditioned wishful and/or fearful thinking; (g) because of the personified substratum, a whole fictional world is a potential metaphor of the receivers’ amorphous psychical state of affairs, whether this function is perceived consciously or not; (h) ‘amorphousness’ is in the nature of a human psyche that has achieved no expression through any medium, including language; (i) fictional creativity thus reflects the description of shapeless psychical events through the preverbal fictional mode of thinking, which is characterized by thinking through narratives; (j) culturally-generated fictional worlds usually concern the culturally-established cognitive orientation of the receivers, for either its reaffirmation or confutation, and presuppose the emotional mechanisms of the psyche for either cathartic or shocking effects; (k) the creation of language presumably has had a dramatic impact on preverbal fictional thinking in both suppressing it to the unconscious and enabling, through the imprinting of images and language mediation, the creation of established iconic mediums, capable of describing fictional worlds and their communication; (l) people revert to the fictional mode of thinking because it provides imagistic/metaphoric/symbolic self-descriptions of the receivers’ psychical states of affairs, while allowing them to return to their ancestral thinking roots, i.e., to re-experience the biologically-generated and culturally-conditioned imagistic/fictional mode of representation; and (m) in the process of experiencing a description of a fictional world, the reader/spectator may become the subject of a self-referential fictional thought (see chapter 3). If the principle of expression adequately describes the relationship between a self-referential lyric text and its readers, in formulating their own amorphous psychical states of affairs, we may conjecture that in experiencing a theatre-text a similar substitution of authorial referent by a spectator may also take place. This substitution is facilitated by that, typically, authors of theatre-texts are unmarked (“0” signs); i.e., there is no obstacle to such a substitution. In principle, there is no need to make a subject

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 142

142 Fictional Thinking explicit if it is self-understood. In such a case too, a ready-made fictional text can be perceived as an expression of the receiver’s psychical state of affairs. The main difference between authors of dramatic fictional texts and novelists lies in the use of different, albeit equivalent mediums: language and theatre medium respectively. By merely reading/watching descriptions of fictional worlds these become descriptions of the receivers’ selves, regardless of whether they are aware of this expressive function or not. Since an author can produce a description of a fictional world without subscribing to its truth value in regard to him/herself, it is the readers’/spectators’ psyches that are their expected and ultimate referents. No theory of theatre can overlook the fact that a fictional world potentially fulfills a crucial function in the economy of the receiver’s psyche. However, whereas the fictional principle presupposes that such worlds are descriptions of psychical states of affairs, the inherent difference between them and the receivers’ worlds preclude seeing them as literal descriptions. Therefore, only the thesis that such worlds are potentially metaphoric formulations of the amorphous stirrings of the receiver’s psyches can explain how these are that meaningful for them (Rozik, 2008b: 184–203). This thesis is corroborated by the fact that the entire structure of fictional world is built upon the basic layer of personification (Rozik, 2008a: 105 ff). The possible communication of descriptions of fictional worlds indicates that authors and receivers share the ability to think through this peculiar mode of thinking, which is rooted in the biological heritage of mankind. This also explains the readers’/spectators’ eagerness to experience such worlds (see chapter 1).

Structure and thematic specification Fictional worlds created by the human imagination cannot be communicated without descriptions capable of evoking them in the minds of receivers; i.e., they are dependent on a language or medium, albeit not on a specific one. Whereas on the semiotic level a performance-text is a finite set of iconic sentences, structured by syntactic rules, on the fictional level the described world is structured by a set of poetic rules that lend a sense of unity and wholeness to a performance-text. A ‘structure’ is an abstract pattern of relations among functions underlying a unit of any extent. The notion of ‘structure’ presupposes the notion of ‘function’, and vice versa, so that the entire fictional world is perceived as a complex unit of organized functions. The notion of ‘structure’ also presupposes that the whole determines the meaning of its components, which means that the whole is more than their sum. On the level of the whole fictional world, ‘structure’ is a kind of complex syntactic principle on the textual level; and ‘function’ is defined here by the kind of contribution that it makes to a description of an entire fictional world. A distinction should be made between ‘deep’ and ‘surface’ structures. The

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 143

Nature of Fictional Thinking

143

deep structure of a fictional world can generate various surface structures, which are specific syntactic principles, through the application of additional poetic, aesthetic and rhetoric rules. The combination of these rules reflects the specific effect that an author intends to produce on a synchronic audience/readership. A particular fictional world is thus generated not by the deep structure, but by a specific surface structure. A fictional surface structure is an organized and empty set of functions, which acquire definite meanings only by ‘thematic specification’; i.e., by setting specific qualities, motives, and actions into its structural functions; what Algirdas J. Greimas terms ‘thematic investment’ (p. 208). For example, a specific ‘hamartia’ is a functional component of the hamartia/catastrophe surface structure that can be specified by any severe infringement of an ethical system, such as hubris, theomachy and heresy (Rozik, 2009: 185–94). The thematic specification of such an infringement enables the receiver to consider whether or not an eventual catastrophe is commensurate with either the violation of a crucial value or not. The ultimate experience of the receiver depends on this perception. A structure determines the hierarchical contributions of its thematically specified functions, thus conferring specific meaning on them; in other words, the whole determines the meaning of its parts. It follows that not only determining the exact function of each thematic component is vital to the interpretation of a whole performance-text, but also that this must be done in the context of at least an intuition of a fictional world’s overall structure and meaning and its possible impact on the spectator.

Archetypal patterns of response Theoretically, different languages/mediums can describe the same fictional world. I conjecture, therefore, that it is not the principles of representation and communication, but the nature of a fictional world that fundamentally affects the audience. Moreover, the collective nature of the theatre experience and its reduced scope explain the rigorous structuration of fictional worlds. Such a condition requires that the imagination of a heterogeneous group of spectators be captured at once. Following Aristotle, it can be assumed that beyond the amazing diversity of fictional worlds there is a finite set of (surface) structures that underlie the creation of such worlds, and explain the spectators’ involvement. The numerous interpretations of this tractate are excellent examples of models for the analysis of poetic structures. Furthermore, these fictional structures shape the expectations of synchronic audiences and explain their concluding experiences. On such grounds, I conjecture that the basic structures suggested in his Poetics, particularly in chapter XIII, reflect the spectators’ spontaneous or, rather, archetypal patterns of expectation and response. By implication, Aristotle suggests four factors that constitute the structure of the tragic macro-action: (a) the arousal of fear and pity (Poetics, XIII);

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 144

144 Fictional Thinking (b) the ethical nature of a character and/or its motive (a virtuous man, a villain, or a hamartia afflicted character); (c) its ultimate success or failure, in terms of ‘prosperity’ and ‘adversity’; and (d) the ‘ethical disposition’ of the audience (based on the philanthropon, probably in the sense of ‘synchronic value system’; see chapter 13). For Aristotle the main purpose of tragedy is to produce tragic catharsis; therefore, a fictional world should arouse fear (a); assumedly, in addition to the anxieties that spectators harbor prior to exposing themselves to the theatre experience. He also presupposes that catharsis cannot be produced unless a fictional action satisfies the ethical sense of the audience, which probably means a sense of proportion between the ethical nature of a character/motive (b) and its success or failure (c). In his view, two functions (fear and ethos) are not satisfied if the characters are characterized on the extremes of the ethical scale, utterly good or utterly bad (b), on the grounds of the shared philanthropon (d): “There remains, then, the character between these two extremes, – that of a 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”(Poetics, XIII, 3). Out of his five possible surface structures, Aristotle singles out only three that can generate tragedies. First, he contends that the structure based on ‘some error or frailty’ i.e., based on a hamartia, is the best. In it “[t]he change of fortune should be not from bad to good, but, reversely, from good to bad. It should come about as the result not of vice, but of some great error or frailty in a character either such as we have described, or better rather than worse” (Poetics, XIII, 4). These conditions imply that the change of fortune from prosperity to adversity balances a severe hamartia which, in order to be detected, should be characterized against the background of a rather positive character, as otherwise no distinction from ‘utter villainy’ would be possible. The hamartia must be, therefore, so severe as to justify catastrophe, which means that, for Aristotle, satisfying the ethical sense (philanthropon) of the audience is a pre-condition of catharsis. “In the second rank comes the kind of tragedy which some place first. Like the Odyssey, it has a double thread of plot, and also an opposite catastrophe for the good and the bad. It is accounted the best because of the weakness of the spectators; for the poet is guided in what he writes by the wishes of his audience” (Poetics, XIII, 7). This kind of tragedy actually combines two structures, the ‘virtuous man’ ending in prosperity and the ‘utter villain’ ending in adversity, with both satisfying the ethical sense of the audience and, in my view, also enabling catharsis. Although Aristotle scorns this double structure, he still perceives it as tragic. Such a structure can be and has been employed also for single actions that involve single characters, either positive or negative; e.g., Guillen de Castro’s Las Mocedades del Cid (a worthy hero), and Tirso de Molina’s The Trickster of Sevilla (a vicious character) respectively. In my view, the common denominator of these three structures lies in, first of all, sharing the serious and even sublime mood that distinguishes tragedy

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 145

Nature of Fictional Thinking

145

from comedy; and second, in satisfying the spectators’ ethical sense, i.e., in harmonizing with their spontaneous expectations, and thus possibly producing catharsis. It is sensible to conclude, therefore, that Aristotle conceived of both the arousal of fear and the satisfaction of the philanthropon as equally crucial preconditions for catharsis. This also indicates that in reflecting the archetypal/spontaneous expectations of spectators, all the structures, which satisfy the established values of a synchronic culture, should be perceived as ‘archetypal’ structures, and the worlds structured by them as ‘archetypal’ fictional worlds; and all the structures that frustrate the archetypal/spontaneous expectations of the spectators as ‘absurdist structures’. Accordingly, the common denominator of Aristotle’s excluded structures, the virtuous man ending in adversity and the villainous man ending in prosperity, lies in not satisfying the spectators’ archetypal expectations; and striving instead for a shocking experience and, in modernist terms, an experience of the absurd. Paradoxically, Aristotle did not envisage the possibility of absurdist tragic structures despite knowing Euripides’ tragedies and even praising them (Poetics, XIII, 6). He also did not envisage the possibility of absurdist structures aiming at reaffirming the ethical sense of absurdist audiences. Nonetheless, structures leading to the experience of the absurd can be derived from Aristotle’s harmonizing structures by simple inversion, because of contrasting the spectators’ archetypal patterns of expectation and response. Future theory should also consider the principles underlying most modern and post-modern dramatic structures, which have not been sufficiently studied as yet; e.g., Ionesco’s The New Tenant. Although Aristotle’s approach is limited in various respects, the inclusion of the spectators’ value judgments and archetypal expectations as decisive structuring factors is a major theoretical achievement. His presupposition is that the spontaneous expectations of the spectators are umbilically linked, not to instinctual drives (e.g., to marry a mother), but to ethical considerations (e.g., hubris). His line of argumentation leads, therefore, to the conclusion that although each culture cherishes different values, which condition the expectations and judgments of synchronic audiences, culturally-different audiences share the very same archetypal patterns of expectation and response. These patterns are based on whether such expectations are satisfied, leading to a final experience of harmony and catharsis of anxiety; or thwarted, leading to an experience of the absurd and increasing anxiety. I thus contend, that the deep structure of the fictional world reflects such archetypal patterns of expectation and response (absurdist structures too presuppose the archetypal expectations, to just frustrate them). Knowledge of patterns of expectation and response amounts to a kind of technology of theatre, since the principles underlying them are still a matter of speculation, and only occasionally are verified scientifically a posteriori (cf. Kreitler on ‘catharsis’). Experience probably teaches playwrights and directors to anticipate possible reactions of audiences, although not always being able to explain them.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 146

146 Fictional Thinking

Stratified structure of fictional world Most approaches to performance analysis presuppose that a fictional world is not a casual bundle of characters and actions, but a well-organized macrounit that reflects an authorial intuition as to the most efficient structure for embodying a particular fictional thought. However, although such approaches presuppose the existence of poetic structures, and provide valuable insights about them, none offers an adequate account of their complexity. I suggest that all fictional worlds, which embody fictional thoughts, thus determining the spectators’ responses, reflect a shared archetypal deep structure. This poetic deep structure is a complex set of organizing principles that underlie the generation of all the surface structures of particular fictional worlds. In the following paragraphs I suggest a model, which is basically rooted in the Aristotelian tradition, although further developed along its own presuppositions and enriched by later theories of fictional creativity. This model takes into account that there are structures, which were not anticipated by Aristotle, and ways to depart from his archetypal surface structures, as demonstrated by modernist and postmodernist theatre. I suggest that any departure from them also presupposes archetypal expectations. This model comprises seven stratified functional layers, the personified, the mythical, the praxical, the naïve, the ironic, the modal and the aesthetic, with each one of them being grafted on the preceding one and restructuring it, thus constructing the entire fictional world. The aim of a performance-text is to bring about the experience not of a blank structure, but of structured specific thematic material: a) The personified layer is substantiated, as suggested above, by the principle of multi-personification that characterizes fictional thinking. b) The mythical layer is grafted upon the fundamental layer of personification, and consists of elementary characterization of dramatis personae, neutral categorization of motives and actions from any ethical viewpoint, and simplest temporal order; i.e., this layer is minimally organized. Nonetheless, despite minimal characterization and lack of value categorization, this material is of profound psychical meaning for the spectator, possibly on an unconscious level, and capable of arousing a great deal of anxiety (in addition to the anxiety that the spectator harbors prior to exposure to a fictional world); e.g., a son killing his father and/or a son marrying his mother. The term ‘mythical’ does not necessarily refer to ‘myth’, which is never rendered in the elementary and neutral form of the mythical layer, but is further organized by additional cultural layers. The basic and neutral core of a myth should be termed ‘mythos’ and these additional layers ‘logos’, with ‘mythology’ applying to the combination of both. It is only the element of mythos that corresponds to what is termed here ‘mythical layer’. I suggest that not only are myths built upon such an elementary layer, but so are mean-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 147

Nature of Fictional Thinking

147

ingful narratives generated by the culturally-established arts. The mythical layer is thus characterized by minimal characterization and maximal psychical effect on the audience. It may arouse extreme anxiety because of producing a profound sense of absurdity (as suggested above). The way to reveal the mythical layer of a narrative is to strip off all the additional layers, the logos, until reaching the level of elementary characterization and neutral value categorization; for example, on this level, the fact that Laius is a king and Oedipus is a born prince should be disregarded, but not that they are umbilically related as father and son. A commoner and his son too could have embodied the same mythical core, possibly with quite a similar impact on the audience. Even the question of whether or not Laius was ‘murdered’ should be overlooked, but not the fact that he was ‘killed’. Further stripping would change the nature of this fictional nucleus. It is the minimal narrative ‘son kills father’ that is most meaningful for the spectators, whatever the logos. In this sense the mythical layer is the simplest and most distressful narrative material. How can such a deeply disturbing material be transmuted into a possible enjoyable experience? This is the function of the logos. c) Praxical layer: The mythical layer is further structured by the praxical layer that attributes a specific macro-motive to a character’s actions (e.g., to avoid killing a father), and a definite and related outcome (e.g., selfostracism). The term ‘praxical’ is taken from Aristotle’s term for action: ‘praxis’ (cf. chapter 4). The same mythical motif ‘son kills father’ can be attributed different motives and outcomes. The assumption is that the same action may reflect different motives, and the same motive can be reflected in different actions. Such a macro-motive supposedly underlies most actions of a character; e.g., gaining the crown in Shakespeare’s Macbeth and avoiding death in Ionesco’s Exit the King. The existence of such an overall motive produces two simultaneous expectations: to either succeed or fail. These concurrent and contrasting expectations lie at the heart of ‘suspense’, with one possibility being desired and the other being dreaded by the spectator. The existence of a specific and consistent macro-motive, which leads to a definite outcome, either success or failure, endows the overall action with a sense of unity. It also determines the temporal boundaries of a fictional world, from the inception of a motive to its final consummation or frustration, and thus also bestows a sense of wholeness on it. These are the main reasons for the paramount importance of the final scenes of a performancetext. Indeed, Aristotle stresses the centrality of this layer: “on actions . . . all success or failure depends” (Poetics, VI, 5) and “it is by their actions that they [the characters] are happy or the reverse” (ibid. VI, 10). He implies thereby that happiness depends on success and unhappiness on failure, albeit this implication not being of necessity. This method of analysis presupposes that, fundamentally, a single macro-action corresponds to a single character and reflects a single macromotive. The advantage of isolating a single action lies in that complex actions can be analyzed in terms of simple ones; e.g., two characters hav-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 148

148 Fictional Thinking ing a common purpose or being in conflict, due to pursuing ends that exclude one another. d) The naïve layer: The praxical layer is further structured by the specific cognitive and/or ethical categorization of the characters’ motives and actions, from their own naïve viewpoints. A ‘viewpoint’ is reflected in the terms through which a motive and an act/action are actually perceived, whether these terms are anchored in established epistemic or ethical (religious, philosophical or ideological) value systems or not; and whether these are shared by the audience or not. Usually there is no need for a full and orderly exposition of such a system because of being part of the audience’s cultural baggage. It is rather represented by key terms, which should be perceived as metonyms of such a value system, based on a part/whole relationship. Through them an entire ethical system thus becomes an integral part of a performance-text. The cognitive and/or ethical neutrality of the mythical and praxical layers are thus lent a dimension of cultural meaning; e.g., Antigone’s notions of family loyalty. From a naïve perspective, characters not only categorize their own motives, acts/actions and their outcomes, but also reveal whether these characters observe or contravene their own values. Since characters tend to justify their motives even if negative, the naïve layer may reinforce the sense of absurdity induced by the mythical layer. e) The ironic layer: The naïve layer is further structured by the ironic layer in the terms of the author’s and audience’s cognitive or ethical value system. The gap between the ironic and the naïve layers defines ‘dramatic irony’, which is the sense of advantage that spectators experience over characters in knowing, understanding and evaluating their own worlds (see chapter 13). Since a fictional world is pre-structured to suit the nature of its perception by an audience, an ironic viewpoint is embodied in its deep structure. Although independent value categorization is made by spectators in any case, most performance-texts feature key terms (metonyms of a synchronic value system), that aim at guiding them to the expected categorization. These key terms are usually conveyed by ironic conventions – functional characters or interacting characters in functional situations – which represent the author’s perspective within a performance-text (see chapter 7). In some cases, key terms that connote the value system of a prospective audience are found even in the words of interacting (naïve) characters; e.g., Hippolyte’s ‘le Dieu’ (in contrast to ‘Dieux’ in the plural) and ‘père’, both in Racine’s Phèdre (1401–2), as metonyms of the Christian value system. The analysis of this layer requires, therefore, knowledge of the text’s synchronic cultural background. In the structure of a performance-text two basic perspectives can be discerned, that of the interacting characters and that of the author/audience. While the characters reveal their concepts of their own worlds, the author conditions how these characters should be perceived by the spectators. While both perspectives converge on the praxical level, the ironic layer enjoys

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 149

Nature of Fictional Thinking

149

authorial authority. The performance-text may be seen, therefore, as a mechanism that manipulates the audience into a preconceived perspective on a fictional world. A character’s viewpoint is thus naïve only from an ironic point of view. The ironic layer is at the heart of the logos. If the fictional world is pre-structured to suit the author’s design, it is not surprising, therefore, that whoever adopts the authorial perspective enjoys dramatic irony. When the spectator commands such a viewpoint, a character’s viewpoint becomes an object of irony. This can be reversed at will, as in modernist and postmodernist drama, with the spectator becoming the object of dramatic irony. Ultimately, the spectators make the concluding value categorization, which determines the nature of their experience. f) The modal layer: The fictional interaction, as suggested so far, is further characterized by its predominant mood. Basically, the ‘serious’ mood deals with significant and often sublime macro-motives, which characterize tragedy and melodrama; and the ‘comic’ mood deals with trivial and often ludicrous macro-motives, which characterize comedy and farce, with the serious being the standard of the comic; i.e., the former is presupposed by the latter. Whereas in the serious mood failures are of extreme severity, deserving catastrophes, in the comic mood characters’ failures are mitigated, including cases of eventual reconciliation and forgiveness. Mood also presupposes, in addition to structural catharsis, the existence of additional biologically-determined and restricted outlets for anxiety, such as laughter and weeping (Rozik, 2011b: 29–45). Whether a specific mood pervades an entire fictional world or not, it reflects the author’s perspective, and conditions the receiver’s attitude to it as a serious or light-hearted overall image; and, in this sense, this layer too fulfills an ironic function. The deep structure of a fictional world does not prescribe any particular mood, but presupposes that mood is an unavoidable structural layer of all its surface structures. g) The aesthetic layer: The ironic and modal layers are further structured by the aesthetic layer in terms of ‘harmony’ and ‘disharmony’. The experiences of proportion, unity, wholeness, rhythm and tempo are particular instances of objective principles of order, which can be experienced as harmony (see chapter 14). Endings of fictional actions are thus reconsidered in terms of ‘proportion’ or ‘disproportion’. ‘Proportion’ presupposes that the audience exercises a sense of harmony or disharmony (or ‘absurdity’ in Esslin’s terms; p. xix) in regard to the relation between two different aspects of the human experience: value and happiness. For example, an ending in catastrophe that gratifies the archetypal expectations of an audience is reexamined in terms of proportion between hamartia (infringement of value) and catastrophe (unhappiness). Even real outcomes are often perceived in such terms. Whereas on the cognitive level a sense of proportion leads to the reaffirmation of the audience’s value system, ‘disproportion’ may lead to questioning it. On the aesthetic level, the archetypal expectation of spectators is for harmonious structures that reaffirm their own value systems.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 150

150 Fictional Thinking Whereas each culture operates its own value system and its own standards of harmony and disharmony, the application of such standards is universal. Seemingly, there is no textual indicator of this layer, but a fictional world is actually structured to either satisfy aesthetic expectations or not. The Aristotelian notion of ‘catharsis’ (Poetics, IV, 2) should too be perceived as umbilically related to the experience of harmony, and, at least, as its emotional concomitant. While initial disharmony is experienced as anxiety, eventual harmony is experienced as pleasure, due to the sudden release of ‘tension’, a euphemism for ‘fear’. It is in this sense that a poetic logos transmutes the initial anxiety aroused by the mythical and naïve layers into a pleasurable experience. In contrast, an absurdist structure leads to a final experience of increasing anxiety, which is rather unpleasant. The material nature of the theatre medium provides an additional aesthetic dimension. The pictorial elements of set, costume and light may create a sense of visual harmony or disharmony; and the elements of speech – a sense of aural harmony or disharmony. It is the combination of the aesthetic properties of unity, wholeness, proportion, rhythm and tempo on the fictional level and the experience of harmony/disharmony on the sensory level that underlies the holistic aesthetic experience. There is something paradoxical in the experience of harmony that is reached at the expense of a character that elicits the spectators’ identification, but is sacrificed on the altar of their value system. This paradox reflects the wrong assumption that in the eyes of spectators a character’s welfare and the validity of the value system enjoy equal status. The archetypal structures of fictional worlds indicate that this is not the case. Spectators are more concerned with the possible collapse of their own value system, which affords them a sense of meaning and orientation in the world. They are prepared, therefore, to sacrifice a character despite possible identification. This is evident when a character fulfills the suppressed wishes of the spectators, which (paradoxically again) arouses anxiety. The implication is that the aesthetic experience takes place in the mind of a socialized spectator, on the borderline between the conscious and the unconscious, and reflects preference for conscious wishes. Only identification with the value system can bring about total harmony in the spectator’s mind. The archetypal pre-structuration of a fictional world based on archetypal expectations bestows a ritual dimension on the theatre experience. Since such a world is structured a priori to produce a pre-determined experience, the cognitive value of an archetypal fictional world is negligible. In contrast to Horace’s contention that a play-script should yield both pleasure and ethical instruction (335), the spectators are not expected to learn anything new, but to enjoy recurrent experiences of validation of their own value system, usually challenged under extreme circumstances. This indicates that fundamentally the spectator is more interested in an experience of truth than in truth itself (see chapter 15). The experience of truth actually reflects the feeling of harmony between the outcome of a fictional action and the archetypal expectations of an audi-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 151

Nature of Fictional Thinking

151

ence, conditioned by a synchronic value system. Nonetheless, such a prestructuration also characterizes absurd endings, while reflecting the same archetypal expectations, which accordingly, they too have limited cognitive value. The only way of entering a genuine cognitive course is to preclude archetypal expectations on ethical grounds altogether (cf. chapter 15).

Structure of character In principle, a character can be characterized as wished, including paradoxically; e.g., a character that is not enacted by an actor in Luigi Pirandello’s Six Characters in Search of an Author. However, a character too is not a set of casually related qualities, drives and actions. In archetypal fictional worlds the structure of a character is subordinated to the poetic and aesthetic structures of an action and to the final effect that a synchronic audience is meant to experience. A character thus reflects all the structural layers suggested above for the action of a fictional world, which precludes any possible reduction of characterization to a single trait (Rozik, 2009: 90-108). Subordination also applies to characters in fictional worlds that reverse the archetypal structure, and lead to the experience of the absurd.

Possible fallacies Each structural layer may lead to a fallacious theory; in particular, if considered as the sole or main structural level. The ‘mythical fallacy’ lies in the assumption that revealing the mythical layer is the ultimate end of a play-script or performance analysis. This is typical of the traditional psychoanalytic school (cf. Wright: 36); which leads to the absurd conclusion that different fictional worlds are based on the same myth (or variations of it), and have the same meaning. A distinction should be made, therefore, between revealing the ethically-neutral layer of a fictional world, which is the basic stage of analysis, and seeing it as its ultimate interpretation, which is a fallacy. The ‘praxical fallacy’ lies in viewing the fictional world as structured only by the praxical layer. This is clearly illustrated by Vladimir Propp’s Morphology of the Folktale, and Étienne Souriau’s Les Deux Cent Mille Situations Dramatiques, which presuppose that a restricted set of interactive functions is sufficient for determining the structure of a fictional world. Souriau’s model, for example, is characterized by a combination of six functions that constitute a fictional action, motivated by a wish to achieve/preclude a goal, and couched in terms of ‘seeking’, ‘opposing’, ‘helping’ and ‘receiving’ a good (cf. Pavis, 1982: 16). It also offers a thematic list of wishes that can specify such abstract functions. Algirdas Greimas endeavors to unify and generalize Propp’s and Souriau’s models, through presenting them as extrapolations of language’s syntactic structure, such as

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 152

152 Fictional Thinking the functions of subject and predicate, an attempt that is commendable in itself. He also suggests his own model of six ‘actants’ (functions), which do not necessarily overlap the actual ‘actors’ (characters), with each character possibly fulfilling more than one function, and each function possibly being fulfilled by more than one character (Greimas). However, because of overlooking additional structural layers, these praxical models are extremely limited. Keir Elam correctly remarks that Souriau’s model “does seem to deal successfully with structurally simple dramas whose characters are largely determined by their function in the action” (p. 130). The ‘naïve fallacy’ lies in seeing the viewpoint of a character as the unique perspective on a fictional world. An example of this is G. W. F. Hegel’s interpretation of Sophocles’ Antigone (p. 1217; cf. 1163, note 1; 1196; cf. Bradley, 1965: 73–5). He suggests that the action revolves around a conflict between two positive characters, Antigone and Creon, based on the values of either the family or the state. He disregards, however, that both employ these values only to naïvely justify their own deeds and that the chorus (with ironic authority) reconsiders this conflict as implementing the gods’ will on different grounds (582–625; see analysis of Antigone in chapter 13). This fallacy may stem from the widespread wrong assumption that authors are absent in descriptions of fictional worlds, and that spectators have no role in their categorization; e.g., E. R. Dodds wrongly claims that no hamartia can be established unless voiced by a character (p. 179). The ‘ironic (including the modal) fallacy’ lies in conceiving of the viewpoint of the author/audience as the unique perspective on the fictional world, canceling thereby the ironic gap between it and the naïve layer. Jean-Pierre Vernant, for example, denies the mythical substratum of Oedipus the King, while stressing the crucial function of the notions typical of the fifth-century BCE polis, such as ‘responsibility’ and ‘unintentional crime’ (pp. 85–111). He even mocks the likelihood that Aeschylus’ Agamemnon reflects an urge of wives to punish their husbands (ibid. 93). Similarly, Corneille cannot believe that any spectator watching Oedipus the King would wish to kill his father and marry his mother (Corneille, 1964: 209). The ‘aesthetic fallacy’ would lie lies in viewing the fictional world as structured only by the aesthetic layer, the notions of ‘harmony/disharmony’, ‘proportion’ in particular. I have not found any clear-cut instance of such a theoretical fallacy.

Sophocles’ Oedipus the King An often ignored fact is that in Sophocles’ fictional world Laius and Jocasta are murderous, in contrast to their son. Whereas Oedipus, following Delphi’s prophesy that he will kill his father and marry his mother, does everything in his power to prevent patricide and incest; his parents decide to prevent this prophesy by deliberately abandoning their own son to certain death; i.e., they commit infanticide, which is too an iniquitous crime.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 153

Nature of Fictional Thinking

153

Whereas Oedipus is probably only polluted (miasma), his parents are criminals beyond doubt. On the mythical level, this narrative revolves around two mythical actions: murdering a father and marrying a mother. These are most disturbing events. On this level, the narrative features abstract characterizations, such as ‘son’, ‘father’ and ‘mother’; an abstract actions, such as ‘son killing father’ and ‘son marrying mother’; while on this level, both are devoid of value characterization. Further abstraction would change their nature. Nonetheless, it is on this level that these actions are assumedly most meaningful for the spectator, because of causing extreme anxiety, probably due to reflecting drives universally suppressed to the unconscious. On the praxical level, at least two of Oedipus’ motives can be discerned: (a) to avoid fate and (b) to reveal who killed King Laius. While (b) is made explicit in the enacted part of the play-script, (a) is implicit in Oedipus’ act of leaving Corinth. Which is then the macro-motive of the entire action? Whereas (b) is crowned with success, and cannot explain the final catastrophe, it is the failure of (a) and the correspondent anagnorisis that lead to the catastrophe and explain it. This procedure establishes that Oedipus’ intent to avoid fate is the main motive that structures the macro-action. It should be noted that non-represented parts of the action are integral part of the overall action. On the naïve level, we may assume that Oedipus’ endeavor to avoid his dual fate is conceived of as a positive move from his own ethical viewpoint. Since he was doomed to infringe two deeply-rooted taboos in human culture, we may also assume that Oedipus’ decision was probably supported by the synchronic audience. Furthermore, assumedly, these taboos were established by the gods themselves. However, while Oedipus’ realization of forbidden and suppressed drives probably aroused deep anxiety on the spectators’ unconscious level, his attempt to avoid their fulfillment probably aroused even deeper concern on the conscious level, due to contrasting their synchronic belief in the gods’ authority and might. Even after the consummation of the prophesy both Oedipus and Jocasta believe that they have managed to outwit the gods, and contest the validity of Apollo’s prophetic power (1077–86). On the ironic level, there is a manifest paradox: the oracle’s prediction contradicts taboos imposed by the gods themselves. Oedipus further problematizes this paradox by his deep conviction that it is within his power and wisdom to prevent the gods’ decision, thus further questioning their rule. His attitude thus reveals that he is afflicted by hubris, a particular instance of hamartia. Moreover, in his hubris he views himself as the “child of Fortune”, i.e., of the goddess Tyche (1080; cf. Ehrenburg: 69), thus additionally questioning Delphi’s authority. This is corroborated by the anxiety that such thoughts arouse in the chorus, when it reacts to similar words of disbelief voiced by Jocasta: “Why should man fear since chance [fortune] is all in all for him” (977). The chorus even undergoes the experience of the absurd: “When such deeds are held in honour, / why should I honour the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 154

154 Fictional Thinking Gods in the dance?” (895–6). These words should be understood as pondering the possible futility of worshiping the gods. However, Oedipus’ infringement of the two taboos, which are dismissed as guilt in Oedipus at Colonus, cannot explain his catastrophe. It is only against the background of an audience that is well-versed in the ancient Greek system of beliefs that Oedipus’ endeavour to avoid his fate, supported by his sense of intellectual superiority (Knox) and his belief in Tyche, can be understood as an act of hubris. It is the utmost gravity of his attitude of sheer irreverence that can be balanced by catastrophe, thus reinstating the logic of the worship of Apollo. From an ironic viewpoint, the paradox is settled: the gods can impose a fate that contradicts their own taboos if they wish. Oedipus, who seemingly complies with firm human values, reveals that he is contravening a fundamental religious dogma and has to face due punishment. If indeed Sophocles’ synchronic audience believed in Delphi’s prophetic power, Oedipus has been perceived as afflicted by hubris and his final catastrophe as restoring cosmic order. Oedipus’ blindness is a crucial verbal metaphor, which both supports the ironic advantage of the audience and reaffirms the validity of Delphi’s oracle. The blinding of his corporeal eyes, a stage metaphor, which is the natural consequence of his mental blindness, possibly marks the beginning of his ascent to genuine seeing and to eventual sanctity. On the modal level, the sublime mood of the play-script attests to the extreme seriousness that Sophocles attributes to Oedipus’ infringement and self-inflicting punishment. On the aesthetic level, Oedipus’ life is fundamentally disharmonious. He actually infringes taboos and probably realizes wishes suppressed by the audience, thus challenging their religious beliefs, and yet manages to live in great honor. Thus, only catastrophe can harmonize the expectations of the synchronic spectators and restore the validity of their value system. Oedipus is made to reveal his true human condition. It is even possible that the gods contrived such a narrative as an existential exemplum. Sophocles thus reveals his endeavor to bring about the experience of harmony on the epistemic, ethical and emotional levels, including catharsis.

@ Fictional creativity thus reflects the formulation of thoughts in the particular and alternative mode of imagistic, metaphoric, and symbolic thinking; and the receivers’ acts of experiencing a fictional world should be understood as a potential adoption (or rejection) of such a ready-made fictional thought on the grounds of their culturally-conditioned sense of truth. These conclusions presuppose that both authors and receivers share the ability to think through this particular mode of thinking. Consequently, fictional worlds should be perceived as thoughts generated by a culturally-conditioned mode of thinking, which is rooted in the spontaneous capacity of the human brain to think through mental images, as reflected in dreaming and daydreaming,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 155

Nature of Fictional Thinking

155

with fictional thinking being a particular case of metaphoric/symbolic thinking (Rozik, 2009: 141–50). In contrast to Jung’s principle of ‘compensation’, dramatic fictional worlds do not aim at correcting the conscious image of the spectator (1974: 99–101), but actually take the existence of suppressed drives for granted; i.e., there is nothing compensating in such fictional worlds. Nonetheless, they enable the spectator to explore the possible consequences of the realization of such drives. In this sense, the theatre functions as a thinking laboratory (see chapter 17). Why are receivers eager to experience fictional worlds? I suggest that their existential readiness to invest time and money in experiencing fictional worlds is explained by (a) experiencing the spontaneous metaphor that involves them in potentially-personified expressions of their own psychical states of affairs; and (b) having the opportunity to re-experience their biologically-generated and culturally-suppressed primeval imagistic/metaphoric/ symbolic mode of thinking.

@

@

Future theatre research should not ignore the crucial importance of the fictional component of the theatre experience. Although fictional worlds are not objects of semiotic research, because of not reflecting the rules of a system of representation and communication, they still are legitimate objects of research in performance analysis, because the theatre experience amalgamates the rules of the theatre medium and the rules of the fictional mode of thinking. Future theatre research should preserve this dual approach.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 156

12 Sacred Narratives for Secular Spectators Whereas sacred narratives may have lost their numinous aura for secular receivers, their deep involvement is clearly discerned when a mythical material constitutes the fundamental layer of a fictional world, whether in the production of a canonic play-script or in the creation of a new one (see chapter 11). Therefore, while mythological creativity is usually perceived as reflecting a mode of thinking typical of primeval cultures, I suggest here that mythical materials are still universally meaningful. This chapter ponders the meaning of such narratives for receivers who do not subscribe to their sacredness. In traditional societies religious themes enjoy a unique appeal, in concerning not only divine beings but also the cognitive and ethical foundations of the receivers’ orientation in the world. A sacred narrative may produce, therefore, a sense of understanding the world, even if spurious from a scientific perspective. Nonetheless, a myth, which commands total belief in its original magical/religious culture, is usually received with utter disbelief in the context of a different culture. Such disbelief also characterizes the secular culture, which reflects a clear tendency to reject any sense of confidence that a religious system may promote. Despite this attitude, however, the intense appeal of some mythical materials for secular receivers remains almost the same. It thus follows that sacredness, which is circumscribed to a myth’s native culture, is not inherent in its nature. Myths have been studied from various and sometimes complementary perspectives; and various theories have been proposed about their main function; explanatory, validatory, or expressive in particular. Indeed, a myth is a narrative that, as such, can fulfill at least one such function. While subscribing to the functional approach, I suggest that the appeal of mythical material has not vanished, and that it functions differently; not from the way it functioned in primeval cultures, but from the way it is usually explained. My theses are: (a) myths reflect the particular mode of fictional thinking; (b) myths, which are universally meaningful, including for secular receivers, both map unconscious drives and enable them to confront these drives in the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 157

Sacred Narratives of Secular Spectators 157 (conscious) terms of their own cultures; and (c) since the receivers confront these drives from their inception to their ultimate consequences, whether they eventually succeed or fail, mythical thinking too, as claimed for fictional thinking, operates in the manner of a psychical laboratory (see chapter 17). I assume here that the fictional arts, such as literature, theatre, painting/drawing (graphic novel) and cinema, reveal a tendency to employ mythical materials due to their forceful and crucial psychical impact. I illustrate these theses below through several myths that reflect unconscious animosity between parents and their children; e.g., the myths of Isaac, Iphigenia and Jesus.

Basic features of ‘myth’ Despite diversity, most theories of myth concur with the following traits: a) A myth is a narrative, a description of a world of characters and their actions unfolding in time and space, what in this study is termed a ‘fictional world’: “all myths are stories and depend heavily on their narrative qualities for their creation and preservation” (Kirk: 254). b) A myth is a sacred narrative and, as such, it is expected to command total belief: “[it is] regarded, not merely as true, but as venerable and sacred” (Malinowski: 36). c) A mythical narrative is set in ahistoric time: “a myth is an account of events which took place in principio, that is, “in the beginning”, in a primordial and non-temporal instant, a moment of sacred time” (Eliade: 57; cf. Doty: 8). d) A myth does not relate to the world in a literal manner. At face value a myth is nonsense. Whatever the approach, all agree that there is a gap between the mythical narrative and what it represents and purports to describe, which betrays its possible metaphoric nature. e) A myth fulfils at least one crucial function, albeit theories diverge as to its nature, buttressing thereby the functional approach.

Functional approaches There is a general tendency to characterize ‘myth’ by its main function. I illustrate this trend through the explanatory, validatory and expressive theories. a) The explanatory function: The view that myth reflects the existential need to understand the world has been advanced by Andrew Lang: “Myth is a product of early human fancy, working on the most rudimentary knowledge of the outer world, . . . In the case of the myths, the need was to explain certain phenomena” (pp. 12–13). Indeed, some myths are obvious attempts to explain puzzling phenomena such as the deluge and the recreation of the human race (e.g., Deucalion), the nature of time (e.g., Kronos), the inter-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 158

158 Fictional Thinking change of the seasons (e.g., Hades and Persephone), the diversity of languages (e.g., the Tower of Babel) and the fallen condition of man (e.g., Adam and Eve). Lang’s approach was further developed by Claude Lévi-Strauss, who perceives myth as reflecting a rudimentary mode of thinking and cognition, which was eventually superseded by discursive thinking as epitomized by science and philosophy: [People without writing] are perfectly capable of disinterested thinking; that is they are moved by a need or a desire to understand the world around them, its nature and its society. On the other hand, to achieve that end, they proceed by intellectual means, exactly as a philosopher, or even to some extent a scientist, can and would do. . . . To say that a way of thinking is disinterested and that it is an intellectual way of thinking does not mean at all that it is equal to scientific thinking. Of course, it remains different in a way, and inferior in another way. (pp. 16–17)

Moreover, “myth is unsuccessful in giving man more material power over the environment. However, it gives man, very importantly, the illusion that he can understand the universe and that he does understand the universe. It is, of course, only an illusion” (Lévi-Strauss: 17). While the cognitive thesis appears to be self-defeating, by assuming the inferiority of myth, actually it is not: the cognitive nature of myth is confirmed by its mere comparison to the scientific method of cognition, thus implying their shared function. Furthermore, the claim that all mythical cognitions are false cannot be a decisive criterion, because even science, due to its constant interchange of theories, is not exempt from falsification. Scientific explanations are characterized not only by their results, but also and mainly by their methods of inquiry. Therefore, Lévi-Strauss’ claim that myth reflects a sui generis mode of thinking about the world is a felicitous insight (cf. Burkert: 24–5). Being an instrument of thinking, myth may fulfill any function, including explanation of puzzling phenomena. My criticism of the explanatory theory, which allegedly characterizes myth, hinges on the simple observation that most myths do not explain anything, and often require a context of explanation in order to make sense; e.g., the myth of Oedipus requires the religious explanatory context supplied by Sophocles: his blind trust in the goddess Tyche (see chapter 11). Moreover, myths that provide explanations of real phenomena have been superseded by scientific explanations and ignored by the secular culture. It follows that the explanatory function anchors myth only to its native culture, thus being irrelevant to this study. b) The validating function: Bronis‰aw Malinowski vehemently promoted the view that the main function of myth is the validation of beliefs, rites, ceremonies and social or moral rules that require “justification, warrant of antiquity, reality and sanctity” (p. 36; cf. p. 42). Accordingly, “[m]yth fulfils in primitive culture an indispensable function: it expresses,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 159

Sacred Narratives of Secular Spectators 159 enhances and codifies belief” (ibid. 23). “It is, therefore, neither a mere narrative, nor a form of science, nor a branch of art or history, nor an explanatory tale” (ibid. 24). Although Malinowski criticizes the cognitive approach, in vogue at his time, which related a fundamental and unique explanatory function to myth, he was ready to acknowledge that validation may allow for “elements both of explanation and of interest in nature” (ibid. 121). Indeed, a story that is not believed to be true cannot validate anything. Nonetheless, whereas cognition deals with truth, validation deals with value, which can be attributed to what is only held to be true, even if it presupposes an epistemology. Malinowski’s exhortation to abandon cognitive views and focus exclusively on the validating function of myth, within the framework of the culture that consecrates it, nevertheless proves misleading. Although on their native soil myths may fulfill a crucial function in buttressing religious beliefs and social norms, they can also be employed for the opposite purpose: to invalidate them; e.g., I endorse the view that Euripides employed the myth of Hippolytus/Phaedra in order to challenge the beliefs of his contemporary spectators in the Olympian gods, Aphrodite and Artemis in particular, merely by measuring them against human standards of divinity. These goddesses actually fail the test, thus revealing the playwright’s intention to invalidate their claim to divinity, and produce an experience of the absurd (Rozik, 2009: 265–6). Furthermore, a myth that fulfils a validating function in its native culture may preserve its appeal even after the validated religious beliefs and rites have become obsolete. c) The expressive function: Freud implies that, despite its various characters, a dream is a symbolic expression of a dreamer’s unconscious: “My ego may be represented in a dream several times over, now directly and now through identification with extraneous persons” (1978: 435; cf. 1990a: 138). The expression and representation of the dreamer through images of several ‘extraneous persons’ cannot be explained, unless it is assumed that these represent psychical entities and/or drives, which are spontaneously partitioned and personified; namely, he suggests that the dreamer’s psyche expresses itself through a set of substitutional and personified symbols. As suggested above, Freud employs ‘symbol’ in the classic and modernist sense of ‘metaphor’ (see chapter 2; for self-evident examples see Freud, 1978: 4707). Indeed, personification is a kind of metaphor that draws its associations from the human domain. In this sense, a dream is a complex metaphor. In the terms of this study, such expressions of the psyche should be seen as spontaneously-created fictional worlds. Freud also suggests that the principle of ‘expression’ applies not only to dreams, but also to daydreams and myths (1978: 467–8 & 1990a: 131–41). Jung suggests that such a fictional creativity involves the operation of unconscious archetypes. The notion of ‘archetype’ combines the senses of ‘arkhe’ and ‘tupos’: ‘arkhe’ in the sense of ‘primordial image’ that reflects “the biological, prehistoric, and unconscious development of the mind in archaic man, whose psyche was still close to that of the animal” (1969: 67);

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 160

160 Fictional Thinking and ‘tupos’, in the sense of ‘stamping’, probably meaning that archetypal images condition the way people experience their worlds a priori, similarly to Emmanuel Kant’s categories of thought: “[t]he archetype is the representation of an instinct, which is a ‘physiological urge’, in the guise of a ‘symbolic [metaphoric] image’ in the mind” (Jung, 1969: 69). ‘Psychological urge’ implies possible action toward satisfaction, thus involving biologicallyrooted and culturally-conditioned wishful and fearful expectations. I have termed them elsewhere ‘archetypal expectations’ (Rozik, 2009: 21–2). Following M.-L. von Franz, the notion of ‘archetype’ allows for cultural conditioning (see the notions of positive and negative ‘anima’ or ‘animus’; Jung, 1969: 158–229). Since archetypal representations may vary a great deal in detail, it is their shared pattern that reflects the inborn capacity of the brain to create archetypal images (Jung, 1969: 67); e.g., the mandala. Since both dreams and myths reveal elements that cannot be explained in terms of personal experience, Jung concludes that “[archetypes] seem to be aboriginal, innate, and inherited shapes of the human mind” (ibid. 67); in other words, “collective representations, emanating from primeval dreams and creative fantasies” (ibid. 55). The psychoanalytic school, which advocates the expressive function of myths, thus gives a sensible explanation for their universal appeal. Such an appeal probably explains also artistic fictional worlds based on mythical materials. This is particularly conspicuous in theatre, which, among other constraints, needs to establish an immediate and powerful rapport with an audience, a heterogeneous group of people who are expected to react in unison. Moreover, this function also applies to mythical materials in other fictional arts, such as literature, comics and cinema. Indeed, only a narrative that expresses the very depths of the receiver’s psyche can explain such a forceful involvement in experiencing fictional narratives. Psychoanalysis excels in explaining the spell that is cast by mythoi and mythical materials through suggesting their affinity to the dream work, with both being metaphoric expressions of suppressed contents of the psyche. It fails to explain, however, how mythical material is transmuted into an object that can be confronted by the receivers, and even enjoyed. Freud sees the writer’s technique for accomplishing this task as “his innermost secret” (1990a: 141); but ignores the additional structural layers that transform an unconscious expression, despite its subversive nature, into an aesthetic experience; in other words, Freud fails to explain the mechanism through which the assimilation of mythical materials by consciousness is achieved.

@ In general, the functional approach poses a crucial question: whether or not a phenomenon such as myth can be defined by its function. The notion of ‘function’ implies that there is no necessary connection between a function

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 161

Sacred Narratives of Secular Spectators 161 and the nature of the entity that fulfils it. First, the same myth may fulfill different functions; e.g., whereas, most probably, the myth of DionysusPentheus was originally employed for promoting adherence to the new faith, Euripides employed it in the Bacchae to invalidate Dionysus’ divinity, by revealing the vindictiveness and malice of the god. To achieve this aim, the playwright had to do nothing more than showing the absurdity of a mother tearing her own son to pieces, especially to those spectators who already were inclined to a different perception of divinity; not to mention his intention to shock the believing spectators. And second, different myths can fulfill the same function; e.g., again, I endorse the view that in both play-scripts Hippolytus and Bacchae Euripides employed the myths of HippolytusPhaedra and Dionysus-Pentheus for fulfilling the same function of undermining the divinity of the Olympian gods. To define a cultural narrative solely by its functions is, therefore, to disregard its specific nature. There must be an inherent quality of myth that, while enabling the fulfillment of a particular function, distinguishes it from other cultural narratives that may fulfill the same function; e.g., a myth and a dramatic fictional world. Although myth is a narrative that can be characterized by also fulfilling a cultural function, such as explanation, validation or expression, it cannot be defined by any one of them. Moreover, all these functions can be fulfilled by different myths. A clear distinction should thus be made between myth as an autonomous cultural narrative and its functions, not only in the context of its synchronic culture but also in its diachronic manifestations. I suggest, therefore, that myth is a particular instance of fictional creativity that, as I have suggested above, is a mode of thinking of preverbal origin; and, as such, it can fulfill different functions (see chapter 11). I suggest that the specific difference of myths, whose grip in the minds of people, foreign to their native soils persists, lies in mapping the spectators’ suppressed drives.

Mythical mappings As suggested above, on the level of its internal structure, in addition to basic personification, the structure of a fictional world is built upon a mythical infrastructure of distressing material whose essential properties are minimal characterization and action, such as ‘father kills son’, and maximal psychical effect, in the sense of producing extreme anxiety (see chapter 11). The disturbing nature of this layer is usually intensified by its interpretation from the naïve viewpoint of characters that tend to justify their own actions (naïve layer). This layer of ‘mythos’ is further organized by a ‘logos’, which implements three basic principles: the structuration of the action in terms of a particular motive and its outcome, whether success or failure (praxical layer); the categorization of the action from the ironic viewpoint of the author/readership as satisfying or violating their synchronic value system (ironic layer); and the experience of the action as harmonious or absurd

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 162

162 Fictional Thinking depending on whether it gratifies the receivers’ archetypal expectations or frustrates them (aesthetic layer) (see chapter 11). It is such a complex logos that is responsible for transmuting the mythical narrative material (the mythos) into an object that can be consciously confronted and even enjoyed. Furthermore, whereas it is the mythos that fulfills an expressive function, it is the logos that can fulfill an explanatory, validating or invalidating function. Myth, as recorded in books, such as Edith Hamilton’s Mythology and Richard Buxton’s The Complete World of Greek Mythology, are only skeletons of full narratives, mainly abstracted from their logoi. The anti-logos thrust of a mythos is best illustrated by a particular set of myths in which, in contrast to human expectations, the characters, who are supposed to care for one another, inflict severe pain and even death on the other. Aristotle claims that a tragic action should produce fear (Poetics, XIII, 2), and that this is best achieved when suffering is inflicted on “those who are near or dear to one another — if, for example, a brother kills, or intends to kill, a brother, a son his father, a mother her son, a son his mother . . . these are the situations to be looked for by the poet” (Poetics, XIV, 4). Since killing is an extreme form of inflicting suffering, even on the level of the mythical layer, such an action may convey a deep sense of absurdity in being perceived as contrary to human nature (cf. Corneille, 1964: 219). Whereas inflicting harm upon enemies is rational, doing so upon kin is inherently irrational. For example, in Aeschylus’ Oresteia, the sacrifice of Iphigenia by her father is not only irrational per se, albeit done for placating goddess Artemis and enabling the expedition to Troy, but also because it initiates a chain of no less tragic events: the murder of Agamemnon by Clytemnestra and the killing of the latter by her son Orestes. In contrast, Euripides’ Iphigenia in Tauris narrates that Artemis substituted a deer for Iphigenia, and took Iphigenia to Tauris to be her priestess (782–6). This myth reflects an archetypal expectation for a harmonious ending for the innocent maiden. I suggest that the set of myths that can thematically-specify such mythical layers not only lend expression to suppressed drives, but also map the ambivalent nature of family relations, which, in contrast to ethical expectations elicit both (a) unconscious animosity and (b) unconscious sexual attraction. It is this contrast that explains their suppression into the unconscious in the first place; for example: a) Unconscious animosity: 1) Father/son: e.g., Laius decides to kill Oedipus and Oedipus kills Laius in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King; Theseus causes the death of his son Hippolytus in Euripides’ Hippolytus; and King Basilio dehumanizes his own son Segismundo in Calderón de la Barca’s (comedy) Life is a Dream. 2) Father/daughter: e.g., Agamemnon sacrifices Iphigenia in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon; and King Lear unwittingly causes the death of his daughter Cordelia in Shakespeare’s King Lear.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 163

Sacred Narratives of Secular Spectators 163 3) Mother/son: e.g., Agaue dismembers her son Pentheus in Euripides’ Bacchae; (cf. Euripides’ Medea); Orestes kills Clytemnestra in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers; Hamlet metaphorically kills his mother in Shakespeare’s Hamlet (cf. Chekhov’s The Seagull and Brecht’s Mother Courage) and Mother causes the death of her son in García Lorca’s Blood Wedding. 4) Mother/daughter: e.g., Electra incites Orestes to kill Clytemnestra in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers, and Bernarda stifles the lives of her daughters and, in particular, causes the death of Adela, in García Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba. 5) Brother/brother: e.g., Eteocles and Polyneices kill one another in Sophocles’ Antigone; and Claudius poisons his brother King Hamlet in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. 6) Sister/sister: e.g., Antigone rejects and isolates Ismene in Sophocles’ Antigone; and Goneril poisons Regan in Shakespeare’s King Lear. 7) Uncle/niece or nephew: e.g., Creon commands the death of Antigone in Sophocles’ Antigone. 8) Husband/wife: e.g., Medea kills her own children and Jason’s bride in order to punish her husband in Euripides’ Medea; Othello kills Desdemona in Shakespeare’s Othello; and Yerma kills her husband in García Lorca’s Yerma (cf. Ibsen’s A Doll’s House and Strindberg’s The Father). 9) Father in law/son in law: e.g., Rodrigue kills his future father-inlaw, thus deeply hurting his beloved Chimène, in Corneille’s Le Cid. 10) Mother-in-law/step son: e.g., Phaedra causes the death of Hippolytus in both Euripides’ Hippolytus and Racine’s Phèdre. 11) Lovers: Claire causes the death of Ill in Friedrich Dürrenmatt’s The Visit (cf. Corneille’s Le Cid). 12) Friends: Macbeth murders Banquo in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Aristotle’s category of ‘near and dear’ also applies to relations of loyalty or devotion such as between a vassal and his lord; e.g., Macbeth murders King Duncan in Shakespeare’s Macbeth; and between a human creature and a god, e.g., Aphrodite causes the death of innocent human Hippolytus in Euripides’ Hippolytus. b) Unconscious sexual attraction: 1) Mother/son; e.g., Oedipus and Jocasta in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King. 2) Father/daughter; e.g., Lot and his daughters in Genesis, 19, 30-8. 3) Brother/sister; Amnon and Tamar in II Samuel, 13, 1–22. 4) Step-mother/step-son; e.g., Phaedra and Hippolytus in both Euripides’ Hippolytus and Racine’s Phèdre. 5) Father-in-law/daughter-in-law; e.g., Judah and Tamar the wife of his son Er, in Genesis, 38, 8–26. These mythical mappings, which are disharmonious in nature, reflect a genuine cognitive attitude, which also involves their rational contextualiza-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 164

164 Fictional Thinking tion by a logos. Whereas it is the conscious confrontation with such unconscious drives, which arouses extreme anxiety in the receivers’ minds, being the reason for their suppression in the first place, the function of the logos is to integrate them into their overall conscious and cognitive image/concept of the world. For example, in Oedipus the King, Jocasta is probably right in saying that in dreams “many a man has lain with his own mother” (981–2), but it is only the logos provided by Sophocles that enables the receivers to confront such a drive without being terrified. ‘Mythos’ and ‘logos’ thus refer to two opposing and complementary principles, which are independent of one another, in the sense that the same mythos can appear in the context of different kinds of logoi, and the same logos in the context of different mythical mappings. Whereas the recycling of a mythical mapping is usually diachronic — e.g., the myth of Oedipus in play-scripts by Aeschylus, Sophocles, Corneille, Cocteau and Anouilh — the recycling of a logos in fictional worlds based on different mythical mappings can only be synchronic; namely, whereas a mythical mapping is universal, a logos is historic in nature, and should be analyzed in the context of its own culture. Moreover, whereas a mythical mapping reflects cognitive intent, a logos reflects ethical categorization, based on a synchronic cognitive or value system. Nonetheless, both are raw materials in the creation of fictional worlds. The recycling of a mythos thus means not only the convenient use of a ready-made narrative scaffolding, but also the use of a ready-made mapping of an unconscious state of affairs. The impact of a mythos is determined by its potential violation of the receivers’ ethos, which is manifested in causing both extreme anxiety and cognitive disorientation. Whereas its potential anti-logos nature constitutes a powerful narrative raw material, which explains the extreme involvement of the receivers, the logos is the very mechanism that enables the conscious confrontation with the upsetting contents of the unconscious, which otherwise are doomed to further suppression. Mythos and logos are thus integrated into a comprehensive unit that is the fictional world (cf. Burkert’s distinction between ‘structure’ and ‘crystallization’ of myth’, which partially overlaps that of ‘mythos’ and ‘logos’; p. 5). As suggested above, the entire fictional world constitutes a potential metaphor of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs (see chapter 3). It is the inherent difference between the fictional and the spectators’ worlds that precludes the perception of the former as a literal description. I assume that different explanations can be suggested for the spectators’ strong involvement, but believe that the thesis that such a world is a potentially metaphoric formulation of the amorphous stirrings of the receivers’ psyches best explains its meaningfulness for them (see chapter 3). The dialectical complementation of mythos and logos is a sound criterion for the distinction between dreams and myths. While having in common the creation of fictional worlds, they differ in that dreams basically lack the layers of logos. They only formulate and express the amorphous stirrings of the unconscious, which are doomed to further suppression, because of the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 165

Sacred Narratives of Secular Spectators 165 inability of consciousness to cope, for example, with unconscious both tabooed animosity and sexual attraction. In contrast, myths and fictional worlds based on mythical mappings feature a compound of mythos and logos that makes such a confrontation possible, healthy and even enjoyable. As a composite of mythos and logos, the fictional world is the arena upon which mythical mappings are confronted, and usually subdued, by culture. While with its minimal categorization of characters and action a mythos produces maximum anxiety, a logos ensures maximum communicability and assimilation into the receiver’s cultural discourse. Whereas a mythos is capable of undermining social order, a logos is capable of shielding the receiver from chaos. The basic relationship between a fictional world and its receivers thus ceases to be, as commonly perceived, an experience of watching a world of others, whether the receivers identify with its characters or not; and becomes, rather, a confrontation with their own psyches, which are represented on two levels: being and self-description.

Universality of mythical mappings Sacred myths and artistic (literary and dramatic) fictional worlds, including secular ones, share both the creation of fictional worlds and the mutual complementation of mythos and logos. What is then the difference between myths and fictional worlds – between these two major creative impulses? Frye believes that the difference lies in belief: “When a system of myths loses all connexion with belief, it becomes pure literature, as Classical myth did in Christian Europe. Such a development would be impossible unless myths were inherently literary in structure” (1961: 363). However, while offering a possible explanation for the meaningfulness of mythical strata in cultures that do not attach belief to certain myths, including secular cultures, Frye overlooks the fact that literary fiction too can be religious in nature and command belief. Moreover, Christianity has indeed bestowed its own logos on Greek myths; e.g., Corneille’s Oedipe presents Oedipus as a severe critic of the Olympian gods and as a harbinger of the new faith (1988–94). Therefore, I suggest, in contrast, that mythical mappings are neutral in regard to beliefs; and that it is the logos that connects them with either a particular belief or a secular philosophy/ideology. Rather than mythical mappings being sacred in themselves, it is sensible to conjecture that a culture may bestow sacredness upon them, as it may not. Frye also considers that myths, with characters being characterized as gods, they “can do what they like, which means what the story-teller likes: there is no need to be plausible or logical in motivation. The things that happen in myth are things that happen only in stories; they are in a selfcontained literary work” (1961: 361). He implies thereby that the limitations that characterize the human world do not apply to myth. Accordingly, in his view, the opposite of myth is realistic fiction, which reflects the ‘displace-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 166

166 Fictional Thinking ment’ of the world of myth into the terms of plausibility that characterize real life (1975: 136). Nonetheless, these contentions are groundless: first, because even being a god (or hero) is a particular kind of characterization that evinces its own constraints, e.g., in Euripides’ Hippolytus Artemis declares that she cannot interfere in the deeds of other gods (1328–30); and second, whereas literary and dramatic fictional worlds may feature gods; e.g., anonymous Everyman, not all the characters of myths are gods. I suggest that, in this sense, it is the complementation of mythos and logos that makes myths and artistic fictional worlds essentially similar, except for their levels of complexity. Furthermore, while myths are usually umbilically connected to a certain faith, and may function, inter alia, in validating its beliefs and practices, mythical mappings can be employed even for undermining them. Whereas this is unthinkable in the context of any ritual, which by nature tends to buttress its own beliefs, often through the assistance of myths, artistic fictional worlds may use particular mappings for either validation or invalidation; e.g., while Sophocles employed the myth of Oedipus to support the belief in Apollo’s prophesies, Euripides employed the myth of Dionysus in order to undermine this god’s divinity. It follows that the difference between myth and artistic fictional world should also be found in the particular pragmatic use of a mythical mapping. Aristotle puts a question mark on the assumed knowledge of myth by his contemporary spectators: “We must not . . . at all costs keep to the received legends, which are the usual subjects of Tragedy. . . . for even subjects that are known are known only to a few, and yet give pleasure to all” (Poetics, IX, 8). Even if he only implies that unfamiliar narratives are not a problem, against the background of the widespread assumption that ancient Greek audiences exhibited cultural unity, this is a peculiar remark. In contrast, I take it to mean that a mapping of suppressed drives may strongly affect the receiver even without the knowledge of the source-myth. In this sense, therefore, Aristotle’s remark applies not only to foreign cultures, but also to secular audiences. He actually hints at the universality of mythical mappings. Nonetheless, the fact that fictional creativity tends to recycle such mappings, while usually preserving the names of the characters in previous texts, leads to the conjecture that these names bring into play intertextual relations between target- and source-texts. Such intertextual relations may highlight the deviations of the former from the latter — thus providing clues for the creative interpretation embodied in an innovative fictional world, which may employ even the connotations of validation that characterize a source-text to underscore its either revalidating or invalidating intent. The fundamental universality of mythical mappings, and their ability to integrate any historic logos, should explain their appeal for secular receivers in their attitudes to (a) the reinterpretation of fictional worlds created in religious cultures; and (b) the creation of new fictional worlds that employ such ready-made mappings, whether using the original names of characters or not. The exposure of receivers to mythical mappings reflects a social permit

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 167

Sacred Narratives of Secular Spectators 167 to confront both shameful and disturbing contents of the psyche, including drives suppressed into the unconscious, in the context of a collective experience that lends them some kind of legitimation, for the purpose of assimilating them into a conscious and more complex image/concept of life. It is the presupposed rational nature of any contemporary logos that makes such assimilation possible.

Binding of Isaac The short and concise biblical story of the binding of Isaac, in which God tests Abraham’s faith by ordering him to sacrifice his own son, is one of the founding narratives of monotheism (Genesis, 22, 1–18). Although mapping the unconscious animosity between father and son through the minimal characterization and action of ‘father kills son’ (the mythos), it should be interpreted as revealing God’s abhorrence of the sacrifice of children by their parents, which, in contrast to the synchronic pagan ethos, established an unprecedented religious standard (the logos). Although Abraham and Isaac are perceived as the historic fathers of the Jewish nation, this narrative clearly reflects the workings of fictional thinking. The initial situation is fundamentally absurd: God, who had granted Isaac’s miraculous birth to his extremely old parents (Genesis 21, 1– 7), now paradoxically commands his sacrifice. Despite being a very short story, Isaac is repeatedly depicted as deeply loved: “Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest” (22, 2). Even Isaac perceives the oddity of the situation: “Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” (22, 7). Such absurdity probably produced substantial anxiety in the synchronic readership, especially for being surrounded by cultures that actually advocated the sacrifice of children; e.g., Agamemnon’s sacrifice of Iphigenia in Aeschylus’ Oresteia. Accordingly, the synchronic readers of the Pentateuch probably developed an archetypal expectation for an equally miraculous happy ending for the innocent Isaac, which is eventually granted: And he [the angel] said, Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me. And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram caught in a thicket by his horns: and Abraham went and took the ram, and offered him up for a burnt offering in the stead of his son. (22, 12–13)

This deus-ex-machina dénouement diametrically changes the divine command from sacrificing a son, which is inherently disharmonious, to refraining from it, leading to the experience of the harmonious gratification of archetypal expectations. Traditional interpretations, the biblical logos for example, stress the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 168

168 Fictional Thinking devotional moral of the story. It was followed by the Talmud and even by Zionist interpretations. Indeed, God’s dictum “for now I know that thou fearest God” (22, 12) suggests that God was satisfied with Abraham’s readiness to sacrifice his son, thus contrasting the apparent absurdity of the narrative; especially in the context of the framing remark that God only “tried” Abraham (22, 1; my translation). Still, such an intention too contrasts the nature of God, probably, even for the synchronic reader. I suggest, rather, that the story transmutes this basically absurd narrative of ‘father kills son for God’ into a manifesto against the sacrifice of children and, by the same token, invalidates the pagan logos, which allowed and even justified the sacrifice of children on the altar of divine commands. Both imminent invalidation and subsequent validation are based on a novel ‘perception’ of the nature of God, which indicates a religious revolution. However, this interpretation cannot explain its profound meaning for people who do not adhere to monotheistic beliefs; for example, the writers of the generation of the Israeli War of Independence, who found themselves fighting and dying for values cherished by their parents, employed this myth to describe their reservations about their involvement in the war, imposed on them by their idealistic parents. This can be understood only if it is assumed that it was perceived, subliminally perhaps, as a metaphor of the parents’ readiness to sacrifice their own children on the altar of a secular national value, which is an alternative logos.

Passion of the Christ The narrative of Jesus follows quite consistently the path of the narrative of Isaac. First, his miraculous birth; second, His omniscient and omnipotent father “allows” the Pharisees and Pontius Pilate to crucify him; and third, like Isaac, upon being crucified, Jesus experiences the absurdity of his own predicament: “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me?” (Matthew, 27, 46) Against this background it might appear that Jesus’ actual death and resurrection stand in contrast to Isaac’s being saved at the very last moment. However, in revealing God’s intention to redeem humanity from their sins, and to call his son to his side in heaven, both endings are structurally equivalent. Both the salvation of Isaac and the miraculous resurrection of the Christ thus harmonize with their miraculous births. In addition to the motif of ‘father sacrifices son’, the narrative of Jesus shares other supernatural motifs with prominent narratives in Greek mythology and the Old Testament. For example, ‘divine descent’ from Zeus is attributed to Dionysus; ‘miraculous birth’ is attributed to Dionysus and to prophets such as Isaac (Genesis, 21, 1–7), Samuel (I Samuel, 1, 10-18) and Jeremiah (Jeremiah 1, 5); and ‘death and resurrection’ is attributed to Adonis, Orpheus, Osiris, Tammuz, Attis, Persephone and Dionysus (Frazer: 324ff). Without affecting their historicity, these motifs attest to that the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 169

Sacred Narratives of Secular Spectators 169 narratives of Isaac and Jesus had been fictionalized, while the biblical logos bestows upon them the unprecedented meanings of redemption and rejection of human sacrifice. Jesus’ resurrection indeed gratifies the archetypal expectations of his mother, his disciples, his followers, the entire Christian readership, and even those of the Christ Himself, thus embodying an archetypal structure. It is the thematic specification of this archetypal structure that constitutes a macroimage of the way the Lord/Father runs the world. Although there is nothing to prevent real events from gratifying archetypal expectations for happy endings, it is the structure of this narrative that has become the prototype of many fictional worlds in the centuries to come. The tenth-century anonymous Quem Quaeritis, the first narrative known to have been dramatized and staged in Christendom, already features the basic elements of this structure (Nagler: 39–41). When visiting the tomb, the three Maries presuppose the mysterious sense of absurdity involved in the crucifixion of the Son of God, which is intensified by His sudden disappearance. This is promptly dispelled by the announcement of His resurrection and subsequent ascension to heaven, which reaffirms His divine nature (Matthew, 28, 1–7 & Mark 16: 1–7). On the level of logos, the apparent absurdity of the crucifixion is thus re-interpreted as a miracle, which reflects God’s intention to redeem humanity from their sins through the sacrifice of a divine scapegoat. The monastic community then celebrates the resurrection with extreme joy by chanting Te Deum laudamus (We praise Thee, O God). This model is closely followed in Mel Gibson’s film The Passion of the Christ, which embodies the same mythos and logos, albeit in an extremely realistic manner. In contrast, Denys Arcand’s film Jesus of Montreal is a clear attempt to modify the logos of this narrative to suit the sensitivity of a contemporary audience, juvenile and possibly secular. In this film, a priest employs Daniel, a very successful actor, to direct and update the traditional stage version of the Passion, which for many years had been successfully performed for his congregation, but fails to appeal to the new generation, leaving the teachings of Jesus ignored. The newly appointed director undertakes the task very seriously. He gathers an excellent cast, ready to enthusiastically follow his lead, and engages in a thorough inquiry into the biblical narrative. The result is enacted to public acclaim. Although the priest’s goal appears to have been achieved, the new version, however, deeply upsets the Church establishment, which demands its cancellation. Indeed, while basically following the Gospel, especially its religious and moral teachings, this intertextual version presents a controversial portrait of Jesus as an historic figure, probably reflecting the typical modernist quest for scientific truth. Following a serious reading of additional and unspecified “reliable” sources, it argues, for example, that Jesus was the son of a Roman soldier named Panthera; explains Christ’s miracles by his education in Egypt, the land of magic; and reveals that crucifixion was a typical punishment in the Roman Empire, with Jesus being no exception. While stressing the fact

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 170

170 Fictional Thinking that Jesus was an observant Jew, this version maintains that he never told his disciples to proclaim him as the Messiah; preached love even to those who hate you; and promised the prostitutes that they would be the first in heaven. This version also ponders the slow growth of the myth, a process that also affected the pictorial arts: artists began to depict the figure of Jesus only 500 years after his death, and it was not until the Byzantine period that he acquired his typical black beard. Nonetheless, the film was not intended to undermine Christ’s authenticity and teachings, but to buttress them through a new logos. The performance of Daniel’s Passion, which is a combination of choral recitation and enactment of main events, in a kind of happening, also reflects modernist ways of staging and involving the audience; e.g., in performing the miracle of the fish and bread, actor/Jesus shares His bread with the audience. At the end, there is a standing ovation. When the Church coerces the priest into canceling the remaining performances, and the frustrated actors return to their previous occupations, Daniel, the director, who also enacts Jesus, becomes possessed by His teachings due to profound identification. Wherever he goes, he begins to preach and proclaims: “Christ is here”. Moreover, in his behavior he emulates the life of Jesus; e.g., when another director is filming an advertisement for a brand of beer and asks Daniel’s girlfriend to undress, he wrecks the premises, just as Jesus “cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple and overthrew the tables of the money-changers” (Matthew 21, 12); and when brought to court, Daniel pleads guilty, just as Jesus did when he was tried by Pontius Pilate. In the final performance of the Passion, having disregarded the Church injunction, Daniel is pushed out by the guards and crushed under the heavy cross of the set. He is taken to a Jewish hospital and lies on a bed in the image of the crucified Jesus. After his death, Daniel’s organs are transplanted into both a woman who recovers her sight, like Jesus restoring the sight to the blind man; and a man who is thereby saved from death, similarly to Jesus’ resuscitation of Lazarus, against the background of the angelical chanting of Giovanni Battista Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater. Despite this somewhat naïve interpretation of ‘salvation’, the film creates not only an intertextual relation between the innovative and the traditional stage versions of the Passion, but also a clear intertextual analogy between the personal lives and fates of the actor/director and the Christ, as related in the Gospel. The narrative of Jesus is indeed translated into a secular logos, albeit at the cost of partial demystification. There is little wonder, therefore, that the Church was not happy with this version. Indeed, the film levels harsh criticism at the Church establishment not only for its dated version of Jesus’ life, but also for its reluctance to accept new ideas. Despite the historic interpretation of the Passion being quite controversial; still, the film is a genuine attempt at renewing the bonds between Jesus’ teachings and the new generation, albeit on the grounds of a different and possibly anti-clerical logos.

@

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 171

Sacred Narratives of Secular Spectators 171 It is the mapping of both unconscious animosities and suppressed sexual attractions that explains the universal appeal of a wide class of mythical materials for diachronic receivers, secular ones in particular. Mythical mappings probably remain meaningful, first, because of their universal nature and suppression; and because some of the taboos imposed by the Judeo-Christian tradition are still in vigor not only for believers but also for the secular. Even the claim that such taboos are a necessary condition for social life probably reflects a secular logos. And second, because the notion of ‘logos’, whose function is to formulate mythical mappings in the terms of a synchronic culture in order to integrate them into the receivers’ conscious discourse, also applies to a secular culture. In exploring the consequences of lack of suppression, the fictional arts operate as a thinking laboratory, under the tight control of a synchronic logos (see chapter 17). Future theatre research should further explore the principle of ‘mythical mapping’, and its far-reaching implications.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 172

13 Theatre Ethics The key role of cultural values was not always addressed by the theory of drama. Although Aristotle was aware of an ethical element in tragedy, he subordinated its role to catharsis. Hegel was probably the first to stress the crucial role of ethos, but subordinated it to his own philosophical ends. This chapter, which suggests a synthesis between the Aristotelian and the Hegelian approaches, attempts to create an adequate tool for the analysis of ethical constraints in the structures of fictional worlds. In the following sections, initially, I present Hegel’s and Aristotle’s approaches to the dramatic function of an ethical system; then I suggest a synthesis between the two in order to better understand the role of the ethical concerns in drama; and finally, I proceed to an analysis of their functions in Sophocles’ Antigone, which is the chief example in Hegel’s theory.

Hegel’s ‘ethical substance’ Hegel’s philosophy has exercised an enormous influence on the manner that fictional worlds are perceived, particularly in terms of ‘conflict’. This notion is currently used almost as synonymous with ‘dramatic situation’. Indeed, a fictional world hinging on conflict is highly meaningful for receivers and capable of explaining their extreme involvement. However, the existence of a conflict is not a necessary condition, and under no circumstance should its existence or absence be employed for the appreciation of a fictional world. Moreover, Hegel was probably the first to focus on the cognitive impact of tragedy, in contrast to Aristotle’s emphasis on its emotional effect, i.e., catharsis. However, as employed today, the notion of ‘conflict’ is quite removed even from its Hegelian source, and the unsystematic use of the term has quite impaired its efficiency as a theoretical tool. My intention here is to redefine this notion and renew its relevance on different grounds. For Hegel ‘conflict’ is, first and foremost, a cognitive category, capable of explaining historic processes of change; and its application to the domain of fictional worlds is by no means central to his philosophy. Although Hegel

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 173

Theatre Ethics 173 considers drama as a superseded kind of cognition, he nonetheless contends that, in ancient times, awareness of the principle of ‘conflict’ reached its peak not in Greek philosophy but in Sophocles’ dramaturgy, particularly in his Antigone, which in his view had reached the peak of ancient cognitive achievements. Viewing this play-script as a landmark in the development of human epistemology is thus based not on artistic criteria, but on the philosophical criterion of awareness of the fundamental principle of ‘conflict’ as a crucial mechanism of socio-cultural change. Consistently, Hegel does not look for conflict in every fictional world, but views it only as a possible mechanism in the course of a fictional action, and praises those fictional worlds in which it is found. In addition to his own presentation, a clear exposition of his theory, with minor modifications, is found in Bradley’s “Hegel’s Theory of Tragedy” (1965: 69–92). Hegel presupposes the existence of a ‘substance of ethical life’ (p. 1196), a kind of Platonic idea of ‘ethos’, which is viewed as a timeless ‘ethical order’, and identified as ‘the divine’ (p. 1195): “The real thing at bottom, the actually all-pervasive cause is therefore indeed the eternal powers, i.e., what is essentially moral, the gods of our actual life, in short what is divine and true” (p. 1162). This ethical substance is absolute and universal, and each particular value in any possible culture draws its validity from it; i.e., each specific value both shares the nature of the ethical substance and is a reductive version of it. Each particular value is thus partially valid, and partially violates the absolute validity of the ethical substance. A tragic character that adheres to a particular value, but disregards the validity of any other value, violates the ethical substance, especially in cases of conflict, despite both parties possibly deriving their partial justification from the same absolute source. The typical tendency of the ethical substance is then to expose the partiality of each particular value and to reestablish its own absolute validity, which is achieved through the tragic catastrophe: “However justified the tragic character and his aim, however necessary the tragic collision, the . . . thing required is the tragic resolution of this conflict . . . [that] restores the substance and unity of ethical life with the downfall of the individual who has disturbed its peace” (p. 1197). Such a denouement brings about a sense of “reconciliation” (ibid.). In addition to ‘reconciliation’ (1965: 83 & 91), Bradley employs ‘restitution’ and ‘affirmation’ (ibid.: 91); and Dorothea Krook uses ‘reaffirmation’ of the ethical order (pp. 8ff). In this study I employ Krook’s term. It follows that, although deriving their validity from the very same source, specific cultural values may contrast one another, even in the context of the same culture, not to mention different ones. It is possible, therefore, that two characters may be in conflict, while feeling equally justified in their claims by different particular values: The original essence of tragedy consists then in the fact that within such a conflict each of the opposed sides, if taken by itself, has justification; while each can establish the true and positive content of its own aim and char-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 174

174 Fictional Thinking acter only by denying and infringing the equally justified power of the other. (Hegel: 1196)

Bradley correctly interprets this passage as “not so much the war of good with evil as the war of [a partial] good with [a partial] good” (1965: 71). He also broadens the concept of ‘good’ to include “anything that has spiritual value, no moral goodness alone . . . [while] ‘evil’ has a similar broad sense” (ibid. 86). It follows that, due to the relative validity of each particular value, two characters that are equally (partially) justified, are also equally (partially) unjustified; namely, any attempt to realize a motive that is only partially justified violates the ethical order, which does not know inner conflict. In this context, ‘violation’ means that each side ignores the possible justification of the other. It is thus implied that particular values are thus elevated to the status of absolute ones (cf. Bradley, 1965: 72). The problem is that “[i]t is the nature of the tragic hero, at once its greatness and its doom, that he knows no shrinking or half-heartedness, but identifies himself wholly with the power that moves him, and will admit the justification of no other power” (ibid.). A conflict, in the sense of ‘double relative justification’, therefore, may lead to mutual destruction: “the drama is the dissolution of the one-sidedness of these powers which are making themselves independent in the dramatic characters” (Hegel: 1163). This is not so for the ethical substance, which in an act of “eternal justice” (p. 1230), the failure of these partially justified and contrasting demands, brings about the “affirmative reconciliation” of the conflicting energies (p. 1216); i.e., the resolution of such a conflict, and the “reaffirmation”, to use Krook’s term (pp. 8ff), of the ethical substance. One-sidedness must be thus sacrificed on the altar of metaphysical order (cf. Hegel: 1197–9). It is against this background that, assumedly, the hero’s catastrophe can be perceived as a positive and even enjoyable experience. A two-fold catastrophe is, therefore, the price that a cultural community is willing to pay for the restoration of the ethical order: “eternal justice is exercised on individuals and their aims in the sense that it restores the substance and unity of ethical life with the downfall of the individual who has disturbed its peace” (Hegel: 1197). Moreover, “[i]n tragedy the eternal substance of things emerges victorious in a reconciling way, because it strips away from the conflicting individuals only their false one-sidedness, while the positive elements in what they willed it displays as what is to be retained, without discord but affirmatively harmonized” (ibid. 1199). The implication of this principle is that receivers prefer identification with the ethical substance over identification with a character’s one-sided motive and justification, regardless of whether they identify with the latter (consciously or unconsciously), or not. A character involved in a conflict adheres to one of the contending particular values. A tragic character thus appears as its “living instrument and

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 175

Theatre Ethics 175 animating sustainer” (ibid. 1162). It identifies totally with its “solid interest” and its spurious justification (ibid. 1195), and is its “purely individual embodiment of ethical powers” (ibid. 1223). To the question of how such a character differs from an allegoric character, Hegel’s answer is: “[the tragic heroes] are not what we call ‘characters’ in the modern sense of the word, but neither are they mere abstractions. They occupy a vital central position between both” (ibid. 1209). This is due to their total identification with their held values. Hegel implies that this model of ‘conflict’, despite differences, also applies to comedy (p. 1163): “comedy has for its basis and starting-point what tragedy may end with, namely an absolutely reconciled and cheerful heart” (p. 1220; my italics).

Aristotle’s ‘philanthropon’ Aristotle claims: “Every Tragedy . . . must have six parts [elements], which . . . determine its quality — namely, Plot, Character, Diction, Thought, Spectacle, [and] Song” (Poetics, VI, 7). Since he does not mention ‘ethos’, it might appear that he ignores the ethical element of tragedy. Nonetheless, ‘character’ translates the Greek ‘ethos’, meaning that he blends the notions of “character” and “ethos” (see the Greek in ibid. 7 & 17): “Character [ethos] is that which reveals moral purpose, showing what kind of things a man chooses or avoids” (ibid. 17) It is sensible to assume that such a choice presupposes a culturally-shared value system. Moreover, this dictum is tantamount to a definition of ‘ethos’ as a choice between what should be preferred and what should be eluded, obviously, from the perspective of such a value system. The role of a value system is brought to mind in Aristotle’s discussion of the structures of action that suit best the essence of tragedy: He rejects the transition of a bad/wicked man from adversity to prosperity, “for nothing can be more alien to the spirit of tragedy; it possesses no single tragic quality; it neither satisfies the moral sense [philanthropon], nor calls forth pity or fear” (Poetics, XIII, 2). He employs again the term ‘philanthropon’ for the transition of an utter villain from prosperity to adversity, albeit this structure satisfies it (cf. ibid., XVIII, 5). Aristotle definitely thus sees the satisfaction of the philanthropon as a precondition of tragedy. The question is: how to translate this enigmatic term. Literally, it means ‘love of man’, and so it is translated into Hebrew by M. Hack; but the context indicates otherwise. S. H. Butcher translates it ‘moral sense’, and S. Halliwell avoids translation altogether. I believe that Butcher’s translation is closest to the original text, in the light of dealing with ‘virtuous’ and ‘villainous’ characters. Nonetheless, although much has been argued about Aristotle’s attitude to morality, it is clear that the moment he refers to religious hamartias, the notion of ‘philanthropon’ cannot be restricted to moral values alone, and should be

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 176

176 Fictional Thinking expanded to any principle held valid by a cultural community, including religious, moral and cognitive values. I suggest, therefore, that this notion should be translated into ‘ethical sense’ in the wide sense of all that is valuable in the eyes of a synchronic audience. It is in this wide sense that I employ ‘ethical sense’ in this study. It is also clear that Aristotle employs ‘virtuous man’ and ‘villain’ in the same wide sense of total observation or violation of the audience’s philanthropon. Furthermore, Aristotle employs ‘shocking’ for a final experience that contrasts the ‘philanthropon’ (ibid. XIII, 2). I suggest that in modernist terms such a final response is what is currently termed ‘the experience of the absurd’. If the satisfaction or infringement of the ‘philanthropon’ is the key term for both harmonious and absurdist endings, this notion emerges as a chief factor in the deep structure of the fictional world. Aristotle thus implies that whatever the ethical system of a synchronic audience, and despite cultural differences, there are universal patterns of response, either cathartic or shocking, and that these correspond to surface structures that eventually satisfy archetypal expectations, while implying that the opposite surface structures contrast them. As suggested above, while the shocking structures include those in which a virtuous character ends in failure and a villain in success, the gratifying structures include those in which a positive character ends in success and a negative or hamartiaafflicted character ends in catastrophe. I term the latter ‘archetypal structures’ due to gratifying the archetypal expectations of the audience, and the former ‘shocking’ or ‘absurdist structures’ due to frustrating them (see chapter 11).

Kant’s ‘categorical imperative’ This key concept in Kant’s moral philosophy was first suggested in his Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals, 1785. He formulates this principle as follows: “Act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law (p. 30). This categorical imperative, as acknowledged by Kant himself, presupposes a choice between what the individual wishes it would become a universal law and what he wishes that it would not; and furthermore, it presupposes that such an individual is of rational nature; meaning that, in facing such a choice, s/he is capable of engaging in the pertinent rational considerations. This presupposition is mandatory in order to exclude choices that bluntly contradict morality; e.g., an individual may endorse killing a member of society, perceived as inferior, such as homosexual, a gypsy or a Jew, and still wish that such a doing become a universal law; i.e., that a member of the same society make the same categorization in regard to himself, which brings Kant’s maxim to the absurd, because of being an undoubtedly immoral act. Kant’s view presupposes that a moral act presupposes a choice between what is commendable and what is not. As Aristotle puts it “ethos [character]

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 177

Theatre Ethics 177 is that which reveals moral purpose, showing what kind of things a man chooses or avoids” (Poetics, VI, 17). I note again that Aristotle employs ‘ethos’ for ‘character’, thus possibly implying that ethical choices are in the nature of a character. However, tragic characters may choose and usually do unethical choices. Furthermore, a character may choose between two religious attitudes and even between two epistemic principles, thus requiring that the notion of ‘ethical’ encompasses not only moral principles, but also religious and epistemic ones. Such a widening is required also for the notion of ‘value’. Consequently, the choices of characters are reconsidered from the viewpoint of the audience; of what is valuable in their eyes, whether moral, religious or epistemic, and what is not. What is striking in Kant’s view is that in his attempt to find the unified principle of ‘morality’, he prescinds from the notion of ‘God’, leaving ethical considerations to human discretion. In this sense, I find a remarkable similarity between Kant’s maxim and that of Hillel the elder (110 BCE–10 CE) who, when asked to teach a proselyte the quintessence of the Torah on one foot (succinctly) he said: “What is hateful if done to you, do not do to your fellow-man, that is the essence of the Torah, and the rest is just interpretation, go and learn” (and by implication: “Do to your fellow-man, only what you may expect to be done to you”) (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat: 31a; my translation). This maxim, known as the ‘golden rule’, presupposes reciprocity and thus making possible social life. Rabbi Shmuel Eideles (1555–1631) interpreted this maxim as deriving from the biblical dictum “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself: I am the Lord” (Leviticus 19, 18). This derivation precludes seeing the golden rule as avoiding the notion of ‘God’; since the authority of the Torah presupposes the Lord’s authority. However, in itself, in order to understand its beneficial social function, the golden rule does not need the notion of ‘God’. If indeed, all members of a society avoid doing what is hateful to them, the harmonious function of a society will be secured. Moreover, whereas from Kant’s categorical imperative it can be learned that it can be disconnected from divine commandment and still remain meaningful, Hillel’s maxim makes the need for the axiom that people are inherently rational superfluous, because ‘hateful’ is an intuitive reaction that can be attributed even to a non-rational being. It logically follows that the existence of God is not a necessary condition for the validity of an ethical system. The only pre-condition is that a particular culture tacitly accepts such a system, as a constitutive set of rules that are commendable. This consideration ties any value system to a particular culture, making Hegel’s idea of ‘ethical substance’ superfluous. Judaism clearly distinguishes between rules that apply among humans, and those that apply between humans and the almighty. This distinction presupposes that there is no necessary connection between the two domains, apart from both being imposed by God. In religious societies, God is the source of authority which warrants the validity of the rules among fellowmen. However, nothing changes if this source of authority is ignored; particularly, if seeing such rules as a necessary condition for the well-func-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 178

178 Fictional Thinking tioning of society. Indeed, all moral systems contain prohibitions on harming fellow-members of a society, which is a pre-condition of communal life. An interesting question is: what is the difference between ethos and law? First, laws may derive their support and validity from an ethos; and second, whereas the violation of a law is not a matter of choice, and involves punishment, ethos is a matter of free choice. An individual may choose to be unethical, and not be penalized by society, except for involving social blame. I assume here that different cultures consecrate different ethical systems; but the rules of mutual agreement and application are the same across cultures. Difference means that an ethical system, which is valid for a certain cultural group, is usually invalid for other groups. Moreover, rules that apply within such a group, do not apply for those who do not belong to it; such as killing. An ethical code is thus the set of values that is tacitly accepted by a group of people, either a tribe or a nation, whether it is imposed by a divine being or society, thus becoming conventionalized. It is in this sense that I employ here Aristotle notion of ‘philanthropon’. In contrast to the Hegelian a-historic notion of ethical substance, the philanthropon is a system of values rooted in a particular culture or, rather, period of a culture.

Dramatic irony Hegel and Aristotle, including the interpretive tradition of the Poetics, do not distinguish between the naïve and the ironic viewpoints (see chapter 11); and ignore the notion of ‘dramatic irony’. It is from the ironic perspective that the viewpoint of a character is naïve. The notion of ‘dramatic irony’ thus implies that the same acts are perceived from the perspectives of at least two value systems. Even if an interactive character attempts to justify its motives and actions, this might be perceived as anti-ethical from the viewpoint of what is invalid in the eyes of an author and thus as potentially unacceptable from the viewpoint of the audience’s philanthropon. Furthermore, the antiethical nature of the naïve perception possibly produces anxiety, additional to that produced by the mythical layer. The terms that indicate the naïve and ironic viewpoints are usually scattered in the speeches of the characters: the former in the words of interacting characters, and the latter in those of functional characters. These should be seen as metonyms of entire systems of values on a part-whole basis. It is thus that the entire philanthropon of an audience becomes an integral part of a fictional world. But even if the text features no indications as to the pertinent values, the audience will spontaneously perceive the action in the terms of their own value system. The spectators’ ironic perspective and the characters’ naïve categorization apply in parallel to a fictional action, with both being mutually independent. Whereas the characters categorize their own worlds in terms that usually justify their motives and actions, the spectators categorize them in the terms of their own ethos, whether these justify the characters’ motives

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 179

Theatre Ethics 179 and actions or not. Moreover, ironic ethical categorization is unilateral: whereas the spectators ponder the validity and the adequacy of the characters’ ethical systems, the characters cannot consider the ironic perspectives. The gap between the ironic and the naïve perspectives defines ‘dramatic irony’, which is the audience’s advantage in understanding the fictional world over the perception of the interacting characters. While the characters act and categorize themselves as if action and value constitute an indivisible unit, the audience’s additional categorization reveals their unnecessary connection. It also exposes the fundamental ethical neutrality of the characters’ acts/actions, and thus the possibility of different categorizations of them. It follows that a motive is not and cannot be either positive or negative in itself, but only from the viewpoint of a particular religious, philosophic or ideological value system. The same motive can be perceived, therefore, as both positive and negative even within the same fictional world, depending on the perspectives of the characters and the spectators. There exists a structural ironic gap between spectators and interacting characters, and occasionally even between characters. This is self-evident when the gap is significant but, in principle, exists even if it is trivial. Dramatic irony is thus an integral part of the deep structure of the fictional world. I have suggested elsewhere the following elements that characterize ‘dramatic irony’: (a) ‘super-understanding’, (b) ‘inversion of meaning’, (c) ‘ironic contemplation’, and (d) ‘ironic pleasure’ (Rozik, 1986): a) ‘Super-understanding’ means that the spectator is accorded the superior ability to detect both the naïve and ironic perspectives and prefer the latter: whereas the former is found inadequate, the latter is found advantageous. In contrast to J. L. Styan, it is not only a matter of ‘superior knowledge’, but also of superior understanding (p. 49). b) ‘Inversion of meaning’ means that a description of a fictional world not only enables ironic superiority, but also that the ironic perspective may invert the value-meaning of the naïve one, even to the extent of sheer opposition; e.g., a motive that is positive from the naïve viewpoint, can be perceived as negative from the ironic viewpoint and vice versa. Paradoxically, such a sense of ironic superiority may relate to even the cleverest character; e.g., Oedipus (cf. Knox, 1966: 3–52 & 116ff). Existential ‘human blindness’ is probably the main object of dramatic irony. c) ‘Ironic contemplation’ means that ironic superiority produces a sense of detachment: in contrast to the interacting characters’ total involvement in their own world, the spectators are accorded a sense of freedom in their ethical judgments, with both the characters’ and spectators’ worlds being separated by an ontological gap. d) ‘Ironic pleasure’ means that dramatic irony produces a particular kind of pleasure, which derives not from the achievement of a goal, the reaffirmation of a value system or the catharsis of anxiety, but from the sheer

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 180

180 Fictional Thinking opportunity to experience cognitive god-like superiority and contemplative freedom, of which human beings are existentially deprived (Rozik, 1986).

Synthesis of Hegel and Aristotle Hegel’s theory of tragedy is quite impressive. However, despite its valuable insights, it reveals several fallacies. In particular, as employed in subsequent theories of drama, the notion of ‘conflict’ is quite removed from its philosophical source; and its unsystematic use has impaired its efficiency. My intention here is to redefine this notion and renew its relevance on different grounds. I suggest that Hegel’s theory can be assimilated into a basicallyAristotelian theory of fictionality, if the following adjustments are made: a) The upgrading of a relative value to absolute validity can be conceived of as a particular kind of tragic hamartia, leading to a proportionate catastrophe. Indeed, the Poetics can make room for any motive that is negative against the background of a positive characterization. In this sense, Aristotle’s model is more flexible than Hegel’s one. Nonetheless, Aristotle could have substantially improved his analysis of his ‘second rank’ tragedy had he explained it in terms of ‘conflict’ between positive and negative characters. Indeed, in this sense, ‘conflict’ does not require that characters be symmetrically justified; e.g., while Antigone is afflicted by a tragic hamartia, Creon is just a plain villain (see analysis of Sophocles’ Antigone below). b) In stressing the ethical aspects of the mechanism of conflict, Hegel correctly, I believe, marginalizes Aristotle’s theory of catharsis as the ultimate end of tragedy (p. 1197). Krook attempts an integration of both approaches in suggesting that the structure of tragedy features the following elements: (1) ‘an act of shame or horror’ (Aristotle’s ‘hamartia’); (2) extreme ‘suffering’ (cf. Bradley, 1965: 70); (3) ‘knowledge’ (Aristotle’s ‘anagnorisis’); and (4) ‘reaffirmation’ of the ethical order (Krook: 8; cf. Hegel’s ‘reconciliation’). In her account, catharsis is not missing, but subordinated to reaffirmation (p. 14). From a theoretical viewpoint, Krook’s attempt is highly commendable in that it enables the assimilation of the Hegelianrooted notion of ‘reaffirmation’ within an Aristotelian theory of fictional worlds that also accounts, albeit implicitly, for the crucial ethical aspects of the fictional experience. c) The principle of ‘reaffirmation’, which only applies to the infringement of a universal ethical substance, is foreign to the Poetics. In contrast, Aristotle subordinates the satisfaction of the ‘philanthropon’, understood here as the system of values of a historic culture to the principle of ‘catharsis’. He thus presupposes that this culturally-conditioned ethical sense is the standard against which virtue, villainy or hamartia is perceived, and from which the tragic experience takes off. The correct implication is that, in contrast to Hegel, it is not the absolute idea of ethos that functions as the firm ground against which observation or infringement is determined, but the synchronic

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 181

Theatre Ethics 181 value system, whether the implicit intention of a fictional world is to reaffirm or undermine it. I suggest, therefore, that the cognitive reaffirmation (or confutation) of particular held values is at the heart of the fictional experience, and that catharsis (or shocking effect) is only its emotional concomitant. d) The principle of ‘conflict’ should be redefined in the simplest terms and applied to any contrasting motives/actions, whether ethically justified or not. Paradoxically, this conclusion is quite close to the widespread use of ‘conflict’ in current theoretical discourse by scholars who are not acquainted with Hegel’s theory. Actually, the twofold partial justification, suggested by Hegel, substantially reduces its possible application. In contrast, the redefined principle of ‘conflict’ applies to a wide range of fictional confrontations that are the backbone of many a fictional world, ranging from main conflicts, such as that between Sade and Marat in Peter Weiss’ Marat/Sade, through subordinated ones, such as the conflict between Caiaphas and Pontius Pilate in Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, to marginal ones; and from transcendental tragedies to lesser genres; e.g., in Fred Zinnemann’s film High Noon, the conflict between Will Kane, Marshall of Hadleyville, and Frank Miller, who had been condemned to the gallows, and is pardoned due to a technicality, and vowed to seek revenge on Kane. This conflict between a righteous sheriff and a delinquent is resolved according to the spontaneous expectations of the audience through the death of the latter in a typical Western shootout. This redefined notion of ‘conflict’ also applies to any mood, including comedy and farce; e.g., the grotesque conflict between husband and wife in Molière’s George Dandin. It should be clear that the existence of a conflict is not a necessary condition of a dramatic fictional world; e.g., Arrabal’s The Solemn Communion. Since the principles that structure conflictive fictional worlds have been found effective in different cultures throughout millennia, it is sensible to conjecture that such structures too reflect the spectators’ spontaneous expectations and patterns of response. Authors seem to be able to anticipate the spectators’ possible reactions based on experience, although not always capable of explaining them. Such a practical knowledge of human psychical mechanisms of response amounts to a kind of technology. Generalizations of this kind are occasionally verified scientifically a posteriori; e.g., the scientifically controlled experiments on catharsis (Kreitler). Spontaneous expectations, which are grafted upon biologically-generated wishful and fearful thinking, are structural principles in the sense of projecting themselves onto the time axis, towards any possible ending. It is not only the wishful expectation that something desired will succeed, but also the fearful expectation that something undesired will prevail. It is this duality that underlies ‘suspense’, which is a euphemism for ‘fear’. Wishful and fearful expectations are thus two sides of the same coin. Fundamentally, fearful thinking is the emotional raw material of drama, whether tragedy or comedy (cf. Rozik, 2011b: 29–45).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 182

182 Fictional Thinking These spontaneous wishful and fearful expectations are ‘archetypal’ in the sense of being both grafted onto the biological or, rather, pre-cultural mechanisms of the psyche, and culturally-conditioned. As suggested above, the notion of ‘archetype’, as understood by the psychoanalytic school, does not contradict cultural conditioning, as in the Jungian terms ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ archetypes (cf. Franz: 158ff). I illustrate the explanatory power of this basically Aristotelian synthetic approach and its advantage over the Hegelian approach by the following analysis of Sophocles’ Antigone.

Sophocles’ Antigone For Hegel, this play-script reached the peak of awareness of the principle of ‘conflict’ in ancient Greece (pp. 1217ff). In his view, Antigone wishes to bury her brother Polyneices — killed in the war with his brother Eteocles, King of Thebes — and draws her sense of justification from the laws of the family, which command the respectful burial of dead relatives. In contrast, Creon wishes to prevent this burial and draws his sense of justification from the laws of the state, which command the punishment of traitors and the denial of their funeral rights. However, the fact that both the laws of the family and those of the state draw their validity from the ethical substance allegedly reflects their relative validity. The conflict thus lies in that both characters see only their own and ignore the other’s justification, and in that both transmute their motives and senses of justification into uncompromising actions, which explain their eventual mutual destruction. By their catastrophes, the synchronic audience was meant to experience the absolute validity and final reaffirmation of the ethical substance symbolized by the gods. In contrast, I suggest that Hegel’s interpretation of this fictional world is fundamentally erroneous. It is indeed the case that (a) these characters evince contrasting motives; (b) both characters justify their motives by different values, with both being valid within the same culture; (c) both motives generate actions that aim at success, with the success of the one precluding the success of the other; in particular, it is indeed possible either to bury Polyneices or prevent his burial, but not to accomplish both; and (d) their mutual destruction is the sensible outcome of their uncompromising efforts. From an ironic viewpoint, however, in drawing their sense of justification from what each of them perceives as an absolute value, both Antigone and Creon only reflect their naïve perspectives. Whereas both claim to know what is that the gods exactly expect from them, the chorus, which voices the ironic viewpoint, interprets the fictional action on a completely different level. In regard to Antigone, it speaks in terms of ‘daring’ (853), ‘paying your father’s pains’ (855) and ‘self-sufficiency’ (875), possible synonyms of ‘hubris’. Indeed, there is no reason to accept Antigone’s over-confidence that she absolutely represents the gods’ will on earth. The chorus even presents

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 183

Theatre Ethics 183 her presumptuous attitude as a kind of tragic hamartia, similar to that of her father: Chorus: The girl is bitter. She’s her father’s child. She cannot yield to trouble; nor could he. (471–2)

From the ironic perspective, therefore, Antigone’s characterization changes from a virtuous character to a hamartia-afflicted character, blinded by her own sense of justification. I suggest that the irony of the entire trilogy lies in that Antigone replicates Oedipus’ hubris. She has learned nothing. From his naïve viewpoint, Creon too characterizes himself in terms of ‘fidelity’ to the divine laws of the state. From the ironic viewpoint, in contrast, he is characterized as a tyrannical ruler. Sophocles’ irony lies in that “law-abiding” Creon is prepared to take advice from no one: not from the chorus because of being elderly (280–1), not from Ismene because of being a woman (561–2); not from Haemon because of being too young (726–7), and initially even not from Teiresias (1034–47), who represents the ironic viewpoint on stage. It is not surprising, therefore, that when Creon is eventually ready to listen, it is too late. The support he finds in the state ethos for his own position is, therefore, no more than the typical mask of ‘lawful ruler’ that a tyrant needs to wear. Even his accusation of Polyneices’ betrayal is ungrounded: it was Eteocles who had violated the rotation agreement between them. Hence, from the ironic perspective, Creon’s characterization changes from virtuous character to that of a villain (cf. Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus: 761–2). Consequently, Hegel’s two-fold justification of two conflicting characters changes into the conflict between a hamartia-afflicted character and a villainous tyrant. Furthermore, the chorus also interprets this tragic situation as the result of a curse on the house of Labdacus: Chorus: Fortunate they whose lives have no taste of pain. For those whose house is shaken by the gods escape no kind of doom.

... Ancient the sorrow of Labdacus’ house, I know. Dead men’s grief comes back, and falls on grief. No generation can free the next. One of the gods will strike. There is no escape. So now the light goes out for the house of Oedipus, while the bloody knife cuts the remaining root. Folly and Fury have done this. (582–601; my italics)

It is sensible to conjecture, therefore, that the gods aim at annihilating Oedipus’ monstrous progeny, the four children of incest; and, in particular, at preventing Antigone’s marriage and her possible descendants. The very

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 184

184 Fictional Thinking existence of this family was an affront to the gods. The Chorus’ interpretation indeed changes the meaning of the fictional action from a Hegelian conflict to a human mechanism of self-destruction, through which the ironic design of the gods is consummated. As in Oedipus the King, the human motives and justifications are manipulated to the sole advantage of the gods. The gap between the ironic and naïve perspectives might seem to reinforce Hegel’s model. Sophocles’ chorus might appear to represent, in his own terms, “the actual substance of the moral life” (p. 1211). However, if Antigone’s attitude is a case of hubris, her catastrophe is meant to be in harmony with the spontaneous expectations of the synchronic audience on the basis of their held values. Although the validity of this conclusion for the synchronic Greek audience cannot be determined on firm grounds, it is certainly in accordance with Aristotle’s notion of ‘philanthropon’, in the sense not of the metaphysical ‘ethical substance’, but of the particular value system cherished by the synchronic Greek audience. Hegel also disregards the fact that the chorus dismisses Antigone’s and Creon’s self-justifications not for being partially invalid, but for being irrelevant. On an abstract level, the chorus ironically ponders the great achievements of the human race, which cannot compensate for its limitations in comparison to the gods, their mortality in particular (332–72). Undoubtedly, this fictional world is designed to reaffirm this simple “truth”. It is evident, therefore, that it was not Sophocles’ intention to restrict the meaning of his fictional world to the discovery of the principle of ‘conflict’, which merely reflects the naïve perspectives of the characters. He probably intended to examine a more profound principle: the nature of divine rule. The principle of ‘conflict’ is thus used by the playwright to expose both human blindness and divine control over human destinies. Hegel could not have seen his principle of ‘conflict’ under such a “poor” light. Nevertheless, despite Hegel’s interpretive failure, the notion of ‘conflict’ can constitute a seminal contribution to a comprehensive theory of fictional creativity, if disconnected from its original philosophical context and redefined in the poetic terms of ‘interaction’ and ‘complex action’, which correlates two single actions into a comprehensive unity. ‘Conflict’ should thus be restricted only to the level of contrasting motives; i.e., to the confrontation of two single actions that strive to realize their contrasting ends, regardless of justification. The question is: whether or not it is reasonable to coin particular terms for each kind of conflict? The problem is that on the naïve level there are several possible combinations; and, if the ironic level is also taken into account, these multiply considerably. Furthermore, not in all cases do conflicting characters enjoy a sense of justification; some of them know very well that they are violating the very values voiced by them; e.g., Don Juan in Tirso de Molina’s The Trickster of Sevilla. Since the number of such combinations is quite numerous, there is no point in labeling them individually. The sensible thing to do is to characterize each particular conflict from both the naïve and ironic viewpoints.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 185

Theatre Ethics 185 The restriction of the notion of ‘conflict’ to the praxical layer, i.e., to the level of macro-motives, allows its use for actions that are either ethically justified or not, from either naïve or ironic perspectives; and even for characters that feature opposing motives within their own souls; e.g., Hamlet’s soliloquy (“To be, or not to be” – III, I, 56).

@ In archetypal fictional worlds, a character may violate the synchronic values of an audience and thus lead to its own catastrophe (Poetics, XIII; cf. Hegel: 1196ff; Bradley, 1965: 69ff; & Krook: 8–9); or may abide by them and thus lead to a happy ending. Both such endings may reflect the archetypal expectations of a synchronic audience and be conducive to a sense of reaffirmation. Such an ending thus conveys a metaphoric verdict on the validity of such a value system; e.g., a final death is a metaphor of the negative value of a hamartia or utter evil. It is possible to understand, therefore, how a catastrophe becomes a metaphor of order or, rather, what is viewed as order by a synchronic audience. In archetypal fictional worlds, the spectators are expected to probe the adequacy of their own values (philanthropon) under extreme fictional circumstances. Such circumstances may jeopardize their basic orientation in the world, to eventually enjoy its reaffirmation. In contrast, the eventual frustration of archetypal expectations is meant to subvert established values through the audience’s experience of the absurd. Catastrophe or happy ending have a metaphoric meaning: refutation or reaffirmation of a philanthropon. Both the reaffirmation and confutation of a certain ethos thus reveal a crucial cognitive achievement. Aristotle’s and Hegel’s approaches should be seen as mutually complementary: in particular, Hegel’s theory reveals the central function of value systems in (tragic) fictional worlds, which was marginalized by the Poetics, probably because of Aristotle’s quite exclusive focus on their emotional effects. On the other hand, Aristotle’s emphasis on the central role of the philanthropon, in the sense of a historic value system overshadows Hegel’s ‘substance of ethical life’. Neither an author, nor an audience can relate to a fictional world in the terms of such a metaphysical notion. Future theatre research should concentrate its efforts in developing a flexible theory of ethical considerations as a crucial aspect of the theatre experience, especially for modernist and postmodernist drama.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 186

14 Theatre Aesthetics Since Gottlieb Baumgarten (1714–64) introduced the term ‘aesthetics’ in the title of his pioneering book (1750), for more than two centuries, efforts have been made to establish a general theory of aesthetics; To the best of my knowledge, however, no attempt has been made to suggest a specific aesthetics for the art of theatre, performance-texts in particular. Basically, a theatre performance-text is a description of a fictional world generated by the theatre medium. As such it operates both a set of semiotic principles, on the level of the descriptive text, and a set of poetic principles, on the level of the described world. Nonetheless, I find it impossible to explain the theatre experience through poetic and semiotic principles alone, without presupposing the existence of an additional set of aesthetic principles. I thus maintain that without a particular aesthetics of theatre any theory of this art is deficient. I suggest henceforth several thoughts that may assist in establishing such a specific theoretical domain that, in my view, is long overdue. I assume that an art work is a complex artifact purposefully designed for an overall aesthetic experience; and contend that the fundamental aim of producing such a concluding experience is the common denominator of all art works. This contention does not presuppose, however, an adherence to traditional aesthetic theories, but, rather, the need for an alternative approach. I thus suggest that, (a) the theatre event sets in motion an archaic mode of thinking and experiencing thinking, which aims at an aesthetic experience; (b) a fundamental distinction should be made between a set of objective principles of order, whose existence in a performance-text can be verified, such as ‘proportion’, ‘unity’ and ‘wholeness’, and a set of subjective principles that underlie the aesthetic experience, with the former only potentially triggering the latter; and (c) the objective principles operate on both the semiotic level of the describing text and the poetic level of the described fictional world, with their interaction explaining the overall aesthetic experience. I hope that the analysis of these objective principles will dispel the enigmatic and metaphysical aura that enshrouds the notion of ‘aesthetics’; and believe that it is the objective principles, observable in theatre artifacts, that

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 187

Theatre Aesthetics 187 have the potential of bringing about the transition to the said archaic mode of experience.

Aesthetic experience I assume that the aesthetic experience presupposes an archetypal predisposition, similar to the Kantian a priori categories of thought, in the sense of preceding and conditioning experience, which is rooted in the biological make-up of the psyche. Accordingly, I suggest that the culturally-conditioned aesthetic experience is grafted upon both the primeval sense of disharmony that even simple organisms “experience” in facing a loss of equilibrium with their environment (e.g., thirst, hunger, sexual need, disorientation and danger), and upon the primordial sense of harmony that even such organisms “experience” following the restoration of this equilibrium (homeostasis). This biological infrastructure should explain the universal appeal of the aesthetic experience. I thus conjecture that while the fundamental aesthetic category is the experience of ‘harmony’, the experience of ‘beauty’ is only a particular instance of it. Clive Bell claims that “[t]he starting-point for all systems of aesthetics must be the personal experience of a peculiar emotion [which is termed] the aesthetic emotion” (pp. 15–23). Such an emotion, assumedly, must be culturally-conditioned, as otherwise no response to man-made artifacts can be explained. Moreover, positing a cultural mode of emotional response that is not grafted upon a pre-cultural one raises a problem, because emotions are psychical mechanisms biologically pre-programmed. While emotional mechanisms constitute a closed set of such biologically-generated responses – such as attraction, repulsion, fear and aggression – culturally-conditioned emotions such as love, hatred, anxiety and jealousy are probably grafted upon pre-existing and correlated ones. An art work can probably activate a biological mechanism, but cannot create it. The question is, therefore, upon which pre-cultural emotional mechanism is the aesthetic experience grafted? As suggested above, it is upon the archaic sense of gratification or, rather, harmony, which even simple living creatures “experience” in states of homeostasis. I suggest, therefore, that the ‘aesthetic experience’ of man-made objects is basically the experience of biological harmony, albeit acculturated and more complex.

Kinds of aesthetic experience Paul Ziff maintains that everything is fit for aesthetic attention (perception), even a piece of ‘dried dung’ (pp. 23–30). This entails that the ‘aesthetic experience’ relates to objects that may elicit a sense of either harmony or disharmony and, in particular, of either beauty or ugliness. Aristotle contends that the comic character is ludicrous, which is

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 188

188 Fictional Thinking “merely a subdivision of the ugly” (cf. Poetics, V, 1). Whether ‘ugliness’ is understood in the sensory or the moral sense, it is indeed a case of disharmony. By implication a tragic character, which is afflicted by hamartia, against the background of its positive characterization, is too a case of disharmony, and its eventual catastrophe a case of restoration of harmony. From the viewpoint of a general aesthetics, therefore, ‘harmony’ and ‘disharmony’ should be seen as having equal status, in producing experiences that range from extreme disharmony to total harmony. Objects of aesthetic experience may be seen, therefore, as constituting a continuum. The biological roots of the aesthetic experience indeed allow for ‘disharmony’ to be an aesthetic category. Ziff also promotes the view that the aesthetic experience reflects a particular mode of perception, regardless of the nature of the object (ibid.). Indeed, such an experience may be elicited even by a mathematical demonstration or a discovery of a law of nature. This mode of perception is characterized by focusing on an object, whether artistic or not, as a whole; e.g., a landscape, a kettle or a Greek tragedy. The ‘holistic’ nature of the aesthetic experience implies that the inclusion of a cognitive, moral or emotional element in an object of aesthetic perception does not pose any problem. This holistic nature plausibly underlies the experiences of both the abstract arts — such as music, abstract art and abstract ballet — and the descriptive/iconic arts, such as theatre, cinema and figurative art. Moreover, on the level of complexity that characterizes some objects of aesthetic perception, e.g., the fictional arts, this holistic nature implies, in contrast to analysis, the notion of ‘intuition’. This mode of thinking too is assumed to be grafted upon a preverbal mode thinking and alternative to the discursive one (cf. Cassirer). Following Kant, there are aesthetic theories that conceive of beauty as the sole object of the aesthetic experience (2001). However, if the aesthetic experience is defined in terms of ‘holistic experience of harmony’, the experience of beauty should be seen only as a particular instance of it. Typical definitions of ‘beauty’ stress the harmonious combination of sensory qualities, such as color, shape and texture), which pleases the senses, and/or the harmonious combination of intellectual and/or moral values, which pleases the ethical sense; e.g., a “beautiful” personality. Kant too extends the application of ‘beauty’ far beyond the realm of sensory features (1991: 51ff). However, in such a case, ‘beauty’ is employed in a metaphoric capacity. The perception of the aesthetic in terms of ‘harmony’ thus implies the inclusion of phenomena even beyond what is usually perceived as beautiful. Moreover, in specific contexts, sensory beauty in itself is not always perceived in terms of ‘harmony’; e.g., a beautiful portrait of Hitler (Ziff: 29), or the beauty of a dumb person. Such cases produce a sense of tension between beauty and other qualities of the whole, which prevents the experience of harmony. Nonetheless, the inclusion of disharmony as an aesthetic category enables seeing such complex experiences too as reflecting aesthetic perception. Following Kant’s principle of the aesthetic experience being ‘disinterested’, Edward Bullough contends that the aesthetic experience reflects a

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 189

Theatre Aesthetics 189 detached mode of contemplation, which he terms ‘psychical distance’ (pp. 87–117). However, if ‘psychical distance’ contrasts involvement, this would contradict any possibility of an aesthetics of a fictional art, unless we presuppose a sequential flux between involvement and detachment, in the guise of Bertolt Brecht’s verfremdungseffekt, which is meant to promote detachment for the purpose of cognitive gain (1987: 192). In this sense, the verfremdungseffekt presupposes a strong involvement. Similar considerations apply to ‘dramatic irony’. Bullough too is aware that detachment should not be too great, because it would preclude any involvement, which is a precondition for the aesthetic experience. Paradoxically, perhaps, whereas a final shocking effect is highly involving; catharsis, which is definitely an aesthetic phenomenon, enables the only possible final detachment. Therefore, the disharmonious elements of an art work, which are highly involving, can be part of an aesthetic experience on condition that they are subordinated to its holistic aesthetic nature, whether the intention is to produce a final experience of harmony or disharmony. On the grounds of the possible biological roots of the aesthetic mode of perception, the principle of gratification in particular, it can be assumed that the harmonious is perceived as the holistic, homeostatic and thus archaic ‘good’. Like the ‘ethical good’, which applies to the observation of values cherished by a community, and truth, which is perceived as the ‘epistemic good’, ‘harmony’ should be seen as the ‘aesthetic good’. The inclusion of ethical and epistemic elements in the holistic structure of a fictional work presupposes that these elements are subordinated to the aesthetic ‘good’. Subordination thus explains, inter alia, why a behavior can be said to be ‘beautiful’ and a demonstration of a theorem to be ‘elegant’.

Functions of aesthetic experience The experience of an art work reflects a fundamental triad: the artist, who creates an aesthetic object, the object, and its receiver, who is expected to perceive the object in aesthetic terms. The aesthetic object thus mediates between two attitudes that differ substantially in regard to (a) intentionality and (b) expressiveness: a) Intentionality: It is widely accepted that an art work is an artifact intentionally produced by an artist, i.e., a man-made creation. Although all things are fit for aesthetic attention, in Ziff’s spirit, not everything is made purposefully, ultimately and only for the purpose of aesthetic perception; e.g., a landscape and a kitchen appliance. I assume that art works deliberately aim, albeit not exclusively, at producing a concluding aesthetic experience. Intentionality of this kind is not found at the receivers’ end. At most we may speak of their intention to expose themselves to a ready-made art work for the purpose of an aesthetic experience. b) Expressiveness: it is widely accepted that an art work expresses the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 190

190 Fictional Thinking artist’s Weltanschauung. I believe that this intuition reflects a romantic approach to artistic creativity, and suggest, rather, that authors create art works that aim at producing aesthetic experiences at the receivers’ ends, without necessarily expressing their own aesthetic needs. This is made possible through mastering a kind of aesthetic craftsmanship, i.e., operating the necessary principles that, potentially, can be experienced aesthetically by receivers. Moreover, the latter may find expression in ready-made artifacts, which excel in articulating their own cognitive intuitions and emotional stirrings; e.g., the expression of religious feelings by reciting ready-made poems. The inherent purpose of an aesthetic artifact is thus the aesthetic experience of the receiver. Since the artist is assumed to affect the receiver, the creation of an art work can be seen as an act/action performed by an author on a receiver in the spirit of action theory. Following Kant, who claims that “[t]he satisfaction that determines the judgment of taste is without interest” (2001: 80), traditional aesthetics has promoted the view that the aesthetic experience is an end in itself. This approach apparently implies that any function in the economy of the psyche is ruled out. However, lack of interest in the practical function of an object does not preclude other interests, such as the experience of catharsis, the reaffirmation of a sense of orientation in the world, and the experience of an image of harmony. Furthermore, a psychical function on the unconscious level was probably beyond Kant’s horizon. It is rather difficult to accept, however, that people willingly invest time and money in exposing themselves to artifacts that fulfill no psychical function. Aristotle suggests, in contrast, that exposure to tragedy and comedy provides a special kind of gratification: catharsis; i.e., the release of superfluous and malignant pity and fear through increasing the very same emotions (cf. Poetics, VI, 2). This is a genuine psychical function, which is clearly connected, as suggested above, to the primordial sense of harmony and thus to homeostasis (Kreitler). Although Aristotle does not speak in terms of ‘aesthetics’, it is sensible to surmise that, had he been aware of such a distinct theoretical domain, he would have seen catharsis as an aesthetic phenomenon. Sigmund Freud suggests a similar explanation: “our actual enjoyment of an imaginative work proceeds from a liberation of tensions in our minds” (1990a: 141); albeit involving “deeper psychical sources”. Nietzsche suggests that the ‘Dionysiac’ principle, which should be conceived of as overlapping the principle of ‘disharmony’, reflects a kind of unconscious insight that encapsulates the truth of the human condition: “[t]he truth once seen, man is aware everywhere of the ghastly absurdity of existence” (1956: 51). Therefore, since “[u]nderstanding kills action . . . in order to act we require the veil of illusion” (ibid.).”If we could imagine an incarnation of dissonance – and what is man if not that? – that dissonance, in order to endure life, would need a marvelous illusion to cover it with the veil of beauty” (ibid. 145). On such grounds, Nietzsche also suggests that the ‘Apollonian’ principle, which should be conceived of as overlapping the principle of ‘harmony’,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 191

Theatre Aesthetics 191 justifies human existence: “Only as an aesthetic product can the world be justified to all eternity” (ibid. 42; cf. 108). These principles, the Dionysiac and Apollonian, thus “mutually require one another” (p. 33): The Apollonian illusion reveals its identity as the veil thrown over the Dionysiac meanings for the duration of the play, and yet the illusion is so potent that at its close the Apollonian drama is projected into a sphere where it begins to speak with Dionysiac wisdom . . . The difficult relations between the two elements in tragedy may be symbolized by a fraternal union between the two deities: Dionysus speaks the language of Apollo, but Apollo, finally, the language of Dionysus; thereby the highest goal of tragedy and art in general is reached. (1956: 131)

This intuition implies that the experience of Apollonian harmony is made more intense and meaningful in proportion to the elements of disharmony that it subordinates. It also implies that the aesthetic experience fulfills a crucial psychical function, not merely in justifying life, but also in making it possible. An art work thus responds to a profound longing for harmony in the receiver’s soul. In other words, it is fully expressive. Although Nietzsche’s approach is deeply rooted in a specific metaphysical system, it reflects a valuable insight. In addition to this expressive function, if indeed the aesthetic is inherently a mode of perception and cognition, and a remnant of a biological mode of experiencing the world, a performance-text must reflect the need to re-experience those modes of expression, which had characterized preverbal humanity, and were suppressed into the unconscious, while still maintaining their vitality in there. I believe that there is an element of gratification in the mere permit to revert to such an ancestral mode of expression, which is shared by all the arts.

Range of aesthetic experiences It is widely accepted that the aesthetic modality is not restricted to works of art. Although there are aesthetic theories that deny possible aesthetic qualities to natural objects (cf. Bell: 17), this controversy can be settled. If we consider that the roots of the culturally-conditioned aesthetic experience lie in the archaic sense of harmony grafted upon the satisfaction of primordial biological “expectations”, it is evident that natural objects may also share the aesthetic quality. Whereas natural objects are not intentional in the aforementioned sense, unless we presuppose divine design, they still are genuine objects of the aesthetic mode of perception and, as suggested above, potentially expressive for the receiver. Moreover, one should not discard the infiltration of cultural categories into the aesthetic perception of natural objects. It is also clear that practical artifacts, such as kitchen appliances and

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 192

192 Fictional Thinking pieces of furniture, are often produced intentionally to elicit an aesthetic experience. In such artifacts there is a kind of co-existence between the practical and the aesthetic functions. Nonetheless, although both aspects are intentional, their aesthetic function is overshadowed by the utilitarian one. It would appear that this aesthetic aspect is not straightforwardly expressive, but actually reflects the universal need to be surrounded by beautiful artifacts. The coexistence of practical and aesthetic elements poses a particular problem in regard to architecture, whose intermediate status between the purely artistic and the useful has long been noticed. The reason for its inclusion in the arts probably lies in its substantial expressive intent; e.g., a gothic cathedral. The specific difference of objects that are either natural or practical artifacts, whether unintentionally created or intentionally made for aesthetic pleasure, does not preclude viewing them as objects of aesthetic perception. Works of art are potentially aesthetic, but not all potentially aesthetic objects are works of art.

Objective/subjective dispute There is an ongoing controversy in relation to whether the mode of aesthetic perception reflects a set of objective aesthetic features, which are experienced aesthetically, or a mode of perception regardless of objective qualities. Traditional aesthetics showed a tendency to conceive it as a purely subjective phenomenon (Kant, 2001: 89), either as a kind of emotional response (Bell), or as indicating a particular mode of sensitivity (Ziff). The latter approaches thus imply that it is not the object, but the subjective attitude of the receiver that is aesthetic. Nonetheless, if a work of art is purposefully designed to elicit an aesthetic response, some objective features, at least as clues for aesthetic perception, must be part of an artistic construct, as otherwise it could not achieve such an ultimate goal; i.e., in creating an object of aesthetic perception an artist must attune his/her work to the receiver’s aesthetic mechanisms of response. The conditions for an aesthetic experience must, therefore, somehow be imprinted in an aesthetic object. Moreover, there must be a definite correspondence between an object potentially capable of bringing about an aesthetic response and a subject capable of realizing such a potential. There is no contradiction, therefore, between conceiving of the aesthetic response as reflecting a mode of seeing, or a specific attitude to an object, and the assumption that artistic objects are pre-designed to bring about such a response. I thus suggest that an artistic artifact can be analyzed as an object featuring objective and identifiable features or clues that can potentially explain the aesthetic response. I presuppose that these objective traits differ from the qualities of the aesthetic experience in itself, due to their belonging in different domains. Certainly, the nature of the correlation between what is potentially aesthetic on objective grounds and an aesthetic experience should be established.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 193

Theatre Aesthetics 193

Objective and subjective principles I presuppose a fundamental distinction between the objective aspects of an aesthetic artifact, which are only potentially experienced aesthetically, and the mechanisms of aesthetic experience that belong in the domain of the mental experience. The former can be detected, and in most cases verified, even in works of art. ‘Verification’ means that descriptions of potentially aesthetic objective features can be said to be true or false; e.g., “Sophocles’ Oedipus the King is a whole”. In contrast, propositions referring to aesthetic experiences cannot be verified in the same manner, but certainly can be a matter of argumentation and discussion. For a musical performance, for example, whereas the implementation of rules of composition can be identified in a musical score or performance, there is nothing in a set of sounds that is harmonious in itself, unless there is a subject capable of experiencing it as such. Objective traits and their subjective perception are thus complementary functions in generating the aesthetic experience. I suggest that these objective features can be subsumed under the category of ‘order’, which is usually defined in terms of parts, units or components being “in their right place”, particularly within a structure, a sequence and a succession; e.g., “the [natural] temporal order of events” (COD). I would like to qualify such a definition in claiming that ‘order’ should be defined by the fulfillment of an expectation for something to be in agreement with either a spontaneous or a culturally-established model. We should bear in mind that, as suggested above, disorder too can be experienced aesthetically, as a kind of disharmony. The experience of ‘disorder’ reflects the frustration of expectations for order. While the experience of harmony is the result of the encounter between an experiencing subject and an object, order is an observable quality of an object, whether purposefully designed to produce an aesthetic experience or not, and capable of explaining such an experience. Whereas forms of order can be quite easily identified, described, and even verified; it is highly difficult to describe an experience of harmony. Although order can potentially be experienced as harmony, it is not necessarily so. There are additional factors that constrain a possible aesthetic experience, such as different conditions of perception, educational backgrounds and states of mind (Ziff: 27ff). Indeed, order is only potentially aesthetic. ‘Order’ and ‘harmony’ are correlated terms, albeit belonging in different ontological domains. Henceforth, I suggest several kinds of order that can be experienced aesthetically. Some of them can be quantified and some presuppose spontaneous models. The following list probably does not exhaust all such kinds: a) ‘Recurrence’ of semantic units is a basic and simple form of order. It is the reiteration of similar units, albeit not necessarily identical, and despite differences in form and contexts; e.g., the shared semantic elements of a verb in its various forms, synonyms, and motifs; e.g., the ‘doing’ motif in Shakespeare’s Macbeth (see chapter 9). Recurrence may apply to both spatial

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 194 .

194 Fictional Thinking and temporal structures. In the latter, it triggers expectations for subsequent instances of a motif. Temporal recurrence of motifs explains the accumulative integration of a work of art up to its ending; e.g., the ‘seagull’ motif in Chekhov’s The Seagull. b) ‘Rhythm’ is a regular form of recurrence that implies measure. In poetry ‘rhythm’ is usually defined in terms of regular recurrence of either long and short, or accented and unaccented syllables; and in music in terms of stress or duration of sounds. Such definitions of ‘rhythm’ are not welldistinguished from ‘meter’ (metre). Nonetheless, rhythm is a more complex phenomenon; e.g., the recurrence of the line “For I am sick to my heart, and I’m fain to lie down” in the Scottish ballad “Lord Randall” (Francis). Although some aspects of rhythm can be measured, this category should apply to additional forms of recurrence, even if they cannot be quantified. Rhythm explains both its potential perception as harmony and the aesthetic impact of an arrhythmic work of art. c) ‘Tempo’ is subspecies rhythm on the time axis. It is usually defined in terms of ‘speed’ or ‘ratio’ between an activity and time (cf. Pavis, 1996: 312 & 384), with its regularity being potentially perceived aesthetically. The standard of an artistic tempo is the tempo typical of a particular real activity. Divergences from a normal tempo characterize different genres; e.g., the tragic tempo tends to be slower, and the comic tempo faster than usual, with farce bringing tempo to paroxysm. Typical melodrama tends to match real tempo. d) ‘Symmetry’ is usually understood as a particular form of spatial recurrence. Spatial symmetry is usually defined in terms of “repetition of similar parts of equal shape and size that mirror each other in relation to a certain point, line or plane of division” (cf. COD); e.g., the symmetrical towers of the Nôtre Dame Cathedral, Paris. Although many kinds of symmetry can be characterized in such terms, there are more complex forms of symmetry that cannot be quantified and even allow for differences between the parts, provided that some kind of balance between them is perceived. ‘Symmetry’ also applies to fictional worlds; e.g., the struggle between virtuous and villainous characters in melodrama. There is a spontaneous expectation for symmetry that also explains the aesthetic impact of asymmetry. e) ‘Proportion’ is subspecies structural symmetry, which is usually defined in terms of the “adequate and pleasing relation of things or parts of a thing”. There are mathematical models of spatial proportion, such as the ‘golden section’ (the division of a line so that the whole is to the larger part as that part is to the smaller part); but, the sense of proportion is usually based on spontaneous models, basically endowed with validity by cultural expectations. Physical beauty or ugliness is mostly a matter of symmetry and proportion that reflect the application of such a spontaneous model. There are also spontaneous models of fictional proportion, such as the eventual balance between the nature of an infringement and its punishment; e.g., the communal crime and its castigation in Lars von Trier’s film Dogville. In this sense, proportion does not necessarily relate similar parts. Proportion is

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 195

Theatre Aesthetics 195 potentially perceived in terms of harmony and disproportion in terms of disharmony, with both being aesthetically pertinent. f) ‘Accord’ is usually defined in terms of ‘synchronic harmony in pitch, tone, and color’. In music, it usually concerns the relation between sounds produced concurrently. It is also used for the agreement between spatially coexisting colors in paintings. There are mathematic formulas of accord in music, but the ultimate judge is the listener, who probably applies spontaneous models. There are also optical theories of color that explain pictorial accord and theories of shape such as the assimilation of natural forms to geometrical ones; e.g., Raphael’s triangular image of the Madonna del Prato; but for these too the ultimate judge is the spontaneous viewer. ‘Accord’ applies not only to uniformity of sound or color, but to correlation despite diversity. In music, an accord may be projected onto the time axis, what is termed ‘melody’. Rhyme too reflects accord on the time axis. ‘Accord’ basically applies to relations of sensory features, but should apply also to other domains such as coherence and consistency in their various forms; e.g., the inner coherence of a dramatic character. Accord is potentially perceived as harmony and dissonance as disharmony, both being aesthetically meaningful. There is a basic difference between inner accord and outer accord; e.g., yellow shoes may be in accord with other components of a costume, but in disaccord with the spectators’ models of accord (fashion); e.g., the yellow shoes of the citizens of Guellen indicate their betrayal of Ill in Dürrenmatt’s The Visit. g) ‘Wholeness’ is usually defined in terms of ‘entirety’ and ‘completeness’ (with no parts missing). Aristotle contends that the plot, being an imitation of an action, must imitate “a whole action, the structural union of the parts being such that, if any one of them is displaced or removed, the whole will be disjointed and disturbed. For a thing whose presence or absence makes no visible difference, is not an organic part of the whole” (Poetics, VIII, 4). He also contends that “[a] whole is that which has a beginning, a middle, and an end” (ibid. VII, 3). This principle corresponds to the previous definition because, if for example the beginning or the ending of an action is removed, “the whole will be disjointed”. However, although these definitions would appear to apply only to the temporal arts, the notion of ‘whole’ should also apply to the spatial arts (MukaŒovsky: 70–81). Although a whole may be homogeneous, it is usually made up of heterogeneous components. A whole may thus include also sensory, emotional, ethical and cognitive elements; e.g., Euripides’ Trojan Women. If a whole is heterogeneous, the underlying organizing principle must be that of an underlying structure (MukaŒovsky: ibid.). As suggested above, ‘structure’ means here a syntactic principle on a textual level, which combines heterogeneous functions into an organized whole (see chapter 11), and is potentially experienced as an aesthetic object. Nonetheless, the aim of a fictional world is not to experience the structure in itself, but what is structured through it. Since there is no universal criterion for what constitutes a

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 196

196 Fictional Thinking whole, the experience of wholeness is, rather, the application of a spontaneous model that underlies the feeling that nothing is missing. Wholeness is a form of order that is potentially experienced as harmony, and incompleteness is a form of disorder that is potentially experienced as disharmony. h) ‘Unity’ presupposes the notion of ‘whole’. It is usually defined in terms of ‘oneness’, in the sense of being a complex entity of interconnected parts that constitute a single coherent whole. Whereas a homogeneous whole is unified by definition (uniformity), the notion of ‘unity’ usually applies to heterogeneous wholes, and thus presupposes too the notion of ‘structure’. In fact, the organic principle that Aristotle employs for his above definition of ‘whole’ should also apply to ‘unity’ (Poetics, VIII, 4). There are no objective models, but spontaneous models that underlie the experience of unity; e.g., Hieronymus Bosch’s triptych The Garden of Worldly Delights. Deviant, irregular or anomalous elements would appear to upset unity, but may also fulfill a defamiliarizing and thus cognitive function, which implies that unity can be achieved on a higher level of complexity. Whereas a unified whole is potentially experienced as harmony, a non-unified whole is experienced as disharmony. The multiplicity of principles of order within a single work of art presupposes the operation of principles of subordination. I suggest, therefore, that the structural principles underlying wholeness and unity are dominant principles, due to their holistic nature. We should remember that the sense of order is hampered by the tiniest disruption, and thus too the experience of harmony. A perfect experience of harmony is assumedly produced by a complex work of art if and only if order is established or reestablished on its holistic level. An artifact can only reflect objective forms of order (or disorder), and it is the perception of these forms that is a precondition of the aesthetic experience. There is a tangible difference between the sense of harmony in the spatially organized arts, such as painting, sculpture and architecture, and in the spatially and temporally organized arts, such as theatre, ballet and cinema. In the former partial disharmony may coexist with harmony, and may be subordinated to a dominant sense of harmony induced on the level of the entire work. In contrast, in the latter partial disharmony is predominantly temporary and a harmonious ending is meant to subordinate it, unless the intention is to produce an experience of the absurd, which is disharmonious in nature. There is also the possible rendering of a harmonious image of a disharmonious object or phenomenon, with the beautiful image of an ugly or ominous object or phenomenon being a particular case; e.g., the storm described by Beethoven’s sixth symphony or the same image in Giorgione’s La Tempesta. The notion of ‘expectation’ is consistently invoked in referring to the spatio-temporal arts. ‘Expectation’ presupposes an intuition of order or disorder on the time axis. While spontaneous wishful expectations concern

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 197

Theatre Aesthetics 197 the continuation or reestablishment of order, fearful expectations regard the possibility of final disorder. The interaction between wishful and fearful expectations, which are experienced simultaneously, underlies the experience of ‘suspense’, a euphemism for anxiety. Satisfaction of wishful expectations is potentially experienced as harmony and realization of fearful expectations is potentially experienced as disharmony or, rather, absurdity. Whereas the former is meant to eventually release tension (catharsis), the latter is meant to intensify anxiety, what Aristotle terms ‘shocking’ effect’ (Poetics, XIII, 2). Expectations are plausibly the psychical bridge between the objective principles of order reflected in an artwork and the final experience of harmony or disharmony.

On a possible aesthetics of theatre A performance-text is an iconic description of a (usually) fictional world. As such it is a complex whole generated by semiotic and poetic rules. I suggest here that these rules are subordinated to additional aesthetic rules, which apply to both the descriptive text, on the semiotic level, and the described world, on the poetic level. a) On the poetic level: I contend that Aristotle’s Poetics presuppose the archetypal principles underlying the deep structure of the fictional world, in the sense of reflecting both the archetypal and culturally-conditioned expectations of the spectator (cf. Poetics, XIII, 2–3). Whereas such expectations are conditioned by a synchronic ethos (philanthropon; see chapter 13), their activation is universal. I suggest that such archetypal expectations are presupposed not only by structures that aim at gratifying them, but also by those that aim at frustrating them, which are usually termed ‘absurdist’ or, rather, ‘disharmonious’ fictional worlds. Fictional worlds are usually constructed on the grounds of a narrative core, the ‘mythical layer’, which is characterized by minimal characterization (e.g., father/son), and minimal categorization of action (e.g., killing), and potentially produces maximal psychical effect, due to upsetting the spectators’ synchronic sense of value; such as killing a father, marrying a mother and murdering a king (see chapter 11). The infringement of a taboo is probably the most upsetting raw fictional material possible; due to being an elementary form of disorder; i.e., fundamentally disharmonious. In addition to the absurdist nature of the core narrative, a fictional world projects positive and negative motives on the time axis, in the sense of striving for their consummation, which may end in either success or failure; e.g., Macbeth’s unbridled ambition to be king. This structure is partially responsible for the spectators’ experience of order, due to bestowing a sense of causation upon a fictional interaction, with the main motive being reflected in all the actions of a character. Causation thus sets the basic conditions for both the experiences of wholeness and unity: (a) wholeness because of commencing with the advent of a motive (e.g., Macbeth’s ambition),

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 198

198 Fictional Thinking continuing with various attempts to accomplish it, and ending in its final success or failure (e.g., Macbeth’s death), i.e., having a beginning, a middle and an end (Poetics, VII, 2); and (b) unity because all the actions of a character derive, directly or indirectly, from its single main motive (Poetics, VIII, 4). This unity excludes what is strictly irrelevant, such as engaging in eating, sleeping and similar actions. These basic instances of order are ethically neutral. They are devoid of value characterization from naïve and ironic perspectives (see chapter 13). The serious or comic mood, which usually pervades an entire description of a fictional world, should be seen as also reflecting the ironic viewpoint of the author (playwright/director), because it is meant to condition the serious or lighthearted attitude of the spectator to what is described (see chapter 11). The assumption is that these moods are usually in accord to the nature of a theme; e.g., the serious mood for the consequential theme of ‘hubris’ (Sophocles’ Antigone) and the comic mood for the trivial theme of matrimonial infidelity (Molière’s George Dandin). Such an accord should be seen as a dimension of order, and thus as a potential source for the experience of harmony. Nonetheless, in specific styles an extremely serious theme may be handled through a comic mood thus creating a ‘grotesque mood’; e.g., the ludicrous mood in dealing with the theme of individual death in Ionesco’s Exit the King. Such a tension, we may conjecture, is meant to produce an experience of disorder and disharmony, which combines well with the absurdist structures of an action, in the sense of frustrating the archetypal expectations of the spectator. All these considerations relate to the poetic structure of a fictional world, whose components are additionally perceived in terms of ‘order’ or ‘disorder’ from an aesthetic perspective, thus setting the conditions for the potential experience of a fictional interaction in terms of ‘harmony’ or ‘disharmony’ (absurdity). From an aesthetic viewpoint, the final success of a positive motive and the failure of a negative one are thus experienced as reaffirmation of a synchronic cultural ethos, i.e., as a metaphor of order, and potentially as metaphor of harmony with the audience’s archetypal expectations. On the very same grounds, opposite cases are experienced as refutation of a synchronic cultural ethos, i.e., as a metaphor of disorder, and potentially as a metaphor of disharmony with such expectations or, rather, a metaphor of absurdity. Furthermore, in archetypal fictional worlds, the relationship between the gravity of an infringement (of a taboo for example), and the nature of a catastrophe, is meant to be conceived in terms of ‘proportion’, also a kind of order, and thus as potentially harmonious; e.g., the exemplar death of Hamlet in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. On the same grounds, disproportion on this level is meant to be experienced as disharmonious; e.g., Yerma’s catastrophe. Such a sense of order/harmony or disorder/disharmony is culturally dependent: what is experienced as harmonious by a given audience may be experienced as absurd by a different one (in contrast to George Steiner: 3–10).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 199

Theatre Aesthetics 199 The final experience of harmony or disharmony depends on the interaction between mythos and logos, with the ‘mythos’ being the substratum of disorder and the ‘logos’— the possible restorer of order. Whereas a mythos is perceived as disorder/disharmony, a logos may promote a sense of order/harmony. The depth of the experience of harmony depends on the elements of disorder that a logos manages to subordinate. It is the set of aesthetic objective rules that potentially transmutes elements of order or disorder into a potential aesthetic experience of harmony or disharmony. b) On the semiotic level: A performance-text is a description of a fictional world generated through the rules of the theatre medium. As suggested above, whereas most iconic mediums imprint images on matters different from their models, the theatre medium extends the principle of similarity, which characterizes iconic images, to the material level, to its imprinting matters; e.g., images of human beings are imprinted on flesh and blood actors, images of speech on real organs of speech, images of costume on real fabric, and images of light on real light (see chapter 1). The material qualities of imprinted images – their colors, shapes, textures and sounds – also create additional dimensions of visual and aural order or disorder, which potentially are aesthetically significant; e.g., the colors of costumes and sets may be in accord or disaccord among themselves, or in accord or disaccord with the spectators’ models and expectations. On this level, the relevant principles thus are: spatial and temporal rhythm, tempo, symmetry and accord. I suggest that the aspects of order or disorder induced by a described fictional world on the poetic level combine with such aspects on the semiotic level, to create an overall stage metaphor of order or disorder, which explains the potential overall experience of harmony or disharmony. The implication is that, from the viewpoint of the aesthetic mode of perception, different dimensions of order or disorder are perceived as having aesthetic pertinence. A performance-text is thus pre-structured on both the poetic and the semiotic levels to cooperate in producing an overall and final experience of either harmony or disharmony.

@ A particular aesthetics of theatre is not only possible, but also mandatory. Objective principles of order, which potentially produce the subjective aesthetic experience, apply to all the levels of the theatre experience, the holistic level in particular. I believe, therefore, that the establishment of a particular aesthetics of the theatre, may enrich the methodology of performance analysis, and even lend additional applicability to a general aesthetics. Future theatre research should engage in the further development of a specific theatre aesthetics.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 200

15 Theatre Rhetoric A theatre performance-text is basically a description of a fictional world generated by the theatre medium. It might appear, therefore, that viewing such a text in terms of ‘description’ contrasts the notion of ‘effect’, for descriptions can be said to be true or false but, as usually perceived, do not aim at having effects on receivers. Nonetheless, most theories and typical analyses of fictional worlds presuppose that performance-texts intend particular effects, and intuitively employ terms that refer to their various kinds on different levels, such as (a) ‘reaffirmation’ of held views (Krook: 9ff; cf. Bradley, 1965: 69–92, based on Hegel: 1195–99), ‘defamiliarization of reality’ (Shklovsky: 12) and ‘experience of the absurd’ (Esslin: xix); (b) promotion of ‘conformism’, ‘awareness’ and ‘criticism’; and (c) ‘cathartic’ and ‘shocking’ effects (Aristotle’s Poetics, VI, 2). Since such effects cannot be ignored, theory should aim at solving the said paradox, and explore the mechanisms that produce such effects on the structural level of interaction between fictional world and spectator. Whereas traditional semiotics cannot settle this apparent incongruity, viewing a description of a fictional world in terms of speech-act theory does. A speech act employs a descriptive sentence for performing an action, i.e., reflects the intention of changing a state of affairs and possible purposes beyond intention (see chapter 10; cf. Dijk, 1977: 168ff). A verbal description is indeed embedded within a comprehensive act that indicates an action. In analogy, I suggest that the description of a fictional world, generated by the theatre medium, is embedded in a macro-speech act that, on the level of performance-text-audience interaction, aims at changing a spectator’s psychical state of affairs (cf. Rozik, 2008b: 184–203). In other words, in the context of a speech act, there is no contradiction between description, and interaction. While ‘description’ belongs in the sphere of semiotics, a description’s possible effects belong in that of pragmatics. In other words, the performance-text is a ‘macro-speech act’; and the theatre experience reflects a pragmatic structure. Whereas on the semiotic level, a theatre description of a (usually) fictional world is a unified whole, on the pragmatic level, the author’s intentions and purposes in regard to an audience are usually not articulated in the text; e.g.,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 201

Theatre Rhetoric 201 the intention of reaffirming the validity of a particular value or persuading an audience of the futility of a certain belief. Although a performance-text hints at such intentions and purposes through the terms employed by functional characters in conveying the ironic viewpoint, directors and/or performers usually make them explicit only through words of introduction in programs or interviews. In recent years, playwrights and directors have been obsessed with disproving spectators’ rooted values and beliefs, as illustrated by George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan, Federico García Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba, Brecht’s The Caucasian Chalk Circle, Beckett’s Waiting for Godot and Ionesco’s Exit the King. This study aims at showing that (a) on the grounds of speech act theory, the theatre experience reflects a rhetoric deep structure; (b) this principle settles the apparent incongruence in a performance-text being both a description and a form of action upon an audience; and (c) such a text aims at an experience of truth rather than at truth itself. Therefore, the ultimate aim of this chapter is (d) to assert the need for a specific rhetoric of theatre.

Author–audience interaction A whole performance-text, which employs a description of a fictional world for producing a pre-designed effect on an audience, evinces a structural equivalence between the fictional macro-iconic act and the micro-speech act in the following respects: (a) the description of a fictional world (the performance-text) as a whole is the set of perceptible aspects of an authorial macro-action, which aims at changing a spectator’s psychical state of affairs; (b) it is the description of a fictional world that is the embedded descriptive text (p) of the macro-iconic act; (c) the director is the agent (I), and the spectator is the object (you) of the macro-speech act; (d) this macro-speech act is performed in the ‘here’ and ‘now’ of the theatre and the performance; and (e) it is the nature of the overall intention of the macro-iconic act that determines how the descriptive text should be understood (e.g., as an act of reaffirmation or confutation).

Structural equivalence The application of ‘macro-iconic act’ to acts of textual scope implies the equivalence of the notions of ‘agent’ and ‘author’ (playwright or director) on the one hand, and the notions of ‘object’ and ‘spectator’ on the other. I note that ‘speaker’ and ‘hearer’, although widely employed in speech act theory, are inadequate even for micro-speech acts, due to blurring the fact that speech is not employed in a simple descriptive capacity but, rather, in a performative one. It is not speaking and hearing that characterizes them, but performing an action and being its object. The differences are: (a) it is not only the verbal element of a performance-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 202

202 Fictional Thinking text that is equivalent to the embedded sentence, but the entire description of a fictional world generated by the theatre medium, including its verbal and nonverbal elements; (b) a performance-text operates only like a primary speech act, in which the embedded text is present in the surface structure, and the performative elements ‘I’, ‘you’, ‘here’ and ‘now’ are self-understood, probably, with no option for an explicit macro-speech act; and (c) the intention and purposes of such a macro-iconic act are not made explicit by a performative verb and/or nonverbal indicators, but have to be conjectured through structural interpretation. On such grounds, the theatre experience indeed reflects a pragmatic/performative deep structure. This performative approach solves the apparent incongruence of a performance-text being both a description and a form of action upon an audience. As suggested above, it is widely accepted that theatre reflects two axes of communication: the fictional axis (character-character) and the theatrical axis (stage-audience) (cf. Ingarden: 394). In contrast, the implications of the pragmatic/performative thesis are: (1) the fictional axis, including iconic dialogue, is not necessarily an axis of communication, but predominantly one of interaction; and (2) the theatre axis too is not only an axis of communication, but predominantly one of interaction. Ingarden too contends that the “same spoken words [voiced by actors on stage] . . . Something in them must be different for the spectator and for the represented person [the character]; otherwise the difference between their action on the spectator and on that [represented] person would be, not only incomprehensible, but impossible” (p. 394). He thus distinguishes between the interactive function of words, within the supposed “reality” of a fictional world, and their (iconic) descriptive function on the stage-audience axis on the following grounds: The only difference still possible is in a different ontic character of the words spoken by the represented person [character]. That is, for the represented persons, these words have the character of reality, i.e., they see the expression of these words as a fact in their common (represented) world, the one to which they themselves belong. The spectators in the audience, on the contrary, observe the spoken words and the fact of their being spoken only as something “represented,” as something portrayed by artistic means but not actually existing in the real world. (pp. 394–5; my italics)

In the terms of this study, the difference between these functions thus lies in the distinct effects that the same acts are expected to have either on their fellow characters or on the spectators. As suggested above, Ingarden was probably the first to observe that fictional speech fulfills various functions, inter alia affecting one another (see chapter 10) I argue that the same applies to the stage-audience axis, although the actions are different and so are the agents and their objects. Arguably, the fact that the spectator does not react through iconic

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 203

Theatre Rhetoric 203 descriptions of fictional worlds seemingly contrasts the notion of ‘interaction’, which is assumedly symmetric in nature. However, ‘interaction’ does not imply such a simplistic notion of ‘symmetry’. The spectators do react, albeit by other means, such as applause, criticism, recommendation, taking interest in the performers’ lives and granting them fame. These too constitute a kind of symmetry. There is every reason, therefore, to expand the notion of ‘embedded description’ to an iconic description of a fictional world generated through the theatre medium, if used for performing a macro-act/action that aims at producing a predetermined effect on an audience. The above-mentioned notions referring to kinds of effect by means of a theatre description, such as reaffirmation or confutation of held beliefs on the cognitive level, and catharsis or shocking effect on the emotional level, actually reflect authorial intentions. They also reflect authorial purposes, such as promoting conformism, awareness, criticism and even willingness to engage in active struggle. These intentions and purposes find their appropriate theoretical frame in speech act theory (cf. Austin & Searle) or, rather, in action theory (cf. Dijk, 1977: 167–87). Dijk employs ‘global-speech act’ for the sequence of equivalent iconic speech acts that involves the same agent and object, while reflecting consistent global intentions and purposes (Dijk, 1980: 184–99); e.g., Marcus Antonius speech in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar (III, ii). There is a fundamental difference, however, between this speech, which is understood within the fictional axis), and the iconic description of the fictional world of Julius Caesar (on the stage-audience axis). The former is composed of a series of fairly homogeneous and equivalent micro-speech acts of persuasion, which are performed by the same fictional agent (Marcus Antonius), reflect the same intention, and are addressed to the same fictional object (the crowd); with the unified purpose being to bring about a significant change in the crowd’s attitude to the murderers of Caesar, and consequently to Marcus Antonius himself. In contrast, the iconic description of a fictional world features a set of heterogeneous iconic micro-speech acts, which involve different characters and reflect different and even opposing intentions and purposes. However, the interaction between director and spectator does not take place on the level of partial micro-speech acts, as components of an interaction, but on the level of a whole description of a fictional world. On this level, the entire performance-text is a complex whole and a unified macrounit, which fundamentally differs from the component micro-units performed by the characters, and reflects an overall macro-intention, of persuasion in particular, and possible macro-purposes. It is to such a complex unit that the notion of ‘macro-speech act’ refers. I prefer this notion in order to retain the contrast between ‘micro’ and ‘macro’ iconic speech acts for the constituent and the textual performative units respectively.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 204

204 Fictional Thinking

Rhetoric interaction In principle, performance-texts may reflect different and even contrasting intentions, such as reaffirmation or confutation of held beliefs; but in both cases, persuasion is a precondition for their success. It is sensible to surmise, therefore, that a fictional text is usually a particular instance of a ‘rhetoric text’, like a political speech, a sermon or a scientific paper. Accordingly, the aim of a rhetoric text is not to bring about the acceptance of a (fictional) thought on the grounds of its ‘truth’ in the philosophic or scientific sense but, rather, to extend the sphere of persuasion to encompass the ‘experience of truth’; which, in cases, does not even partially overlap ‘truth’ in the previous sense. To account for this difference, Aristotle introduced the notion of ‘enthymeme’ that, in contrast to ‘syllogism’, presupposes that the premises are not necessarily true, but are held to be true by the objects of persuasion (Rhetoric: 75ff). The enthymematic process of persuasion thus aims at demonstrating that a pre-determined conclusion “logically” follows from the axioms that a certain community of receivers perceives as true. This explains why politicians, while being able to persuade people, who share their own axioms, to accept the “truth” of their conclusions, cannot persuade others who adhere to different axioms. The ‘enthymematic’ principle thus explains how the values and beliefs of an audience provide the common ground for the theatre experience to take off. Furthermore, in contrast to Hegel’s presupposition of a metaphysical ethical substance (see chapter 13), it is the ethical values of a particular cultural community that constitute the common ground for their fictional experience. The ‘sacred cows’ of such a community are usually tested in performance-texts under extreme fictional circumstances, whether the intention is to eventually reaffirm or confute them. Probing held beliefs under such conditions produces anxiety (tension), a euphemism for fear, which is the raw material for both catharsis and shocking effect. Such extreme conditions also explain how even reaffirmation of held beliefs can be conceived of as a change in a psychical state of affairs: from initial uncertainty, with life constantly providing disproving reasons, to eventual certainty. A held view of a synchronic audience, which is probed through an enthymematic structure, can be explicitly formulated in a performance-text, albeit not necessarily; e.g., the fictional world of Sophocles’ Oedipus the King probes the implied assertion that ‘Apollo’s and Delphi’s prophesies should command full credibility’. Such an assertion is what is usually termed the ‘message’ of a fictional world. However, ‘message’ may imply that such a fictional world teaches something new in the spirit of Horace’s dictums (p. 91), which is usually not the case. At most the notion of ‘message’ may suit the nature of fictional worlds that promote an innovative intuition, as typical of modernism. However, ‘message’ presupposes the notion of ‘communication’, in contrast to the interactive nature of the rhetoric structure. Being a macro-semiotic act, a performance-text should be assessed in terms not of ‘truth’ and ‘falsity’ (cf. Austin: 1 & 6), but in terms of ‘success’ and ‘failure’

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 205

Theatre Rhetoric 205 (Austin: 1 & 6; cf. Dijk, 1977: 174–6); in particular, a rhetoric text should be examined in terms of ‘success’ or ‘failure’ in producing an ‘experience of truth’. Molière’s George Dandin is an extreme instance of the enthymematic principle, because its farcical characterization and the laughter it intends to elicit can be understood only if a rather odd value, which has been held valid by his synchronic audience, is presupposed: the justification of conjugal infidelity if a commoner wishes to “purchase” a wife of noble background in order to pave his way to a higher class. The sense of oddity that this value may arouse nowadays obviously betrays the nature of the present perspective, while stressing the enthymematic nature of the original fictional experience. Since descriptions of fictional worlds are subordinated to rhetoric ends, it is crucial for them to command credibility. Therefore, notions such as Aristotle’s the ‘probable’, the ‘necessary’, and the ‘credible’ (Poetics, IX); the ‘possible’ and the ‘impossible’ (ibid. XXV, 17); Corneille’s the ‘vraisemblable’ and the ‘croyable’ (1964: 218ff); and Elizabeth Burns’ ‘authenticating conventions’ (pp. 31ff), make reference to aspects of the mechanism of enthymematic persuasion. Since the rhetoric structure requires the semblance of inner logic, ‘credibility’ is its major category. However, ‘being credible’ not necessarily means ‘being true’.

Rhetoric pre-structuration The typical pre-structuration of an archetypal fictional world indicates that the intention of a performance-text is not to teach the spectator something new, but to produce the ritual reaffirmation (or confutation) of a thought that had been held to be true. ‘Archetypal’ is employed here in the sense of reflecting the intention to eventually gratify the spontaneous and culturallyconditioned expectations of a synchronic audience. Similarly, the pre-structuration of an absurdist fictional world, which aims at the opposite effect, indicates that the confutation of held beliefs too reflects rhetoric intent and pre-structuration. In both cases, and because of pre-structuration, the truth value of both such worlds is negligible. Even if an author aims at promoting an alternative and innovative idea, we should speak not of ‘message’ but of a rhetoric mechanism of persuasion that presupposes that what is held to be true should be confuted, and that a new idea or attitude should be promoted and buttressed instead. Most dramatic fictional worlds are pre-structured in both presupposing the accepted views of a prospective audience and bringing about their persuasion. Pre-structuration applies even to fictional worlds that aim at promoting an ambiguous attitude to the real world, as usually claimed for postmodernism. The pre-structuration of fictional worlds in accordance with intentions of persuasion seems to exclude fictional worlds from the sphere of the search

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 206

206 Fictional Thinking for truth in the scientific sense. However, no rhetoric aim does preclude such a purpose: actually, the search for truth may be perceived as a particular instance of the experience of truth. Indeed, some forms of modernist theatre are clear instances of the endeavor to achieve such a goal; e.g., Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull. In general, any intention presupposes pre-structuration. Possibly, only through relinquishing pre-structuration on the grounds of spontaneous expectations altogether can the ideal of ‘search for truth’ be achieved. Rhetoric pre-structuration materializes in fictional worlds whether the intention is the archetypal reaffirmation of held values and beliefs (e.g., Sophocles’ Oedipus At Colonus) or their confutation (e.g., García Lorca’s Yerma); whether the mood is serious (e.g., Racine’s Phèdre), comic (e.g., Molière’s The Miser) or grotesque (e.g., Jarry’s Ubu Roi); and whether the aim is only absurdist (e.g., Euripides’ Bacchae) or, in addition, promotes an alternative value (e.g., Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children). As suggested above, on the level of the relation between performance-text and spectator, a fictional world is a potential metaphor of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs (see chapter 3). Because of the inherent difference between the fictional and the spectators’ worlds, it is only the metaphoric principle that can explain their utter involvement in such a world (ibid.). The rhetoric structure subordinates this overall metaphor whose eventual appropriateness provides the credible grounds for the success of the enthymematic process. From a rhetoric perspective, since the effect of a fictional world mainly depends on its nature, it may be assumed that its metaphoric description is a pre-structured artifact that fundamentally aims at a pre-determined effect, while reflecting the spectator’s spontaneous patterns of perception and response (cf. Poetics, XIII). I suggest, therefore, that it is the overall metaphor embodied in a fictional world that the spectator is invited to experience and accept as true. However, each spectator is free to be persuaded or not. Since the deep structure of a performance-text is enthymematic, which presupposes the values and beliefs of a particular audience, rhetoric analysis should be performed only on synchronic grounds; in other words, a predetermined effect should be conjectured not on the grounds of universal patterns of response, but on those of synchronic cultural values and beliefs, which determine both the audience’s expectations and their vital contribution to the meaning of a performance-text. No definite effect can be envisaged for any possible audience. Since a whole determines the meaning of its parts, logically, even a partial analysis of a fictional world should start from an intuition of its enthymematic structure and possible ultimate effect.

Yerushalmi’s Woyzeck 91 This section illustrates the difference between the rhetoric structures of Büchner’s Woyzeck and Rina Yerushalmi’s stage interpretation of this play-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 207

Theatre Rhetoric 207 script in Woyzeck 91 (the Cameri Theatre, 1991). I contend that the rhetoric intention of the former was to level harsh criticism at the contemporary military and scientific establishment, and its purpose was to bring about a radical change in the audience’s attitude to such a [dis]order; and perhaps even to persuade them to struggle against it. In contrast, the rhetoric intention of Woyzeck 91 was to reaffirm the attitudes of the synchronic audience. In other words, the same play-script resulted in contrasting absurdist (Büchner) and archetypal (Yerushalmi) structures. a) Büchner’s Woyzeck: The play-script ends in an atrocious act: Woyzeck murders Marie, his only close human being on earth and the mother of his child. While it might appear that Woyzeck is punishing her for betraying him with Drum-Major, the context bestows a sense of profound religious and tragic meaning upon this act. Beyond punishment, he murders her in a state of ecstasy, and washes her body frantically, as a symbol of purification of body and soul, as if performing a ritual (p. 33). Being a working private, Woyzeck is abused by his superiors, and shows extremely submissive behavior. Among his equals, however, he is highly inquisitive, and evinces an acute sensibility, and a kind of poetic language (cf. Steiner: 274–83). Marie is a whore (p. 5), and her characterization hinges on sheer sexuality and procreation. Her intense attraction to Drum-Major, who is equally motivated, is described in terms of affinity between sexuality and animality. Woyzeck is driven to take revenge for Marie’s infatuation, but fears the loss of his only “good” on earth (p. 20): Marie is his ‘poor man’s lamb’ (cf. II Samuel, 12, 1–15) He could have accepted her for what she is, as Jesus did for Mary Magdalene, but he cannot stand further dispossession. From Captain’s perspective Woyzeck has no sense of virtue. In his defense, Woyzeck claims that virtue is something that the poor cannot afford (p. 12), probably alluding to the affinity between poverty and the Christian ethos. To Captain’s remark: “You’ve got a child without the church’s blessing”, Woyzeck responds: “Sir, God the father isn’t going to worry if nobody said amen at the poor worm’s making. The Lord said ‘Suffer little children to come unto me’” (pp. 11–12). In other words, God does not bother with matrimony and legitimacy, and children enjoy His unconditional love. Exposing his military-chivalric ethos, and in contrast to genuine Christianity, Captain assumes that honor can be restored only by death, thus driving Woyzeck into committing murder. Doctor evinces a different set of values. He appears to be motivated by the search for truth, although his conclusions are predetermined. He advocates a quintessential gap between human and animal, and assumes that the human will constitutes the essential difference. He believes that under no circumstances will humanity be lost and that the existential gap with the animal world is unbridgeable. His experiments are expected to “demonstrate” this thesis: he subjects Woyzeck to a perilous diet of peas to explore the borderline between the human and the animal; i.e., through a process of regression. However, contrary to his expectations, Woyzeck reveals that

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 208

208 Fictional Thinking extreme poverty and suffering dehumanizes people. Doctor betrays his amoral values by not considering that Woyzeck deserves care simply because of being a human being. Captain and Doctor, who are two personifications of a spurious bourgeois version of goodness and truth, consistently weaken Woyzeck’s humanity and lead him to commit the crime. By ironic reversal, Woyzeck becomes a genuine specimen of human nature in his existential struggle against any attempt at dehumanization on ethical or cognitive grounds. Woyzeck proves human in both his strengths and weaknesses. It is Showman at the fair who establishes the ironic viewpoint. Being an outsider of established society, he lends realistic motivation to his dramatic function. He caricatures Doctor by presenting a “learned” horse to his audience (p. 7); i.e., the animal is supposed to have crossed the borderline between animal and human, from the opposite end, thus ironically questioning Doctor’s attempt to show how a human being, under the most severe conditions, can only be brought tangentially to this boundary, while never totally abolishing the existential gap between them. Woyzeck and the horse get too dangerously close to one another for an idealistic taste. Both have something essential in common: nature. Contrary to bourgeois expectation, both defecate and urinate in public spaces (something that is not done). Showman thus proclaims: “Man, be natural. You were fashioned out of dust, out of sand, out of mud – would you be anything more than dust, sand, mud?” (p. 8). In other words, Woyzeck is part of nature and any attempt to demonstrate that humanity prevails under conditions of extreme starvation and suffering is bound to fail. Captain too is the object of Showman’s ironic perspective. He presents a monkey that is supposed to have crossed the borderline between animal and human and reached the rank of soldier: “Not that that’s much. Lowest form of animal life in fact” (p. 6). The ironic attitude that pervades the entire scene is most poignantly expressed by “a voice sung”, a personification of Death: “On earth is no abiding stay, / All things living pass away – / No-one, no-one says me nay” (p. 6). This piece of Silenus’ wisdom reminds us that man is dust, part of cyclic nature and bound for death. The fair constitutes a central ironic and grotesque stage metaphor of the bourgeois perspective. People come to the fair to entertain themselves by watching freaks of nature, and are prepared to pay for seeing the animal in the human and vice versa. Under such a light, Doctor’s “scientific” interest in Woyzeck proves a pretentious version of sheer curiosity and, therefore, an object of irony and grotesque treatment. Beyond this metaphor, Büchner’s ultra-serious moralist attitude emerges: humanity can be neither extricated from nature nor reduced to pure spirituality; therefore, it cannot prevail under conditions of constant humiliation, extreme deprivation, and dispossession. The play-script is not only confined to the social meaning of Woyzeck’s world, but also aims at religious implications. Büchner designed Marie according to the model of remorseful Mary Magdalene. Like her saintly

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 209

Theatre Rhetoric 209 prototype, Marie too is haunted by compunctions and frequently cries; she even quotes Magdalene’s description in Luke 7, 38 (p. 30); and the story of the adulterous wife in John 8, 3–11 (p. 29). Both passages reflect the Gospel’s view that even a prostitute and an adulterous woman are entitled to forgiveness and redemption. Initial Woyzeck, who reveals a clear affinity to the teachings of the Church, and can be seen as modeled on the image of Jesus, should have pardoned Marie. However, he undergoes a process of rebellion against institutionalized religion. The acts of giving his sister’s cross and his mother’s holy picture to Andres (p. 30) should be understood not as a mere execution of his will before death, but as an act of rupture with his own religious upbringing and faith. In his view the poor have no chance in any of God’s worlds: “If we went to heaven I expect they’d put us to work on the thunder” (p. 12). A world in which there is extreme suffering and poverty cannot be said to be the world of God: it is absurd. Woyzeck’s rebellion thus explains both Maria’s murder and her eventual purification. Woyzeck feels that he has been victimized by both the social and (what is viewed as) the divine orders and, therefore, he rebels against them. It follows that the playwright’s own criticism is precisely conveyed by the extreme change in Woyzeck’s attitude and, particularly, by his act of murder. In his view established Christianity or, rather, its bourgeois version, has become anti-Christian and the world of God – the world of Satan. Despite its absurdist ending, Woyzeck is pre-structured to produce a ritual experience of truth. Woyzeck is characterized as a natural poetphilosopher-prophet who is haunted by the feeling that “the time is out of joint” (Hamlet: I, v, 189). The narrative is structured as a morality play. This is most evident in the dramatis personae, which personify typical ideas and attitudes, thus reflecting the way the playwright maps his own world. The constellation of these characters and their interaction should be perceived as a multiple personification of an inner struggle among various constituents of the human soul. If all the elements of the human psyche, which are personified in other characters, were to be separated from Woyzeck, as in anonymous of Everyman, only the personification of a humiliated, dispossessed, and disappointed self with the idea of a divine world, would be left. Woyzeck is confronted with Doctor and Captain who represent two basic and rooted attitudes in bourgeois culture, and both are caricaturized, which is a statement of criticism in itself. Woyzeck is personified humanity in a dehumanized world; i.e., a subversive and modernist everyman. The main difference between the rhetoric intentions of this play-script and those of a medieval morality play lies in the inversion of its structure and actual confutation of values of the synchronic bourgeois audience, who assumedly shared the views of Captain and Doctor; i.e., instead of reaffirming the audience’s faith, Büchner strove to undermine it. His rhetoric aim has been, therefore, to bring about an experience of the absurd; i.e., an experience of the worthlessness of established values and beliefs. Moreover, in contrast to the medieval morality play, the values at stake only pretend to be Christian. Büchner leads Woyzeck to do exactly the opposite of what Jesus

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 210

210 Fictional Thinking would have done, albeit drawing justification from the very same tradition. In this sense, although in a reversed manner, Woyzeck is a reincarnation of the crucified Jesus, a modern Christ on the Via Dolorosa of the dispossessed. b) Yerushalmi’s Woyzeck 91: Despite being based on Büchner’s playscript, and under the assumption of an intertextual relationship between these texts, Yerushalmi’s production was aimed at an opposite final experience. This was achieved through several changes in the dialogic interaction and, mainly, through a complex intra-textual nonverbal contextualization. In general, Yerushalmi preserved the original characterization, but nuanced the nature of the relations between Woyzeck and Marie, and between Marie and Drum-Major. Whereas initially Marie produced images of human tenderness and warmth toward Woyzeck, she projected images of sheer eroticism and violence toward Drum-Major. She was clearly seen as being caught in the mesh of the human instincts, verging on animality. While the order of the action was basically preserved, the performance-text ended with Woyzeck’s murder of Marie, washing his hands, and subsequently collapsing onto the long white table placed downstage, while projecting an image of defeat and helplessness, before dying. The nurse then washed his body, just as Woyzeck had washed Marie in the play-script, and covered it with a white sheet, as in a Jewish funeral ritual. As suggested above, a group of actors, dressed in typical white gowns, created the visual image of students in a classroom of a medical school. In other scenes, the same actors/students were dressed in military uniforms, which did not identify any particular army, and created the images of an army barrack and a canteen. Being a working private, Woyzeck wore army fatigues and a cap down to his ears, which lent an expression of stupidity to his face. In contrast, Captain wore a uniform reminiscent of a Nazi officer, an image that created the context for the medical set and the students to be perceived as part of the criminal Nazi machine. The medical/academic image was complemented by physical examinations and lectures about bodily organs and tissues against a background of slide projections. These lectures, in plain scientific prose seasoned with Latin terms, were excerpts from medical textbooks. They focused on anatomical and physiological aspects of the human body, and even psychological ‘mechanisms’ were explained in physiological terms. They reflected a positivist ideology: the belief that the human being is a wonderful mechanism that can be fully understood by a no less wonderful science, and a profound admiration for the wisdom embodied in evolution, crowned by the ascent of man. Whereas in some cases the connection between lectures and dramatic action was not at all clear, in others it could be easily detected; e.g., the presentation on the urinary tract was attached to Doctor’s comment on Woyzeck’s urination on the wall, and the lecture on hematology with the murder scene. However, beyond such obvious links, an overall ironic perspective could be perceived: the inability of scientific methodology to account for human nature, for Woyzeck’s behavior in particular. Description

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 211

Theatre Rhetoric 211 in terms of hormones could have hardly matched the human warmth emanating from Woyzeck’s disposition toward Marie and his eventual cruelty. This ironic gap, which already exists in the play-script, was purposefully stressed in the performance-text. The point of these presentations was to place evolution at the focal point of the production. In contrast to Büchner’s Doctor, who views nature as the enemy of man, Yerushalmi’s Doctor is a champion of nature and its “glorious” mechanism of evolution. All the mini-lectures reflected a sense of admiration for ‘natural selection’ in ensuring the supremacy of humankind. It should be noted that the theory of evolution was proposed in 1837, twenty two years after Büchner’s death. Darwin published his On the Origins of Species in 1859 and The Descent of Man in 1871. The same applies to Mendel, who published his findings in genetics, based on his experimentation on peas, in 1866. In Yerushalmi’s interpretation the motif of evolution came to the fore and the original motifs of poverty and religion became marginal. In the Itim production, a half-naked soldier enacted the process of evolution by marching on the long table placed in front of the audience, while miming a gradual transmutation from ape to human being. This was performed in front of a group of students/soldiers, who donned masks of professors in the image of Albert Einstein. When the dance came to an end, they asked the ape/man to demonstrate his ability to kill people. He then mimed a soldier – the “lowest form of animal life” (p. 6) – firing an imaginary machine-gun at the audience. Ironically, it is precisely because of this ability to produce ever deadlier weapons that man has asserted his superiority over the natural world, relinquishing thereby his claim to a human advantage. Yerushalmi thus reduced the “glorious” evolution to mere caricature. The mini-lecture on evolution was followed by a dance performed by the academic/military group, including Doctor, who performed a series of distorted images of sexual intercourse. The couples interchanged every few seconds until eventually men were dancing with men and women with women. The ironic innuendo: evolution proceeds by mechanisms of procreation and is indifferent to the values of monogamy and faithfulness. Homosexual couplings, however, totally upset the evolution formula, because of disconnecting sexuality from procreation, and thus from evolution. The presentation of homosexual and lesbian relations was probably meant to undermine Doctor’s sense of fascination for the wisdom embodied in natural selection. Subsequently, the group crowded around Marie and Drum-Major who performed a highly erotic and violent dance. She was half-naked and he was wearing the mask of a horse skull, probably symbolizing animal sex and death. Similarly to the previous dance, the distortion of the sexual images and the music reflected a grotesque design. The centrality of the ‘evolution’ theme indicated several implied intentions: first, to update the image of science typical of Büchner’s days, and

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 212

212 Fictional Thinking recreate the play-script in terms accessible to a modernist audience; and second, to denounce the criminal complicity between military aggressiveness and scientific experimentation in the deliberate application of scientific selection to the human sphere. Woyzeck, the victim of this complicity, was abused like a laboratory mouse; e.g., in a very shocking scene his penis was “milked” for a specimen of his semen. Moreover, Woyzeck under the heavy scrutiny of students/soldiers was then held head down and arms outstretched, thus creating the image of an inverted crucified Jesus.

8 Woyzeck: Inverted image of Crucified Jesus, in Rina Yerushalmi’s Production Woyzeck 91, Itim Theatre, 1991. Courtesy of the theatre.

In her research, Doctor implied the possibility of pushing evolution a step further, in an attempt to create a race of supermen. Synchronously, Captain spoke of a super-race in Nazi terms. As suggested above, the combination of images of scientific research and Nazi militarism was meant to evoke the tragic era of scientific experimentation with human beings, which had aimed at the “improvement” of an allegedly superior race at the expense of allegedly inferior ones. For any contemporary audience, the Nazi application of ‘scientific selection’ to the human race, an aberration of Darwinism, had proved both criminal and disastrous. This combination was also meant to manipulate additional fears that can be aroused by scientific experimentation at the service of military ends, and by reckless scientific experimentation, such as the reproduction of human clones in infinite numbers, and the invention of ever more destructive nuclear, chemical and

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 213

Theatre Rhetoric 213 biological weapons. The joint image of medical research and Nazi ideology thus stressed the main theme of this production: the evil alliance between science and military might. The characterization of the same actors as students in a school of medicine and as soldiers (of a non-identified army) also contributed to the promotion of this theme. It was evident therefore, that Yerushalmi’s intention had been not only to arouse the deepest fears in a Jewish audience, but also in any contemporary one. For the end of the performance-text Yerushalmi designed a banquet scene: at one end of the long table in front of the audience a cook dished out spaghetti, all engaged in eagerly eating them, while Woyzeck was left to his peas. While Doctor praised man as the jewel in the crown of evolution, Captain, riding skates, indulged in a series of totalitarian slogans such as “All people should unite to create a single soul, a single thought, a single will, for the sake of materializing the objectives of humanity”; and “Do not forsake the flag that was bestowed upon us by God”; and “It is the willingness to die for mankind that makes our country immortal”. In their contrapuntal duet, while Doctor proclaimed the greatness of the human race, Captain preached the annihilation of human creatures. Eventually, the voice of Captain predominated, thereby creating the image of a final subordination of science to militarism; i.e., to the basest of animal drives. All sang a (fictional) national anthem. The image of the defeated and dying Woyzeck thus became a metaphor of the sacrifice of humankind on the altar of the evil alliance of the gods of spurious wisdom and genuine war. Eventually, this scene developed into a series of distorted images of eating spaghetti, which gradually changed into a contorted dance to a comic tune, clearly aiming at a grotesque effect. Such an effect attested to Yerushalmi’s critical attitude to Doctor’s notion of ‘scientific selection’ and to Captain’s racist aims. By the same token, the grotesque treatment of the characters in control of Woyzeck’s life provided an ironic vantage-point for the spectator. In this sense, the grotesque mood did not depart from the play-script’s critical intent, other than bringing it to paroxysm. From a rhetoric perspective, both Büchner’s and Yerushalmi’s texts were acts of criticism or, rather, protest against a crucial outbreak of absurdity in the world. However, although both texts point at the same agents of abuse – the scientific and military establishments – the specific objects of their criticism were totally different. Büchner aimed at denouncing the exploitation of man by fellow human beings on the grounds of class and religious values shared by the synchronic audience; i.e., at confuting the spectators’ sense of orientation in the world. In contrast, Yerushalmi aimed at exposing the criminal complicity of the scientific and military establishments in endangering the very existence of humanity; a criticism that any spectator could willingly endorse. Unfortunately, the last centuries have experienced and continue to experience this frightful complicity. In his treatment of Woyzeck, Doctor is a pre-figuration of the modern dehumanized scientist, the result of a process that culminated in Nazi medical research. Paradoxically, humans themselves collude against humanity and,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 214

214 Fictional Thinking essentially, humankind remains in the animal kingdom. Irony was thus cast on the idea of the glorious evolution. On the level of the expected rhetoric effect on the audience, while Büchner intended his criticism to shock contemporary bourgeois audiences, Yerushalmi’s criticism was willingly accepted by the Israeli bourgeois spectator, and could have been adopted by any other contemporary audience. In contrast to the play-script, which clearly aimed at refuting the commonplace values and opinions held to be true by Büchner’s synchronic readers/spectators, the purpose of the performance-text was to bring about the reaffirmation of values and opinions already adopted by Yerushalmi’s synchronic audience. Therefore, whereas Büchner had aimed at an experience of the absurd, Yerushalmi intended an experience of harmony with held beliefs. I am aware that the reaffirmation of an absurdist attitude to the world is more complex and problematic, since it does not satisfy the human existential longing for total order. It can be assumed, however, that there is some kind of comfort in reaffirmation itself.

@ The description of a fictional world generated through the theatre medium is a potential metaphoric description of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs, which is embedded in a rhetoric macro-speech act that, on the level of the director/spectator relationship, aims at establishing or changing such a state of affairs. Rhetoric analysis of macro-speech acts complements the contributions of the semiotic, poetic and aesthetic disciplines in elucidating the theatre’s mechanisms of generating fictional meaning. I believe, therefore, that future theatre research should promote the further development of a specific rhetoric of the theatre experience.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 215

PART IV

Reception Part IV explores the role of the spectator, in reading, interpreting and experiencing performance-texts. It advances the view that, in contrast to traditional semiotics, the contribution of the spectator to the generation of theatre meaning is no less crucial than that of the text itself. It also presupposes that the spectator’s contribution is not restricted to decoding a performance-text, but ranges from reading (decoding) it; interpreting it by realizing all the intra-, extra-, and inter- textual relations that such a text presupposes; providing the expected associations from the spectator’s own cultural baggage, to experiencing it, according to spectator’s psychical mechanisms of response. Chapter 16 focuses on the crucial notion of ‘implied spectator’, which is a theoretical construct, chiefly useful for the analysis of performance-texts; chapter 17 explores the thesis that the theatre experience operates like a thinking laboratory; chapter 18 ponders the theatre experience in terms of ‘vicarious experience’; and chapter 19 applies categories of ‘reception’ to quite recent productions of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 216

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 217

16 Implied Spectator Traditional semiotics presupposes that all is in the performance-text, perceived as a message encoded by a director and decoded by the spectator. I suggest, in contrast, that the theatre experience results not only from what is “encoded” in the performance-text, but, mainly, from the interaction between the description of a fictional world and a spectator, whose contribution to generating fictional meaning is no less crucial than that of the description itself. In particular, I suggest that the spectator is expected to provide a reading competence, i.e., ‘literacy’, in the wide sense of the term, which applies to all languages and iconic mediums, including the theatre medium; as well as an interpretive capacity, a shared cultural baggage, and culturally-conditioned psychical mechanisms, without which no description of a fictional world can generate meaning. A performance-text should be seen, therefore, as a set of clues for the spectator to activate these competences and mechanisms — thus making the claim that ‘all is in the text’ groundless. Since a performance-text is limited in time, and should be as compact as possible, the implicit rule is that anything that spectators can provide from their own resources can be subtracted from the text.

Implied vs. real spectator In addressing the role of the spectator, a basic distinction between ‘real’ and ‘implied’ spectator should be made. Following Wolfgang Iser, ‘implied spectator’ means here the set of reading competence, interpretive capacity and psychical mechanisms of response that a performance-text presupposes in a spectator for the description of a fictional world to make full sense (Iser: 34; cf. Marinis: 163–4). It is noteworthy that Gad Kaynar was the first to successfully apply Iser’s notion of ‘implied reader’ to performance analysis (Kaynar). Whereas the real spectator may reveal various limitations such as a deficient reading competence, a poor interpretive capacity, an incomplete cultural baggage, or biased psychical mechanisms; the implied spectator is adequately equipped for all these complementary tasks by definition.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 218

218 Reception Therefore, it should be seen as the vital co-producer of theatre meaning, despite being a theoretical construct. Nonetheless, the notion of ‘real spectator’, as employed in theatre research, is too a theoretical construct, usually influenced by either the implied spectator, the personal experience of a scholar, or an over-simplification of the real spectator fostered by journalistic sociology. I thus suggest that the implied spectator is neither the ‘model reader’ (Eco, 1980; cf. Marinis: 164), nor the ‘privileged spectator’ (Styan, 1967: 49). As suggested above, it is a theoretical construct, which rather reflects a learned intuition of the expected real spectator; and the success of a performancetext may depend on the degree of overlap between intuition and reality. It follows that each production presupposes a specific implied spectator. It should be born in mind, nonetheless, that it is the real spectator who actually experiences the theatre description of a fictional world. Therefore, since it is the real spectator who experiences such a world, even when applying incorrect rules of reading and interpretation, a performance analysis should focus not on whether the expected contributions embodied in a performancetext are realized by the real spectator or not, but on the set of expected contributions that should be met by the implied spectator. The implied spectator is thus expected: (a) to be proficient in reading performance-texts, i.e., to master the rules underlying the generation of descriptions of fictional worlds through the theatre medium; (b) to be dexterous in the interpretation of such texts beyond simple reading, aiming at complementing the performance-text from its own resources; (c) to provide the expected associations from a shared cultural baggage, reflecting familiarity with culturally-established contexts such as socio-political reality, history, philosophy, religion, ideology and the arts, including relevant playscripts and previous performance-texts; and (d) to activate the pertinent psychological mechanisms according to the genre of each particular production.

Implied spectator and rhetoric structure As I have claimed above, the deep structure of the fictional world reflects the archetypal patterns of response of the (implied) spectator; i.e., the tendency to react according to spontaneous and culturally-conditioned expectations, reflecting wishes and anxieties (see chapter 11). Although different cultures endorse different cognitive/value systems, the psychical mechanisms of experience, such as reaffirmation or confutation of held beliefs and cathartic or shocking effects, assumedly, are the same across cultures. A performancetext is, therefore, a complex set of cues programmed to trigger a singular “psychical” effect in the implied spectator. As suggested above, Frye implies that the single psyche of an author (e.g., playwright or director) expresses itself through a world of characters and their fictional actions (see chapter 11). ‘Fictionality’ thus implies the prin-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 219

Implied Spectator 219 ciple of ‘multiple personification’ of a single psyche, with ‘personification’ being subspecies ‘metaphor’. Authors are represented on stage by a set of independent characters, in the sense of behaving according to their own goals and viewpoints, and by functional characters or interactive characters in functional situations that further interpret these independent viewpoints from an ironic perspective. It follows that authors express themselves through whole fictional worlds, which is the only level on which these worlds represent and describe the author’s image/concept of the real world. A fictional world is thus a personified/metaphoric and self-referential description of an author’s psychical state of affairs (ibid.). It is the inherent gap between such a world and the world of the implied spectator that requires the notion of ‘metaphor’, due to being the only form of description through which apparent difference generates appropriate meaning (see chapter 3). In the process of experiencing such a world the spectator is supposed to take over the function of subject of such a self-referential metaphoric description (ibid.). Such a metaphoric description is embedded in the overall rhetoric structure of a macro-speech act of persuasion, which reflects an authorial macro-intention (e.g., criticism of held beliefs) and, at least, one macropurpose (e.g., subversion), with the author being the agent and the implied spectator its object. In the context of the expected cultural baggage, the cognitive/ethical system that underlies the implied spectator’s sense of orientation in the world is of outstanding importance, due to being the only common ground for the rhetoric intent to succeed. In other words, the metaphoric description of a fictional world is embedded in an enthymematic macro-rhetoric act (see chapter 15). The ‘enthymematic’ principle thus explains how the values and beliefs of a particular audience provide the common ground for the theatre experience to take off. The impact of such a rhetoric act/action includes, in addition to its cognitive effects, possible emotional ones such as cathartic or shocking effects. An overall fictional structure thus reflects an implied spectator that is a learned intuition of the real spectator’s archetypal expectations and responses. These spontaneous expectations underlie the above-mentioned enthymematic mechanism, even if the intention is to frustrate them. I apply the notion of ‘implied spectator’ to the analyses of Nuria Espert’s productions of The House of Bernarda Alba in London and Tel Aviv. In these analyses I assume that a play-script is a theatre-text, albeit deficient, because of lacking most of the nonverbal indicators that can disambiguate the verbal acts of a dialogue, employed in a performative capacity (cf. Austin: 76 & Levinson: 233). I also assume that a performance-text based on a play-script maintains intertextual relations with its source-play-script, and that departures from the latter are reliable indications of directorial intentions and purposes.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 220

220 Reception

Espert’s The House of Bernarda Alba Espert directed Federico García Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba at the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith, London, in 1986; and the same concept at the Cameri Theatre, Tel Aviv, in 1988. She was chosen to direct this play-script, following her great success in playing the lead in Victor García’s famous production of Yerma, performed to great success in Madrid, 1971, at the Edinburgh Festival in 1986 and at the Israel Festival in 1986. In the London production of The House of Bernarda Alba, Glenda Jackson played Bernarda, Joan Plowright – Poncia and Patricia Hayes – María Josefa. In the Tel Aviv production these roles were played by Orna Porat, Edna Fliddel and Fanny Luvich respectively. Both Espert’s productions stressed the singular atmosphere of the Spanish village in the region of Andalucía during the 1930s — e.g., ceremonial condolences, hospitality during meals (Prudencia) and the courtship carried out through barred windows — while avoiding any approximation to any milieu more familiar to the non-Spanish spectator. She employed an almost naturalistic style in accordance with the playwright’s declaration that the play-script is a “photographic document” (p. 150). Ezio Frigeiro’s set design (opposite) too was meant to reproduce a typical patio in such a village. It conveyed a sense of hermetic and suffocating space through a high wall at back-stage, and disproportionately small windows (for the correlative verbal metaphor in the script, see ‘presidio p. 1529, in the Spanish version). It also suggested a metaphor of a nunnery cloister or prison courtyard, matching Bernarda’s intention to seclude her daughters throughout the eight years of imposed mourning (for the correlative verbal metaphor in the script, see ‘convento’ p. 1484, in the Spanish version). Franca Squarcipino reinforced the nunnery metaphor through her design of the daughters’ costumes as typical of both nuns and women in mourning in Catholic Spanish society. a) Directorial concept: Espert’s reading of the fictional interaction followed closely García Lorca’s play-script, which on this level can be summarized as follows: The second husband of Bernarda had died leaving no money to provide suitable dowries for his four ugly daughters (p. 153). Only ugliest Angustias, the daughter of Bernada’s first husband, could afford a reasonable dowry, which enabled her engagement to Pepe el Romano. Following the funeral, Bernarda imposed eight years of secluded mourning upon her daughters (p. 157) in order to conceal their poverty and thus preserve the family’s social status. In the heated atmosphere of their home, Adela, Bernarda’s youngest daughter, tempts Pepe by appearing almost naked for him (p. 173). He thus enjoys the prospect of both a lucrative marriage to the eldest daughter and making love with her youngest sister. Poncia, the housekeeper, tries to open Bernarda’s eyes, but the mother refuses to see. She eventually discovers the truth of the lovers’ secret nocturnal meetings, and shoots her gun at Pepe who ironically escapes not on a (white) horse but on his mare (p. 200). Believing that her lover has been killed, Adela hangs herself. Again, Bernarda imposes “a sea of mourning”

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 221

Implied Spectator 221

9 Ezio Frigeiro’s set fot Nuria Espert’s production of The House of Bernarda Alba, Cameri Theatre, 1988. Courtesy of the theatre.

on all her daughters (p. 201). On this level of reading the simple action reveals the modality of melodrama. However, if placed within the context of its complex interpretive web this fictional action is transmuted into a genuine tragedy. b) Implied Interpretation: This complex interpretive web consists of verbal and stage metaphors, symbols and conventions, which convey contrasting viewpoints, requires complex interpretive abilities, and presupposes the implied spectator’s complementation: 1) Verbal and stage metaphors reveal the same deep structure: they feature an improper term, in a predicative capacity, whose only function is to evoke verbal and nonverbal associations that are meant to be attributed to their literal subjects (see chapter 2). The only difference is that in stage metaphor the improper term is an image imprinted on matter. For example, when the stallion kicks at the walls of the house, Bernarda commands the stableman to “lock the mares in the corral, but let it [the stallion] run free or he may kick down the walls”, while intending to put the mares to it “at daybreak” (p. 188); The implied spectator is supposed to interpret the kicking sounds of the stallion as an ironic stage metaphor of Bernarda’s policy toward her daughters that, in contrast to her attitude to the beast, she totally ignores their biological needs. In Adela’s eyes too, the stallion is a metaphor of Pepe el Romano: “The stallion was in the middle of the corral. White. Twice as large. Filling all the darkness” (p. 191). 2) I have defined ‘stage symbol’ as an imprinted image that, like a verbal symbol, evokes a diffuse periphery of contextual verbal and nonverbal associations in addition to its core sense and typical connotations (see chapter 2). Such a diffuse associative periphery results from the recurrent use of a

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 222

222 Reception word/image in intra-textual, inter-textual or extra-textual contexts. For example, at the climax of the action Adela breaks the cane (vara) of her ‘tyrant’ mother (p. 199). On the literal level Bernarda uses this cane as a walking-stick; however, because of its contextual associations (‘vara’ is also used as the traditional symbol of authority by mayors of villages and cities), the implied spectator is supposed to understand that Adela does not mean to impair her mother’s walking ability, but rather to reject her abusive authority. Similar considerations apply to Adela’s green dress among her mother’s and sisters’ black dresses that symbolize mourning (p. 163). Although not mentioned in the text, the implied spectator must take this for granted in order for Adela’s deviation from the mourning custom to make sense. Moreover, the eight years of mourning should be understood not as a typical custom, but as an exaggerated self-imposition. 3) Stage conventions depart from the principle of similarity that characterizes imprinted images, thus hindering spontaneous inference (see chapter 7). They thus presuppose that their reading principles should be learned or otherwise grasped in order to enable a correct reading. For example, the servants’ exposition (pp. 151–4) is a stage convention that typically conveys the ironic viewpoint. The opening conversation between Poncia and Servant presents Bernarda as a prudish and conceited neighbor, a tyrannical mother; and her economic means as not matching her pretensions to high social status. García Lorca, however, through his usual inversion of traditional conventions, employs this conversation in order to convey the naïve viewpoint. The implied spectator is thus supposed to realize that Bernarda is in fact merely reflecting the values actually held to be valid by her own culture, thus changing her characterization from victimizer to victim of her own upbringing. Poncia implements the confidant convention. Indeed, Bernarda reveals to Poncia her innermost thoughts and feelings, which she cannot afford to do in front of her daughters and neighbors; e.g., Bernarda admits that she prevented Martirio from marrying Enrique Humanas due to his father being a mere shepherd (p. 182). When Poncia reminds her that in any other place she herself would have been perceived as a person of poor means, Bernarda commands her to shut up, thus admitting the truth of Poncia’s comment (p. 161). Poncia is conventionally characterized antithetically: she is submissive, amoral and devoid of social status, being the daughter of a prostitute (p. 183). Nonetheless, she is alert to everything that happens in the house. By inversion of convention, however, she interprets Bernarda’s decisions from an even lower perspective. Her picture of matrimony is grim: e.g., when her husband was courting her his first request was to touch her body (p. 171), but even that was not to last long: “two weeks after the wedding a man gives up the bed for the table, then the table for the tavern, and the woman who doesn’t like it can just rot, weeping in a corner” (ibid.). Moreover, following a trivial argument, she killed all his birds (ibid.). She even advises Adela to wait for Pepe until Angustias’ death: “She’ll die with her first child, because

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 223

Implied Spectator 223 of being narrow-hipped”, and only then, he will marry the youngest sister (p. 173). Nonetheless, despite perceiving life from a low, naïve and extremely practical perspective, her attitude reflects a more humorous and merciful perception of life that emphasizes Bernarda’s prudish characterization. Due to the inherent independence of the characters, a description of a fictional world usually operates at least two viewpoints: the naïve viewpoint of the characters and the ironic viewpoint of the author/audience, with the naïve perspective being the object of dramatic irony (see chapter 13). In contrast to the García Lorca’s alleged ‘photographic documentation’, the ironic viewpoint is conveyed by the allegoric character of María Josefa. Indeed, this character is an allegoric personification, which is a kind of metaphor that draws its associations from the human domain; and, on stage, the enactment of a character by a flesh and blood actor further emphasizes its personified nature (ibid.). On a literal level, 80-year old María Josefa is the demented mother of Bernarda, who keeps her secluded for the fear of gossip. Despite her alleged “mental condition”, however, the old lady knows exactly what is going on in their home. She thus may be seen as embodying a romantic view of madness in underlining the insanity of Bernarda’s imposition of such a cruel fate upon her own daughters. In this sense, María Josefa embodies an ironic convention. Nonetheless, there is a clear advantage in viewing her as an allegoric character. The implied spectator is supposed to know that her name alludes to Mary and Joseph, the earthly parents of Jesus, and that the lamb she carries in her arms is the symbolic stage metaphor of the Christ, thus creating an alternative image of the holy family (p. 195). She also mentions Bethlehem, Jesus’ birthplace. Maria Josefa voices her wish to get married and realize her love for men and children: “I like houses, but open houses, and the neighbor women asleep in their beds with their tiny tots, and the men outside sitting in their chairs” (p. 196). From an ironic viewpoint, she thus personifies an earlier, truer and probably pagan interpretation of Christianity, alternative to Bernarda’s arrogant, prudish and inhuman one, which portrays the Spanish villagers’ typical attitude to life. Bernarda, who for the sake of spurious Christian values denies her daughters’ elementary human right to realize their femininity, and even “crucifies” her own daughter, is therefore put under ironic light by María Josefa, for whom love and procreation are the pillars of life. Her imprisonment is, therefore, a stage metaphor of Bernarda’s refusal to embrace a humane interpretation of Christianity. In an interview with me, Espert declared that her interpretation of María Josefa too was naturalistic: “I wanted to prevent any kind of symbolism” (Rozik, 1988a). In fact, however, naturalistic characterization does not contradict her allegoric nature and her function of conveying the ironic viewpoint of the author: indeed, whatever stresses the human nature of an allegoric character is akin to personification (see chapter 4). Nevertheless, in contrast to her own declaration, Espert dressed naked Patricia Hayes in a fisher’s net that exposed her elderly wrinkled skin. Despite Espert’s possible

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 224

224 Reception naturalistic interpretation, the net should be understood as a clue to María Josefa’s allegoric nature and interpretive function. In the Israeli production Espert dressed this character in a shabby wedding gown, due to the firm refusal of actress Fanny Luvitch to appear almost naked and attired in a net. From María Josefa’s ironic viewpoint, Bernarda’s decision to prevent her daughters from marrying, for fear of jeopardizing her status in the social hierarchy of the village, effectively reflected her blindness. Bernarda is incapable of seeing the destructive power of a single man among lonely women, turning them into mutual enemies. As Poncia remarks: “She doesn’t know the strength a man has among women alone” (p. 194); and “[t]hey’re women without men” (ibid.). In contrast, Bernarda views sexual drives as energies capable of upsetting what in her eyes is the appropriate class structure, but is unaware of that suppressing such energies is even more dangerous. Although in her eyes “the poor are like animals” (p. 155), ironically, it is her own decisions that transmute her daughters into animals. Bernarda’s wrong perception of life is the direct cause of Adela’s rebellion and eventual suicide. Adela indeed defies the naïve perspective of Bernarda: “My body will be for whomever I choose” (p. 173). She reflects, therefore, the ironic viewpoint not only in endorsing women’s right to consummate their womanhood, but also in justifying the energies of nature that seek to realize themselves regardless of any cultural ethos. Bernarda’s decision to establish a kind of nunnery ignores the fundamentals of human nature, and Adela’s suicide implies a futile sacrifice on the altar of her mother’s spurious perception of Christianity. The hanged Adela evokes an image of the crucified Jesus, persecuted by those who perceive themselves as decent people. As suggested above, from the servants exposition it might appear that Bernarda is a prudish and selfish ‘domineering tyrant’ (p. 151), the only one responsible for Adela’s death. However, from an ironic viewpoint she is not a villain. Her tyranny is due to her clinging to the norms of her own upbringing and culture. Paradoxically, her hamartia lies in her blind endorsement of established values. In this sense, she is more of a tragic character. Both Espert and Jackson implemented this interpretation. Bernarda’s cruelty actually reflects the cruelty of her own society, whose echoes penetrate the thick walls of her own sealed-off house in the guise of gossip, the merciless mechanism of social control. This mechanism is epitomized by Poncia, who is in charge of bringing in the gossip from the village. For example, Poncia reports on “Librada’s daughter, the unmarried one, [who] had a child and no one knows whose it is! . . . And to hide her shame she killed it and hid it under the rocks, but the dogs, with more heart than most Christians, dug it out and, as though directed by the hand of God, left it at her door. Now they want to kill her. They’re dragging her through the streets” (p. 185). In both of Espert’s productions, outraged Bernarda demands “[h]ot coals in the place of her sin!” (p. 186); while Adela significantly holds her belly. Similar examples are the stories of Paca la Roseta (pp. 159–60) and Adelaida (p. 162). Bernarda is equally magnetically attracted to and terrified

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 225

Implied Spectator 225 by these stories. Her self-image too depends on gossip, which explains why she hides her mother (p. 158); and “justifies” her hurry in creating a “decent” narrative for Adela’s death: “She, the youngest daughter of Bernarda Alba, died a virgin” (p. 201). The gossipers will obviously guess the true reason of her death, which will be the next shameful story to be avidly bandied about by the villagers. By her own efforts Bernarda has brought upon herself what she had feared most. Her tyranny is grafted on her own fear. She is indeed the victim of her own values. Contrary to typical interpretations, the main thematic axis of this fictional world is not tyranny but the spurious value of honor, the pivotal theme in the three tragedies of García Lorca. This value is rooted in medieval chivalric culture, and means the glorification of family and personal reputation based on the total realization of established values, both Catholic and chivalric in particular. These values are quite incompatible in some respects, with the value of honor promoting chivalric pride rather than Christian humility. Since all the walks of the playwright’s contemporary Spanish society endorsed the value of honor, despite the profound social and ideological changes that were taking place during this period, the zeal of the uninformed villagers in maintaining its validity was the aim of García Lorca’s criticism and the clear referent of his overall derogatory metaphor. In all his main tragedies villagers are portrayed as clinging to the obsolete value of honor, and thus bringing about catastrophes upon themselves. In all of them honor is confronted with personal happiness, which was never considered a value in the Spanish traditional hierarchy of values. Happiness was meant to be sacrificed on the altar of honor, fidelity to the king and faith in God, and in this order. García Lorca approached his implied spectator in a period of ethical revolution that resulted in the decline of the old values and the establishment of personal happiness as the most significant value in life. c) Implied experience: Extreme cultural differences, the tensions between old and new values, between nature and society, and between tyranny and freedom, which determine the happiness or misery of people, and especially the predominance of spurious notions of ‘honor’ and ‘class’ are not foreign to either English or Israeli audiences. Such tensions probably provided the common ground for experiencing this fictional world as an overall metaphor of the implied spectators’ psychical attitudes to their own worlds, not only in Madrid but also in London and Tel Aviv. It is this pre-designed gap between The House of Bernarda Alba and the implied spectators’ worlds that corroborates the metaphoric function of this fictional world. In this sense, Espert’s stress on the centrality of the traditional Spanish village proved correct: it is indeed the foreign nature of this fictional world that triggers the derogatory innuendos that characterize this metaphoric description. It is the aim of the rhetoric structure to persuade the (implied) spectator to experience the overall metaphor as true. This is achieved through the enthymematic structure that aims at demonstrating that the ending “logically” follows from what is axiomatically pre-established in the fictional world, and at reaffirming or confuting what is held to be true by the implied

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 226

226 Reception spectator. Both the archetypal and absurdist structures will prove efficient only if the real synchronic audience adheres to an established value system, especially if it is this system that is the object of reaffirmation or criticism. As suggested above, Bernarda’s fervor in observing her own ethos transfers the responsibility for the catastrophe to the established culture that promotes this ethos. Since it is the obsolete values of honor and pseudo-Christianity that cause the absurd consequences of the overall action, the intention of García Lorca was to produce an experience of the absurd for both the implied and the real spectators. This absurdist structure, which partially follows the model of Euripides, cannot be enjoyed as an overall metaphor of order and, since it is meant to shock the implied spectator, it is also meant to prevent catharsis. However, in contrast to Euripides, García Lorca not only brings the action to its absurd consequences, while undermining the notions of ‘honor’ and ‘class’, but also advocates the alternative value of humans’ inherent right to realize whatever potential is bestowed upon them by nature (Maria Josefa). In principle, the intended experience of the absurd is achieved only if indeed the real audience adheres to the criticized values. This rhetoric structure, however, may lead to a diametrically opposed experience if the implied spectator, which is supposed to reflect an intuition of the real one, changes its expectations. While García Lorca addressed an audience whose vast majority still endorsed the traditional values of Spanish society, Espert addressed the audiences of London and Tel Aviv whose vast majority had already adopted the alternative values advocated by the playwright. Therefore, the implied spectators of both productions must have changed too. She could have and probably had expected that the absurdity of this fictional world would reaffirm these audiences’ newly-adopted beliefs and values. The pre-structuration that characterizes the rhetoric structure of a fictional world, its enthymematic structure in particular, in presupposing the validity of what is held to be true or valid by the spectator, implies that the truth value of such a world is negligible. This also applies to the alternative values promoted by this fictional world; it follows that the value that García Lorca places on natural drives is not necessarily more valid than the criticized ones. Moreover, in present times there is a tendency to see in these alternative values – reflecting the redemptive power of the energies of nature — a measure of naïvety. In any case, it is the audience’s new set of values that determined the alternative implied experience of Espert’s productions. Paradoxically, despite her declared extreme fidelity to the play-script, the concluding implied experience was probably totally different to that of the original première. It is the nature of the implied spectator and its vital contribution that determine the ultimate meaning of a performance-text.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 227

Implied Spectator 227

Thinking experimentation As suggested above, the cognitive impact of the theatre performance-text on the implied spectator has hardly been addressed in theatre theory. Following Aristotle’s Poetics, theoretical attempts to explain the theatre experience have focused on its emotional impact; catharsis in particular; and, following Hegel’s philosophy, they have focused on its ethical impact. In contrast, the thesis of this study is that the collective theatre experience operates, first and foremost, on a cognitive level, similarly to experimentation in a laboratory, in probing the possible consequences of thoughts/drives embodied in fictional interactions. The theatre experience thus enables the spectator to explore, under conditions of safe and well defined circumstances, possible courses of events, without actual involvement; i.e., by merely thinking about them in the particular modes of imagistic representation and fictional thinking that characterize the fictional arts. The spectators’ collective experiences are thus deemed equivalent to thinking experiments (see chapter 17). Each implied/real spectator is expected to determine whether the thought embodied in a description of a fictional world, should be experienced as true or false.

@ The process of generating theatre meaning presupposes the interaction and cooperation of both a descriptive text and an implied (or real) spectator. The widespread assumption that both the implied and real spectators are passive participants in this process is, therefore, groundless. The assumption that all is in the text; meaning that in performance analysis the contribution of the spectator, in addition to decoding, should not be taken into account, is a methodological mistake that can be termed the ‘textual fallacy’. Future theatre research should further expose these new conclusions to falsification (see next chapter).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 228

17 Theatre as Thinking Laboratory A fundamental thesis of this study is that the collective theatre experience operates on the cognitive level, in exploring thoughts embodied in performance-texts, similarly to thinking experiments. It actually enables the spectators to examine, in the context of well defined circumstances, possible courses of events, without their actual involvement; i.e., by merely thinking about them in the particular modes of representation and thinking that characterize the theatre medium. The spectator’s experience is thus a thinking experiment. Each spectator is expected to determine whether the thought embodied in a description of a fictional world is experienced as true or false. As suggested above, this study presupposes that thinking is a combination of a mode of representation and a mode of thinking; that theatre’s typical mode of representation is imagistic/iconic and its typical mode of thinking is fictional (Rozik, 2008a & 2009); and that these modes of representation and thinking are rooted in the preverbal psyque. Since I have previously considered the imagistic mode of representation and the fictional mode of thinking, I proceed here to (a) consider the verbal/discursive mode of scientific thinking; (b) compare the theatrical and scientific modes of representation and thinking; and, (c) explore the thesis that theatre operates as a thinking laboratory.

Scientific mode of thinking In contrast to theatre, a scientific text is generated by language, which is a mode of representation and a medium that enables thinking and communicating thinking. Furthermore, scientific thinking is generated by the verbal mode of representation and its mode of thinking is discursive; i.e., proceeds by logical means such as experimenting, exposing theses to falsification and demonstrating. Scientific thinking epitomizes the potentialities of language in assisting the cultural endeavor to understand the real world.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 229

Theatre as Thinking Laboratory 229 Following Austin’s theory of speech activity a scientific text should be perceived as a macro-speech act that employs language in a performative capacity (Austin, 1980). Such an act is ‘assertive’ in committing the scientist “to the truth of the expressed proposition [the thesis]” (Searle, 1986: 12– 13), and to provide appropriate evidence for its truth, which is the result of experimentation. Such a thesis usually offers a novel and better explanation of observable facts. By definition, the scientific mode of thinking is engaged in the search for truth; and the manner of demonstrating a thesis reflects the fundamental nature of this mode of thinking. The paradox lies in that this intention often results in the invalidation of findings, previously perceived as true, and in positing novel theories, which also claim to be true. In contrast to the commonplace view that science is inductive in nature, Karl R. Popper contends that empirical science is fundamentally deductive. The inductive view presupposes that empirical science “passes from singular statements (sometimes also called ‘particular’ statements), such as accounts of the results of observations, experiments or applications, to universal statements; such as hypotheses or theories. . . . [However] any conclusion drawn in this way may always turn out to be false: no matter how many instances of white swans we may have observed, this does not justify the conclusion that all swans are white” (Popper: 27). Popper claims, in contrast to previous perceptions, that the predictions to be tested by experimentation are deduced from non-testable theories. It is because of this deductive relationship that the falsification of a particular prediction “also falsifies the theory from which [the prediction has been] logically deduced” (p. 33). This is a felicitous insight. However, arguably, it is the transitional stage of probing a prediction by observations or experiments, and through them probing a theory, and even the suggestion of an alternative theory, that may also justify the inductive view of science, whereby theoretical inferences are made from particular statements to universal statements. Actually, there is nothing to prevent scientific thinking from being both deductive and inductive in its various stages of considerations; while both methods being logic in nature. Whereas it is reasonable to question whether or not such inferences are logically justified, if probing a prediction can undermine a theory, it can also support it, at least temporarily (on the grounds of the principle that no proposition can be false if it cannot be true). In Popper’s view, what characterizes science is not induction, but “its manner of exposing to falsification, in every conceivable way, the system to be tested. Its aim is not to save the lives of untenable systems but, on the contrary, to select the one which is by comparison the fittest, by exposing them all to the fiercest struggle for survival” (p. 42). Testing a statement’ thus means here ‘exposure to falsification’. In principle, no statement is true or false in itself, because what counts is whether or not a state of affairs satisfies its truth conditions. ‘False’ thus means that a given state of affairs does not satisfy the truth conditions of a scientific thesis, in contrast to prediction. Popper thus concludes: “I hold that scientific theories are never fully justifi-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 230

230 Reception able or verifiable, but that they are nevertheless testable” (p. 44). “The game of science is, therefore, without end. He who decides one day that scientific statements do not call for any further test, and that they can be regarded as finally verified, retires from the game” (p. 53). For Popper, “the objectivity of scientific statements lies in the fact that they can be inter-subjectively tested” (p. 44). In other words, the same result is expected to be “regularly reproduced by anyone who carries out the appropriate experiment in the way prescribed” (p. 45). And yet in his view, the hallmark of the scientific mode of thinking is not falsification per se but the actual testing or, rather, the exposure to falsification. In testing a particular statement and, by implication, a universal statement (a theory), which cannot be tested, there is a basic asymmetry: whereas recurrent positive results of experiments “can only temporarily support [an established] theory . . . subsequent [negative results] “may always overthrow it” (p. 33); i.e., undermine the explanatory power of a theory. Testability is thus the hallmark of empirical science. Although Popper qualifies the applicability of the notion of ‘truth’ to the realm of science, he is fully aware of scientific progress when it comes to the world of experience. Despite the crucial and asymmetric role of disproof in falsifying theories, falsification is the engine that drives scientific knowledge because it generates alternative theories with greater explanatory power. As Popper puts it: “Theories are nets cast to catch what we call ‘the world’: to rationalize, to explain and to master it; [i.e.,] to make the mesh ever finer and finer” (p. 59). However, there is no scientific method that can determine the absolute truth of a theory, because no theory is exempt from falsification, and all theories are likely to be superseded. Science, lacking an Archimedean point, is therefore an endless approximation to truth. Popper’s approach, no doubt, is a clear attempt to solve the paradox of the incessant invalidations of previous “true” predictions and theories that characterize science. Whereas Popper stresses the falsifying and asymmetric role of experiments whose results may contradict theory-deduced predictions, Thomas S. Kuhn sees such results as anomalies, only from the point of view of a normal science (cf. Kuhn: 146). For him, ‘normal science’ means research firmly based upon a certain ‘paradigm’; i.e., the set of “scientific . . . achievements that some particular scientific community acknowledges for a time as supplying the foundations for its further practice” (p. 10). An ‘anomaly’ is thus any result that does not fit the established paradigm of a particular scientific community, but is assumed to be the expected result of an alternative paradigm (pp. 52–3). Thus Kuhn’s theory of the basic mechanism of scientific revolutions shows how anomaly operates as the fundamental drive to new scientific discoveries that underlie the continuous interchange of scientific theories. A basic distinction should be made, therefore, between an experiment that fails and an experiment that results in anomaly, which disproves a theory and promotes theoretical change. Whereas the former is the result of

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 231

Theatre as Thinking Laboratory 231 poor scientific competence and devoid of theoretical implications, the latter requires a paradigmatic shift (35). Notwithstanding, the crucial role of anomaly thus reveals that the pursuit of truth epitomizes the basic drive of empirical science. Despite differences, a model of scientific progress that combines Popper’s and Kuhn’s theories can be suggested: the predictions of Kuhn’s ‘normal science’ mean that experiments made on the grounds of an established paradigm can only demonstrate the ‘deductions’ from these theories, in Popper’s terms. It can be claimed therefore, that, at some stage, normal science does not promote genuine knowledge anymore, which only a paradigmatic shift can do. The progress of science is thus not cumulative and does not proceed linearly, but is cyclical and revolutionary in nature. Normal science inherently produces not only positive results but also anomalous ones, which on the one hand may falsify established theories and on the other hand may stimulate the creation of novel ones. The accumulation of anomalies produces a sense of crisis in the scientific community that explains the necessity for a scientific revolution or, rather, an abrupt shift of paradigms, which results in a struggle between obsolete and novel paradigms and, eventually, in the victory of the alternative one (Kuhn: 66–76): Discovery commences with the awareness of anomaly, i.e., with the recognition that nature has somehow violated the paradigm-induced expectations that govern normal science. . . . And it closes only when the paradigm theory has been adjusted so that the anomalous has become the expected. . . . [i.e., when] the scientist has learned to see nature in a different way. (pp. 52–3)

Such a struggle between old and new paradigms recalls ‘natural selection’, which leads to the survival of the fittest (Kuhn: 146; cf. Popper: 42): “When, in the development of a natural science, an individual or group produces a synthesis able to attract most of the next generation’s practitioners, the older schools gradually disappear” (Kuhn: 18). The paradigm, which excels in explaining anomalies as well as previous findings, is finally accepted (ibid.), thus becoming the new paradigm of normal science, which commences a new cycle. Consequently, I suggest that the attempt to formulate a novel theory that is capable of explaining an anomalous result of experimentation is inductive in nature. The main implications of Kuhn’s approach are: (a) being a human enterprise, science is basically conservative; (b) the scientific endeavor is endless, because “no paradigm . . . ever completely resolves all the problems” (p. 79); (c) it is the anomalies that lead to new discoveries and to the progress of knowledge; and (d) science thus remains in a state of constant uncertainty vis-à-vis the world. It is clear, therefore, that Kuhn too attempts to solve the paradox of science in its constant interchange of theories by arguing that this is the only possible mechanism of scientific progress. The crucial implication is that despite scientific intentionality, the scientific game cannot be judged

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 232

232 Reception solely by the truth of its results. For in science ‘true’ is the most accurate description of nature available at a time, with scientific texts being governed by the rules of the scientific mode of thinking.

Theatrical thinking – A comparison The fictional and scientific modes of thinking are fundamentally different: whereas the former is basically metaphoric the latter is basically literal. They also differ in their modes of representation and communication (imagistic/iconic vs. verbal). Moreover, whereas the imagistic/iconic mode of representation and the fictional mode of thinking, which characterize the theatre, are intimately related due to both reflecting the biologically rooted mode of preverbal thinking, which was superseded by verbal thinking, the scientific mode of thinking is umbilically related to the advent and eventual supremacy of language and logic. However, both these modes of thinking share a cognitive intent. Against this common background, the following comparison stresses their similarities, while marginalizing their obvious differences. The levels of comparison are: (a) rhetoric intent, (b) experimentation, (c) inter-subjective verification, and (d) change of paradigms. a) Rhetoric intent: Both iconic-fictional and verbal-scientific texts are particular instances of ‘rhetoric macro-speech acts’, similar to political speeches and sermons; i.e., they aim at persuading the receivers that a fictional or scientific text conveys a kind of truth. Since persuasion is the precondition for the success of a rhetoric act/action, both kinds of text should be judged not only in terms of ‘truth’ or ‘falsity’, but also in terms of the ‘success’ or ‘failure’ of their rhetoric persuasive intent (Dijk: 174–6). However, whereas a scientific text aims at persuading its receivers that its thesis is true; the theatre-text usually aims at persuading them that it reaffirms (or confutes) what is held to be true. In his attempt to elucidate the notion of ‘truth’, Austin presupposes the mutual independence of a verbal description and a state of affairs, and the possible correspondence between them: “when a statement is true, there is of course, a state of affairs which makes it true and which is toto mundo distinct from the true statement about it” (Austin, 1964: 23). Similarly, Searle argues that only if a referential state of affairs satisfies the ‘truth conditions’ of a description, it is true (Searle, 1985: 62). This means that a description is not true or false in itself. It rather sets the semantic conditions for a referential state of affairs to either verify or falsify it. Thus, for example, ‘it is raining’ is true only if it is actually raining at the moment of uttering this sentence. This means that the same sentence can be either true or false depending on the referent; i.e., verification is possible only if it can be demonstrated that the referential state of affairs satisfies the truth conditions of its description. It follows, according to Austin, that a sentence cannot be true if

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 233

Theatre as Thinking Laboratory 233 by the same token it cannot be false (Austin, 1980: 70). In this sense, a scientific thesis relates to a state of affairs, which can determine whether it is true or false. ‘Truth’ thus means that “the words used [are] the ones conventionally appointed for situations to the type to which that referred to belongs” (Austin, 1964: 25). In other words, “the correlation between the words (i.e., sentences) and the type of [referred] situation, event, etc. . . . is absolutely and purely conventional” (ibid. 24); with ‘correlation’ meaning that a description employs the words and syntactic patterns that language conventionally offers for such a state of affairs. In contrast, the rhetoric aim of a theatre-text is not to persuade that a fictional world is true in the scientific sense, but to extend the sphere of persuasion to the ‘experience of truth’; i.e., to the corroboration of what the receiver holds to be true (Rozik, 2008a: 133–45). To account for this difference, Aristotle employed the notion of ‘enthymeme’, which unlike the syllogism (typical of scientific deduction), its premises, are not necessarily true but held to be true by the objects of persuasion (Rhetoric: 75; cf. chapter 15). The enthymematic principle thus aims at demonstrating that a certain conclusion “logically” follows from the axioms held to be true by a cultural community. This explains, for example, why politicians can persuade people, sharing their axioms, to accept their conclusions, but cannot persuade those adhering to different axioms. The enthymematic principle implies that a fictional world is pre-structured to produce an experience of truth, with the intention being not to assert anything new, but rather to produce a sense of reaffirmation (or confutation) of a widely-accepted belief. In the scientific sense, in principle, the truth value of a fictional world is thus negligible. Rhetoric pre-structuration is embodied in fictional worlds whatever is the overall intention (see chapter 15). The enthymematic principle thus explains why the audience’s shared beliefs are the ground for the fictional experience to take off. In theatre, the established beliefs of a cultural community are usually put to the test under extreme circumstances, whether the fictional action eventually reaffirms or confutes them, which is the cognitive input of a fictional experience. This kind of testing explains how even the reaffirmation of a held belief should be seen as a cognitive gain: from initial uncertainty, with life providing plenty of counter-examples, to eventual certainty. In addition, since the probing of beliefs produces suspense, a euphemism for fear, the emotional side effects of the cognitive experience are either cathartic or shocking (absurdist). Therefore, ‘cognitive gain’ also applies to the reaffirmation of held values. The notion of ‘ethos’ should apply to all that is valuable in the eyes of the synchronic spectator, including moral, and religious values, and beliefs. Therefore, rather than Hegel’s metaphysical ‘substance of ethical life’ (pp. 1196–7), it is the ethos of a particular cultural community—what Aristotle terms ‘philanthropon’ — that constitutes the said common ground of the theatre experience (Poetics, XIII, 2; cf. chapter 13).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 234

234 Reception The rhetoric intent embodied in a fictional world, which is to produce an experience of truth, reveals that, similarly to scientific thinking, the aim is cognitive in nature. Given these possible effects of a fictional world, it is clear why its rhetorical analysis must be synchronic, for any pre-determined effect must be conjectured not only on the basis of universal patterns of response, but also of a specific cultural ethos. No specific cognitive effect can be envisaged for any possible audience. b) Experimentation: As suggested by Kuhn, any experiment presupposes what is held to be true by a given scientific community, what he terms ‘normal science’; and, in this sense, the scientific paper too may reflect a rhetoric/enthymematic structure. This possible conclusion, however, does not abolish profound differences. Assumedly, scientific thinking relies on experimentation, which is meant to provide the indications of the actual state of affairs, which either substantiate predictions or not. Whereas scientists are motivated by the search for objective truth and believe that their experiments support particular statements and thus the theories from which these are deduced, for authors of fictional worlds the sole aim for readers/spectators is to have no more than an experience of truth on the grounds of what is held to be true. For such an experience objective truth is quite inconsequential. Authors of fictional worlds too may believe that it is the search of (objective) truth that motivates their search. Indeed, the search of truth may be perceived as a particular instance of aiming at the experience of truth. Therefore, despite differences, the search of truth in fictional texts should not be underestimated. Although enthymematic pre-structuration seems to preclude the search for truth through the creation of fictional worlds, which embody pre-determined courses of actions, the advent of naturalism brought about a paradigmatic shift, probably following Émile Zola’s idea of transmuting the theatre into a thinking laboratory. This led to the development of a new dimension in modernist drama: the attempt to liberate works from their typical enthymematic structure (Zola: 377–9). Instead of reaffirming established beliefs, modernist playwrights tend to undermine erroneous preconceptions by exposing real psychical and/or social mechanisms; as in the works of Büchner, Ibsen, Strindberg, Chekhov, Gorky, Hauptmann, García Lorca, and Brecht. In The Seagull (1895), for example, Anton Chekhov created a world in which there is, at least, an attempt to promote a genuine truth. He partially renounces pre-structuration (based on established values), but maintains it on a different level. He dramatizes the insight that people often ruin their lives due to unfounded expectations, which derive from false pre-conceptions, through four characters that embody different attitudes to their dreams and to their failure to realize them. Although his “demonstration” can be experienced as true or false in the fictional rather than in the scientific sense, Chekhov plausibly reveals that, under certain conditions, a fictional world too may embody and satisfy an undeniable cognitive goal. Another example: Hauptmann’s The Weavers (1892) explores extreme

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 235

Theatre as Thinking Laboratory 235 poverty as a possible cause of insurrection. This play, which is a microcosmic representation of the playwright’s contemporary society, ends with the striking weavers successfully driving the oppressing army out of town. But this happy ending, hardly perceived as such by the contemporary bourgeois audience, subverts the logic of exploitation: the weavers live in an absurd world in which the landlords starve to death those whom they wish to exploit; like parasites, they aim at exterminating the source of their own livelihood. Maxim Gorky’s Enemies (1906) too creates a similar microcosm. Focusing on the striking workers of a factory, the play-script is meant to disclose the bourgeois paradox of seeing the working class as their enemy. As Levshin tells Nadya: “We are not your enemies, You are [your own enemies]!” Brecht’s notion of ‘Verfremdungseffekt’, or ‘defamiliarizing’ effect, mistakenly translated into ‘alienation’, and often used in current performance analysis, presupposes that a fictional world should break the spectators’ illusion or, rather, total involvement, in order to undermine their rooted preconceptions; i.e., to change their cognitive attitude toward social reality (Willett: various; see index). These approaches, however, do not relinquish pre-structuration; they simply pre-structure their worlds on different grounds: the spontaneous expectation for truth. Rather than eventually ratifying or refuting established beliefs, they probe false pre-conceptions that are held to be true. Consequently, in this regard at least, they are in line with traditional theatre. Since pre-structuration is the principle that underpins the cognitive mechanism of fictional worlds, relinquishing it altogether would probably mean relinquishing fictional authorship. The tension between the search of truth and the experience of truth is fundamental in modernist drama. Despite limitations, I believe that naturalistic fictional worlds opened the way to a pure cognitive endeavor. However, the possibility of a genuine theatrical thinking laboratory has yet to be fully demonstrated. This is one of the tasks of future theatre research. Nonetheless, experimentation is not altogether absent in theatre. As suggested above, usually, a fictional world follows the character’s path from a tabooed drive or a fallacious pre-conception to its possible consequences, under given socio-cultural circumstances. In other words, it explores the possible consequences of actually engaging in such a course of events, without endangering the spectator, just for the purpose of thinking. In this restricted sense, it is a genuine thinking laboratory. c) Inter-subjective validation: The theatre experience is not only equivalent to scientific experimentation, but also implements the principle of ‘inter-subjective verification’, as suggested by Popper. A scientific experiment is meant to provide the objective data that, assumedly, inter-subjectively verifies a thesis by its accurate reproduction when performed by another scientist (Popper: 45). Actually, it is the personal expe-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 236

236 Reception rience of each spectator that probes the fictional thought embodied in a fictional world. Each spectator is implicitly invited to decide whether or not a fictional world is an apt metaphor of his own psychical state of affairs. The collective nature of such an experience and the implicit agreement among spectators may thus provide the synchronic inter-subjective verification that characterizes science, and satisfy the truth conditions set by an embodied fictional thought. It can be claimed, therefore, that the collective nature of the theatre experience too synchronically implements the scientific principle of ‘inter-subjective verification’. The collective consent of synchronic and diachronic audiences is thus equivalent to a set of Petri dishes that enable the biologist, for example, to synchronously perform an entire range of experiments under strict control of conditions, and to diachronically verify the results of other scientists by accurately reproducing such experiments. Although the fundamental difference between searching for truth and seeking for an experience of truth cannot be ignored, cognitive similarity still obtains. d) Change of paradigms: According to the scientific mode of thinking, anomalies are findings that do not necessarily invalidate previous ones, but encourage the scientist to adopt an alternative paradigm that can explain both the normal and the anomalous findings; and by doing so to redefine earlier achievements, thus promoting the progress of human knowledge. It might appear that theatre does not operate this way. It is not the main intent of theatre to promote the progress of knowledge. Neither is its intent to incite political change. Nonetheless, by bringing an ethical system to its absurd consequences, it may produce a sense of crisis and contribute to its reconsideration and even change into a new ethos or, rather, into a more fitting ethical paradigm; for example, Euripides’ Bacchae that invalidates the divinity of Dionysus. In this sense, the theatre may bring about ethical revolutions, similarly to the scientific revolutions suggested by Kuhn.

@ In the light of these considerations, and despite fundamental differences, the scientific and fictional modes of thinking reveal similarities not envisaged before. While the cognitive intent of theatre is not prominent, its peculiar ways of experimentation and verification are quite evident. Nonetheless, the theatre experience is not scientific in nature, but is definitely part of the cognitive enterprise of humankind. The theatre enables the spectator to explore the potentialities of human nature, under conditions of changing ethical systems. Consequently, the collective theatre experience is indeed a thinking laboratory. Future theatre research should expose these insights to falsification or provide further support for this cognitive dimension of the theatre experience.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 237

18 Vicarious Theatre Experience The nature of the spectator’s involvement in what happens within a fictional world has been an object of inquiry since ancient times. Aristotle explained this involvement, in experiencing tragedy, in terms of ‘pity’ and ‘fear’: “for pity is aroused by unmerited misfortune, fear by the misfortune of a man like ourselves” (Poetics, XIII, 2; my italics). He also implies that the spectators’ willingness to expose themselves to fearful narratives reflects the anticipation of a specific kind of pleasure: tragic catharsis (ibid. VI, 2). This effect is presumably produced through a sudden release of ‘anxiety’ or, rather, ‘tension’ – two euphemisms for ‘fear’. I have suggested elsewhere that the same mechanism of sudden release of anxiety/tension explains comedic catharsis as well (Rozik, 2011b: 39–42; cf. ibid. XIII, 8). Quite recent theories have applied similar principles in order to explain the spectator’s extreme involvement or detachment, in terms of (a) ‘identification’, which also presupposes a similarity between the receiver and the motive or predicament of a (usually major) character that generates genuine concern (an additional euphemism for fear) for the character’s fate (cf. Pavis, 1996: 176–8). This thesis is more specific than the somewhat vague Aristotelian thesis of “fear by the misfortune of a man like ourselves”; and (b) in terms of ‘verfremdungseffekt’ (defamiliarization; see Brecht in Willett: various), which presupposes extreme identification and its intentional disruption for the purpose of a detached and cognitive attitude to the fictional world, for the purpose of possibly gaining a meaningful insight into reality. I accept the fact that fictional worlds may and do arouse anxiety; but, in this study, I explore the spectator’s involvement/detachment from a different and probably complementary perspective, and suggest that the receiver’s involvement is also explained by the vicarious nature of the theatre experience. In the following paragraphs, initially, I intend to recapitulate my considerations regarding fictional worlds as thoughts, generated by the imagistic/iconic mode of representation and fictional mode of thinking,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 238

238 Reception which are potentially self-referential and metaphoric for the receiver; and then explore the thesis that the theatre experience is vicarious in nature.

Fictional thoughts In his seminal article “Creative Writers and Daydreaming”, Freud asks a crucial question: “from what sources . . . the creative writer draws his material, and how he manages to make such an impression on us with it and to arouse in us emotions of which, perhaps, we had not even thought ourselves capable?” (1990a: 131) His answer is that this source is similar to that of the imaginative play of children: “The creative writer does the same as the child at play. He creates a world of phantasy which he takes very seriously . . . while separating it sharply from reality” (ibid. 132). I assume that Freud’s ‘world of phantasy’ is what is termed ‘fictional world’ in this study. It is noteworthy that in the aforementioned article, Freud does not suggest dreaming, which, according to his own theory, is the primordial generator of fictional worlds. In his The Interpretation of Dreams, he observes that, “dreams [and by implication daydreams too] think essentially in images” (1978: 113; my italics); and “[d]reams construct a situation out of these images; they represent an event which is actually happening; as Spita . . . puts it, they dramatize an idea. . . . we appear not to think but to experience” (ibid. 114–15). The implication is that, in fact, in dreaming we are actually thinking through the creation of a dramatic situation/action, and not experiencing it. The following are principles discussed in the precious chapters and prove essential to the discussion below: 1) Fictional worlds are figments of the imagination that necessitate a medium in order to enable the communication of imagistic/fictional thoughts (see chapter 1). 2) The creation of fictional worlds indicates the existence of an imagistic mode of representation and thinking and, therefore, in dreams and daydreams, spontaneous fictional worlds constitute fictional/imagistic thoughts (see chapter 11). 3) Dreams are self-referential thoughts; i.e., thoughts that refer to the dreamers themselves (see chapter 3). 4) The dream is a self-referential thought generated by the unconscious imagistic mode of representation, which metaphorically describes and refers to the dreamer’s unconscious state of affairs (see chapter 3). 5) The possible use of images for thinking is corroborated through quite recent findings in neurobiology (Kosslyn, 1995: 1–5 & 1996: 959–61; & Damasio: 96–100; cf. Rozik, 2002a: 247–9; see chapter 1). 6) The human brain thus spontaneously produces fictional/imagistic and self-referential worlds that embody thoughts in the sense of potentially form-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 239

Vicarious Theatre Experience 239 ulating, i.e., bestowing form on the amorphous stirrings of the dreamers’ psyches (see chapter 3). 7) Not only dreams, and daydreams, but also imaginative play of children, and fictional creativity reflect this innate faculty of the psyche; namely, the use of mental or imprinted images for the description of imaginative worlds, which are self-referential thoughts (see chapter 11). In Play, Dreams and Imitation in Childhood, Jean Piaget provides empirical support for the thesis that imaginative play (‘symbolic play’ in his terms) reflects a particular mode of thinking, similar to dreams and daydreams: In most cases, indeed, the doll only serves as an opportunity for the child to re-live symbolically her own life in order to assimilate more easily its various aspects as well as to resolve daily conflicts and realise unsatisfied desires. We can be sure that all the happenings, pleasant or unpleasant, in the child’s life will have repercussions on her dolls. (p. 107; my italics)

Playing children are thus reconsidering and reshaping past experiences, or considering possible ones, implying thereby that they are thinking, and that the resulting thoughts are self-referential: “Even games with dolls, which might lend themselves to a special interpretation, are . . . an infinitely varied symbolic system which provides the child with all the means of assimilation it needs in order to rethink past [or possible] experiences” (ibid. 154; my italics). It is noteworthy that Piaget too employs ‘symbol’ in the sense of ‘metaphor’. A crucial question is, therefore: why do children employ symbolism, rather than verbal and conceptual thought? Piaget’s answer is clear: In order to think of a church steeple or a dead duck, or to re-live a scene which took place because one wouldn’t eat one’s soup, would it not suffice to use interior speech, i.e., verbal and conceptual thought? Why imitate the church steeple, lie motionless to mime a duck, make one’s doll drink imaginary soup, scolding or encouraging it the while? The answer is obvious: the child’s interior thought is not as yet sufficiently precise and mobile, his logico-verbal thought is still too inadequate and too vague, while the symbol concretises and animates everything. But this means that the symbol is not to be explained by pre-exercise: it is the very structure of the child’s thought. (ibid. 154–5; my italics)

By ‘structure of thought’ Piaget plausibly means the innate bond between fictional thinking and the imagistic mode of representation and thinking operated in imaginative play. Piaget also contends that when parallel instances of dreaming, daydreaming and playing from the same age are analyzed, they reveal the same mode of thinking, while basing his conclusion on the recurrence of the same symbols (pp. 176–82). For Piaget, dreaming, daydreaming, and playing are forms of thinking

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 240

240 Reception through the same mode of representation, regardless of thinking contents, whether conscious or unconscious, and whether egocentric or socialized. All these mental activities reflect thinking through the creation of fictional worlds. It is sensible to conclude, therefore, that the artistic creation of fictional worlds inherits the very same mode of imagistic/fictional thinking, albeit culturally conditioned.

Metaphoric predication As suggested above, the expression of a single psyche through a multiple world of characters and their actions can only be explained by the metaphoric principle (see chapter 3). The metaphoric principle is necessarily invoked due to the fundamental gap, to various extents, between the fictional world of a play or a dream/daydream and its referent: the psyche of the playing or dreaming individual. Since the psychoanalytic school perceives ‘metaphor’ in terms of ‘symbol’, it is sensible to rephrase Jung’s conclusion in metaphoric terms: “the dream is a spontaneous self-portrayal, in metaphoric form, of the actual situation in the unconscious” (cf. Jung, 1974: 49; my italics). I note that like Freud, his mentor, Piaget does not operate the notion of ‘reference’. Piaget clearly presupposes that imaginative play creates worlds that are metaphoric and self-referential descriptions of the playing child’s psychical states of affairs; for example: A child, who has been made jealous by the birth of a younger brother and happens to be playing with two dolls of unequal size, will make the smaller one go away on a journey, while the bigger one stays with its mother. Assuming that the child is unaware that he is thinking of his younger brother and himself, we shall call a case of this kind secondary and unconscious symbolism. (Piaget: 171; my italics)

The dolls are inherently different from the playing child and, therefore, they are only potential mental metaphors of his real world. The different sizes of the dolls constitute the common literal modifiers that make metaphor meaningful. As suggested above, fictional thinking implies that the psyche is spontaneously split up into several agencies and/or wishes/drives; and that each of these is personified by a human character. The fictional world is thus an instance of personification, which is a particular kind of metaphor whose improper associative sources lie in the human domain (see chapter 3). The expression of a single psyche through a world of characters and their actions implies that personification is multiple In personification the apparent improperness (to the psychical state of affairs), which characterizes metaphor, is already found and should be seen as a reliable indicator of the potential metaphoric nature of the entire

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 241

Vicarious Theatre Experience 241 fictional world (see chapter 3). The gist of the overall fictional metaphor lies in its ability to describe and express a psychical state of affairs through the literal modifiers/predicates shared by such a world and the receiver’s world, and the (verbal and nonverbal) associations originating in the experience of the improper elements of a fictional world. Following a pre-determined associative process, apparent improperness potentially results in utmost adequacy. It might appear that, in addition to apparent improperness, a metaphor refers simultaneously to two referents — the fictional world, which is both its direct object of description and the receiver’s psychical state of affairs; contradicting thereby the notion of ‘description’, which presupposes a single referent (see chapter 3). However, if the fictional world is perceived as the metaphoric term of the fictional experience, which is predicative in nature, its referential function is unfounded and, therefore, it is only the psychical state of affairs of the experiencing receiver that emerges as its single and ultimate referent. Apparent double reference thus results in actual single reference. It is thus the initial apparent improperness and apparent double reference that indicate the possibility of a potential metaphoric predication, which eventually proves utmost appropriateness and single reference. As suggested above, a phenomenon of interchange of referents takes place in the act of experiencing a fictional world (see chapter 3). Consequently, description of a fictional world is a potential macro-metaphoric and self-referential description/expression of the receiver’s amorphous psychical state of affairs.

Ontogenetic development Freud also suggests that in the development of a child (ontogenesis), at a given stage, imaginative playing is replaced by daydreaming, which in turn is later replaced by experiencing literary fictional worlds (1990a: 133). He thus implies that these are consecutive manifestations of the same mental faculty, the creation of macro-images of ‘worlds of phantasy’ (fictional worlds). First, in regard to Freud’s claim that in the development of a child daydreaming replaces imaginative play: “The growing child, when he stops playing, gives up nothing but the link with real objects; instead of playing, he now phantasi[z]es. He builds castles in the air and creates what are called daydreams” (1990a: 133). The reason given for this substitution lies in that an adult is embarrassed by his own fantasies and is eager to conceal them in front of others: “Some of the wishes which give rise to his phantasies are of a kind which it is essential to conceal. Thus he is ashamed of his phantasies as being childish and as being unpermissible” (ibid. 134, my italics; cf. p. 140). Indeed, in Freud’s view, the typical wishes underlying daydreaming are “either ambitious wishes, which serve to elevate the subject’s personality; or they are erotic ones” (ibid. 134). It is implied, therefore, that while some

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 242

242 Reception fantasies are shameful, the daydreamer conceals them from others (cf. ibid. 136), and some, it should be added, are illicit and repulsive to consciousness, and the dreamer has to conceal them even from himself, i.e., to suppress them into the unconscious. On such grounds, Freud contends that there is a transition from imaginative play to daydreaming, under the assumption that they share the same mode of representation and thinking. The difference between them: while children’s imaginative play is manifested outwardly, through imprinting images on their own bodies and/or other real objects, and thus open to the scrutiny of others, daydreaming is manifested inwardly, through projecting (intangible) mental images within the mind, like in dreams and, therefore, safe from scrutiny. Freud also contends that daydreaming is later on replaced by experiencing literary fictional worlds (1990a: 137–41). He illustrates this transition through the analysis of minor literary genres, such as the Gothic novel, which clearly represent the readers’ embarrassing wishes, and whose daydreaming nature is betrayed by the significant role of the hero, a personification of “His Majesty the Ego, the hero alike of every daydream and every story” (ibid. 138). Moreover, the fact that the hero succeeds in all his endeavors and “that all the women in the novel invariably fall in love with him can hardly be looked on as a portrayal of reality, but it is easily understood as a necessary constituent of a daydream” (ibid.; cf. Rank). The creative writer thus enables the reader to daydream “in broad daylight” (ibid. 137), i.e., with no shame. The transition from daydreaming to experiencing fiction is thus explained by that the latter legitimize daydreaming through openly enabling its public indulgence. There is a problem, however, with more challenging genres, which often deal not only with embarrassing drives, but also with suppressed ones; e.g., Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. Freud claims that “even the most extreme deviations from that model could be linked with it through an uninterrupted series of transitional cases” (1990a: 138); however, he provides neither rules for such transformations, nor pertinent examples. Nonetheless, this model of transition, at least from daydreaming to literary fiction, is quite sensible. The question is whether or not it suits the theatre experience. Piaget adds to this model a further transition: “Dreams are a continuation of symbolic [metaphoric] play” (p. 202). He supports this conclusion by the observation that similar symbols appear in imaginative play and dreams. However, under the assumption that dreaming is a primordial phenomenon, rooted in the biological heritage of mankind (phylogenesis), it is difficult to conceive of it as the sequel of imaginative play, and since the reporting of dreams presupposes a relative mastery of language, I suggest that the real transition occurs from dreaming to both imaginative play and daydreaming. Moreover, I do not see why these two mental activities cannot coexist at the same age. Consequently, on the grounds of both Freud’s and Piaget’s theories, I

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 243

Vicarious Theatre Experience 243 suggest an alternative model of ontogenetic development: (a) dreams are the primordial phenomenon, in reflecting the spontaneous, biologically-generated and innate faculty of the brain to produce metaphoric/symbolic mental images and think through them; and both daydreaming and imaginative playing are its natural sequels; with both already incorporating elements of language and embryonic cultural metaphoric/symbolic motifs. (b) Since at a certain age children start playing concurrently with daydreaming, rather than daydreaming being an internalization of play, we should view children’s imaginative play as an externalization of the imagistic mode of thinking typical of dreaming and daydreaming. And (c) since the difference between concealing fictional thinking and opening it to scrutiny is a central consideration, it is reasonable to conjecture that the transition from daydreaming to the reading of literary fiction makes sense, due to both being private experiences; and that the transition from imaginative play to theatre fictionality makes even more sense, due to both being relatively open-to-scrutiny instances of the fictional mode of thinking. Moreover, since in playing children imprint mental images on their own bodies, which also characterizes stage acting, they already reveal a spontaneous mode of enacting a fictional world (Rozik, 2002a: 270–92). I conclude, therefore, that both literature and theatre, each of them through its own medium, describe fictional worlds that confront the readers/spectators not only with shameful matters, but quite often also with suppressed contents of the psyche. Indeed, there are fictional worlds generated by the theatre medium that, like dreams, delve into the depths of the unconscious; e.g., Electra’s animosity to her mother in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers and Oedipus’ animosity to his father in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King.

Delegating imaginative play The fictional worlds created in dreaming and daydreaming are mental activities that reflect a mode of thinking. These are figments of the imagination, which cannot be communicated unless their images are either imprinted on matter or translated into words; i.e., unless they are attached to a perceptible medium. Because of the diffuse nature of imagistic signifieds, which may even include personal associations, the mediation of a language too is a prerequisite for their communication (see chapter 1). The imprinting of images and language mediation result in iconic units, which bestow communicative ability on mental images. Although the element of similarity that characterizes images does not necessarily apply to the imprinting matter, the theatre medium is characterized by imprinting images on materials, similar to those of their real models; e.g., images of human beings are imprinted on the actors’ real bodies, images of costume on real fabric and images of light on real sources of light (see chapter 1). The culturally-established medium of theatre thus operates iconic

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 244

244 Reception signs/sentences for the purpose of thinking and communicating fictional/imagistic thinking. Playing children too usually enact the various characters of their fictional worlds by imprinting images on their own bodies. They also enact the various roles of a narrative. For example, Karl Groos reports on a spontaneous scenario for an imaginative play: Marie suggests: “Then let’s play that I am a thief, and there is a whole roomful of cakes, and the door is shut, and I cut a hole in it and take all the cakes away, and you are the policeman and run after me and get all the cakes back again.” Frida adds: “And I will take them to my child. Or shall we play birthday?” (p. 307) Marie is giving instructions (stage directions) for a sequence of enacted events — a scenario — following which she will enact the thief and Frida the policeman. Groos explicitly speaks in terms of “dramatic imitation in play” (pp. 300–13). Therefore, the basic common denominator of imaginative play and enacting a fictional narrative on stage is, albeit on different levels of complexity, the creation of an iconic text through an imprinted and language-mediated imagistic description of a fictional world. It is the imprinting of images on matter that reveals the affinity between imaginative play and theatre, despite obvious differences. Indeed, playing children and theatre-actors employ the very same mode of iconic representation: through enacting fictional worlds. However, whereas the former do so spontaneously, the latter employ a well established cultural medium in order to produce ready-made texts to be read and experienced by others, the spectators, in the context of a social permit to confront embarrassing and even suppressed contents of the psyche. Furthermore, since the aim of imaginative play is not communication, but expression, it can be reasonably assumed that the moment children sense, even unconsciously, that the contents of their playing are shameful or taboo, while also being open to scrutiny, they will strive not to renounce them, but to delegate their own thinking and expressive needs to actors, who enact for them ready-made descriptions of fictional worlds by imprinting personified images on their own bodies. Consequently, whereas Freud’s thesis that literary fictional worlds supersede daydreaming is most sensible; it is imaginative play that should be conceived of as a spontaneous precursor of acting, and acting as a culturallydelegated form of imaginative play.

Vicarious experience The notion of ‘vicarious experience’ is usually understood as the realization of a wished experience through the actual experience of somebody else. A subject thus delegates his/her wished experience to a real experiencing subject, who acts for the former by proxy; for example, the sense of victory (or defeat) that fans experience whenever “their” team wins (or loses) a competitive game, such as a soccer match. For such fans, to watch a game

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 245

Vicarious Theatre Experience 245 and win it (or lose it) is not just a matter of watching other people playing and competing, but means total involvement. They may enjoy a victory (or suffer a defeat) even more than the players themselves. The gap between a fan’s experience and that of a neutral onlooker is such that, fundamentally, there is almost no point in watching a game without taking sides. It is clear, therefore, that more than the players are playing for themselves they are playing for their fans, who delegate their playing competences to the soccer players. Their sense of victory (or defeat) is thus a vicarious experience. The vicarious experience of a soccer game may be either literal, if the spectators perceive it for what it is, as reflecting their innermost interest in the game; or metaphoric, if it is perceived, for example, as an expression of the existential craving for success based on superior dexterity in a world organized by ‘constitutive rules’ (cf. Searle, 1986: 33–42). On this level, there would appear to be almost nothing more annoying than a rival’s victory achieved by violating the rules of the game; or, possibly even more so, a defeat brought about by a referee who deliberately violates its strict rules. Although both the literal and metaphoric explanations do not necessarily exclude one another, in most cases, for the fans the metaphoric thesis better explains their total involvement. In being surrogate experiences, particular games/sports may produce more complex metaphors; for example, bullfighting may be a metaphor of the perpetual struggle between the human and the beastly, between the aesthetic and the unaesthetic, or between culture and nature. It can be conjectured, therefore, that not only a non-textual event, but also a textual one can function as a metaphoric description/expression of a psychical state of affairs. Performing arts, such as playing instruments, singing, dancing, and even acting, should also be perceived as enabling surrogate experiences. Anybody with minimal training, if quality is disregarded, can operate such abilities. Receivers may even accompany the performers by subliminally activating the relevant muscles and/or vocal cords. The measure of their pleasure may also be a function of their own previous performing experiences. In this sense too, professional performers act for the receivers by proxy. Newborn babies constitute an abundance of potentialities, capable of performing and experiencing any possible skill. Social and cultural constraints, however, coerce them into specializing in a limited set of domains, while renouncing all others. Most adults usually cease to play instruments, to participate in games and to engage in most kinds of artistic activities, such as drawing, singing and dancing, and delegate their poor abilities to those who excel in them. No wonder, therefore, that other people specialize in performing for them by proxy. Almost all domains of human behavior are thus open to vicarious experiences. The notion of ‘vicarious expression’ should be seen, therefore, as a particular kind of ‘vicarious experience’, in the sense that subjects delegate their expressive needs and abilities to other subjects who are capable of performing them better, especially if the expression by proxy involves the experience of a ready-made text, formulated in an established

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 246

246 Reception language/medium, an iconic description of a fictional world in particular. As suggested above, such a text potentially bestows cultural form upon the amorphous stirrings of the receiver’s psyche (see chapter 3). Lending form to amorphousness is the name of the game. Furthermore, an expression is fundamentally self-referential; It might appear, therefore, that it is impossible for an expression to reflect the experience of someone else. However, there is nothing to prevent a ready-made text, designed and/or performed by others, from enabling a surrogate expression; i.e., from being experienced vicariously. Consequently, on the grounds of the aforementioned interchange of referents, any involvement of a receiver in reading/experiencing a text composed by somebody else potentially counts as a vicarious expression; for example, the reading of a prayer (a religious poem) by a congregant (see chapter 3). Everyone is capable of expressing religious sentiments through words and, indeed, some people spontaneously do so; but the typical believer prefers or is compelled to employ ready-made texts for expressing him/herself in facing the Almighty. This is usually supported and encouraged by religious establishments. The Jewish prayer books, for example, are collections of such texts, with the congregants being expected to read them, and sing them alone or communally, with or without a cantor, aloud or silently, in a prescribed order. Even if we assume that the authors of such texts were motivated by the need to express their own religious sentiments, it is the worshippers’ experiences of these pre-existing texts that assumedly express their own genuine religious experiences. In delegating their expressions to poets, who excel in articulating their religious feelings, the believers’ experiences count as vicarious expressions. Similar considerations apply to other kinds of preexisting texts, such as reading secular poems, editorials in newspapers and experiencing literary or theatre fictional worlds. On such grounds, the spectator’s experience of a fictional world generated by the theatre medium should too be seen as a vicarious expression. The specific difference of the theatre experience lies in that delegation relates also to all the performers involved in the creation of the performance-text; including actors performing the stage description of a fictional world. In this sense, in theatre, delegation is two-fold: to the ready-made text and to its performers, actors in particular, who thus mediate between the author of the text, the director, and the experiencing spectator. Such a vicarious experience is made possible by the said mechanism of interchanging referents (see chapter 3). The transition from dreaming, daydreaming and imaginative playing to culturally-generated fictional worlds is thus clearly marked by the delegation of expressive needs, from the experiencing subjects to a set of proxies.

@ The psychoanalytic thesis that creative writers draw their materials from concealed (and/or suppressed) contents of the psyche is very reasonable,

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 247

Vicarious Theatre Experience 247 because these are psychologically highly significant raw materials, which often constitute the substratum of a theatre fictional world (the mythical layer). It is sensible to conjecture, therefore, that theatre spectators too find such materials extremely significant, due to matching the spontaneous concerns and (usually archetypal) representations in their own psyches. The artists (such as playwright, director, actors and stage designers) who create theatre imagistic/fictional texts, should thus be conceived of as craftsmen who provide the means for the spectators to confront their shameful and/or suppressed psychical contents, and enable them to think about themselves through ready-made imagistic, self-referential and potentially-metaphoric descriptions. These are performed by proxy and in broad daylight, with the explicit permit and even encouragement of society, as indicated and demonstrated by the collective nature of the theatre experience. The theatre experience is thus vicarious in nature. Future research should seek to probe this conclusion by exposing it to falsification (see chapter 17)

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 248

19 Enigmatic Appeal of Titus Andronicus On August 2013 I was invited to participate in a conference on Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus organized by the Gdansk Shakespeare Theatre. During the conference we attended three theatre productions of Titus Andronicus, one on film, in Romanian (Purc•rete), and two on stage, in Polish (Klata and Klemm), with the latter being under the influence of Heiner Müller’s comments, which were actually interspersed in the Shakespearean text, and voiced by the actors, like a Greek chorus (Müller). Although I presented a theoretical paper about the actualization of canonic play-scripts for diachronic audiences in general, it also applied to these productions of Titus Andronicus. I was also invited, therefore, to participate in a panel devoted to the discussion of Vojtek Klemm’s production of Titus Andronicus (Klemm). The main topic of this panel was the unusual appeal of this brutal narrative for modernist (and post-modernist) audiences, which could explain the propensity to produce this play-script, again and again. This play-script was written more than four hundred years ago, and has been quite neglected ever since. Indeed, it is usually viewed as an odd piece of brutal inventiveness, even in the context of Shakespeare’s own works, to the extent of doubting his authorship. Methodologically, I avoid the possible explanation that Elizabethan audiences enjoyed the multiplicity of murders on stage, while looking for a deeper explanation for its appeal even for modernist audiences, for which the eagerness to see murders on stage deserves moral disapproval. I conjecture, therefore, that possible clues for such an explanation can be found on the level of its narrative structure; in particular, its absurdist nature, thematic structure of revenge, and misleading antinomy of civilized-barbarian cultures.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 249

Enigmatic Appeal of Titus Andronicus 249

Synopsis Roman General Titus Andronicus returns victorious from a war against the barbarian Goths, and among his captives are Tamora, the Queen, her three sons, and Aaron, a moor, who is the Queen’s lover. Titus decides to execute Alarbus, Tamora’s son, according to Roman custom (1: first killing), and to kill his own son, Mutius for disobeying his orders (2). Despite public acclaim, which seeks to crown him emperor of the Roman empire, Titus settles the feud between Saturninus and Bassanius, the two sons of the late emperor, who claim legitimacy in their quest for the throne, by appointing Saturninus, the eldest, as the emperor of Rome. Saturninus chooses Tamora to be his wife and empress. She schemes revenge for Titus’ execution of her son Alarbus through instigating her sons, Demetrius and Chiron, to murder Bassanius (3), to frame Titus’ sons for the murder, and to rape Lavinia, Titus’ daughter. Tamora’s sons not only rape her, but also cut out her tongue and cut off her hands to prevent her from revealing their crimes. Titus’ sons, Martius and Quintus, are suspect of the murder of Bassanius, and face execution by the emperor. Titus is led to believe that Saturninus asks for his arm in exchange for his sons, and agrees to chop it off; but, on receiving the arm, the emperor sends it back together with Titus’ beheaded sons (4–5). Tamora gives birth to a black child revealing thereby his actual father, the empress’ lover. He kills the nurse that announces his birth to prevent disclosing Tamora’s infidelity (6); and commands to bring in the midwife in order to kill her too (7). Lavinia exposes the perpetrators of the rape and mutilation, by taking a stick between her stumps and writing on the sand “Stuprum (rape in Latin), Chiron, Demetrius”. Titus plans revenge on Tamora and sends his son Lucius, to instigate the Goths against Saturninus. Tamora tries to persuade Titus to call back his son. In pretending an act of reconciliation, Titus invites Tamora and the Emperor for dinner. He then kills Chiron and Demetrius, who raped and mutilated his daughter Lavinia (8–9), and cooks their flesh into a pie. Dressed as a cook Titus feeds the guests, Tamora in particular, with the pie. He kills Lavinia in order to end her agony (10). He then reveals to Tamora the ingredients of the pie, and murders her (11). Saturninus murders Titus (12) and Lucius murders Saturninus (13). Lucius is declared the new emperor of Rome; and commands to bury Aaron alive (14); and to throw Tamora’s corpse “to beasts and birds of prey” (V, iii, 197). In total, fourteen murders (as numbered above), some of them on stage, two dismemberments, a rape, a live burial, two men cooked, and feeding a mother with her cooked sons (cannibalism).

Absurdist structure As I have suggested above, the model for the deep structure of a fictional world should be based on the grounds of the spectators’ spontaneous expec-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 250

250 Reception tations (see chapter 11). These expectations should be seen both as archetypal, in the sense of being grafted upon biologically rooted fearful and wishful thinking, and as culturally-conditioned by the ethical systems of historic cultures. These expectations change according to the fundamental values of particular cultures, although their mechanisms of satisfaction and frustration remain the same, despite historic change. Spontaneous expectations may also be culturally-conditioned by values cherished across cultures, such as avoiding aggression and eroticism within the family, which make them universally valid (see chapter 12). As suggested above, a structure that satisfies such archetypal expectations aims at an experience of harmony (with these expectations), and a structure that frustrates them aims at an experience of the absurd (see chapter 11); or at a ‘shocking’ experience, in Aristotle’s terms (Poetics, XIII, 2). Whereas the former aims at reaffirming the audience’s values and, usually, at producing concomitant catharsis, the latter aims at undermining them and, usually, at increasing anxiety; i.e., at precluding catharsis. Both the notions of ‘catharsis’ and ‘shocking effect’ presuppose that a fictional world mainly manipulates ‘anxiety’, which is a euphemism for fear. Whereas cathartic structures produce a forceful release of anxiety, which is experienced as pleasure, absurdist structures augment anxiety and are experienced as frustration. Following Aristotle, a fictional narrative should produce catharsis through augmenting the fear, which the spectators have accumulated prior to their exposure to a fictional world, by actually living according to conventionally accepted values. I claim that additional anxiety is produced by the mere possibility of ending in the frustration of the spectators’ spontaneous expectations; and that ‘tension’, another euphemism for fear, is produced by the coexistence of fearful and wishful expectations at every stage of a narrative. I presuppose that, beyond diversity of values, human cultures share a nucleus of taboos, a human ethos, the violation of which precludes any possibility of social life, such as killing a father and marrying a mother. Consequently, I claim that Titus Andronicus embodies a structure that aims at producing the experience of the absurd, in the sense that the committed crimes become more and more contrary to the human ethos; while ending in a scene of cannibalism, in which a mother is brought to eat her own sons, with no peripeteia toward a final harmonious accord.

Structure of vengeance It is quite commonplace that Titus Andronicus is a tragedy of revenge. The principle of vengeance introduces a measure of logic into this plethora of crimes. Tamora seeks vengeance on Titus’ execution of her son Alarbus, despite imploring for his life, and after Titus’ adamant refusal. She seeks revenge by incriminating Titus’ sons for the murder of Bassanius, and inciting her two sons to rape Lavinia and mutilate her body. Her sons excel

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 251

Enigmatic Appeal of Titus Andronicus 251 in their doings by cutting out her tongue and cutting off her arms so that she will be unable to reveal the perpetrators of these iniquitous crimes. In turn, Titus takes revenge by killing Tamora’s sons, cooking their flesh, grinding their bones into a pie, and feeding their mother with them. Because of the extreme inhuman nature of the fictional events and, in order to be credible, the narrative needed a warrant of possibility. In Aristotle’s view, things that actually happened are possible even if they seem to defy credibility (Aristotle, Poetics, IX, 6). According to Corneille credibility is granted not only to historic events, but also to mythological ones (Corneille, 1964: 218–19). Indeed, the rape and mutilation of Lavinia was probably inspired by Ovid’s Metamorphoses. In the sixth book, Ovid tells the story of Philomela, daughter of Pandion I, King of Athens. Philomela’s sister, Procne, marries King Tereus of Thrace. Procne, who misses her sister and yearns to meet her again, persuades Tereus to travel to Athens and accompany Philomela to Thrace. Tereus does so, but he lusts for Philomela. When she refuses his advances, he forces her into a forest and rapes her. He then cuts out her tongue to prevent her from disclosing the perpetrator. However, Philomela weaves a tapestry in which she names Tereus as her assailant, and has it sent to Procne. The sisters meet in the forest and together kill Itys, her son by Tereus, and cook his body into a pie, which Procne then serves to Tereus. Reference to this narrative is made in the play-script itself (IV, 1, 43–9). For the scene where Lavinia reveals her rapists by writing “Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius” in the sand through a stick, Shakespeare may have followed a story from the first book of Metamorphoses: the tale of the rape of Io by Zeus who, to prevent her from divulging the story, turns her into a cow. Upon encountering her father, she attempts to tell him who she is, but fails to do so until she succeeds by scratching her name in the dirt by her hoof. Titus’ revenge may have been inspired also by Seneca’s play-script Thyestes, written during the first century CE. Thyestes, son of Pelops, King of Pisa, who, together with his brother Atreus, were exiled by their father for the murder of their half-brother Chrysippus. They take refuge in Mycenae, where they soon ascend to share the throne, but Thyestes tricks Atreus into electing him as the sole king of the city. Determined to re-attain the throne, Atreus enlists the aid of Zeus and Hermes, and has Thyestes banished from Mycenae. Subsequently, Atreus discovers that his wife, Aerope, had been having an affair with Thyestes, and he vows vengeance. He asks Thyestes to return to Mycenae with his family, under the pretention that all past animosities are forgotten. However, when Thyestes returns, Atreus secretly kills Thyestes’ sons, Pelopia and Aegisthus. He cuts off their hands and heads and cooks the rest into a pie. At the reconciliatory feast, Atreus serves Thyestes the pie and as Thyestes finishes the meal, Atreus produces the hands and heads of Thyestes’ sons, thus revealing what his brother had eaten. The logic of revenge presupposes that each act of vengeance exceeds in

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 252

252 Reception cruelty its cause, thus revealing an asymmetric structure, with a clear potential of unending escalation: e.g., the rape and mutilation of Lavinia is more cruel than Titus’s execution of Tamora’s son, and feeding a mother by her own children even far more than the rape and mutilation of Lavinia. Indeed, in revenge there is always an edge of cruelty that cannot be balanced, unless by powerful external intervention. In this sense, Titus Andronicus is a study of revenge; and its absurdist ending is fully justified. It should be noted that the absurdist structure and the logic of revenge are two aspects of the same structure: the absurdity of escalating revenge. Still, this structure does not fully explain the frequent revival of the play-script, and its relevance to modernist audiences, which do not attribute value to individual revenge.

Reversal of structure As suggested above, the structure of the fictional world is not necessarily determined by the neutral nature of the fictional events: in the case of a profound gap between the naïve ethos of the characters and the ironic ethos of the audience, which has been termed ‘dramatic irony’ (see chapter 13), a reversal of perception regarding the structure of the fictional world should be expected (ibid.). This principle obviously applies to the gap between the pagan culture of Titus Andronicus and Shakespeare’s Christian audience. The fact that Titus Andronicus features a pagan narrative to be presented to a Christian audience, poses a question: whether or not a playwright of the sixteen or seventeen century followed the instructions of the Church in designing a fictional world. Scholars have traced back such instructions to the Council of Trent, which took place during the years 1545–63, and had codified the guidelines of the Church in several domains. However, I have found no instructions regarding the characterization of pagan narratives for Christian audiences/readerships in its published decrees. There are only instructions as to the way Christian saints should be presented through art, and worshiped by the public: every superstition shall be removed . . . all lasciviousness be avoided; in such wise that figures shall not be painted or adorned with a beauty exciting to lust . . . there be nothing seen that is disorderly, or that is unbecomingly or confusedly arranged, nothing that is profane, nothing indecorous, seeing that holiness becometh the house of God. . . . And that these things may be the more faithfully observed, the holy Synod ordains, that no one be allowed to place, or cause to be placed, any unusual image, in any place, or church, howsoever exempted, except that image have been approved of by the bishop . . . (Excerpt from the 25th decree of the Council in 1563)

Nonetheless, it is implied that the Council promoted a policy of censorship on the arts, with the Inquisition, which was established prior to the Council

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 253

Enigmatic Appeal of Titus Andronicus 253 of Trent in order to fight heresy, becoming its main instrument. There are clear indications of such a policy. For example, ten years after the 25th decree Paolo Veronese was summoned by the Holy Office to explain why in his Last Supper he depicted buffoons, drunken German soldiers, dwarfs and other such indecencies, as well as extravagant costumes and settings. In view of Veronese’s unwillingness to collaborate, the Holy Office commanded that he must correct his painting within three-months. In fact, the artist only changed the title of the painting to The Feast in the House of Levi, still an episode from the Gospels. Although his decision was implicitly accepted, this incident bears witness to a policy of censorship. An additional example: the prosecution of Felipe Godinez, a Jewish converso (marrano) who became a Catholic priest in the province of Sevilla. In the Spanish Siglo de Oro, Godinez was one of the leading playwrights. He wrote several plays on biblical narratives in the spirit of the Church. However, he was suspect of heresy by the Holy Office and found guilty on 30th November 1624 for showing a close affinity to his ancestral religion. He was sentenced to exile in Madrid, which meant the end of his priestly career, and the confiscation of all his possessions. He lived in Madrid the rest of his days, probably under the protection of king Felipe IV, who in some respects has been more liberal than the Church; but continued to be harassed by the Spanish people for his alleged Jewish inclinations. He died in 1659. In Madrid Godinez continued to write dramas. He maintained problematic relations with Lope de Vega, already then considered a prodigy. It is believed that some of Godinez’ works were either bought by Lope or merely attributed to him. The main “evidence” of his Jewish inclination was found in his play-script La Reyna Ester, of 1613, in which Angel Gabriel appears on stage to announce: God wishes that his son be from Israeli ancestry. A virgin named Mary will be his mother and I, when the day will come, shall be announcing that to her. The original sin won’t affect such a Virgin. . . . Therefore, don’t fear the death of your nation, Esther, because you’ll be saved, being a figura [a pre-figuration] of whom God is to be born. (2876–912; my translation)

Notwithstanding, he was not burned in public, but given the mild sentence of exile and confiscation of his fortune; with the reason being, probably, that it was very difficult for the inquisition to prove his alleged guilt on such grounds. Definitely, Godinez has not been a marrano. Since no traces of official policy can be found in the decrees of the Council of Trent, only the actual decisions of playwrights remain for determining how this implicit policy has been perceived and implemented. Furthermore, the Council of Trent was a catholic institution, and probably could not have affected Shakespeare’s playwrighting; unless it is assumed, as advanced by several scholars, that Shakespeare was Catholic. In any case, there is no need for such a thesis: first of all, because by the end of the sixteen century, differences of doctrine between the Catholic and the Anglican Churches were quite

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 254

254 Reception marginal; and second, because all that has been argued above possibly applies on the level of shared Christianity. In analyzing play-scripts that feature pagan narratives for Christian audiences, I found two main ways of characterizing them, without compromising the Christian faith: (a) as following their own pagan absurd logic to the very end, under the assumption that they will be perceived as objects of dramatic irony by the audience, e.g., Corneille’s Médée; and (b) by characterizing the pagan heroes as harbingers of the Christian faith, e.g., Corneille’s Oedipe and Racine’s Phèdre. (a) Probably, the first playwright to expose the inherent absurdity of the pagan beliefs was Euripides. His Hippolytus, for example, begins with Aphrodite revealing her scheme to involve innocent Phèdre in a desperate love for Hippolytus in order to punish him for despising Aphrodite’s divinity; and ends with Artemis’ excusing herself for not preventing Aphrodite’s intent due to gods not being permitted to interfere in the designs of other gods, even if evil, and promising to punish an innocent worshiper of Aphrodite in response. Through such an ending Euripides reveals that the gods are unable to emulate the human standard of divinity, such as behaving according to expectations of justice and compassion, thus seeking to produce an experience of the absurd for the believing audience. A similar structure is reflected in Racine’s Phèdre. Yet, there is a fundamental difference: whereas Euripides catered for a pagan audience, under the assumption that they believed in the Homeric Gods, Racine did so for a Christian audience, who were deeply persuaded that paganism had been absurd in nature and superseded by Christianity. In other words, the final accord of Racine’s Phèdre was probably meant to reaffirm their Christian perception of paganism. Arguably, a similar final experience was meant by Euripides for those spectators who already shared an advanced notion of divinity, although this is difficult to demonstrate. The only available evidence is that Euripides was prosecuted by the Athenian authorities for undermining the Greek beliefs and values, and corrupting the young. It has been claimed that Euripides was a harbinger of monotheistic beliefs, Christianity in particular; but in his play-scripts there is no evidence for such an intent whatsoever. This suggests that Euripides did not trespass the boundaries of bringing the beliefs of his audiences to the absurd, with no hint of an alternative faith. (b) Corneille’s Oedipe presents Oedipus as a severe critic of the Olympian gods and thus as a harbinger of the Christian faith. After becoming aware of that he had already committed the two sins that the gods imposed on him, Oedipus pronounces his last words, as reported by Dymas: “Ne voyons plus le ciel après sa cruauté: / Pour nous venger de lui dédaignons sa clarté. / Refusons-lui nos yeux, et gardons quelque vie / Qui montre encore à tous quelle est sa tyrannie” (1991–4). These words reflect the intuition of a new concept of divinity, which corresponds with the Christian beliefs. In Phèdre, whose narrative too takes place against a pagan background, Racine quite consistently abstains from Christian terms, respecting thereby

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 255

Enigmatic Appeal of Titus Andronicus 255 the independence of the fictional world, and relying on the additional categorization of the fictional world by the Christian audience, which was to be made in any case. A few indications of the ironic viewpoint are nonetheless found in the text. The antithetical expressions of Thésée and Aricie, which sum up the meaning of this dreadful narrative, reveal harsh criticism of the gods based on non-pagan values; e.g., “your fatal services” (1483; my translation), “their deadly favors” (1613; my trans.), “their deadly goodness” (1615; my trans.), and “the impatient gods have hastened his death?” (1496; my trans.), which stress Neptune’s suspicious eagerness to execute Thésée’s request to punish his own son Hippolyte. The gods’ hateful and deadly concern is best expressed by Aricie: “Fear, my lord, fear that the inexorable gods do not hate you so much as to grant your wishes. . . . Their presents often are the punishments of our crimes” (1435; my translation). It transpires that, like for Euripides, the pagan gods (in the plural) fail to materialize an improved notion of divinity. It is even evident, therefore, that these gods, who actually held sway over human destinies, are perceived as devilish powers, before the incarnation of the Christ. Moreover, Thésée’s and Aricie’s criticism of the pagan gods indicates a notion of divinity that is foreign to the pagan world; particularly, in implying that a god should be compassionate and protect his creatures. Indeed, their reservations bear witness to a new and alternative religious consciousness. This intuitive perception is clearly implied in Hippolyte’s words to Aricie: “We’ll take the God who is worshipped for witness [of our love]; and ask Him to act as [our] father” (1401–2; my translation). The motifs of ‘God’ (Dieu in the singular), ‘father’ (père) and ‘justice’ (équité) (1351) are typically Christian; with ‘divine justice’ being the sure foundation upon which mortals can unreservedly rely, and ‘fatherhood’ being the root of divine love and grace. These Christian qualities absolutely contrast the arbitrary and merciless nature of the devilish pagan powers. The synchronic spectators were expected to perceive these metonyms of Christianity and fill in the rest. Hippolyte is thus depicted as a harbinger of the true faith, as expected to be believed by Racine’s prospective audience. A re-examination of this fictional world from a Christian perspective reveals that Hippolyte’s refusal to worship Vénus, his clinging to virginity and his recoil from his father’s adulteries in particular, were certainly meant to be perceived as virtues (cf. his attitude to “chaste Diane”, the Roman equivalent of Artemis – 1404). As I have claimed elsewhere, the absurdist structure of Phèdre, on the textual level, is rectified in the process of reception of this fictional world, because of the audience’s awareness that this narrative could have happened only before the advent of Christianity, and could have ended harmoniously only after the Incarnation. Thus instead of frustrating the Christian expectations and undermining the values of the synchronic audience, it reaffirmed them; in other words, in the act of experiencing this fictional world, its structure was transmuted from an absurdist to a harmonious structure (Rozik, 2009: 259–67).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 256

256 Reception I claim that the fictional structure of Titus Andronicus was meant to produce the very same reversal. Whereas, in the play-script, the narrative ends in an absurdist final accord, the Christian audience of Shakespeare was probably meant to harmonize the narrative through their trans-cultural perspective.

Oxymoronic structure It has been noticed that the most iniquitous revenge, feeding a mother with her cooked own sons, is attributed to a Roman hero, who had shown his equanimity and prudence in declining the crown and choosing the legal heir, Saturninus, as emperor. Whereas Tamora’s barbarian vengeance is supposed to be in her nature, Titus’ vengeance poses a crucial question: who is the actual barbarian? The spontaneous expectation is that the more a character is civilized the more he prefers state or divine justice over personal vengeance, which characterizes less civilized cultures. In contrast, the feeding of a mother with her cooked sons indicates that Titus, the civilized Roman, is more barbarian than the barbarian Goths. Still, ‘civilized’ and ‘barbarian’ are usually viewed as a binary opposition in the sense that an individual or nation can be either civilized or barbarian, with these terms excluding one another. The play-scrip reveals that Titus Andronicus can be both a civilized soldier, who fights against the imminent invasion of barbarian tribes, and a barbarian, in violating a deeply rooted taboo. It is because of the whirlpool-like structure of revenge that he is brought to perpetrate a crime that contrasts his alleged civilized nature, thus stressing once more the basic absurdist structure of this fictional narrative. As suggested above, the theatre experience reflects a metaphoric structure; in other words, the fictional world is meant to be perceived as a potential metaphor of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs (see chapter 3). It is the inherent gap between the fictional and the spectator’s worlds that requires the metaphoric principle. This metaphoric structure is emphasized by the actualization of a dated fictional world, because of widening the said gap. A ‘civilized barbarian’ is thus experienced as an oxymoron, i.e., as an antithetical metaphor. The possible oxymoronic nature of Titus Andronicus is voiced, first, by Chiron in commenting on the sacrifice of his brother Alarbus; “Was never Scythia half so barbarous” (I, i, 131); and then by Marcus, when pleading for Mutius’ burial in the family tomb: “Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous” (I, i, 378). Paradoxically, Titus even fails to substantiate Tamora’s criterion of ‘nobility’: “Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge” (I, i, 119). The barbarian nature of civilized Titus culminates in feeding a mother with her own children. Even the commands of Lucius, after being proclaimed emperor, bear evidence of this oxymoron. It would appear that the coronation of Lucius as emperor of Rome puts an end to the whirlpool of revenge;

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 257

Enigmatic Appeal of Titus Andronicus 257 but his first decisions indicate the opposite: the burial of Aaron alive, and leaving Tamora’s corpse to the prey of beasts and birds. I believe that it is on this level that relevance to modernist audiences can be established. Titus Andronicus aims at denouncing oppressive powers, under the pretence of their civilizing role, in allowing themselves to commit atrocities against their subjugated peoples. Similarly, in Les Troyennes, Sartre’s adaptation of Euripides’ Trojan Women, the author has Andromaque to articulate this oxymoron in response to the murder of her son Astianax: Andromaque: Hommes de l’Europe, vous méprisez l’Afrique et l’Asie et vous nous appelez barbares, je crois, Mais quand la gloriole et la cupidité vous jettent chez nous, vous pillez, vous torturez, vous massacrez. Où sont les barbares, alors? Et vous, les Grecs, si fiers de votre humanité, Où êtes-vous? Je vous le dis: pas un de nous n’aurait osé faire à une mère ce que vous me faites à moi, avec la calme de la bonne conscience. Barbares! Barbares! Vous tuez mon fils à cause d’une putain. (pp. 81–2; my italics)

Sartre adapted a narrative firmly rooted in the pagan culture and made it into a manifest against colonialism; thus expanding and emphasizing Euripides critical thrust. In an interview he declared: “Vous n’ignorez pas que, du temps même d’Euripide, il [the play-script] avait une signification politique précise. Il était une condamnation de la guerre en général et des expéditions coloniales en particulier” (Pingaud). Whereas in this interview Sartre speaks in terms of ‘colonialism’, his adaptation quite explicitly alludes to the said ‘civilized-barbarian’ oxymoron. Although this oxymoron aptly applies to the atrocities perpetrated by colonialist powers, despite their alleged civilizing role, it also applies to atrocities perpetrated by civilized cultures with no necessarily colonialist intents; e.g., the Holocaust by Nazi Germany; the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki by the US; and the brutal occupation of East European countries by the Soviet Union, which explains the East German (Heiner Müller), Romanian and Polish extreme interest in this probably dated play-script. This oxymoron is thus an additional aspect of its absurdist structure, as suggested above. In Jan Klata’s production this reversal of the ‘civilized-barbarian’ opposition is conveyed by the closing image, which emphasized the oxymoron

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 258

258 Reception through the civilized manner in which Titus’ invitees approach the corpses of Tamora’s sons: plates and cutlery in their hands, gracefully taking portions, and ostensively savoring the bites, like people showing delicate delight; while the scene ends with the eating of a black doll (Aaron’s son), as if it were a piece of chocolate (Klata). Titus Andronicus should thus be perceived as an overall metaphor of the sheer absurdity that characterizes the binary opposition between civilized and barbarian cultures. Indeed civilization not only does not preclude barbarian demeanor, but may even promote it.

@ Through the principle of reinterpretation of a fictional world by a diachronic culture, it may be assumed, that Titus Andronicus reaffirmed the perception of Rome by the Elizabethan audience, as an example of a civilized nation, which could not claim genuine superiority over barbarian nations. By the same token, it also became, by constant reinterpretation in the contexts of new referents, especially for audiences who had experienced the atrocities of the so-called civilized nations, a universal metaphor. On such grounds, the oxymoronic nature of the civilized-barbarian opposition should rather be perceived as characterizing the entire human civilization, thus explaining the enigmatic appeal of Titus Andronicus.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 259

PART V

Stage Acting Part V deals with the histrionic aspects of the performance-text. It presupposes the principle of the imagistic/iconic mode of representation and thinking, and promotes the notion of ‘deflection of reference’, as the fundamental principle of theatre acting. This principle means that actors, who produce imprinted images of interaction, in contrast to the self-referentially of such indexes of action, do not refer to themselves, but deflect reference to characters. This principle constitutes the specific difference of stage acting, and thus of the theatre medium among other iconic mediums. Nonetheless, additional iconic mediums share the principle of acting, including deflection of reference; inter alia, opera, figurative ballet, cinema and TV drama. Chapter 20 ponders the functions of the actor’s body on stage; and chapter 21 applies the principle of ‘deflection of reference’ to filmed drama, which leads to the conclusion that cinema is a recorded text generated by the theatre medium.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 260

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 261

20 Acting Body The vast and unprecedented expansion of performance art in the last decades and the need to redefine the boundaries between theatre and other arts lie at the heart of this chapter. Focus on the corporeality of the actor/actress has undoubtedly led to perceiving it as a common denominator of numerous artistic and non-artistic activities in which something is performed by a live group in front of a live group of spectators/onlookers in actual time and space (cf. Schechner: 30). Is corporeality an essential feature of these activities, which provides the foundation for a wider and more complex art, and encompasses theatre and other performing arts, such as ballet, music, stand-up comedy and performance art? Or, is it an accidental feature, merely blurring the boundaries both between theatre and other neighboring arts and between theatre and the so called ‘social drama’? (Turner, 68; cf. Schechner: 166ff) No future theory of theatre can afford to ignore this problem. The current theoretical tendency is to advocate a fundamental duality of two irreducible elements on stage: text and body. Whereas a semiotic approach would subordinate the body to the text, in the sense of a text being inscribed on the bodies of actors, the opposite approach adheres to the view that in theatre the body enjoys a kind independence in regard to the inscribed text, and is experienced on its own right. I analyze hereby and challenge the so-called ‘phenomenological approach’ suggested by Bert O. States, who not only supports a semiotic and phenomenological binocular vision, but actually subordinates the text to the body. My intuition is that the applicability limits of the semiotic approach have been suggested on the grounds of its premature versions. Without committing myself to an exclusive semiotic methodology, I would like to explore all its implications in regard to the function of corporeality or, rather materiality in theatre, in order to determine the exact limits of its applicability. I intend to show that: a) The corporeality of the body should be seen as an instance of the principle of theatre’s imprinting its images on materials similar to their models. This principle basically applies not only to live actors, but also to the mate-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 262

262 Stage Acting riality of other objects on stage, such as costume, furniture and even light. In this sense, the materiality of all the objects on stage is an integral component of the text. As suggested above the imagistic nature of fictional thoughts necessitates the imprinting of images on matter in order to enable their communication (see chapter 1). b) Awareness of the actor/actress’ body – while enacting a character – should be conceived of as a meta-theatre device indicating theatricality. c) Since a fictional world, described by the theatre medium, fundamentally constitutes a metaphoric/personified description of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs, experiencing the actor/actress’ body expands personification to include the material component of the text, which bestows on the theatre performance a dimension lacking in other fictional arts. d) Since the corporeality of the actor/actress on stage is an integral part of the signifier level of the text, it also enters into aesthetic relations with other signifiers, in the sense of inducing experiences of aesthetic nature, such as effects of beauty, ugliness, symmetry and asymmetry. This function complements equivalent types of experience induced on the thematic level, to create an overall metaphor of harmony or disharmony. I suggest that corporeality is thus subordinated to the aesthetic experience and that this dimension is indeed beyond semiotic methodology.

States’ ‘binocular vision’ In his Great Reckonings in Little Rooms, States not only rises the question of the corporeality of the actor/actress’ body on stage – as opposed to its sign-ness – but also provides theoretical and philosophical support for the body’s irreducible presence on stage on the grounds of phenomenology: It seems to me that semiotics is a useful, if incomplete discipline. It has become evident to me, in arriving at my own form of narrowness, that semiotics and phenomenology are best seen as complementary perspectives on the world and on art. . . . If we think of semiotics and phenomenology as modes of seeing, we might say that they constitute a kind of binocular vision: one eye enables us to see the world phenomenally; the other eye enables us to see it significatively. (States: 8)

However, States not only restricts the functions of theatre semiotics, in its capacity of a basic and comprehensive theory of theatre, to a limited domain, but also puts both approaches on equal footing. Moreover, by coupling phenomenology with Victor Shklovsky’s notion of ‘defamiliarization’, he actually advocates subordination of semiotics to phenomenology. Since Craig Steward Walker has successfully demonstrated that there is no theoretical justification for considering States’ approach as ‘phenomenological’ (Walker), and States himself was honest enough to acknowledge this (States:1); in the following paragraphs I circumscribe myself to showing that

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 263

Acting Body 263 States fails to understand the referential function of the actor’s body on stage: a) Illusion: States claims that “the physical actuality of the actor on stage . . . [is] the whole phenomenal floor of the theater illusion . . . which, for the most part, we accept as perceptually given” (States:34). States indeed underscores the similarity between images on stage and real objects: “in the theater there is no ontological difference between the image and the object” (States: 35). However, States also attributes a parallel function to real objects on stage, which he views as also subverting stage illusion; e.g., he suggests that a clock is “an instrument that is visibly obeying its own laws of behavior” (States: 30). This principle is implicitly applied to his other examples: children, animals, running water and fire. Animals, for example, “cannot categorically be depended upon” because they may follow their own inclinations (States: 34). It follows that real objects on stage both foster illusion and subvert it; in particular, when perceived as obeying their own laws. Consequently, in dealing with a dog on stage as perceived as ‘a dog-in-itself’ he asks: “[t]o what extent can these nodes of reality extruding from the illusion any longer be called images or signs?” (States: 34) It follows that what extrudes from the illusion is not the materiality of real objects on stage, but those aspects that cannot be assimilated by the text as an iconic description. In dealing with such examples States’ purpose has been “to suggest points at which the floor [of theatre illusion] cracks open and we are startled, however pleasantly, by the upsurge of the real into the magic circle where the conventions of theatricality have assured us that the real has been subdued and transcended” (p. 34). The fact is, however, that children or animals following their own inclinations (e.g., a child or a dog peeing on stage) usually elicit laughter. In such a case, laughter should be understood as a reaction to failure, which actually reaffirms the iconic principle underlying the generation of a performance-text. The question is, therefore, whether or not such marginal phenomena (in which the theatre fails) could be seen as the best index of the phenomenal nature of theatre? My answer is negative. Nonetheless, States attributes to this duality a major role: First, it allows the mind “to oscillate rapidly between the two kinds of perception” (States: 36). Second, he conceives theatre as “intentionally devoted to confusing these two orders of signification, [the iconic and the phenomenological]” (States: 36) and confers this confusion the crucial function of constantly revitalizing the medium of theatre: my thesis in this respect is that the dog on stage is a nearly perfect symptom of the cutting edge of theater, the bite that it makes into actuality in order to sustain itself in the dynamic order of its own ever-dying signs and images. One could define the history of theater – especially where we find it overthrowing its own traditions – as a progressive colonization of the real world. (States: 36).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 264

264 Stage Acting Third, this ‘ontological confusion’ allegedly lies at the heart of the specific experience of theatre: “I am watching Olivier exists as Macbeth, and through this unique ontological confusion I exist myself in a new dimension” (States: 47). In other words, Olivier produces the illusion of Macbeth and also exists as Macbeth and it is this ontological confusion that enables the spectator to see himself in a new dimension. In enacting Macbeth, however, Olivier does not exist as Macbeth, but as Olivier inscribing a description of Macbeth on his own body. I cannot believe that any spectator forgets that he is in the theatre, particularly watching Olivier, who in his particular acting-style was a master of meta-theatricality. From a semiotic viewpoint, In contrast to States, the notion of ‘illusion’ cannot be maintained. If what is enacted on stage – i.e., inscribed in the actor/actress’ body – is a descriptive text, the [fictional] referent cannot be identical with it. This can be demonstrated by the fact that, as illustrated above, some features of the stage-text cannot be attributed to the fictional world, a phenomenon which is most conspicuous in theatre conventions (see chapter 7). I agree that similarity or identity on the material level may induce a sense of illusion and that the audience may believe that they are experiencing a world, but this would reflect a misapprehension of theatre. Apart from realist theatre, most theatre styles stress, in various meta-theatrical ways, their own theatricality. b) Defamiliarization: For States, the purpose of “the upsurge of the real” (p. 34) is ‘defamiliarization’. Initially, defamiliarization is a mechanism which operates by attracting the attention of the spectator to the materiality of images or reality of objects on stage; only then, these are defamiliarized. The ultimate aim of this mechanism is to deautomatize perception, as suggested by Shklovsky: art exists that one may recover the sensation of life; it exists to make one feel things, to make the stone stony. The purpose of art is to impart the sensation of things as they are perceived and not as they are known. The technique of art is to make objects “unfamiliar”, to make forms difficult, to increase the difficulty and length of perception because the process of perception is an aesthetic end in itself and must be prolonged. Art is a way of experiencing the artfulness of an object; the object is not important. (Shklovsky: 12; cf. States: 21)

However, whereas Shklovsky advocates the aesthetic function of experiencing the artfulness of the object, States clearly diverges from this theory in assigning to this ‘technique’ the function of improving the cognition of the world. States complementary claim is that “art is a way of bringing us home via an “unfamiliar” route” (States:22). Theatre – in all its forms – is thus conceived as the epitome of the phenomenological approach. The notion of ‘defamiliarization’ allegedly captures the main function of art, which is to release cognition of reality from the bonds of meaning: “If the objects of reality depicted in art carry some of their worldly meanings

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 265

Acting Body 265 with them – and no one would deny that they do – they are now seen, by a trick of perspective, to have been partially concealed all along by the meanings” (States: 22). In other words: real objects have to be dissociated from the signs usually used for categorizing them in order to enable cognition. For States the images and real objects thus constitute an act of semiotization which has to be transcended for the sake of cognition. This implies that in a theatre-text semiosis is used only in order to be dialectically negated through experiencing the autonomy of real objects, which thus become the most meaningful element on stage. In fact, for him, meaning is ‘parasitic’ on the phenomenological nature of theatre (cf. States: 27). Indeed, it is commonplace that the price of signification is that it veils to a certain degree the true nature of things. It should be kept in mind, however, that, on the grounds of the phenomenological assumption, there is no other way; this price is paid in order to get at least a fairly good scientific/technological understanding of reality. Defamiliarization for the sake of better cognition of our world is undoubtedly a totally justified procedure, which is shared by the arts and sciences, not to mention philosophy. Furthermore, defamiliarization can be perceived as a basic mechanism of thinking which reflects a critical attitude to preconceived reality. Not to accept reality as it appears through mediation of a priori categories of thought is not only a crucial form of thinking, but also a value in the above mentioned disciplines, science in particular. Viewing the theatre as a medium indeed supports the claim that defamiliarization can be one of its basic purposes. However, the claim that this mechanism reflects the essence of theatre contradicts its nature as a medium, as a means of thinking and of communicating thinking, which by definition may convey different attitudes, even erroneous and contrasting ones. Thinking cannot be defined by one of its particular forms: not all kinds of thinking promote knowledge. Accordingly, not all theatre works reflect the intention to improve cognition of the world. States’ ‘defamiliarization’ thus implies a category of value; i.e., preference for a particular kind of theatre-text.

Principle of ‘acting’ In attempting to understand the medium of theatre, scholarship should focus on the function of ‘acting’, rather than on the actor’s body. The term ‘acting’ refers to the mechanism through which a real object on stage ‘enacts’, in the sense of ‘representing and describing’, an object in a real or fictional world (Rozik, 2008a: 78–89). This principle, which is shared by all dramatic mediums, is epitomized in human acting. As suggested above, the uniqueness of the theatre medium, which is iconic in nature, lies in the extension of the principle of similarity to the matter on which its images are imprinted: images of human beings are imprinted on the real bodies of actors, and the like (see chapter 1).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 266

266 Stage Acting Since I have stated my views on ‘acting’ in various occasions, I confine myself here to a brief recapitulation: (a) In enacting an action actors produce a set of images of human behavior through imprinting them on their own bodies. (b) Such signs couple immaterial images, which otherwise cannot be communicated, to material carriers. (c) Whereas for most iconic mediums such material carriers have nothing in common with the real models of the iconic signs, theatre signs are characterized by similarity on both the imagistic and material levels. (d) Whereas in other iconic mediums lack of similarity on the material level underscores the communicative function of iconic signs (e.g., puppet theatre, painting and sculpture); in theatre, expanded similarity does not preclude communication. (e) In enacting an action actors imprint images of acts on their own bodies; i.e., reproduce indexes of actions. (f) The problem is that indexes only refer to those that produce them, and in enacting an action an actor produces indexes which refer not to himself, but to a character who is supposed to produce them (Searle, 1985: 72–96). I have termed this phenomenon ‘deflection of reference’ (Rozik, 2008a: 79–82).

Deflection of reference Deflection of reference is made possible by producing iconic indexes that fulfill, on the level of the iconic sentence, two distinct functions: subject and predicate. Subject signs aim at identifying a human entity other than the actor himself, a character, who is assumed to produce such indexes. Predicate signs are these indexes, which are enacted by an actor, and eventually construed as indexes of the character itself. For example, an actor might use his costume, make-up and a slight limp to indicate that he is enacting a character named Harpagon (subject signs), whilst producing interchanging movements and gestures that indicate the character’s share in the action (predicate signs). It is noteworthy that ‘deflection of reference’ also applies when a real person imitates somebody else, e.g., when a pupil imitates a teacher. Deflection of reference, therefore, is an evocative device or, rather, an inversion of the process of reference, since the description itself creates the referents to which it refers by the evocative power of imagistic/iconic signs. Kirby views an entire group of performers, such as ventriloquists, magicians, escape artists, sword swallowers, fire walkers, rope walkers, fire eaters, jugglers and acrobats, as belonging in the “category of theatrical activity”, in the sense of sharing some essential features with actors and even preceding their invention (1974: 5ff). Indeed, these “paratheatrical” artists perform their skills in front of audiences and usually command their admiration. None of these artists, however, engages in ‘enacting’ a character or, in semiotic terms, producing a description which is inscribed on their own bodies, and deflecting reference. Conversely, the exhibition of their skills is purportedly meant to project improved images of the performers themselves;

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 267

Acting Body 267 i.e., it is self-referential. Even if such a skill is attributed to a spirit, as in shamanism, its alleged doings remain self-referential (to the spirit). In this sense, I agree with Schechner that such artists are performers of actuals: “Athletes, like circus performers, display their skills. The rules of games are designed to show prowess, quick judgment, finesse and grace, speed, endurance, strength and teamwork” (1988: 50). In other words, they do not represent anything and there is nothing in their displays beyond what is done and achieved. Furthermore, circus performers take pride in not being actors and insist in their doing real acts, which aim at impressing their audiences, because these are beyond the typical abilities of the spectators (Carmeli, 1988: 93–109). In other words, all they do refers to themselves and for which they are praised, or blamed. Consequently, they cannot and should not be perceived as enacting characters; i.e., as employing the medium of theatre. Nonetheless, deflection of reference does not preclude self-reference. Through the very same behavior on stage, the actor is also producing indexes of his own acting, for which he is eventually applauded or criticized. Moreover, we may claim, that in acting the same iconic signs constitute both indexes of the actor (self-reference) and indexes of the characters he enacts (deflection of reference). These functions are fulfilled by the very same stage acting. The implication is that instead of the usual dyadic model of actor-character, a triadic model is more appropriate: actor (who produces the signs), text (the set of images inscribed on his body) and character (who is made to exist only in the imagination of the spectator). In other words, in formulating a text an actor produces iconic signs, which on the one hand reflect on himself as producer of signs and, on the other hand, the imagistic elements of these iconic signs, which are inscribed on his body and, after due deflection of reference, are predicated on a character. Furthermore, since iconic signs have the capacity to replicate any kind of sign, by virtue of the principle of similarity, each sign includes in its structure the structure of the imitated model. Consequently, the iconic element of such a sign attests to its being part of a description, and its indexical element explains the possibility of deflection of reference to somebody else. The moment an enacted act is attributed to a character, it resumes its self-referential nature. The principle of acting thus implies two fundamental distinctions: (a) between the actor as producer of text, who is part of the real world (W0), and the actor as an inscribed text or, rather, description, which is part of the performance-text; and b) between the actor as a description of a character and the character as the fictional referent of the description or, rather, as the denizen of a fictional world (W1). This double distinction reflects the existential gap between ‘description’, through any medium, and referential world, real or fictional.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 268

268 Stage Acting

Expanded notion of ‘acting’ The imprinting of an image on a material carrier, which is similar to that of its real model, is not only characteristic of human acting. It also applies to all producers of signs on stage, including non-human objects. For example, a carpenter who produces a table for the stage couples the image of a table with matter typical of tables, such as wood or iron; a costume maker couples the image of a costume with real fabric; and a light operator couples the image of light with real light. Furthermore, in their capacities of iconic descriptions, objects on stage, including real ones, do not refer to themselves, but they too deflect reference to similar referential objects. If so, we may employ the term ‘actor’ also for such enacting objects; and the term ‘character’ for the enacted objects in a fictional world. Although ‘character’ presupposes a fictional human being, the referential function of objects on stage is the same. The medium of theatre reveals a clear tendency to apply the principle of similarity to the imprinted matter and, in this sense, there is no difference between the human body and other material objects on stage. We should take into consideration, however, that the semantic contribution of an iconic sign imprinted on matter, which is different from its model, to a description of a fictional world is the same; e.g., even if a table is painted on canvas it describes a fictional table. As mentioned above, stage conventions may use any kind of matter to imprint their images and quite frequently do employ iconic signs which do not comply with the principle of similarity on the material level (see chapter 7). Despite such conventions, however, the principle of ‘deflection of reference’ is implemented also when a table painted on canvas enacts a table in a fictional world. In such a case, only a transition to a different iconic medium takes place (ibid.) The use of real objects on stage appears to pose a genuine problem: it is indeed difficult to understand how a real object is transmuted into a set of imprinted iconic signs. For Elam, “The theatre is perhaps the only art form able to exploit what might be termed iconic identity: the sign-vehicle denoting a rich silk costume may well be a real rich silk costume, rather than the illusion thereof created by pigment on canvas, an image conserved on celluloid or a description” (p. 22). Certainly, real objects are not iconic, even when used on stage for enacting fictional objects. Bogatyrev claims that “[o]n the stage things that play the part of theatrical sign acquire special features, qualities and attributes that they do not have in real life” (Bogatyrev, 1976: 35–6). This can be understood as dropping their dominant practical function to assume a descriptive function (Brušák: 62), what is termed by Elam “semiotization of the object” (pp. 8 & 20). The fact is, however, that objects do not have communicative functions, unless put within a communicative framework. The question is, therefore, what is the nature of such a mechanism? It may be argued that if a real table is put on stage, the attitude of the spectator would not be one of reading/decoding but of recognition and cate-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 269

Acting Body 269 gorization. In other words, it would be considered as a real table and not as a description. This is in fact the meaning of ‘ostension’ in Umberto Eco’s terminology (cf. Elam: 29–30). Ostension, however, is indexical and selfreferential and, therefore, contradicts the principle of ‘acting’ (deflection of reference). Eco’s drunk does not enact anybody else but, first and foremost, refers to himself. In contrast, even real objects are not exceptions to the principle of deflection of reference: a real table on stage always enacts a table, which refers not to itself, but to a table in a fictional world. Even if we take an antique table, contemporary of Molière, to be used in a production of Tartuffe, it enacts a table in this fictional world. The same applied to Molière himself enacting Molière in L’Impromptu de Versailles, because he enacted a fictionalized Molière. Eco’s drunk does not enact a drunk but, because of referring to himself, he also refers metonymically to drunkenness and to the entire group of drunks, in contrast to any actor who enacts a drunk in a fictional world. Again ‘deflection of reference’ is the name of the game. From a different perspective, following Plato, also ready-made objects may be conceived as coupling two components: image and matter (see chapter 1; and Republic, 10, 197a; cf. Halliwell: 39). Real objects thus do not differ in structure from iconic signs, and may be employed for communicating an image in the context of an iconic medium; in other words, real objects, which are not iconic texts, can be used as theatrical signs with no problem. It is simpler, therefore, to assume that the theatrical frame subordinates the practical function of an object, conceptually deconstructs it into its components, image and matter, and foregrounds the image for the purpose of enacting such a fictional object; i.e., of describing a fictional referent and deflecting reference to it. The main difference between human and non-human actors thus lies in that human actors actively produce changing signs on stage and inscribe them on their own bodies, whereas producers of object-actors are usually not visible to the audience. Objects or, rather, non-human texts, depend on producers of signs such as carpenters, costume makers and light operators, who normally operate out of stage. In most cases, such objects remain unchanged throughout an entire performance; albeit this is not always the case (cf. Ionesco’s Amédée). Whereas the human actor is active and allowed to create and manipulate his images in front of an audience, non-human actors are usually hidden and unable to do so. In other words, the latter are more conspicuous in their distinction between producer of signs and text. Set objects and props are usually created, put on stage and left there, with no trace of the producers of signs, if at all connected with the production. Only if a director decides, for aesthetic reasons, to lay bare the production mechanism of signs, does he make them appear. Against the background of the triadic relationship actor-producer, actortext and character, it is clear that coexistence of producer of signs and material existence of text on stage is not a necessary condition of theatre. Coexistence happens in human actors but not necessarily in non-human actors. In this sense, the human actor reflects a principle which is not general

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 270

270 Stage Acting on stage, but derives from the sui-generis quality of the human body as a material for imprinting signs. Since by definition a character cannot be on stage, the ultimate implication is that the necessary and sufficient condition of theatre is the use of a text, in the wide sense of any actor-text on stage, enacting a fictional entity. ‘Acting’, in the sense of describing a fictional world and deflecting reference to it, is the common denominator of human actors, objects purposefully made for a production, and real objects put on stage. We should bear in mind that such a conclusion does not contradict the central role of human actors in the theatre. There is a crucial reason for preferring them: human actors match a clear tendency of the human imagination to create personified fictional worlds. As I have claimed above such fictional worlds usually are representations and metaphoric descriptions of the spectator’s psychical states of affairs (Rozik, 2008b: 184–203; see chapter 3). Such metaphoric descriptions spontaneously take the form of personifications. In the theatre medium such personifications are enacted by human actors who, in addition to producing images of human beings, imprint their images on human flesh, lending to these personifications a dimension of humanity that can never be achieved by any other iconic medium, including cinema. Although this is a matter for another study, I believe that this material dimension is an integral part of the overall theatrical metaphor. It should be noted that the metaphoric nature of the performance-text precludes perceiving the fictional world as the referent of its description. It is rather the description of the improper term of the metaphor. It follows that the use of ‘referent’ for the enacted fictional objects in this chapter was made for methodological reasons only.

Semiotic limitations In recent years, it has been widely suggested, that the bodily presence of the actor/actress on stage marks the limits and limitations of the semiotic approach to theatre and determines the need for a more complex methodology of research. Although the ‘binocular’ approach suggested by States cannot be accepted, the question still remains as to whether or not the materiality of the actor’s body, the wood of a real table or the real sources of light constitute a dimension of the theatrical experience which can be accounted for by semiotic methodology? Basically, image and imprinting material are the two components of the iconic signifier and, in this sense, materiality is not beyond this methodology. I believe, however, that no semiotic approach can confine itself to the claim that materials used for imprinting – particularly the body of the actor/actress – only fulfill the function of carriers of images. This would ignore the unique effect of each iconic medium in comparison to others. In the following sections I intend to suggest other possible functions

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 271

Acting Body 271 of materiality, including corporeality, which should open the way to future research. a) Meta-theatricality: The actual experience of the actor/actress’ body, while enacting a character, and the awareness of this body, should be conceived as a meta-theatrical device indicating theatricality, particularly when the actor/actress has a known history, theatrical or other. Such awareness emphasizes the ontological gaps both between producer of signs and text, and between text and fictional world. Such gaps indicate that theatre is not a world, but a description of a world – i.e., a cultural construct – in line with iconic mediums that do not feature similarity on the material level. Meta-theatricality, therefore, should be accounted for by semiotic methodology; although this has not been attempted as yet. b) Personification: If the fictional world is indeed the expression of a single psyche through a world of characters and their actions, in contrast to the thematic mode, as suggested by Frye, it follows that a fictional world is fundamentally a multiple and complex personification of a psychical state of affairs (1957: 33–52). As suggested above, personification is a specific form of metaphor that draws its associations from the human domain (see chapter 3). In this sense, experiencing a fictional world is equivalent in structure and function to dreaming. Since theatre inscribes images of human beings and their behaviour on live human beings, the actors, personification acquires an additional dimension, because of the singularity of this material medium. Since the principle of similarity expands also to the material level, it creates a special form of personification which applies on both the imagistic and material levels and, therefore, induces a sense of reality which cannot be achieved by iconic mediums that do not extend the principle of similarity to the imprinting matter. For example, in literature personification is conveyed by the evocative power of words and, as suggested above, other iconic arts have their images imprinted on materials different from their real models, such as paint on canvas in art, and marble or iron in sculpture. In this sense, cinema and TV drama, despite their final images lacking the bodily concreteness of live actors, are more akin to theatre than some forms of performance art, because the imprinting of human images on live actors precedes photography (see next chapter). The presence on stage of additional objects, which also constitute images imprinted on materials similar to their models, widens the nature of the overall metaphor to include much more than personification. Similarly to ‘personification’, one could speak in terms of ‘animalization’, ‘vegetalization’ and ‘mechanization’ (see chapter 4). It follows that a theatre description of a fictional world – on both the levels of image and matter – can be subsumed under the notion of ‘metaphorization’ of the psyche, since by operating a host of stage metaphors, of various thematic domains, it creates a complex and comprehensive stage metaphor of the spectator’s psychical state of affairs. Occasionally, in other iconic arts too, the material carrier of images

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 272

272 Stage Acting becomes part of the overall metaphor. For example, the white marble of a statue of Socrates may evoke additional associations of timelessness or eternity originating in the sense of durability attached to this material. Indeed, ‘timelessness’ can be perceived as a connotation of ‘marble’ – the material – which can be associated metaphorically to this philosopher. Moreover, the sculpture of a nude woman in white marble may reject such connotations (e.g., softness vs. hardness); while absorbing others, such as transparency, paleness and beauty. Accordingly, a contrasting sense of transiency could be achieved by sculpting a human image on ice. Obviously this is not always the case, leading to the conclusion that only under particular conditions – governed by the nature of the image itself – may the assimilation of connotations of the imprinting matter by the overall image occur. Consequently, if a theatre-text is a personified/metaphorized expression of the author, and offered as such an expression for the spectator, the connotations deriving from the concrete nature of the actors’ bodies can always be assimilated within the overall metaphoric image that is the performance-text. It is because of the basic fictionality of what is described by the performancetext that the materiality of the body can be always integrated into its overall human metaphoric image. c) Aesthetic experience: The actual perceptible nature of the performance-text, as experienced by the spectator, should be seen as an integral component of the aesthetic experience produced by a performance-text. Since the combination of immaterial image and matter constitutes the signifier of the iconic theatre sign, and since aesthetic relations may obtain on each of both the signified and the signifier levels, such as rhyme and rhythm on its verbal level or accord and symmetry on the pictorial level, it follows that the materiality/corporeality of the stage may create an aesthetic dimension (e.g., of beauty or ugliness) which can be assimilated by and integrated within the overall aesthetic image of harmony and disharmony of a performance-text. Moreover, such a dimension can match or contrast the aesthetic configuration on the fictional level, which can be described in such aesthetic terms as ‘wholeness’, ‘unity’, ‘harmony’ or ‘absurdity’; with both levels being capable of integration within a complex and comprehensive metaphoric image, which is the overall experience of the theatre-text. I believe that the aesthetic is the ultimate level of organization of a work of art and that the semiotic level is ultimately subordinated to its rules. Since the aesthetic effect, which fulfils a crucial role in the total experience of the spectator, cannot be accounted for by semiotic methodology, it marks its limits and requires the development of a complex aesthetics of theatre (see chapter 14).

A personal experience During the academic year 1973–4, Tel Aviv University sent me for postdoctorate studies in London. My program was to conduct research on the

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 273

Acting Body 273 process of verbal communication between directors and actors, which eventually led to my theory on the nonverbal nature of the theatre medium. The British Council facilitated my participation in productions of several theatres, from first rehearsal to first night. Inter alia, during the rehearsals of David Storey’s Life Class at the Royal Court Theatre, directed by Lindsey Anderson 1974, I repeatedly experienced the striking presence of the actress’ nude body on stage; and was intrigued by this focus of interest in addition to the textual aspects of the performance. On the fictional level, most scenes of this narrative take place in the classroom of an art school, in which a group of male students are drawing from a female nude model. While the teacher is eager to persuade the students to accept his ideology, which legitimizes any action that is strongly desired, the students interpret his words as a permit to rape the model, which they eventually do on stage, bringing the teacher’s philosophy to the absurd. Anderson decided not to wait for the [un]dress rehearsal and asked the actress to appear naked from the first rehearsal. His decision was probably meant to create the psychological space needed for the actress, who was not a professional model, to adjust to her role. So, for long hours, she used to stand motionless and speechless on the podium, even while – in his unique style – Anderson commented on every nuance of the actors’ acting. In addition to her most beautiful body, most striking was her casual manner: she did not dress even for coffee breaks and, while remaining nude, she would nonchalantly chat with us, a cup of coffee in her right hand, as if this were the most natural thing to do. Undoubtedly, however, her bodily presence could not be overlooked. While searching my memory for a good example of the possible function/s of the actor/actress’ body under discussion in this study, I could not find a more powerful example: her nudity clearly transgressed the frail borderline between her concrete corporeality (transition from stage to coffee breaks) and her textuality (enacting a nude model in the fictional world). It might appear therefore, that this nude body best illustrates the autonomy of corporeality on stage since, besides attracting attention on its own, apparently nothing was inscribed on it. Nonetheless, while on stage, although almost motionless, the actress used to perform various images of a nude model, such as changing positions, which fittingly described the character’s behavior in the fictional world. Moreover, the beauty of the actress’ body was completely assimilated by the description of a fictional world in which the beauty of the fictional naked body was meant to account for both her enacting a professional model, and the students’ sexual arousal which led to her rape. If the model in the life class had been enacted by an ugly and wrinkled old woman, attention to the body would probably have been equally powerful, but the rape would have acquired a totally different meaning. Such a departure from expectations would also have motivated the audience into speculating on the intention of the director. A possible explanation could have been the authorial intention to create a grotesque image of the situa-

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 274

274 Stage Acting tion, thus mocking the absurdity of the teachers’ preaching. Another possible explanation could have been convention; after all, quite often, actors enact characters that do not match their real age or sex. In such cases the audience is tacitly requested to overlook the real features of the actor/actress and focus on the meaning of their enacted images and, in particular, on their capacity to evoke such images despite actual discrepancy. Other explanations could have been equally relevant. It is most sensible to assume, therefore, that the actress was chosen for the images of nude beauty that she was able to project, including her casual manner. Models usually show a kind of indifference (not necessarily genuine) to people scrutinizing and measuring their bodies and, therefore, the director’s use of the natural body and attitude of the actress was no different from using a red-haired actor to play King David or an adolescent actress to play Juliet. The natural qualities of the actor/actress are usually assimilated and become meaningful provided that they are subordinated to the intended overall image of the character, as conceived of by a director. If we consider the particular fictional world of Life Class as a personification of the perennial struggle between desire (or rather instinct) and moral restriction, the concrete nakedness of the actress (similarly to the dressed image of the students and their undressing images during the rape) undoubtedly lent a further dimension of personification to the overall metaphor. Furthermore, if the intention was to create a transition from a metaphor of breathtaking beauty to a metaphor of utter vandalism, the disheveled body of the actress complemented on the sensory level the total chaos on the level of meaning. In this sense, the aesthetic body was also assimilated within the overall metaphoric image of the performance-text. It might appear that since the nude body of the actress on stage may have attracted attention on its own, it necessarily established the binocular vision, semiotic and phenomenological, as advocated by States. The function of this attraction, however, can be explained otherwise: on the one hand her body became the imprinted matter of the set of images of a nude model that the actress was meant to produce on stage and, on the other hand, it became assimilated within the overall metaphoric image of chaos that followed. Did her nude body defamiliarize the notion of ‘nude female body’? Actually, there was nothing unfamiliar to it. Could her nude body on stage have subverted its textual function? I believe that any effect it had on the audience could have been assimilated into the meaning of the intended overall image. Such a conclusion does not exclude the possibility of creating inner tension between materiality and textuality, as in the case of a naked old body. I am inclined to think, however, that even tension is eventually subordinated to the textual function. If tension is intentional, it is also meaningful. Focusing exclusively on the materiality of a nude body on stage seems to imply that in such a case theatre is closer to nude modeling or striptease than to theatre. This is absurd because, as suggested above, it ignores the existential gap between description through imprinted images and reality. The

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 275

Acting Body 275 spectator may indeed be aware of the actors’ reality – their own looks, voice and typical gestures – as part of the process of acting. This type of awareness, however, stresses the textuality of theatre performance and rather than contradicting semiosis, it makes it rather prominent.

@ Following States, conceiving of the concrete and perceptible presence of the body on stage as an essential feature of theatre, which focuses attention on its own, does not promote an improved understanding of theatre art. From such a perspective, theatre rather becomes undistinguished from other forms of performing arts, in particular from performance art, and even from what is usually termed ‘social drama’. Although in most of these domains the concrete body is the common denominator, it functions in utter different manners. First, the difference between theatre and some forms of performance arts lies in enacting fictional worlds in the former and deliberately being actuals in the latter. Second, the difference between theatre and social drama resides in the ontological gap between real life and its possible descriptions. In contrast to Schechner, the fact that a live body is performing in front of an audience does not entail that all activities performed in front of people are of the same kind (cf. Schechner: 30). For example, stand-up comedy reflects superb command of language and incisive wit, but it does not necessarily describe a world through imprinted images. The typical medium of this art is language, the use of which reflects the acute perception of a performer, while his verbal descriptions refer to the real world, particularly, to its absurd aspects. Moreover, the performer usually does not describe a ‘stand-up comedian’ character, but is self-referential. Even in his nonverbal behavior he indicates his own attitude to topical issues. The stand-up artist is not an actor/actress, but an observer and a critic who presents his/her own insights. In other words, s/he projects his/her own self-image. If theatre is a medium, the task of a phenomenology of theatre should be to promote the cognition of this medium through a better understanding of ‘acting’ and ‘deflection of reference’ that characterize its nature, an intuition implied by States himself: “Hence the need to rounding out a semiotics of the theater with a phenomenology of its imagery – or, if you will, a phenomenology of its semiology” (p. 29). In any case, no phenomenological approach is entitled to confuse the phenomenology of a world with the phenomenology of a descriptive medium. Future research should probe this fundamental distinction and even expose it to falsification.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 276

21 Back to “Cinema is Filmed Theatre” Initially, following its invention, cinema was conceived of as photographed theatre. After a reasonable period of self-establishment, however, its selfperception changed, and it has become commonplace that cinema does essentially differ from theatre; and it is now conceived of as a new and independent dramatic medium. Eventually, while the advent of performance art created the illusion of its basic affinity to theatre, on the grounds of actually experiencing real bodies on stage, there has been a broadening of the alleged gap between theatre, in which the spectator experiences non-mediated actors’ bodies; and cinema, in which actors bodies are mediated by their photographed images projected on a screen. I reconsider here both the initial and eventual approaches, while reflecting my own intuition that the umbilical relation between cinema and theatre should be reinstated.

Barthes’ ‘uncoded iconicity’ In tackling this problem, my starting point is Roland Barthes’ seminal article “Rhetoric of the Image” on still photography. Pondering the nature of the latter is justified here, under the assumption that cinema is fundamentally a kind of (moving) photography, characterized by a particular kind of object: enacted drama. Barthes’ main claim is that, because of its mechanical nature, still photography is a recording (p. 44). If this insight is true, it has farreaching implications in regard to kinetic, including cinematic photography. I intend to substantiate Barthes’ claim, while trying to make explicit the implications that support my above mentioned intuition that cinema is filmed theatre. For Barthes, a major implication of the recording principle is that still photography produces “a message without a code” (p. 36). This is a problematic claim because the notion of ‘message’ normally implies the notion of ‘text’, which in turn presupposes the existence of a code. In contrast, I contend that, while supporting the principle of recording, the textuality of

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 277

Back to “Cinema is Filned Theatre” 277 still (or moving) photography depends on the nature of the photographed object: if the object is a text, the still photograph or film is coded, and if it is not, it is non-coded. In the following considerations I employ ‘photography’ for both still and moving photography. Without ignoring fundamental differences, my theses are: (a) cinema is a recording of a description of a fictional world generated by the theatre medium; (b) since a recording does not change the nature of the recorded text, a film should be decoded/read and interpreted as a theatre-text; (c) the differences between cinema and theatre are fundamentally the result of technical advantages and constraints; and (d) cinema is definitely an autonomous art form, albeit employing the theatre medium.

Photographic indexality Barthes implies that photography is a ‘recording’ or a ‘mechanically captured’ scene that is characterized by “the absence of a code”: In the photograph – at least on the level of the literal message – the relationship of signifieds to signifiers is not one of ‘transformation’ but of ‘recording’, and the absence of a code clearly reinforces the myth of photographic ‘naturalness’: the scene is there, captured mechanically, not humanly (the mechanical is here a guarantee of objectivity). (p. 44)

Since the notion of ‘code’ presupposes the notions of ‘text’ and ‘description’, ‘absence of code’ implies that a recording is neither a text nor a description. Barthes also suggests that a photograph conveys a “non-coded iconic message” (p. 36). This too is a paradoxical claim because, as widely perceived, the notions of ‘message’ and ‘iconicity’, even as defined by Peirce (2.247ff; cf. Sebeok), presuppose the notion of ‘code’. The notion of ‘noncoded iconicity’ is thus a contradiction in terms. Furthermore, Barthes contrasts a photograph to a drawing, under the assumption that, while the latter conveys a “coded iconic message” (p. 36), the former does not. However, even if it is accepted that a still photograph is non-coded on the recording level, it does not necessarily follow that it is non-coded on the level of the recorded object. It is indeed possible that a still photograph is either coded or not, depending on the recorded object. These questions equally apply to both still and kinetic photography. Moreover, Barthes claims that in still photography the relation between the photographic signifier and its signified “is not one of ‘transformation’ but of ‘recording’” (p. 44). He confuses, however, the photographed object with Ferdinand de Saussure’s notion of ‘signified’. For Saussure, a ‘signified’ is not an object of either description or photography, but a set of abstract notions associated with a signifier (p. 99). I insist, therefore, that Barthes’ intention was that ‘recording’ applies to the relation between a photograph and its object. I note that neither Saussure nor Barthes employ the notion of ‘referent’.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 278

278 Stage Acting What is a ‘recording’? It is a ‘reproduction’ of an object, in particular its visual or aural aspects, through a mechanical device; e.g., a photograph or an aural recording. It can also be a synchronous reproduction of both aspects, through a combined technology, such as film and soundtrack. In other words, technology affords three kinds of recordings: visual, aural, and a combination of both. Analogical photography can be defined as the impression of an illuminated object left on a sensitive surface, which thus features a topographic and usually colored similarity to the photographed object. In other words, a photograph is like a footprint, an ‘index’ of its object in Peirce’s terms (for his trichotomy ‘index’, ‘icon’, and ‘symbol’ see scattered references in Peirce: 2.247ff; cf. Sebeok). Despite technical differences, similar considerations apply to video recording. In this respect, the only difference between still and moving photography lies in that the latter records phenomena interchanging on the time axis, thus creating the impression of real life. Being mechanical, it may be added, a recording is indifferent in regard to the nature of the recorded object; e.g., a still photograph can record a particular moment of either a street scene or a theatre performance. The same applies to film, which can record, for example, either an entire race or a whole ballet performance. Any object that has been recorded (captured mechanically), and thus transferred to an additional medium such as still or moving photography, is assumed to preserve the qualities of its object, inasmuch as they can be captured through a specific technology. The value of a recording thus depends on its degree of fidelity. On such grounds, I fully agree with Barthes that still and moving photography are mechanical means of recording. Barthes also claims that what is needed in order to “read” the (noncoded) message of a photograph is merely knowledge of the world: This peculiarity [of being a message without a code] can be seen again at the level of the knowledge invested in the reading of the message; in order to ‘read’ this last (or first) level of the image, all that is needed is the knowledge bound up with our perception. (p. 36)

In other words, the “reading” of a non-coded message only involves both the recognition of the object (e.g., ‘it is a photograph of a tree’) and its categorization, similarly to the object of recording in reality (e.g., ‘it is a tree’). However, the photographed object is not perceived as the referent of a photograph, because ‘reference’ presupposes ‘description’, which in turn presupposes a code or, rather, a medium. Nonetheless, it is neither its ‘signified’, as in Barthes’ terms, because no signifier can be similar to a signified, which by definition is a set of abstract features. Furthermore, ‘signifier’ and ‘signified’ only apply to coded signs. Therefore, ‘similarity’ can only apply to the relationship between a photograph and its object on the level of its perceptible, visual traits. In other words, for Barthes, perceiving a photographic image is similar to perceiving its object. Thus, what is needed in order

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 279

Back to “Cinema is Filned Theatre” 279 to read it “is a matter of an almost an anthropological knowledge” (p. 36). On such grounds, Barthes distinguishes between a photograph and a drawing, even of the same object, on the levels of encoding, and decoding or, rather, ‘reading’: “The photograph, message without a code, must thus be opposed to the drawing which, even when denoted [in the sense of ‘reference’], is a coded message” (p. 43). I believe that this is a sound intuition: whereas a drawing definitely involves a code, a photograph does not necessarily involve it. What is a code? What are the conditions that transform an image – whether a photograph or a drawing – into a sign or, rather, a unit of a code? Barthes suggests that in order for an image of an object to become a sign within a code it should undergo a process of ‘transformation’, in contrast to photograph’s “quasi-identity”: no doubt the photograph involves a certain arrangement of the scene (framing, reduction, flattening) but this transition is not a transformation (in the way a coding can be); we have here a loss of the equivalence characteristic of true sign systems and a statement of quasi-identity. In other words, the sign of this [photographic] message is not drawn from an institutional stock, is not coded, and we are brought up against the paradox (to which we will return) of a message without a code. (p. 36)

Barthes contrasts the principle of ‘equivalence’, which in the case of the typical iconicity of a drawing is based on similarity, to the principle of ‘quasiidentity’ characteristic of photography. This implies that ‘equivalence’ reflects a ‘transformation’, and thus an element of difference, which only seemingly contradicts the principle of similarity underlying the notion of ‘image’. Indeed, most styles of drawing, although essentially based on similarity, introduce elements of difference, without impairing thereby the decoding ability of the spectators. Barthes thus implies that dissimilarity is a precondition for the establishment of a code. Indeed, in order to support his claim he invokes three aspects of difference between a coded drawing of an object and a recording of it: (a) whereas a drawing reflects historical “codes of transposition”, which mediate between it and its object such as those involving perspective or lack of it, a photograph reproduces its object as it is; (b) a drawing presupposes a distinction between “the significant and the insignificant”, and preference for the former, in contrast to a photograph that indistinctly reproduces everything because it cannot “intervene within the object”; and (c) a drawing requires apprenticeship, implying thereby that a photograph does not. It is due to (a) and (b) that Barthes can claim that “the denotation [probably in the sense of ‘description of a referent’] of a drawing is less pure”; due to introducing difference, without losing thereby its ability to convey “a strong message” (p. 43). The claim that a drawing is inherently distinct from a photograph [of the same object], on the grounds of the extreme similarity found in the latter

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 280

280 Stage Acting (‘quasi-identity’), overlooks the fact that, just as there are drawings and paintings that feature a minimal degree of similarity, such as children’s drawings, some styles of painting attempt extreme faithfulness to reality such as hyper-realism, making the distinction between a painting and a photograph almost irrelevant. The degree of similarity, therefore, cannot be perceived as a crucial difference between a (coded) drawing and a (non-coded) photograph. Cases of extreme similarity, however, do not contradict the fact that a painting is coded and that a photograph, qua recording, is not. Whereas the notion of ‘similarity’ is a necessary condition of ‘reproduction’, the notion of ‘code’ indeed implies dissimilarity to a certain extent. One should suspect, nevertheless, that Barthes’ approach reflects a linguistic bias, since the attribution of difference to a code clearly befits verbal representation. This is corroborated by (c): while it is the arbitrariness of words that requires the learning of a language, as otherwise there is no way to read them, iconic signs do not require apprenticeship. He acknowledges that an image [or an iconic sign] is “not ‘arbitrary’, (as [a word] is in language)” (pp. 35–6). Indeed, iconic signs operate a principle of motivation that enables a spontaneous reading: similarity to real models. Furthermore, extreme similarity does not contradict the iconic principle. Consequently, although in most cases the principle of difference is quite a fair indicator of an operating code such an indicator hardly epitomizes the nature of each and every code. I suggest, instead, that a ‘code’ should be described as a distinct repository of signs and syntactic patterns, reflecting specific principles of representation, that enables the potential generation of sentences and texts aiming at describing (referring to and categorizing) objects and/or their phenomena in a (real or fictional) world. A sentence is a predication on a subject, which represents an object, real or fictional, i.e., it refers to and categorizes an object through the signifieds of its component signs, syntactic pattern and deictic devices. In other words, a sentence articulates a thought through a specific code. Sentences – including iconic ones – are thus employed to think (representation) and communicate thoughts to others (see chapter 1). Whereas the sentence is the largest unit that a code can generate, a text is a finite set of sentences organized by the principles of a code/medium. Complex thoughts require the extent of a text. Fictional texts are further organized by poetic principles. There is an ontological gap, therefore, between the level of a world and the level of a coded text – verbal or iconic – which reflects the ontological gap between a world and its description. The use of a code for either a sentence or a text thus indicates the specific intention to think and communicate thinking by its means. The distinction between a coded drawing and a non-coded photograph hinges, therefore on the difference between an articulated thought and a mere recording. I thus agree with Barthes, although on different grounds that, on the level of recording a photograph is not necessarily coded and, therefore, in itself, does not necessarily convey a message. Again, Barthes makes a distinction between a ‘coded iconic message’ and a ‘non-coded iconic message’ (p. 36). The erroneous implication is that

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 281

Back to “Cinema is Filned Theatre” 281 ‘coding’ is not presupposed by ‘iconicity’; i.e., in his view, the notion of ‘icon’ may or may not be coupled with the notion of ‘code’. On such grounds, he indiscriminately applies ‘image’ and ‘iconic’ to both photography and (figurative) drawing, with both these terms implying the principle of ‘similarity’. It is sensible to assume, therefore, that he mistakenly considers similarity between a recording photograph and its object as ‘iconic’. The problem is that ‘similarity’ (and ‘dissimilarity’, by implication) is an over-broad category of thought that by far exceeds the boundaries of either iconicity or recording. Although ‘similarity’ underpins both the notions of ‘iconic sign’ and ‘recording’, its meaning is different in each domain. Whereas ‘similarity’ is inherent to ‘iconicity’, not every case of similarity is iconic. Whereas ‘similarity’ is inherent in reproduction, not every case of similarity is a reproduction. Not every two similar objects are either iconic to or reproductive of one another; e.g., a pea to another pea; a twin to his brother; and a fake drawing to the original. Furthermore, not every kind of image is iconic; e.g., the reflection of a face in a mirror or a pond. A visual recording of a landscape, for example, being like a reflection in a mirror, has nothing to do with iconicity. Whereas a recording is an index of its object, as suggested above, ‘iconicity’ is a specific principle of representation (see chapter 1). As suggested above, the iconic system of signification and communication is grafted upon the innate ability of the human brain to think through mental images (ibid.). The brain naturally creates ‘percepts’ (mental images of perceptions) that are neural recordings. Being recordings, not only can they be retrieved as such (memory), but also used as units of the preverbal mode of imagistic thinking. I assume that this happens the moment it is employed, not only for remembering perceptions of objects, but also for representing them in thinking processes (cf. Langer, Kosslyn and Damasio; cf. chapter 1). As suggested above, a mental image becomes a unit of a culturally established medium under two conditions: (a) being imprinted on matter and (b) being mediated by language (ibid.). Condition (a) makes up for the image’s communicative incapacity. The imprinting of a mental image on matter thus transforms it into an iconic sign. Condition (b) enables the standardization of signifieds and syntactic patterns, and thereby the generation of relatively univocal iconic sentences and icons (ibid.). A brain conditioned by natural language naturally conceives of mental images, read on the holistic level, as representing the referents (subject function) and, read on the partial level, as modifiers meant to describe the former (predicate function). Unfortunately, Barthes does not operate the notions of ‘imprinting’, ‘language mediation’, ‘subject’, ‘predicate’, ‘referent’, ‘predication’, ‘reference’, and ‘description’. I find that these shortcomings are also typical of traditional semiotics. For the spectator, both the iconic image and the filmic image on a screen are objects of perception, and their reflections in the brain – percepts. It might appear, therefore, that the difference between the iconic imprinting of

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 282

282 Stage Acting a mental image and the photographic recording of a referential object (also a kind of imprinting) is negligible. Due to its abstract nature, the principle of similarity is unable to distinguish between the two. What is then the actual difference between them? I believe that the difference is in fact highly conspicuous, and can be determined on several grounds: 1) Whereas the imprinted image operates on the primary level of thinking through an iconic text and communicating thinking, the recorded image operates on the secondary level of reproducing a pre-existing object whether it is coded or not. 2) Whereas iconic imprinting reflects the intention of formulating and communicating a thought, recording is a mechanical process that reflects the intention to reproduce an object whether it is a thought or not. 3) Iconic mediums usually employ different materials for imprinting. The typical difference between an iconic signifier and its model on the level of its imprinting matter emphasizes the communicative function of an imprinted mental image. In contrast, the material of a recording is dependent on its particular technique; for example, film is a mechanical recording on a film sensitive to light. 4) A mechanical recording does not abrogate a previous imprinting on matter; for instance, a photograph of a drawing. The “reader” of a recorded imprinted image is thus invited to overlook the act of recording and read, interpret and experience the recorded text itself. 5) Whereas in decoding an iconic sign/sentence relies on similarity even if it is faint and stylized (involving dissimilarity), in recording the degree of fidelity is a pertinent criterion of excellence. 6) Whereas an iconic text can refer to any object, whether real or fictional, a film does not refer to an object at all, but only reproduces it: reference is only a function of a description. Consequently, in principle, any comparison between a drawing and a recording is misleading because they operate on different levels. As I have suggested above, Barthes’ claim of a non-coded iconic message is paradoxical because ‘iconicity’ presupposes a code/medium. In light of the preceding considerations, we may claim without reservation that this claim is a fallacy. Barthes ignores the fact that decoding an iconic text presupposes the cultural assumption that its images are intentionally coupled with established meanings, refer to something and describe it. We may thus conclude that despite apparent similarity, on the level of recording, photography is not iconic, but indexical.

Photographic iconicity Since it is in the nature of recording to preserve the qualities of its objects, if the object of a photograph is an iconic text for example, its recording is iconic

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 283

Back to “Cinema is Filned Theatre” 283 and thus coded; and if it is not a text its recording is non-coded. This solves the problematic relation between the indexality of a recording and its possible iconicity. Similar considerations apply to the photographic recording of textual objects in other mediums, such as a drawing or the performance of an opera. Obviously, a photographic recording can also reflect the nature of a non-textual object; e.g., a real soccer game recorded in a documentary film (Bordwell: 110–28). We may therefore conclude that the textuality or non-textuality of a photograph depends on the nature of its object. In other words, what is not a text on the recorded level cannot be a text on the recording level. A tomato, for example, is not coded and, therefore a photograph of a tomato cannot be coded. It is just an index of a tomato. In order for a recording to be coded its object must be a text generated by a medium, whether it embodies a simple or a complex thought. A photograph can record, for example, a page in a book featuring a verbal description of a tomato plant and the various stages in its development from germination to fruition, together with a set of photographs illustrating these stages. Such a combined text is indeed coded because it articulates thoughts about tomatoes. In such a case the set of photographs can even be exchanged by a set of drawings without changing the meaning of the text. Similar considerations apply to an article in a newspaper featuring both a photograph and a verbal comment. The photograph is thus contextualized. In order for a photograph to be “read” as a text, its textuality has to be presupposed. The assumption that if the object of a photograph is a real thing it is necessarily non-coded, is not true. There are plenty of conventional indexes such as costume, head dressing, posture, and hierarchical seating that may transform, for example, a family photograph into a text. However, most real objects are not pre-existing texts. A crucial distinction between two kinds of photographic images should thus be made: (a) the mechanical recording of a non-coded real object (e.g., a snapshot of a landscape); and (b) the mechanical recording of a preexisting text (e.g., a photograph of a painted landscape); i.e., a reproduction. The former can be said to indicate the landscape’s qualities because these are recognized as such, and categorized by the viewer on the grounds of similarly to its object, the real landscape. In contrast, the latter would reproduce the qualities of its textual object, the painted landscape; e.g., a reproduction of a Constable painting. While the former does not resemble an iconic text in any way, the latter shows little difference between the object, the iconic text, and the recording because it collapses them into a unity. Only in this sense can a photograph be said to be a text, generated by a code; an ‘iconic’ text in particular. Only if coded, such a text can convey a message. Trevor Whittock claims that “[e]mphasis on the ‘automatic’ way film records reality is misleading because it conceals the human participation” (p. 28). Indeed, one should not overlook the possible rearrangement of reality by intentional means, such as framing, panning and zooming. However, such procedures are unable to transform a non-coded object into a text, and do

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 284

284 Stage Acting not contradict the claim that the ‘textuality’ of a photograph depends on the nature of its object. On the same grounds, there is nothing to preclude the creation of a text by combining partial photographic images after being photographed (cf. David Hockney’s photo collages). Similar considerations apply to the accidental configuration of real objects that is perceived by the photographer (and eventually by the viewer) as a text. The common denominator of all these cases lies in that, again, it is not the photographic recording in itself that creates a text. Barthes claims that photography introduced an anthropological revolution into human culture because it enables a new kind of consciousness: The type of consciousness the photograph involves is indeed truly unprecedented, since it establishes not a consciousness of the being-there of the thing (which any copy could provoke) but an awareness of its having-beenthere. What we have is a new space-time category: spatial immediacy and temporal anteriority, the photograph being an illogical conjunction between the here-now and the there-then. It is thus at the level of this denoted message or message without a code that the real unreality of the photograph can be fully understood: its unreality is that of the here-now, for the photograph is never experienced as illusion, is in no way a presence (claims as to the magical character of the photographic image must be deflated); its reality that of having-been-there, for in every photograph there is always stupefying evidence of this is how it was, giving us, by a precious miracle, a reality from which we are sheltered. (p. 44)

I agree with Barthes that a [journalistic] photograph reflects the combination of “spatial and temporal immediacy and spatial and temporal anteriority . . . being an illogical conjunction between the here-now and the there-then.” It conveys a sense of presence subverted by the thought of temporal anteriority and a sense of anteriority subverted by the presence of the recording. In other words, the paradox lies in that the photograph may create the unusual experience of witnessing a past event in the ‘now’ (and another place as the ‘here’) of the beholder. In his terms, a present object (the photograph) conveys a sense of ‘having-been-there’. It is this conjunction of present and past that bestows a kind of ‘naturalness’ and a sense of objectivity and authenticity on a photograph. I believe this to be a fertile insight. This paradox is most conspicuous when watching a video recording of a dead relative. In this regard, although the same can be said about a still portrait of a dead relative, a film is probably more powerful than still photography in this respect. In fact, the freezing of the image of a living person at an earlier age, including our own image, has a similar effect. We may conclude, therefore, that this kind of consciousness that still photography can elicit, this “illogical conjunction between the here-now and the therethen”, is also possible in moving photography, particularly in documentary film. Does this peculiar sense apply to all the kinds of photographs and films;

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 285

Back to “Cinema is Filned Theatre” 285 to a photograph of Picasso’s Guernica, for example? I believe this is not the case because such a painting constitutes a text prior to its being recorded; i.e., it is a text even if not photographed. In this sense, it is not a ‘there and then’ prior to recording. It is an expanded ‘here and now’ as both a text and a photograph. The textual character of an art object defies time. The possibility of recording a text thus introduces an additional time dimension, which is in fact a quality of the photographed fictional text, which can be characterized as an aspatial and an atemporal ‘here and now’. In other words, in the case of a recorded iconic/fictional text, photography does not reflect the unprecedented kind of consciousness advocated by Barthes. This supports the claim that a recording preserves the visual and/or aural qualities of its object.

Cinema as the recording of a theatre-text As suggested above, the theatre is a specific iconic code/medium and a theatre performance is a text generated by this code/medium. The specific difference of the theatre medium lies in that, in contrast to other iconic mediums, it fundamentally imprints images on matters similar to those of their models; e.g., images of human beings on real human bodies (actors), dresses on real materials, and light on real sources of light (see chapter 1). The actual body of an actor enacting a fictional human being is thus the hallmark of the theatre medium. The implication is that theatre signs extend the principle of similarity to the matter of imprinting. Whereas in other iconic mediums difference on the material level underscores the signifying and communicative functions of their images, additional similarity on the material level may induce a unique sense of reality, without affecting their descriptive function. It is this apparent sense of reality that may produce the erroneous impression of ‘quasi identity’. In principle, according to David Bordwell & Kristin Thompson, the way actors enact characters and their actions in front of a camera, is basically the same as the way actors enact their characters and their acts/actions on stage (pp. 59–80). In either theatre or cinema, actors produce indexes of actions that do not refer to themselves, but to the characters they enact. I have termed this principle ‘deflection of reference’, and suggest that this is the quintessence of ‘acting’ (see chapter 20). The same applies to the non-human objects that enact non-human entities in the fictional world whether on a stage or a film set. It is self-evident, nonetheless, that in cinema actors have to accommodate to the technical requirements of the camera. However, this in no way impinges on the basic principles of acting. Although it is possible that naturalistic acting best suits the recording nature of film, this does not contradict the aforementioned principles either. Following Bordwell & Thompson, directing cinematic drama too means, in principle, operating like directing a theatre production:

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 286

286 Stage Acting Film scholars extending the term [mise en scène] to film direction, use the term to signify the director’s control over what appears on the film frame. As you would expect from the term’s theatrical origins, mise en scène includes those aspects of film that overlap with the art of the theater: setting, lighting, costume, and the behavior of the figures. In controlling the mise en scène, the director stages the event for the camera. (p. 156)

Although in cinema both acting and filming take place simultaneously, the acting should be seen as creating a text, and the filming as recording it, with the latter being dependent on the former. In other words, only logically, acting precedes filming. The actors’ performing the description of a fictional world, i.e., a coded text, logically precedes its recording. In fact, the numerous rehearsals of a scene before filming substantiate this claim. Moreover, for the spectators, the experience of images of actors projected on a screen mediates between them and the actors enacting fictional entities in front of a camera. The recording nature of filming does not change the textual nature of the recorded acting. It is noteworthy that cinema operates two technologies of recording: visual and aural (soundtrack). If filming is essentially a technique of recording and if its textuality depends on the object of recording, cinema is thus a recorded text generated by the theatre medium. Indeed, cinema records a well-rehearsed and usually well-enacted text. The result is a recorded iconic, and thus a coded text, not because of the similarity between the image on the screen and the recorded object, which is a mechanically produced index, but because of the iconic nature of its object, the performance-text. As suggested above, cinema is an autonomous art form that its textuality is generated by the theatre medium. In contrast to these considerations, it may be argued that when a theatre performance-text is filmed or video recorded, it is severely distorted. Nevertheless, I suggest that this further supports the fact that filming is a mechanical recording and, as such, the object should be accommodated to its technical requirements. Whenever a theatre performance is recorded appropriately, the result may be excellent; as, for example, the video recording of the performance of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, directed by Trevor Nunn and starring Ian McKellen and Judi Dench, at the Royal Shakespeare Company, 1976 (Nunn; Thames Television International, 1991). Directing cinema, therefore, means that, in addition to guiding and controlling the actors, as in theatre, attention should be paid to how the recorded images will appear on screen (Bordwell: 193–248). Similar considerations apply to the recording of other objects, such as the recording of a concert. Furthermore, all the elements usually considered as typical of the cinematic medium are in fact technical advantages that enable unique achievements, such as controlling the viewing distance of the spectators (from extreme long shot to extreme close-up); regulating the viewing angle of the spectators (e.g., pan, tilt and tracking shot) and manipulating their focus (from sharpness to dissolve) (Bordwell: ibid.). These examples and others usually overcome various constraints of the theatre medium, and can

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 287

Back to “Cinema is Filned Theatre” 287 even increase its powers. However, in theatre proper too technical inventions promote the creation of new conventions; e.g., the introduction of the revolving stage enabled instant change of sets or the image of walking long distances. In addition, although the superior capacities of moving photography have substantially increased, some of the traditional theatre conventions have been used in cinema to fulfill the very same functions; e.g., the soliloquy. In turn, theatre proper too has assimilated new conventions developed by filming technology; e.g., slow motion and freeze. In principle, the set of theatre/cinematic conventions should be seen as a shared and open-ended set, inter alia growing with the invention of new techniques. Without ignoring the obvious differences between the experiences of spectators in either theatre or cinematic productions, the crucial question is whether these differences derive either from the nature of the medium or from technical properties. I claim that in cinema the latter is the case. Nevertheless, despite all the technical advantages of cinematic photography, and because of being fundamentally a recording, the actual experience of real bodies on stage, which is the hallmark of theatre art, is definitely lost.

@ The term ‘theatre’ is usually used for various aspects of this art: the performance-text that describes a fictional world, the entire range of theatre activities (including the theatre event), and the place where theatre performance-texts are performed. In this study, and previous ones, I have employed ‘theatre’ for the medium that generates descriptions of fictional worlds; i.e., performance-texts. It is in this sense that a cinematic film is a recording of a performance-text that describes a fictional world, generated by the theatre medium. Only on the grounds that a recording is not meant to change the nature of its object, it can be said that cinema is a subspecies drama. Still, its iconic and thus coded nature is a feature of the object of recording and not of the recording itself. The actual response of an audience to a movie predominantly depends not on the qualities of the mechanical recording, but on the nature of the enacted fictional world. All these considerations should not contradict the intuition that theatretexts and movies reflect different arts. The fact is that the recording itself also has its share in the concluding experience. So are the circumstances of watching it. This sense of difference, however, by no means contradicts the main thesis of this chapter: filming is a recording technique and cinema is a recorded text generated by the theatre medium. Future art research should expose these conclusions to falsification, in order to create a comprehensive theory of the arts.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 288

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 289

PART VI

Learned Intuitions Part VI offers learned intuitions on the various stages in the creation of imagistic/iconic mediums as culturally-developed from the preverbal imagistic mode of thinking, while acknowledging the crucial contribution of language to this process. The preverbal mode of thinking, which was probably superseded by language, for being relatively ineffective, and suppressed to the unconscious, has been re-integrated into human culture in the guise of a set of quite sophisticated mediums, which became the solid fundaments of the iconic/fictional arts. Future theatre research should take into account this fundamental change of paradigm in regard to the following intuitions on the roots of the iconic mediums, including the theatre medium, and should expose them to falsification.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 290

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 291

22 Creation of Imagistic / Iconic Mediums The omnipresence of imagistic, metaphoric, and symbolic elements in all the iconic arts leads to the conjecture that these are rooted in the biological heritage of humankind. This is corroborated by the fundamental correspondence between the culturally-conditioned imagistic/iconic mediums, and what is perceived here as the remnants of preverbal thinking, e.g., dreams, daydreams, and children’s imaginative play and drawings. First of all, as suggested above ‘iconicity’ is rooted in mental imagery, i.e., in the human brain’s spontaneous capacity to produce images, the by-products of perception, and employ them in thinking practices (see chapter 1). Such images are retrieved for the purpose of reflecting on real objects and situations in absentia; i.e., for the purpose not of reacting, but of thinking (ibid.). Following trends of research in psychoanalysis and infant psychology, it is plausible to assume that for children, at an early age, this primeval mode of thinking loses its inborn hegemony, as being superseded by language and suppressed to the unconscious, because of its relative ineffectiveness and, in parallel, due to the gradual mastery of the alternative and more efficient verbal mode of thinking. Despite suppression, I conjecture that, first, the preverbal mode of imagistic thinking re-emerges in the guise of culturally-established iconic mediums, based on the imprinting of images on matter and language mediation (ibid.). Second, as for the metaphoric, symbolic and fictional modes of thinking, these too are characteristic of both the remnants of preverbal thinking and eventual iconic mediums, and even adopted and adapted by verbal thinking, probably due to being deeply rooted in the biological heritage of the human mind. This concluding part aims at outlining the possible development from preverbal representation to the imagistic/iconic mediums that characterize most of the arts, including literature. These mediums lend communicative capacity to imagistic representation. Although it is assumed that imagistic, metaphoric, symbolic and fictional phenomena are nonverbal in nature, paradoxically, any attempt to account for such a development must employ a verbal meta-language, not only because language mediation is a crucial

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 292

292 Learned Intuitions factor in the creation of imagistic/iconic mediums, but also and mainly because of its unique capacity to develop a suitable and well-defined methodology of research and theory. The following model is generative in the sense that it can be tested neither under laboratory conditions nor does it correspond to historic data. Unfortunately, demonstration verges on the impossible because preverbal cultures are extinct. However, this model considers the stages suggested below as logically necessary in order to explain the generation of the various systems of imagistic/iconic communication, the iconic/fictional arts in particular. The invention of language undoubtedly revolutionized human thinking. If indeed the imagistic, metaphoric, symbolic and fictional principles are rooted in the preverbal mind, the fundamental question is: how these principles managed to make their way into institutionalized human culture? I advance here a set of learned intuitions on this possible process and its reconstruction. I suggest that this process is logically characterized by the following stages: a) b) c) d)

Preverbal thinking. Invention of language and its innovations. Adoption of preverbal principles by language Twofold cultural role of language: 1) suppression of imagistic thinking; 2) creation of iconic mediums.

Preverbal thinking As suggested above, ‘thinking’ means that (a) the mental representation of real objects and their phenomena, their categorization through lexical and syntactic categories, and reference to these objects and phenomena; and (b) manipulation of these representations in absentia, i.e., by disconnecting them from actual experience. This is done in order to reach conclusions and consider ways of handling reality (see chapter 1). ‘Reference’ aims at mentally ‘picking up’ (or ‘identifying’) a set or subset of objects (Searle, 1985: 72–3), either subliminally known or represented by an explicit subject or, rather, as an object of thinking. In principle, the subject of a sentence is not necessarily made explicit if it is self-understood. Imagistic thinking intuitively reflects these principles, which eventually will be theoretically defined by verbal thinking. Therefore, the imagistic sentence, the basic unit of nonverbal thinking, combines representation through images, lexical and syntactic categorization, and description of referential objects. If Chomsky is correct in claiming that the basic subject–predicate relationship is inborn (1975), this biologically-rooted pattern is also reflected in imagistic thinking. I assume that the preverbal brain spontaneously perceived syntactic relations in their embryonic form and, therefore, was capable of thinking.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 293

Creation of Imagistic/Iconic Mediums

293

In particular, imagistic metaphor presupposes these functions, due to being an inherently predicative phenomenon. Nonetheless, it differs from its verbal counterpart in describing objects through images, i.e., through nonverbal means, including referential (nonverbal) associations, which basically are marginalized by verbal thinking as corroborated by science and philosophy. Similar considerations apply to fictional thinking; i.e., to thinking through narratives, which is too metaphoric in nature and typically avoided by verbal thinking. Similar observations apply to imagistic symbols. Indeed, preverbal symbols, characterized by a diffuse associative periphery, may have operated uncontrolled nonverbal associations, including personal ones, with the latter precluding efficient communication Despite differences, however, imagistic thinking already evinces the minimal conditions for metaphoric, symbolic and fictional thinking, such as representation, categorization, predication, and reference, including the evocation of referential associations, albeit in an intuitive and rudimentary manner.

Invention of language and its innovations In their preverbal stage, the limitations of images as signifiers, signifieds and components of imagistic sentences are quite obvious. Such deficiencies are perceived from the advantageous perspective of language. Inter alia, these deficiencies include the following: (a) failing to communicate thoughts; (b) failing to discern between the core sense of an image and its connotations; some of which can be even prominently individual; (c) failing to mark syntactic relations; and (d) failing to represent abstract entities. All these are made possible only by mediation of language. The invention of language thus introduced a revolution in human thinking and communication Its main innovations were neither in the domain of the signified, since images too attach abstract traits, nor in that of syntax, which, as suggested above, is shared by imagistic thinking; but in the domain of a new kind of signifier based on sound: the word. It follows that language only formalized spontaneous imagistic representation and syntax, while enabling its further articulation and communication. Due to the nature of hearing, verbal signifiers are sequences of discrete sounds performed on the time axis in a pre-determined order. Assumedly, these composite patterns of sound were conventionally connected both to images of referents in the mind and to their signifieds, i.e., to the sets of features abstracted from a definite sets of referents. Such an aural signifier enabled humankind to efficiently communicate thinking between fellow humans, and even between generations, against the background of the aforementioned fundamental limitations of imagistic thinking. In particular, it is highly difficult to communicate images, due to their non-material and fleeting nature. For preverbal humans, the natural means for communicating images was probably to imprint them on their own bodies. To a limited extent, humans imitated movements and sounds of

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 294

294 Learned Intuitions people, animals, and even natural phenomena, by intonation, facial expression, bodily posture and gesture. To a limited extent, this is found also in gestures of anthropoid apes; e.g., the imprinted image of “follow me’ and the display of authority (cf. Linden: 12). The imprinting of images on their own bodies by apes probably preceded imaginative play and theatre (Rozik, 2002a: 270–92). Pointing a finger was possibly used as a primitive form of reference. The imprinting of images on matter, including matters other than the body, could have enabled communication, but this presupposes a verbal culture. The invention of writing enabled unrestricted communication not only between people who could not see or hear one another, but also between generations and even cultures. On such grounds, for reasons of efficiency, it is possible to understand why and how language superseded preverbal imagistic thinking and even suppressed it into the unconscious.

Adoption of preverbal principles by language Verbal thinking definitely prefers literal predication, and avoids metaphoric (including fictional) predication and symbolic signification; probably due to the crucial and unwelcome role of nonverbal associations, as corroborated by science and philosophy. Nonetheless, language preserves these figures of speech, probably because of providing additional means for communicating insights that cannot be articulated otherwise. It is likely therefore, that language had to adopt metaphor and symbol, through special conventions, because of their deep biological roots in the human psyche. A clear example of adoption by language is metaphor, although the latter contradicts some rules of the former. I surmise that the invention of language was a turning point in the development of metaphoric thinking. Basically, the creation of language enabled the development and eventual hegemony of literal predication that, assumedly, already had existed in embryo in imagistic thinking. Literal predication is characterized by abstention from improper terms and, due to the abstract nature of language, by a clear tendency to preclude evocation of referential associations, improper ones in particular. This tendency is brought to the extreme in philosophy and science. In this sense, metaphor indeed runs against a fundamental tendency of language. This tendency might have marginalized metaphor to the point of almost total suppression, were it not for its persistent nature and its deep roots in the preverbal psyche. The mere existence and even preference for metaphor in several domains of human thinking and creativity reveals that language was compelled to adopt this alternative principle of predication, and adapt it to its rules. It thus established special conventions for metaphor, such as the use of the usual comparison marker for the preference of improper referential associations; implying thereby, in contrast to Searle, that a verbal metaphor says exactly what the speaker means (1988: 93).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 295

Creation of Imagistic/Iconic Mediums

295

What are the advantages of such an adoption? Inter alia, the benefit of an additional kind of predication (metaphoric cross-predication in addition to literal predication); the variation of descriptive means; the extreme gradation of modifiers; the synchronic multiplicity of modifiers; and above all, the ability of metaphor to communicate with the deeper layers of the psyche. Notwithstanding, verbal culture recoils from metaphor, especially in philosophy and science, and confines it to domains that purposefully promote the evocation of nonverbal associative peripheries, such as religion, ideologies and the arts. Language had to find a way for enabling their expression. Similar considerations apply to the adoption of symbolic and fictional thinking (thinking trough narratives), with the latter being subspecies metaphoric thinking. The adoption of imagistic thinking is most conspicuous in literature, which operates through the evocative power of words; in particular, through those perceived as verbal images. What is usually termed ‘verbal image’, whether employed in a literal or metaphoric capacity, is a word capable of evoking a mental image in the mind of the receiver. It follows that verbal signifiers are conventionally connected not only to signifieds but also and perhaps predominantly to images of referents, so that a word can evoke its correlated image in a context that promotes imagistic thinking, such as poetry and fiction. Verbal images too, therefore, naturally induce specific referential associations. In this sense, a verbal image too can be employed in either a literal or a metaphoric (or symbolic) capacity. The adoption of all these principles of preverbal thinking attests to their vitality in the human psyche, which compelled language to adopt them and adapt them to its own rules.

Two-fold cultural role of language I suggest that the advent of language made two, and seemingly contrasting impacts on the human culture: (a) the suppression of imagistic thinking into the unconscious; and (b) the reintegration of imagistic thinking, through imprinting on matter and language mediation, in the guise of highly articulated iconic mediums, as established means of expression in well-delimited cultural domains. a) Suppression of imagistic thinking: Since its creation language has become a powerful means of representation and thinking. Through promotion of literal predication, already embryonic in imagistic predication, language evinces a tendency to marginalize metaphoric, symbolic and fictional thinking, and even to suppress them into the unconscious, as indicated by children’s intellectual development. Moreover, as a result, and as demonstrated by dreams, imagistic representation remained the predominant mode of unconscious thinking, and thus characteristic of it. Suppression probably marks the eventual victory of language in this struggle between

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 296

296 Learned Intuitions modes of representation and communication. Suppression also explains the effectiveness of metaphoric, symbolic and fictional means of description in political, religious and artistic rhetoric, due to their capacity to address the unconscious layers of the psyche. b) Creation of iconic mediums: Because of their vitality in the human psyche, language enabled imagistic, metaphoric, symbolic and fictional thinking to re-enter culture in particular domains, such as the arts, through lexical and syntactic language mediation. This tendency also includes literature, in which words are also employed for the evocation of mental images. In other words, it is through mediation that language enabled the creation of the iconic system, thus reintegrating imagistic thinking into human culture in the guise of a set of highly articulative and communicative mediums. For example, the cave paintings at Altamira (c.14,000 BCA) and Lascaux (c.18,000 BCA), which definitely reflect the use of imprinted images, presuppose their iconic nature, even if they were employed for magic purposes; i.e., even in order to be ritually effective such paintings had to be first and foremost descriptive representations. These images were actually imprinted some eighty thousand years after the invention of language, which according to various assessments happened some hundred thousand years BCA. This conjecture would corroborate the thesis that the advent of iconic mediums presupposes the mediation of language; i.e., the existence of a verbal culture. Only a brain conditioned by language is capable of perceiving entire iconic texts as featuring discrete signifiers, controlled signifieds, and articulated sentences, with the latter being too a precondition of the metaphoric, symbolic and fictional descriptions of worlds. In other words, only a brain conditioned by language is capable of making univocal iconic descriptions of fictional worlds possible.

Advent of the theatre medium Since the theatre medium presupposes all the forms of preverbal imagistic/metaphoric/ symbolic/fictional thinking, it should be assumed that its creation has been rooted in the preverbal mind. In contrast to historic theories of origin, including ritual ones, the source of the theatre medium should be sought in the spontaneous, biologically rooted capacity of the human brain to think through images, long before the advent of language; and through images imprinted on matter not before the invention of language, probably, in pre-historic times (cf. Rozik. 2002a: 314–34)

@ The development from archaic imagistic thinking to culturally-established iconic mediums through imprinting on matter and language mediation has had far reaching implications: it enables the appropriate reading (decoding)

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 297

Creation of Imagistic/Iconic Mediums

297

of imagistic, metaphoric, symbolic, and fictional descriptions, under the assumption that even in their preverbal instances, such as dreams, daydreams, children’s imaginative play and drawings, they reflect the very same principles. By the same token, it enables the reading of culturally-established iconic texts in the light of the very same theoretical principles; while supporting the thesis that iconic texts are homogenous in nature and reflect a biologically rooted mode of thinking. Future theatre research must take into consideration this new paradigm; and expose all assumptions, presuppositions, contentions and intuitions suggested throughout the book to falsification. Only thus may theatre research develop through implementing Popper’s vision: “Theories are nets cast to catch what we call ‘the world’: to rationalize, to explain and to master it; [i.e.,] to make the mesh ever finer and finer”.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 298

List of Cited Theoretical Works Alexander, Tamar & Govrin, Michal (1989) “Storytelling as a Performing Art”. In (Assaph – Studies in the Theatre, No. 5; 1–34. Aristotle (1951) Poetics. In S. H. Butcher (trans. & ed.), Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine Art. New York: Dover. —— (1991) The Art of Rhetoric. Trans. H. C. Lawson-Tancred Words. London. London: Penguin. Austin, J. L. (1964) “Truth”. In George itcher (ed.), Truth. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall; 18–31. —— (1980). How to Do Things with: Oxford University Press. Barrett H. Clark (ed.) (1965) European Theories of the Drama. New York: Crown. Barthes, Roland (1990) “Rhetoric of the image”. In Image, Music, Text. S. Heath (trans.). London: Fontana Press; 32–51. Bartholomeusz, Dennis (1969) Macbeth and the Players. Cambridge University Press. Beardsley, Monroe C. (1958) “Theories of Metaphor”. In Aesthetics. New York: Harcourt; 134–44. Bell, Clive (1997) “The Aesthetic Hypothesis”. In S. Feagin & P. Maynard (eds.) Aesthetics. Oxford University Press; 15–23 Black, Max (1988) “More about Metaphor”. In A. Ortony (ed.), Metaphor and Thought; 19–43. —— (1962) “Metaphor”. In Joseph Margolis (ed.), Philosophy Looks at the Arts. New York: Scribner; 218–35. Bogatyrev, Petr (1986) “Semiotics in the Folk Theater”. In L. Matejka and I. R. Titunik (eds.), Semiotics of Art; 33–49. Bordwell, David & Thompson, Kristin (2001) Film Art – An Introduction. New York, etc.: McGraw Hill, sixth edition. Bradbrook, M. C. (1979) Themes and Conventions of Elizabethan Tragedy. Cambridge University Press. Bradley, A. C. (1961) “Macbeth”. In Shakespearean Tragedy. London: Macmillan. —— (1965) “Hegel’s Theory of Tragedy”. In Oxford Lectures on Poetry. London: Macmillan; 69–95. Brecht, Bertolt, see Willett below. —— (1987) “A Short Organum for the Theatre”. In John Willett (ed. & trans.), Brecht on Theatre. New York: Hill and Wang & London: Methuen; 179–205 Brooks, Cleanth (1947) “The Naked Baby and the Cloak of Manliness”, in The WellWrought Urn. New York: Harcourt; 22–49. Brušák, Karel (1986) ‘Signs in the Chinese Theater’. In L. Matejka and I. R. Titunik (eds.), Semiotics of Art; 59–73.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 299

List of Cited Theoretical Works 299 Bullough, Edward (1913) “‘Psychical Distance’ as a Factor in Art and as an Aesthetic Principle”, British Journal of Psychology, Vol. V; 87–117. Burkert,Walter (1979) Structure and History in Greek Mythology and Ritual (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press. Burnett, Anne Pippin (1985) The Art of Bacchylides. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Burns, Elizabeth (1972) Theatricality – A Study of Convention in the Theatre and in Social Life. London: Longman. Butcher, S. H. (ed. and trans.) (1951) Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine Art. New York: Dover. Buxton, Richard (2004) The Complete World of Greek Mythology. London: Thames & Hudson. Campbell, Lily Bess (1972) “Macbeth: a Study in Fear”, in Shakespeare’s Tragic Heroes. London: Methuen; 208–39. Carlson, Marvin (1990) Theatre Semiotics – Signs of Life. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Cassirer, Ernst (1953) Language and Myth. Trans. S. K. Langer. New York: Dover Chomsky, Noam (1966) Cartesian Linguistics. New York: Harper & Row. Cirlot, J. E. (1973) A Dictionary of Symbols. Trans. J. Sage. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. COD: Concise Oxford Dictionary. Coleridge, S. T. (1967) Shakespearean Criticism. London: Everyman’s Library. Corneille, Pierre (1964) “Discours sur le Poème Dramatique” (1660), in Robert Mantero (ed.), Corneille Critique. Paris: Buchet/Chastel; 167–260. Cornford, Francis M. (1914) The Origin of Attic Comedy. London: Edward Arnold. Damasio, Antonio R. (1994) Descartes’ Error – Emotion, Reason and the Human Brain. New York: Grosset/Putnam. Dijk, Teun A. van (1977) Text and Context. London & New York: Longman. —— (1980) Macrostructures. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. Dodds, E. R. (1988) “On Misunderstanding the Oedipus Rex”. In E. Segal (ed.), Oxford Readings in Greek Tragedy. Oxford University Press; 177–88. Doležel, Lubomír (1989) “Possible Worlds and Literary Fictions”. In S. Allen (ed.), Possible Worlds in Humanities, Arts and Sciences: Proceedings of the Nobel Symposium 65. Berlin & New York: Walter de Gruyter; 221–42. Doty, William G. (1986) Mythography – The Study of Myth and Rituals. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press. Eco, Umberto (1980) The Role of the Reader – Explorations in the Semiotics of Texts. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Elam, Keir (1980) The Semiotics of Theatre and Drama. London and New York: Methuen. Eliade, Mircea (1991) Images and Symbols – Studies in Religious Symbolism. Trans. Philip Mairet. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Esslin, Martin (1961) The Theatre of the Absurd. Garden City, New York: Doubleday. Fischer-Lichte, Erika (1992) “Theater as a Semiotic System”. In The Semiotics of Theater. Trans. J. Gaines and D. L. Jones. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press; 129–41. Forceville, Charles (1991) “Verbo-Pictorial Metaphor in Advertisement”. Parlance, Vol. 3, 1; 7–19. Francis J. Child (1965) English and Scottish Ballads. New York: Dover: five vols.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 300

300 List of Cited Theoretical Works Franz, M.-L. von (1969) “The Process of Individuation,” in Carl G. Jung, Man and his Symbols, 158–229. Frazer, James G. (1945) The Golden Bough. New York: Macmillan. Freud, Sigmund (1990a) “Creative Writers and Daydreaming,” in Art and Literature, trans. James Strachey. London: Penguin; 131–41. —— (1990b) “Some Character Types Met with in Psychological Work” in Art and Literature. London: Penguin. —— (1975) Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis. In Complete Psychological Works. Trans. James Starchey. London: Hogarth Press, Vol. XV. —— (1978) The Interpretation of Dreams. Trans. J. Strachey. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books. Frye, Northrop (1961) “Myth, Fiction and Displacement”. Daedalus, Summer; 351– 69. —— (1957) Anatomy of Criticism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Gregory, R. L. (1974) The Intelligent Eye. New York: McGraw-Hill. Greimas, Algirdas J. (1983) Structural Semantics: An Attempt at a Method. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Groos, Karl (1914) The Play of Man. Trans. E. L. Baldwin. New York and London: Appleton. Hamilton, Edith (1969) Mythology. New York: New American Library. Harrison, Jane (1951) Ancient Art and Ritual. Oxford University Press. —— (1927) Themis: A Study of the Social Origins of Greek Religion. Cambridge University Press. Hartshorne, Charles & Weiss, Paul (eds.) (1965) Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Hegel, G. W. F. (1975) Aesthetics. Trans. T. M. Knox. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Henle, Paul (1958) “Metaphor”. In Language, Thought and Culture. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press; 173–95. Holinshed (1973). In Kenneth Muir (ed.) (1973) Shakespeare, Macbeth. The Arden Shakespeare; 164–181. Holland. N. H. (1975) Shakespearean Imagination. Indiana University Press. Horace (1972) On the Art of Poetry. Trans. T. S. Dorsh. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. Ingarden, Roman (1973) The Literary Work of Art – An Investigation on the Borderlines of Ontology, Logic and Theory of Literature (with an Appendix on the Functions of Language in the Theater). Trans. G. G. Grabowicz. Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Iser, Wolfgang (1991) The Act of Reading – A Theory of Aesthetic Response. The John Hopkins University Press. Baltimore and London. Jung, Carl G. (1969) Man and his Symbols (Garden City, NY: Doubleday. —— (1974) Dreams. Trans. R. F. C. Hull. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Kant, Emmanuel (1997) Grounwork for the Metaphysics of Morals. Trans. by M. Gregor. Cambridge University Press. —— (2001) “Critique of the Aesthetic Power of Judgment”. In Critique of the Power of Judgment. Trans. P. Guyer & E. Matthews. Cambridge University Press; 89– 212 – First Book. —— (1991) Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime. Trans. J. T. Goldthwait. University of California Press. Kaynar, Gad (1997) ‘The Actor as Performer of the Implied Spectator’s Role’. Theatre Research International, 22, 1; 49–62.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 301

List of Cited Theoretical Works 301 Kirby, Ernest T. (1972) The Origins of Drama. Ann Arbor: University Microfilms. —— (1974) “The Shamanstic Origins of Popular Entertainments”. The Drama Review, Vol. I, 18. —— (1975) Ur Drama – The Origins of Theatre. New York: New York University Press. Kirk, G. S. (1970) Myth – Its Meaning and Functions in Ancient and Other Cultures. Cambridge University Press. Knights, L. C. (1933) How Many Children Had Lady Macbeth? Cambridge: The Minority Press. Kosslyn, Stephen M. (1995) Image and Brain – The Resolution of the Imagery Debate. Cambridge, Mass. & London: The MIT Press. —— (1996) “Introduction”. In M.S. Gazzaniga (ed.), The Cognitive Neurosciences. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press; 959–61. Kreitler, Shulamit and Kreitler, Hans (1972) Psychology of the Arts. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Krook, Dorothea (1969) Elements of Tragedy. New Haven & London: Yale University Press. Kuhn, Thomas, S. (1970) The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Lang, Andrew (1908) The Origins of Religion and Other Essays. London: Watts. Langer, Susanne K. (1976) Philosophy in a New Key. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Leech, Geoffrey N. (1983) Principles of Pragmatics. London and New York: Longman. Levinson, Stephen C. (1987) Pragmatics. Cambridge University Press. Lévi-Strauss, Claude (1979) Myth and Meaning: Cracking the Code of Culture. New York: Schocken. Linden, Eugene (1974) Apes, Men and Language. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. Lope de Vega Carpio (1965) “The New Art of Writing Plays in this Age”. In Barrett H. Clark (ed.), European Theories of the Drama. New York: Crown; 63–7. Lyons, John (1988) Semantics. Cambridge University Press, Vol. 2. Malinowski, Bronis‰aw (1926) Myth in Primitive Psychology. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. Marinis, Marco de (1993) The Semiotics of Performance. Trans. Áine O’Healy. Bloomington and Indianapolis. Indiana University Press. Matejka, Ladislav & Titunik, Irwin R. (eds.) (1986) Semiotics of Art. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. MukaŒovsky, Jan (1977) “The Concept of the Whole in the Theory of Art”. In Structure, Sign, and Function. Trans. and ed. J. Burbank & P. Steiner. New Haven and London: Yale University Press; 70–81. Murray, Gilbert (1927) “Excursus on the Ritual Forms Preserved in Greek Tragedy”. In Jane Harrison, Themis; 341–63. Nagler, A. M. (1959) A Source Book in Theatrical History. New York: Dover. Nietzsche, Friedrich (1956) The Birth of Tragedy. Trans. F. Golffing. Garden City, New York: Doubleday. —— (1998) Human, All Too Human. Trans. R. J. Hollingdale. Cambridge University Press. Ortony, Andrew (ed.) (1988) Metaphor and Thought. Cambridge University Press. Pavis, Patrice (1996). Dictionary of the Theatre – Terms, Concepts and Analysis.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 302

302 List of Cited Theoretical Works Trans. Ch. Shantz. University of Toronto Press. —— (1982) The Languages of the Stage – Essays in the Semiology of Theatre. New York: Performing Arts Journal Publications. Peirce, Charles S. (1965–6). In Ch. Hartshorne & P. Weiss (eds.) Collected Papers. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Piaget, Jean (1962) Play, Dreams and Imitation in Childhood. Trans. C. Gategno and F.M. Hodgson. New York: Norton. Pickard-Cambridge, Arthur (1927) Dithyramb, Tragedy and Comedy. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pingaud, Bernard (1965) “Propos recueillis”. Bref, Février 1965. In Euripide, Les Troyennes. Plato (1970) The Republic. Trans. P. Shorey. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. & London: Heinemann; Book X. Popper, Karl R. (1975) The Logic of Scientific Discovery. London: Hutchinson. Propp, Vladimir I. (1968) Morphology of the Folktale. Trans. L. Scott. University of Texas Press. Quintilian (1976) Instituto Oratoria. Trans. H. E. Butler. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press and Heinemann. Racine, Jean (1950) “Preface a Phèdre”. Paris: La Pleiade. Rank, Otto (1964) The Myth of the Birth of the Hero and Other Writings by Otto Rank. New York: Vintage Books. Rosenberg, Marvin (1978) The Masks of Macbeth. University of California Press. Rozik, Eli (1986) “Theatrical Irony”. Theatre Research International, Vol. 11, 2; 132–51. —— (1988) “The Search for an Ancient Truth” – an Interview with Nuria Espert. Bamah, 112; 45–61 (Hebrew). —— (1996) “Multiple Metaphoric Characterization in Le Roi se Meurt”. Nottingham French Studies 35, 1: 120–31. —— (2001) “The Chorus: Matrix of Theatrical Conventions”. Maske und Kothurn, Year 45, 3–4; 119–36. —— (2002a) The Roots of Theatre – Rethinking Ritual and Other Theories of Origin. Iowa City: The University of Iowa Press. —— (2002b) “Acting: The Quintessence of Theatricality”. Substance, 31 (2–3), 110– 24. —— (2008a) Generating Theatre Meaning – A Theory and Methodology of Performance Analysis. Brighton-Portland: Sussex Academic Press. —— (2008b) Metaphoric Thinking – A Study of Nonverbal Metaphor in the Arts and its Archaic Roots. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, Faculty of the Arts. —— (2009) Fictional Thinking – A Poetics and Rhetoric of Fictional Creativity in Theatre. Brighton – Portland: Sussex Academic Press. —— (2011a) The Fictional Arts – An Inter-Art Journey from Theatre Theory to the Arts. Brighton-Portland-Toronto: Sussex Academic Press. —— (2011b) Comedy – A Critical Introduction. Brighton, Portland, Toronto: Sussex Academic Press. —— (2014) Theatre Sciences – A Plea for a Multidisciplinary Approach to Theatre Studies. Brighton, Chicago, Toronto: Sussex Academic Press. Sadock, Jerrold (1988). “Figurative Speech Acts and Linguistics”. In A. Ortony, ed., Metaphor and thought. Cambridge University Press; 46–63. Saussure, Ferdinand de (1972) Cours de Linguistique Générale. Paris: Payot. Schechner, Richard (1988) Performance Theory. New York and London: Routledge.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 303

List of Cited Theoretical Works 303 Searle, John R. (1985) Speech Acts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —— (1986) Expression and Meaning. Cambridge University Press. —— (1988) “Metaphor”. In A. Ortony (ed.), Metaphor and Thought; 92–123. Sebeok, Thomas A. (1975) “Six Species of Signs: Some Propositions and Structures. Semiotica, 13 (3); 233–60. Sedgewick, G. G. (1935) Of Irony, Especially in Drama. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Serpieri, Alessandro et al. (1981) “Toward the Segmentation of the Dramatic Text”. Poetics Today II, 3; 163–200. Sher, Anthony (1995) Year of the King – An Actor’s Diary and Sketchbook. London: Methuen. Shklovsky, Victor (1965) ‘Art as Technique’. In L. T. Lemon & M. J. Reis (eds. & trans.), Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays. Lincoln, Nebraska, University of Nebraska Press; 5–24. Souriau, Étienne (1950) Les Deux Cent Mille Situations Dramatiques. Paris: Flammarion. States, Bert O. (1985) Great Reckonings in Little Rooms. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press. Steiner, George (1961) The Death of Tragedy. London: Faber and Faber. Styan, J. L. (1967) The Elements of Drama. Cambridge University Press. Treen, J. and Foote, D. (1985) ‘A Redefined Richard III’. Newsweek, 10 June. Turner, Victor (1982) From Ritual to Theatre. New York: PAJ Publications. Übersfeld, Anne (1999) Reading Theatre. Trans. F. Collins. Toronto, Buffalo, London: University of Toronto Press. —— (1981) L’école du spectateur. Paris: Éditions Sociales. Vega Carpio, Lope de, see Lope de Vega Carpio Vries, Ad de (1976) Dictionary of Symbols and Images. Amsterdam: North Holland. Walker, Craig Steward (1997) “Reckoning with States on the Phenomenology of Theatre”. Dramatic Theory and Criticism, Vol. XI, 2; 65–84. Whittock, Trevor (1990) Metaphor and Film. Cambridge University Press. Willett, John (ed. and trans.) (1987) Brecht on Theatre. New York: London: Methuen. Wilshire, Bruce (1986) Role Playing and Identity – The Limits of Theatre as Metaphor (Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Wright, Elizabeth (1987) Psychoanalytic Criticism – Theory in Practice. London and New York: Methuen. Ziff, Paul (1997) “Anything Viewed”. In S. Feagin & P. Maynard (eds.) Aesthetics. Oxford University Press. Zola, Émile (1965) “Preface to Thérèse Raquin”. In Barrett H. Clark (ed.), European Theories of the Drama. New York: Crown; 377-9.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 304

List of Cited Theatre Texts Aeschylus (1970) Libation Bearers. R. Lattimore (tr.). D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies, Vol. 2. The University of Chicago Press, 1972 (1960). —— (1968) Agamemnon. Trans. R. Lattimore. In D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies, Vol. 1. The University of Chicago Press. —— (1968–70) Oresteia: see Aeschylus, Agamemnon, The Libations Bearers and The Eumenides. Alexander, Bill (1984) Shakespeare’s Richard III. The Royal Shakespeare Company, Stratford upon Avon (theatre production). Anderson, Lindsey (1974) David Storey’s Life Class. Royal Court Theatre, London (theatre production). Anonymous, Everyman, in The Genesis of the Early English Theatre. New York: Mentor, 1962; 66–94. —— Quem Quaeritis. In A. M. Nagler (1952) A Source Book in Theatrical History. New York: Dover; 3v41. Aristophanes, The Frogs. Trans. D. Barrett. In The Wasps, etc. London: Penguin. Arrabal, Fernando (1961) Picnic on the Battlefield. In Plays, Trans. B. Wright. London: Calder. —— (1976) Guernica. Trans. B. Wright. In Plays , Vol. 2. London: John Calder. —— (1970) The Solemn Communion. In Plays, Vol. III. Trans. J. Benedetti & J. Calder. London: Calder & Boyars. Spanish: (1986) La Primera Comunión. In Teatro Pánico. Madrid, Catedra. Beckett, Samuel (1970) Happy Days. London: Faber. —— (1970) Waiting for Godot. London: Faber. —— (1979) Krapp’s Last Tape. London: Faber. Brecht, Bertolt (1982) Mother Courage and her Children. Trans. J. Willett. London: Methuen. —— (1979) The Threepenny Opera. Trans. John Willett & Ralph Manheim. London: Eyre Methuen. —— (1966) The Caucasian Chalk Circle. Trans. E. Bentley. New York: Grove. Büchner, Georg (1991) Woyzeck. Trans. J. Mackendrick. London: Methuen. Calderón de la Barca, Pedro (1957) La Vida es Sueño (autosacramental). Paris: Klincsiek. —— (1968) La Vida es Sueño (comedia famosa). Zaragoza and Madrid: Clásicos Ebro. Castro, Guillen de (1965) Las Mocedades del Cid. Zaragoza: Clásicos Ebro. Chehov [Chekhov], Anton (1960) The Seagull. In Plays. Trans. E. Fen. London: Penguin.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 305

List of Cited Theatre Texts

305

—— (1960) The Cherry Orchard. In Plays. Trans. E. Fen. London: Penguin. Cocteau, Jean (1962) La Machine Infernale (Paris: Le Livre de Poche). Corneille, Pierre (n.d.) Oedipe. In Maurice Rat (ed.), Théâtre Complet de Corneille, Paris: Garnier Frères; Vol. III. —— (n.d.) Médée. In M. Rat (ed.) Théâtre Complet de Corneille. Paris: Garnier; Vol. I. —— (n.d.) Le Cid. In Maurice Rat (ed.), Théâtre Complet de Corneille. Paris: Garnier Frères; Vol. I. Dürrenmatt, Friedrich (1973) The Visit. Trans. Patrick. Bowles. London: Cape. Espert, Nuria (1986) Federico García Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba. Lyric Theatre, London and (1988) Cameri Theatre, Tel Aviv (theatre productions). Euripides (1968) Bacchae. Trans. W. Arrowsmith. In D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies. The University of Chicago Press; Vol. 3. —— (1972) Trojan Women. Trans. R. Lattimore. In D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies. The University of Chicago Press; Vol. 2. —— (1968) Hippolytus, Trans. D. Grene, in D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies (Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press; Vol. 1. —— (1972) Iphigenia in Tauris, Trans. W. Bynner, in D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies, Vol. 2 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press). —— (1974) Medea. In Philip Vellacott (ed. and trans.). Medea and Other Plays. Harmondsworth, Middlesex, Penguin.. Freytag, Holk (1983) Jean-Paul Sartre’s Les Troyennes (adaptation of Euripides’ Trojan Women. Habimah National Theatre, Tel Aviv (theatre production). García Lorca, Federico (1969) The House of Bernarda Alba. Trans. J. Graham Lujan and R. L. O’Connel. In Three Tragedies. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. —— (1969) Yerma. Trans. J. Graham Lujan and R. L. O’Connel. In Three Tragedies. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. —— (1969) Blood Wedding. Trans. J. Graham Lujan and R. L. O’Connel. In Three Tragedies. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. Godinez, Felipe (1613) La Reyna Ester. Manuscrito en Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid; printed copy in my possession. Ibsen, Henrik (1961) Hedda Gabler. Trans. U. Ellis Fermor. In Hedda Gabler and Other Plays. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. —— 1966) A Doll’s House. Trans. R. Farquharson & E. Marx Aveling. London: Dent. Ionesco, Eugène (1958) The Chairs. Trans. D. Watson. London: Calder; Vol. I. French: (1954) Les Chaises. In Théâtre. Paris: Gallimard; Vol. I. —— (1970) Exit the King. Trans. D. Watson. In Plays, Vol. 5. London: Calder & Boyars. French: (1966) Le Roi se Meurt. In Théâtre. Paris: Gallimard; Vol. IV. —— (1959) Rhinoceros. Trans. D. Watson. In Plays, Vol. 4. London: Calder and Boyars. French: (1954) Rhinocéros. In Théâtre. Paris: Gallimard, 1954; Vol. III. —— (1958) The New Tenant. Trans. D. Watson. In Amédée, The New Tenant, Victims of Duty. New York: Grove Press. French: (1954) Le Nouveau Locataire. In Théâtre. Paris: Gallimard; Vol. II. —— (1954) Amédée ou Comment s’en Débarrasser. In Théâtre. Paris: Gallimard; Vol. I. James, Peter (director) (1973) Macbeth, Shaw Theatre, London (theatre production). Jarry, Alfred (1962) Ubu Roi. Librairie Générale Française (Livre de Poche). Klata, Jan (2013) Titus Andronicus, Polski Theatre, Wrocław (theatre production).

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 306

306 List of Cited Theatre Texts Klemm, Vojtek (2013) Anatomy Titus Fall of Rome, National Stary Theatre, Krakow (theatre production). Molière (1965) George Dandin. French: In Œuvres Complètes. Paris: GarnierFlammarion; Vol. III. —— (1962) The Miser. Trans. J. Wood. In The Miser and Other Plays. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. French: L’Avare. In Œuvres Complètes. Paris: Garnier-Flammarion; Vol. III. —— (c. 2001) Don Juan. Trans. R. Wilbur. San Diego: Harcourt. French: (1965) Dom Juan. In Œuvres Complètes. Paris: Garnier-Flammarion; Vol. II. —— (1965) The School of Women. French: L’École des Femmes. In Œuvres Complètes. Paris: Garnier-Flammarion; Vol. II. —— (1957) Tartuffe. Trans. M. Bishop. In Eight Plays by Molière. New York: The Modern Library. French: Le Tartuffe. In Œuvres Complètes. Paris: GarnierFlammarion; Vol. II. Molina, Tirso de; see Tirso de Molina. Müller, Heiner (2012) “Anatomy Titus Fall of Rome”. In After Shakespeare. Trans. Carl Weber & David Young. New York, PAJ Publications; 77–171. Nunn, Trevor (1976) Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Royal Shakespeare Company, Stratford upon Avon (theatre production). Pirandello, Luigi (1985) Six Characters in Search of an Author. Trans. J. Linstrum. London: Methuen. Purc•rete, Silviu (1992) Titus Andronicus (filmed version of theatre production), Romania. Racine, Jean (1961) Phaedra. Trans. R. Lowell. In E. Bentley (ed.), The Classic Theatre, Vol. IV. Garden City, New York: Doubleday. French: (n.d.) Phèdre. Paris: Classiques Larousse. Ronen, Ilan (1984) Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. Haifa Municipal Theatre (theatre production). Sartre, Jean-Paul (1965) Les Troyennes. Adaptation of Euripides’ Trojan Women. Paris: Gallimard. Shakespeare, William (1982) Hamlet. Ed. H. Jenkins. London: Methuen. —— (1973) Macbeth. K. Muir (ed.) The Arden Shakespeare. London: Methuen. —— (1985) King Lear. Ed. K. Muir. London: Methuen. —— (2008) Titus Andronicus. E. M. Waith (ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. —— (1980) Romeo and Juliet. Ed. B. Gibbons. London: Methuen. —— (1972) Julius Cæsar. Ed. T. S. Dorsch. London: Methuen. —— (1984) Othello. Ed. N. Sanders. Cambridge University Press. Shaw, George Bernard (1965) Saint Joan. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. Sophocles (1968) Antigone. Trans. W. Wyckoff. In D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies, Vol. 1. The University of Chicago Press. —— (1968) Oedipus at Colonus. Trans. R. Fitzgerald. In D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies, Vol. 3. The University of Chicago Press. —— (1968) Oedipus the King. Trans. D. Grene. In D. Grene and R. Lattimore (eds.), Greek Tragedies, Vol. 1. The University of Chicago Press. Strindberg, August (1960) The Father. Trans. P. Watts. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. Synge, John M. (1960) The Playboy of the Western World. New York: Vintage Books. Tirso de Molina (1959) The Trickster of Sevilla. Trans. R. Campbell. In Eric Bentley

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 307

List of Cited Theatre Texts

307

(ed.), The Classic Theatre, Vol. III. New York: Doubleday. Spanish: El Burlador de Sevilla. In J. Martel & H. Alpern, Diez Comedias del Siglo de Oro. New York, Evanston and London: Harper & Row. Yerushalmi, Rina (1991) Woyzeck 91, Itim Theatre, Tel Aviv (theatre production). —— (1997) Vayomar, Vayelekh. Itim Theatre, Tel Aviv (theatre production). Weiss, Peter (1991) Marat/Sade. English version: G. Skelton. London, New York: Marion Boyars.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 308

List of Cited Art Works (other than theatre) Arcand, Denys (1989) Jesus of Montreal (film), Canada. Bacchylides, Theseus’ Dive. In Anne Pippin Burnett (1985) The Art of Bacchylides. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Beethoven, Ludwig van (first performed 1808) Symphony No. 6, Op. 68; known as the Pastoral Symphony. Bosch, Hieronymus (c. 1490–1510) The Garden of Earthly Delights, oil on wood. Museo del Prado, Madrid. Gibson, Mel (2004) The Passion of the Christ (film), US. Giorgione (c. 1508) La Tempesta, oil on canas. Venice: Gallerie dell’Accademia Ovid, (flourished 1 BCE–1 CE) Metamorphoses. Picasso, Pablo (1937) Guernica. Madrid: Museo Reina Sofía. Raphael (c. 1505) Madonna del Prato, oil on board. Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum. Serlio, Sebastiano (1543; first English edition: 1611) Sets for Tragedy and Comedy. In Architectura (on perspective); book II. Veronese, Paolo (1573) The Feast in the House of Levi, oil on canvas. Venice: Gallerie dell’Accademia. Trier, Lars von (2003) Dogville (film), US. Zinnemann, Fred (1952) High Noon (film) US.

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 309

Index Bold numbers indicate a definition or an explanation. absurdity, absurd, 40–1, 61, 145, 149 absurd, experience of the, 40, 145, 151 acting. principle of, 261–75, 270 action theory, 132, 190, 203 actualization, 66, 70, 73, 75, 248, 256 Aeschylus Agamemnon, 152, 162 Libation Bearers, 96, 99, 163, 243 Oresteia, 162, 167 aesthetic experience, 90, 150, 160, 186–99 aesthetic layer, 149–51, 152, 166 aesthetics, theatre, 186–99 allegory, stage, 43–52 anxiety, 240 Apollo. Apollonian, 96, 105–6, 153–4, 166, 190–1, 204 Arcand, Denys Jesus of Montreal, 169 archetype, archetypal, 159–60 archetypal experience, 143–5 Aristophanes Frogs, 62 Arrabal, Fernando Picnic in the Battlefield, 19–20, 59 The Solemn Communion, 49–50, 181 association, referential, 15–16 association, extra-textual, 222 association, inter-textual, 222 association, intra-textual, 222 Austin, John L. “Truth”, 232–3 How to do Things with Words, 57, 111, 129–33, 203, 219, 229, 233 axis, fictional, 126, 127, 134, 202–3 axis, theatrical, 33, 56, 75, 82, 112, 127, 202–3 baggage, cultural, 148, 215, 217, 218, 219 Barthes, Roland, 276–87 Beardsley, Monroe C., 14, 57, 298

Beckett, Samuel Happy Days, 45–6 Krapp’s Last Tape, 45–6 Waiting for Godot, 19, 48, 58, 64, 66, 71–3, 201 Bell, Clive, 187, 191–2 Binding of Isaac, 167–8 Black, Max, 13–15, 57, 66 Bordwell, David. 283, 285–6 Bosch, Hieronymus, 196 Bradbrook, M. C., 111 Bradley, A. C., 113, 119, 152, 173–4, 180, 185, 200 Brecht, Bertolt Mother Courage, 163, 206 The Caucasian Chalk Circle, 201 The Three Penny Opera, 89 Büchner, Georg Woyzeck, 64, 70–1, 206–14 Bullough, Edward, 188–9 Burkert, Walter, 158, 164 Burns, Elizabeth, 91–2, 205 Calderón de la Barca Life is a Dream, (comedia), 49, 89, 162 Life is a Dream, (autosacramental), 43–4 Carlson, Marvin, 56 catharsis, 144–5, 237 character, functional, 51, 85–100, 112–13 character, interactive, 51, 85–6, 69, 100, 112–13 Chekhov, Anton The Seagull, 26, 28–9, 65, 87, 89, 163, 194, 206, 234 The Cherry Orchard, 89 Chomsky, Noam, 6–7, 292 cinema, 276–87 circus, 267 Cirlot, J. E., 26 Cocteau, Jean La Machine Infernale, 39, 164

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 310

310 Index coherence, coherent, 54, 119, 122, 195–6 confidant convention, 51, 78, 86, 91–2, 97, 100, 110–19 conflict, 152, 172–85 consistency, consistent, 54 107, 119, 121–2, 195 contiguity, 56, 77, 83 convention, aesthetic, 90–1 convention, ironic, 85–90 convention, stage, 79–90 Corneille, Pierre Le Cid, 163, 165, 254 Médée, 92, 254 Oedipe, 152 Cornford, Francis M., 93 Damasio, Antonio R., 5, 238, 281 daydream, 238–44 decorum, 84 defamiliarization, 237 deixis, deictic, 33–4, 37, 131, 280 dialogue, fictional, 130 dialogue, iconic, 133–4 dialogue real, 129–33 Dijk, Teun van, 57, 127, 130, 132, 134, 200, 2003, 205, 232 Dionysus, Dionysiac, 62, 101–2, 107–8, 139, 161, 166, 168, 190–1, 236 disharmony, 187–97 dithyramb, 93–108 dithyrambic storytelling, 93–108 Doležel, Lubomir, 35, 220 dramatic irony, 178–80 drawing, children’s, 1–3, 9, 22, 291, 297 Dürrenmatt, Friedrich The Visit, 163, 195 Eco, Umberto, 269 Elam, Keir, 9, 56, 132, 152, 268–9 ellipsis, elliptic, 29 elliptic presence, 7, 17, 43, 58–9 enthymeme, enthymematic, 204–6, 219, 225–6, 233–4 Espert, Nuria, 67–9, 220–6 Esslin, Martin, 48, 61, 149, 200 ethical sense, 176 ethical substance, 172–5 ethos, 172–8 Euripides Bacchae, 161, 163, 166, 206, 236 Hippolytus, 89, 159, 162–3, 166, 254 Iphigenia in Tauris, 162 Medea, 88, 91, 163 Trojan Women, 64, 69–70, 195, 257 Everyman (anonymous), 43–4, 47–8, 54, 89, 166, 209

expectation, archetypal, 145–6, 149–50, 160 expectation, spontaneous, 145, 181, 184, 219, 250 experience, vicarious, 244–6 fictional mode of thinking, 139–41 fictional world, 33–5, 140–2 Fischer-Lichte, Erika, 9, 56 Franz, M. L. von, 160, 182 Frazer, James, G., 168 Freud, Sigmund 1978, Interpretation, 3, 6, 24–5, 27–8, 33, 38, 159, 238 1990a, Creative Writers, 33, 109, 140, 159–60, 190, 238, 241–2 Freytag, Holk Trojan Women, 69–70 Frye, Northrop, 33, 110, 140, 165, 218, 271 García Lorca, Federico Yerma, 32, 38–41, 49, 85, 87, 89, 163, 206 Blood Wedding, 45–6 The House of Bernarda Alba, 45, 64, 87–8, 163, 201, 220–7 Gibson, Mel The Passion of the Christ (film), 169, 181 Gorky, Maxim Enemies, 235 Gregory, R. L., 4 Greimas, Algirdas,143, 151–2 hamartia, 40, 143–4, 180, 185 harmony, 186–99 Harrison, Jane, 93 Hauptmann, Gerhart The Weavers, 234 Hegel, G. W. F., 172–5, 180–5 Henle, Paul, 14–15 Holinshed, 69, 115, 122, 139 Horace, 150, 204 hubris, 143, 145, 153–4, 182–4, 198 Ibsen, Henrik, A Doll’s House, 163 Hedda Gabler, 88 icon, 6–7 iconic mediums, 80, 296 iconic sentence, 6–7 iconic unit, 2–10 iconicity, 7–9 idea mediation, 47 identification, 31, 150, 170, 174, 237 illocutionary force, 131–3

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 311

Index image imprinting, 5–6 image, mental, 4–6, 26, 154, 242, 281 imperative, categorical, 176–8 improperness, improper, 14 index, 33, 77, 130 Ingarden Roman, 124–7, 129–30, 133–5, 202 intention (speech act), 130–3 interaction, speech, 127, 129–33 interaction rhetoric, 204–5 interpretation, creative, 67, 166 intertext, intertextual, 70–4, 166, 169–70, 210, 219 Ionesco, Éugene Amédée, 269 Exit the King, 19, 44, 54, 60, 147, 198, 201 Rhinoceros, 44, 48 The Chairs, 18, 20, 29, 51 The New Tenant, 145 ironic layer, 148–9, 161 ironic viewpoint, 178–80 irony, dramatic, 178–80 Iser, Wolfgang, 217 James, Peter, 22 Jarry, Alfred Ubu Roi, 206 Jung, Carl G. 3, 28, 33, 109, 140, 155, 159–60, 182, 240 Kant, Emmanuel, 176–8 Kosslyn, Stephen M., 5, 238, 281 Krook, Dorothea, 173–4, 180, 185, 200 Kuhn, Thomas, 230–1, 234, 236 Langer, Susanne K., 4–5, 281 language, functions of, 124–36 language, invention of, 292–4 language mediation, 6–9, 127–9, 141, 286 Levinson, Stephen C., 219 Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 158 logos, 146–7, 149–50, 161–71, 199 Lope de Vega Fuenteovejuna, 89 Lorca see García Lorca Lyons, John, 132 Malinowski, Bronis‰aw, 157–9 mapping, mythical, 161–7 Marinis, Marco de, 217–18 metaphor, imagistic, 2, 24–5 metaphor, set and costume, 63–75 metaphor, speech-act, 53–62 metaphor, iconic, 18–24 metaphor, verbal, 13–18 metaphoric experience, 31–42, 64–5

311

metatheatricality, 271 metonymy, 29 modal layer, 149 mode, fictional, 139–41, 155, 228, 232, 236–7, 243, 291 mode, scientific, 228–32 mode, thematic, 271 Molière Don Juan, 51 George Dandin, 181, 198, 205 Tartuffe, 89, 269 mood, comic, 51, 62. 149, 198 mood, grotesque, 73, 198, 213 mood, serious, 149, 198 mood, sublime, 108, 144, 149, 154 motivation, 7, 10, 77, 100, 111 motive, macro, 147, 149, 153, 185 Müller, Heiner, 248, 257 Murray, Gilbert, 93 myth, mythology, 156–61 mythical layer, 146–7 mythical mapping, 161–7 mythos, 146, 162, 164–5, 199 naïve layer, 148 naïve viewpoint, 66, 89, 99, 105, 118, 148, 161, 179, 222–3 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 3, 41, 190–1 norm, theatre, 91–2 Nunn, Trevor, 286 object, fictional, 268–9 object, real, 9–10, 268–9 order, 192–7 ostension, 269 Ovid, 251 Pavis, Patrice, 56, 139, 151, 194, 237 Peirce, Charles S., 7, 25, 77, 128, 130, 277–8 performative, 53, 55–6, 57, 129, 131 peripeteia, 250 perlocutionary effect, 132–3 personification, 43–4 personified layer, 146 phenomenology, 10, 261–5, 274–5 philanthropon, 175–6, 180–2 photographic iconicity, 282–5 photographic indexality, 277–82 Piaget, Jean, 239–40, 242 Picasso, Pablo Guernica, 285 Pickard-Cambridge, Arthur, 100–2, 106–7 pictorial (atemporal), 7, 18, 91, 136, 272 Pinter, Harold A Slight Ache, 49

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 312

312 Index Pirandello, Luigi Six Characters in Search for an Author, 151 Plato, 173 Republic, 9, 269 Plautus The Prisoners, 88 play-script, 124–6 play, imaginative, 1–3, 238–44, 246, 291, 294, 297 Popper, Karl R., 229–31, 235, 297 post-modern, 145, 248 praxical layer, 146, 147, 148, 153, 161, 185 praxis, praxical, 47, 49, 52, 151–2 prestructuration, 148–51, 199, 205–6, 209, 226, 233–5 proper, 14 Propp, Vladimir I., 151 psychical mechanism, 181, 187, 215, 217–18 psychoanalysis, 25, 27, 122, 140–1, 151, 160, 182, 240, 246, 291 purpose (speech act), 132 Quem Quaeritis, 169 Quintilian, 14, 53 Racine, Jean Phèdre, 86–9, 113, 148, 163, 206, 254–5 Rank, Otto, 38, 242 Raphael Madonna del Prato, 195 read, reading, 217 reaffirmation, 173–4 reception, 215 recording, 276–87 reference, 8 reference, double, 35 reference, deflection of, 58, 259, 266–7 reproduction, 278, 280–1, 283 rhetoric intent, 205, 207, 209, 219, 232–4 rhythm, 194 Ricoeur, Paul, 25–6 ritual (experience), 150, 166, 205 Ronen, Ilan, 72–3 Sartre, Jean-Paul Les Troyennes, 64, 69, 257 Saussure, Ferdinand de, 5–6, 277 Schechner, Richard, 93, 261, 267, 275 Searle, John R., 1985, Speech Acts, 8, 35–6, 130–1, 232, 266, 292 1986, Expression and Meaning, 111, 134, 229, 245

1988, “Metaphor”, 114–16, 53, 294 Sebeok, Thomas A., 56, 277–8 Sedgewick, G. G., 98 Serlio, Sebastiano, 82 Shakespeare, William Hamlet, 36, 86–7, 163, 185, 198 Julius Caesar, 203 King Lear, 162–3 Macbeth, 50, 69, 109–23, 147, 163, 193, 286 Othello, 87, 163 Romeo and Juliet, 88 Richard III, 21 Titus Andronicus, 248–58 Shklovsky, Victor, 200, 262, 264 shock, shocking effect, 197 similarity, 7–9, 56, 77, 80 Sophocles Antigone, 87–9, 96, 152, 163, 172–3, 182–5, 198 Oedipus at Colonus, 154, 183, 206 Oedipus the King, 38–9, 152–4 Souriau, Étienne, 151–2 spectator, implied, 217–18 spectator, real, 217–18 speech-act stage metaphor, 53–62 speech act theory, 130–3 speech act, explicit, 13 speech act, iconic, 56–60, 134, 203 speech act, macro-, 200–3, 214. 219, 229, 232 speech act, micro-, 201–3 speech act, primary, 131 States, Bert O., 9–10, 261–5, 270, 274–5 Steiner, George, 198, 207 Strindberg, August The Father, 163 structure, 142–3 structure, absurdist, 145, 150 176, 198, 226. 249–50, 255 structure, archetypal, 145, 150, 169, 176 structure, deep, 17, 18, 37, 130, 142–6 structure of character, 151 structure, surface, 14, 19, 62, 131, 142–6 Styan, J. L., 179, 218 symbol, metaphoric, 2, 68 symbol, stage, 25–9 symbol, verbal, 25–9 symmetry, 194 Synge, John M. The Playboy of the Western World, 88 Theatre of the Absurd, 52, 54, 61–2 theatricality, 9, 75, 261–4 thematic specification, 142–3 thinking, fictional, 139–56 thinking, imagistic, 1–8, 23–5, 30, 32, 128, 244, 281, 291–6

rozik - xx - index 14/11/2015 18:04 Page 313

Index thinking, metaphoric, 2, 137, 140, 294–5 thinking, preverbal, 292–3 thinking, scientific, 228–32 thinking, verbal, 293–4 thinking experiment, 227 Tirso de Molina The Trickster of Sevilla, 51, 86, 144, 184 Trier, Lars von Dogville (film), 194 truth, 232–3 truth, experience of, 66, 150, 201, 204–6, 209, 233–6 truth value, 16, 32, 36, 142, 205, 226, 233 TV drama, 9, 259, 271 Übersfeld, Anne, 56

313

unity of audience, 166 Verfremdungseffekt, 189, 235, 237 Veronese, Paolo, 253 Weiss, Peter Marat/Sade, 181 Wilshire Bruce, 139 Yerushalmi Rina Vayomar, Vayelekh, 74 Woyzeck 91, 70–1, 206–14 Ziff, Paul, 187–9, 192–3 Zinnemann, Fred High Noon (film), 181 Zola, Émile, 234

Thank you for reading this Sussex Academic e-Library book. Sussex Academic serves the international academic community and promotes learning and scholarship to a global audience. The editorial and production staff are committed to publishing to the highest standards across a wide range of academic subject disciplines in the Humanities and Social Sciences. The Press supports authors through strong editorial and development skills, and is committed to serving the world of scholarship by promoting our authors' writing and research endeavours so that they make the maximum impact on their readership and profession. The Press publishing programme addresses issues of contemporary relevance and debate in Middle East topics, Theology & Religion, History, and Literary Criticism. University editorship and publishing cooperation with universities mostly falls under the Sussex Libraries of Study, which include Latin American, First Nations, Spanish History, and Asian studies. Full details of the Press publishing programme can be found at the Press website www.sussex-academic.com

E-book availability of titles are indicated on the Press website book title pages by the logo

({Books are the treasuredweafth