The theater is dark, and our democracy is in danger. Under normal circumstances the “dark day” of a theater production is a welcome break from the otherwise grueling schedule of non-stop performances in a given week. But in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, the empty seats of the theater pose perhaps the gravest of threats to the very art itself, for those who grace the stage and the manifold other technicians who bring the theater to life. But there is hope that the lights of the Broadway stage may be returning this year.
In Greek, techne is the word for art, as it is for skill and craft; thus, all who apply their expertise in the sacred space of the theater are truly technicians and artists in their own right. But at the moment, they have little choice but to wait, many with their very livelihoods at stake. We can only hope that it will soon be possible to partake again in what should be one of the most democratic practices we have. In this age of instant access to entertainment, we have almost lost the ability to sit quietly, to listen intently, to think deeply about what it means to live together in community, and the shared space of the theater is a venue where we can become better participants in our polity.
It was no coincidence that ancient Greek theater flourished in the city of Athens, where that experimental form of governance, democracy, found its fullest expression. In its most radical form, Athenian democracy expected some form of participation from every adult male citizen, approximately 30,000 people by the end of the fifth century BCE.
This was, however, to the exclusion of women, foreigners, and slaves, and so whatever credit we ascribe to the ancient Athenians for this achievement is only partial. The ability to speak persuasively was highly valued, and somewhat like our own times, words were often full of bluster, occasionally with deadly sway. But there were also consequences for irresponsible speech, and sometimes the men perceived to be the most dangerous found themselves legally exiled for a time, compelled to leave the city after an annual tally of votes. This practice of ostracism comes from the Greek word ostrakon, a potsherd upon which the citizens of Athens would scrawl the name of the individual they wanted to banish for a decade.
But perhaps the most important practice that gave political and social justice a fighting chance in Athens was theater. The stage was a dangerous space, a place where difficult, controversial, and even sacrilegious ideas were given voice, and the audience, comprised of citizens — again, likely only men — of varying and opposing political factions, parties, and interests, sat, listened, watched, and thought deeply about what had transpired before them.
One can only imagine the post-performance conversations and debates: about Athena casting the deciding vote to break the split jury and exonerating Orestes on the charge of matricide; or whether Antigone was right, prioritizing family and divine rite, over the law and order of the city; and Medea, whisked away by a dragon-drawn chariot after she murdered her own children. Was Euripides suggesting to his audience that there is no justice? That the gods are useless?
Lest we forget, comedy was the other mask of Greek drama. The master of its old form, Aristophanes, pulled few punches in his plays, calling out dirty, corrupt, horny, inept men by name, some of whom may very well have been in the audience watching themselves be lampooned on the stage. The theater is the place where ideas and ideologies are stretched and pulled, investigated and interrogated, in the end leaving audience members more thoughtful, more self-aware, more self-critical. Theater provides an opportunity to wrestle with the difficult questions that emerge from living life together in community.
While our country is much larger than ancient Athens, we can still participate in this most democratic of practices. The local theater, like the local library, is a powerful place to which we must return. While other media can also provide spaces for us to grow, there is something unique, something human about live performance.
Greek drama, of course, is but one expression of the techne of theater. There are many others, from all over the world; and we can benefit, as thinking members of our polities, from these too. To be sure, theater, especially in its Gotham center, must continue to reckon with its failures of accessibility and affordability. But as stages across the country remain dark, may we feel their absence, long for their return, and when they do, take a small step forward in strengthening our very fragile, but precious, democracy.
Kim teaches classics and history at the University of Illinois at Chicago, and is a Public Voices fellow of the OpEd Project.
