Sophocles -- Ode to Man -- Antigone

[Steven K. Robison]

This is one of my favorite passages in all literature. I have been
collecting quotations for some twenty years, and have not found anything
which has expressed better the majesty and capability and potential of the
human being.

I have located at least four translations of this material. If anyone has
his/her favorite translation not appearing here, I would appreciate having
it posted.

Thanks.

Steven K. Robison

*****

Numberless are the world’s wonders, but none
More wonderful than man; the storm-gray sea
Yields to his prows, the huge crests bear him high;
Earth, holy and inexhaustible, is graven
With shining furrows where his plows have gone
Year after year, the timeless labor of stallions.
The light-boned birds and beasts that cling to cover,
The lithe fish lighting their reaches of dim water,
All are taken, tamed in the net of his mind;
The lion on the hill, the wild horse windy-maned,
Resign to him; and his blunt yoke has broken
The sultry shoulders of the mountain bull.
Words also, and thought as rapid as air,
He fashions to his good use; statecraft is his
And his the skill that deflects the arrows of snow,
The spears of winter rain: from every wind
He has made himself secure – from all but one:
In the late wind of death he cannot stand.
–Sophocles, Antigone

*****

Numberless wonders

terrible wonders walk the earth but none the match for man –

that great wonder crossing the heaving grey sea,

driven on by the blasts of winter

on through breakers crashing left and right,

holds his steady course

and the oldest of the gods he wears away –

the Earth, the immortal, the inexhaustible –

as his ploughs go back and forth, year in, year out

with the breed of stallions turning up the furrows

. . . Man the master, ingenious past all measure

past all dreams, the skills within his grasp

he forges on, now to destruction

now again to greatness . . .

–Sophocles, Antigone (quoted in Charlotte Higgins, It’s All Greek to Me
(Harper, 2010), pp. 39 - 40; Fagles tr.)

*****

Many things are formidable [deinos], none more formidable than man! He
crosses the gray sea beneath the winter wind, passing beneath the surges
that surround him; and he wears away the highest of the gods, Earth [Gaia],
immortal and unwearying, as his ploughs go back and forth from year to year,
turning the soil with the aid of the breed of horses.
And he captures the tribe of thoughtless birds and the races of wild beasts
and the watery brood of the sea, catching them in the woven coils of nets,
man the skillful. And he contrives to overcome the beast that roams the
mountain, and tames the shaggy-maned horse and the untiring mountain bull,
putting a yoke about their necks.
And he has learned speech and wind-swift thought and the temper that rules
cities, and how to escape the exposure of the inhospitable hills and the
sharp arrows of the rain, all resourceful; he meets nothing in the future
without resource; only from Hades shall he apply no means of flight; and he
has contrived escape from desperate maladies.
Skillful [sophon] beyond hope is the contrivance of his art, and he advances
sometimes to evil, at other times to good. When he applies the laws [nomous]
of the earth [kthonos] and the justice [dikan] the gods [theon] have sworn
to uphold he is high in the city [polis]; outcast from the city is he with
whom the ignoble consorts for the sake of gain. May he who does such things
never sit by my hearth or share my thoughts!

–Sophocles, Antigone

*****

Ode to Man

In honor of the newly reconstructed Sophocles poem, Scott Horton has a fine
translation of (and commentary on) Sophocles’s "Ode to Man," from Antigone:

Many things are formidable, and yet nothing is quite so formidable as man.
Over the gray sea and the storming south wind,
Through the foam and welling of the waves, he makes his perilous way;
The Earth also, highest of the deities, who never shows fatigue, nor
exhaustion, nor decay,
Ever he furrows and ploughs, year on year, with his ploughshare, muzzles and
horses.

The light-seeking birds of the air he stalks and traps, the wild beasts of
the forest, and the salty brood of the sea, he catches with his richly woven
net–
He, the cunning one,
And by his arts he achieves mastery of the savage game, of the creatures who
wind their way upon the heights, tamed through his wondrous art,
And the defiant steed he bends to his will under the bit.

Speech and wind-driven thoughts and emotions form the foundation upon which
he builds the city,
All of this he has taught himself; and to take shelter before the
inhospitable torrents of the heavens, and the freeze of the winter sky.
He is prepared for everything; against nothing does he want for protection.
Even against once perplexing ailments he has developed an escape.
Only against death has he at last no refuge.

Supplied with cleverness of every imaginable type,
He ventures once towards evil, and then towards good.If he honors the laws
of the land and the right attested by the Gods,
Then may his city prosper. But homeless shall he be if he boorishly debases
himself.

–Sophocles, "Antigone," Chorus (lines 340-380) (S.H. transl. after Hans
Jonas)

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[Harry]

Much shorter is Hamlet, when he says:
What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason!
how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how
express and admirable! in action how like an angel!
in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
world! the paragon of animals!
Harry

[Israel]

Here is a quotation from Peter Meineck's translation

Many wonders, many terrors,
But none more wonderful than the human race,
Or more dangerous
This creature travels on a winter gale
Across the silver sea,
Shadowed by big-surging waves,
While on Earth, grandest of the gods,
He grinds the deathless, tireless land away,
Turning and turning the plow
From year to year, behind driven horses.

Light headed birds he catches
And takes them away in legions. Wild beasts
Also fall prey to him.
And all that is born to live beneath the sea
Is thrashing in his woven nets.
For he is Man, and he is cunning.
He has invented ways to take control
Of beasts that range mountain meadows:
Taken down the shaggy-necked horses,
The tireless mountain bulls,
And put them under the yoke.

Language and a mind swift as the wind
For making plans -
These he has taught himself -
And the character to live in cities under law.
He's learned to take cover from a frost
And escape sharp arrows of sleet.
He has the means to handle every need,
Never steps toward the future without the means.
Except for Death: He's got himself no relief from that,
Though he puts every mind to seeking cures
For plagues that are hopeless.

He has cunning contivance,
Skill surpassing hope,
And so he slithers into wickedness sometimes,
Other times into doing good.
If he honors the law of the land
And the oath-bound justice of the gods,
Then his city shall stand high.
But no city for him if he turns shameless out of daring
He will be no guest of mine,
He will never share my thoughts,
If he goes wrong."

Sophocles, "Antigone" Chorus lines 332-375 (p. 16-18) Peter Meineck and Paul Woodruff, Theban Plays, 2003