The "catchphrase" of
the twentieth century, derived from W. H. Auden's 1947 poem which
bore the term as its title, is the "Age of Anxiety"
(“anxiety” Def. 5). It is not just present-day scholars who have
used the tag, but writers and thinkers within that era itself; for
example, a 1953 publication of the Economist refers in one article to
the “Age of anxiety;” it comes up again, also, in a 1958 edition
of The Times (“anxiety” Def. 5). In light of this lasting label,
then, used not only retrospectively by those studying an historical
period but also by contemporaries of that period, we may be quite
sure that the twentieth century was, indeed, a time in which anxiety
was so pervasive and profound that it defined that time both from
within and without. Having settled upon this, a host of questions
arise, enclosed in this one: What is the nature of modernist anxiety?
Comparative
analysis of “The
Second Coming” by W. B. Yeats and Endgame
by Samuel
Beckett yields a comprehensive answer to this question, demonstrating
a variety of elements that contribute to the characteristic
super-anxiety of the modern era. These texts indicate that the
modernist anxiety is at least threefold. Most basically, the anxiety
arose from current affairs which were, as most would agree,
worrisome. However, the modernists were also preoccupied with the
past, the ideals and values from which, precisely because of current
affairs, they felt alienated. This disconnection with past ideas and
structures meant that the modernists experienced things in a void:
suddenly without any faith in the support of a set of values against
which to measure the world, the modernists could not value the world
at all; to them, it became unknowable and insignificant. A
comparison of “The Second Coming” and Endgame
thus
indicates that the anxiety which understandably arose from the
present condition of the world expanded, ultimately, to an extreme
anxiety over the futility of all past, present, and future existence
– a threefold, all-encompassing, utterly hopeless anxiety.
In
this interpretation, the modernist anxiety emerges most basically
from current events of the early- to mid-1900s. One sees this clearly
in the beginning lines of “The Second Coming,” wherein the poet
depicts a dark, uneasy present world. Among the things he notes about
the contemporary world is a trend of violence. The image of the
falcon, for example, no longer under the control of a falconer as it
flies ever higher, indicates (as the falcon is a bird of prey) a
steady increase in brute violence. Elsewhere, the poet refers to “the
blood-dimmed tide” (5), the mention of “blood” again suggesting
violence that has “dimmed” the world. The editors of the
anthology wherein this poem may be found note that it “was
written...in the aftermath of World War I and the Russian Revolution
and on the eve of the Anglo-Irish War” (Yeats fn.2). Undeniably,
this was a turbulent time in which to live, a time of “passionate
intensity” (8). The famous opening lines of “The Second Coming”
demonstrate that the violence perceived during the era contributed to
the troubled, anxious modernist outlook of the world.
Aside from the notion of
violence, the major characteristic Yeats attributes to the modern
world in “The Second Coming” is disorder. The violence itself is
a result of this disorderliness: the poet envisions violence as
something that has been restrained – that is, managed within an
order - and, in the current times, “loosed” (5). The “falcon
[who] cannot hear the falconer” (2) is another image of
disorderliness: literally, the falcon no longer takes orders from its
master. Yeats, then, sees the time in which he lives as one
disintegrated into chaos. The images of “mere anarchy” (4) which
Yeats uses to begin his poem establish the dire, discomfitting tone
of the piece. Thus the poem suggests that comprised within modernist
anxiety is a perception of a chaotic modern world.
One can find the motif of order and the chaotic ruin waiting beyond
order also in Beckket's Endgame,
in the characters of Hamm and Clov who form a pair, as physically
manifest in their matching red faces. The two are engaged in a “vexed
relationship...[of] master... [and] servant” (Stallworthy and
Ramazani 2394). They are similar, then, to the falcon and the
falconer of Yeats' poem. However, whereas Yeats mainly focuses on the
chaos that erupts when hierarchical order “cannot hold” (3),
Beckett examines the tension felt within an ordered situation of
dominance and submission. Clearly, the hierarchical relationship
between Hamm and Clov is not ideal for either party, as evidenced in
the dialogue:
HAMM:...Why do you stay with
me?
CLOV: Why do you keep me?
HAMM: There's no one else.
CLOV: There's nowhere else.
(2396)
The situation is one of
resentful “co-dependency” (Pearson 215). Clov and Hamm depend on
one another because they are both, in some way, crippled, not fully
competent: Hamm needs Clov to move him about and act as his eyes;
Clov needs Hamm to give him food. Numerous times, Clov voices a
desire to leave. However, as Hamm remarks, “Outside of here it's
death” (2397). Thus, Beckket demonstrates that order is established
to ward off the destructive, “outside” forces. In other words,
order is set up to assuage the anxiety over threatening forces –
death, in Beckett's work; chaotic violence in Yeats. However, as
Beckett demonstrates, even within order, there is oppression,
unhappiness, tension, and therefore anxiety resulting from a strained
desire to escape order, as we find in Clov.
As
aforementioned, the anxiety regarding disorder is rooted in current
conflicts such as the First World War and the Russian Revolution
which gave modernists a glimpse of the chaos and violence that
erupted when various groups attempted to break out of an established
order. However, the anxiety caused by the desire to escape an
established order (even as disorder caused equal anxiety) is also
rooted in contemporary affairs. For instance, as Nels Pearson
contends in his essay subtitled “Codependency and the Ghosts of
Decolonization,” the hierarchical relationship between Hamm and
Clov can be interpreted as a parallel of the postcolonial
relationship between colonizer and colony within the context of Irish
history. As Pearson suggests, the strained, anxious relationship
between the protagonists of Endgame
derives from anxiety regarding the established order present in
society (for example, the oppressive postcolonial relationship
between Ireland and England).
To
add to this point that modernist anxiety, as depicted in the two
works in consideration, derived primarily from the present condition
of the world is the observation made by some critics, such as Raymond
Federman, that the setting of Endgame
“reveals
itself to be...a human skull...the two windows on the backdrop
representing the eyes” (160). In this light, the tenants of the
house or shelter – Hamm, Clov, Nell, and Nagg – are separate
voices or thoughts within the skull; the mind depicted on stage is
thus split-personalitied: it houses four people. Fascinatingly,
modernists at the time “believed that Europe had a mind” (Brooker
12). Most notably in consideration of the split mind depicted by
Beckett, T.S. Eliot maintained that the European mind is
“schizophrenic” (Brooker 13). According to Eliot's The
Use of Poetry and the Use of Criticism, Europe
had undergone “'a splitting up of personality'” (Brooker 13). It
can be argued, then, about Endgame
that the play represents a single human mind conflicted within the
structure of its own mind, but in the same vein, it can be argued
that the setting represents the collective, “schizophrenic”
(Brooker 13) mind of present-day Europe, with its tense conflicts.
After all, according to Jewel Brooker, modern “philosophers and
social scientists accepted the idea that the mind of the individual,
the society, the culture, and the human race developed in parallel
stages” (11). Thus, as suggested by the possible dual
interpretation of the Endgame stage
as both an individual and collective mind, the anxiety that
modernists felt regarding order and disorder is a direct reflection
of the anxiety and current tension in Europe at large. Paradoxical as
it seems, then, the condition in Europe was both ordered and
disordered, and, furthermore, both order and disorder caused tension
on the continent and, in parallel fashion, in the minds of
modernists. One must note, also, that, because the modernists felt
uneasy with both order and disorder, they perceived themselves as
trapped, like the characters in Beckett's play, with no where
comfortable to stand.
Thus far I have argued that
modernist anxiety stems primarily from the order and lack of order
that the modernists witnessed immediately about them. However, as
well as deriving from the present world, the anxiety felt by the
modernists was intensified by their consideration of the past. Of
course, the modernists' situation in, and preoccupation with, the
present greatly influenced their view of the past; after all, when
one considers an established order, he or she is inevitably
considering an order that has been created in the past based on the
past's ideals. So, for example, when Yeats writes, about the present,
that “things fall apart” (3), he is recognizing that the old
values which shaped the world no longer have the power to keep
“things” together, that “the centre cannot hold” (3). Beckett
also realizes this: in depicting Nell and Nagg (the older, parental
generation) as with colourless faces, by placing them in trash cans,
and by portraying the death of one of the two on stage, the play
strongly indicates that the old ways are fading. Marc Hewson, in
speaking of modernism, has called it an “age of awkwardness,”
stating that the awkwardness – the “lack of ease”
(“awkwardness” Def.3) akin to anxiety's “uneasiness”
(“anxiety” Def.1) - comes from the modernists' recognition that
they had lost the ability to use their parents' and grandparents'
“tools.“ Thus, modernist anxiety, as well as coming from the
present state of the world, was intensified through consideration of
the past.
This leads us to the question,
'What constitutes “the centre” (3) of which Yeats speaks?' The
first representative image presented in “The Second Coming,” that
of a falconer at the centre of the “widening gyre” (1) of a
flying falcon, provides some suggestions as to the “centre [that]
cannot hold” (3). Glancing into the history of falconry, one finds
that
Falconry...was the sport of
kings in the Middle Ages...Social position not only
allowed time for the sport,
but also dictated what species of bird could be used.
The technique and vocabulary
of falconry was ritualized. (Jackson 21)
As falconry was a sport of the
nobility, one might interpret Yeats' reference to it as indicating
that “the centre” is – or was (since it no longer has any
power) - traditional social hierarchy. Considering that Yeats
disliked “the moneygrubbing and prudery of the middle
classes...[and] looked for his ideal characters...to the
aristocracy...[which had its] own traditions and lived according to
them” (Stallworthy and Ramazani 2021), it is plausible that in the
initial image of “The Second Coming,” he is expressing some
regret for the loss of an ordered past in which the aristocracy stood
at the controlling centre of things.
If the falconer is taken as an
image of nobility, perhaps understood to be a king, he may also be
taken as a representation of Christianity. The ordering of medieval
society was based upon a desire to mimic the perfect, divine order,
with the spousal relationship being a reiteration of the relationship
of the king to his subjects, which itself was a reflection of the
relationship between God and all of humanity – this is the
reasoning that underlies, for instance, medieval concepts of petty
and high treason (Plucknett 443), crimes which were seen as
blasphemous acts against “the world order willed by God” (Carozzi
1365). Thus, if it is a noble falconer at the centre of the gyre
which no longer holds, the image suggests that not only aristocracy
but Christianity, as well, once held the world together. This
interpretation is validated in the reference to “the ceremony of
innocence [now] drowned” (6), a phrase one might take as denoting
baptism, the Christian ceremony undergone by children. This view,
that Yeats is suggesting Christiantiy to be one of the old structures
that ordered society but no longer can, has been taken by many
critics, including Brooker who writes “The center of which Yeats
writes is Christianity, which for two thousand years held things
together” (239).
The
destabilization of these two centers of control – religion, and the
traditional social system – was a long and gradual process and is a
topic considered extensively in other works. For the purpose of
understanding the modernist anxiety, however, we should note that
this destablization was considerably hastened during the early
twentieth century with publications of anthropological studies, among
them James Frazer's Golden Bough,
which “decentered” Western religion by placing it “in a
comparative context as one of numerous related mythologies,” and
philosophical writings such as those of Nietszche “who declared the
death of God” (Stallworthy and Ramazani 1829). Furthermore, the
World Wars of the twentieth century were a considerable blow on the
modernists' faith not only in traditional social and religious
structures but also in the methods – or “tools” (Hewson) - that
had once created and perpetuated those structures, namely
“conviction” (Yeats 7) – that is, firm “opinion or belief”
(“conviction” Def. 7) as established through reason - and
“passionate intensity” (Yeats 8) – that is, emotion. During the
First World War, modernists witnessed many of the innovations which
had been heralded as marks of human progress (for example, manned
flight, first accomplished in 1903) turned to atrocious purposes
(Hewson). According to Dr. Hewson, the “awkwardness” (or anxiety)
of modernism arose from having to face the apparent fact that
humanity was not what it had imagined itself to be. Thus, modernist
anxiety, rooted in current events, intensified in consideration of
the past, with the recognition that the “falcon cannot hear the
falconer” (Yeats 2) - that is, that modernity was disconnected from
its origins, from the structures and ideas that had once provided
order and stability (a place to perch, if we extend Yeats'
falcon/falconer comparison).
Twentieth
century anxiety thus arose from what the modernists knew immediately
(ie. the order and disorder of contemporary life) and that which they
knew retrospectively (ie. the inadequacy and failure of past
structures and modes of thought). However, as “The Second Coming”
and Endgame
show, the modernist anxiety was further heightened by the perception
of a looming presence which had yet to be experienced or fully known.
In “The Second Coming,” this is the “shape with the lion body
and the head of a man,/...[slouching] towards Bethlehem to be born”
(14-22). The creature, though by its particular hybridity
recognizable as a sphinx, is meant to be ambiguous. It is a “shape,”
merely – Yeats does not specify its species; furthermore, it is
located in the unspecific setting of “somewhere” (13). Yeats
concludes the poem, finally, asking “what rough beast” (21). Thus
the description of this creature yet to be born is deliberately
vague. This vagueness contributes to the sinister aura which
accompanies this creature; its “gaze blank” (15) – a gaze
unreadable, unknowable – creates uneasiness in the poet, troubling
his “sight” (13) as well as ours, indicating that there is
anxiety in not knowing.
This, of course is very
troubling for the modernists. Because they now seriously doubted and
had renounced old systems of thought and methods of knowing, the only
thing the modernists could use to establish knowledge was individual
perception, which they recognized as subjective and therefore not
capable of ascertaining objective, absolute truth. This dilemma is
captured in the setting of Beckett's play, which, as aforementioned
is a depiction of a skull. The mind within the skull (ie. the four
characters) has only two windows, two eyes, with which to see the
outer world – aside from those, the mind is self-enclosed. Thus, as
Beckett demonstrates, modernists recognized that the subjective
perception which was now their only mode of perception was, by
nature, limited and inadequate in ascertaining truth. This, coupled
with the fact that there is uneasiness in vague, incomplete
knowledge, indicates that the anxiety the modernists felt over not
knowing was inescapable.
It
must be noted, however, in a comparison of Yeats and Beckett, that in
Endgame while
there is a depiction of modernist subjectivity, the anxiety over not
knowing is not brought into as much focus as in “The Second
Coming.” Instead, Endgame
foregrounds the knowledge that the characters, self-enclosed within
some protective shelter, have of the outer world – that is, it
examines what the characters fear to experience. When Clov peers
through his telescope on “the without,” he states that he sees
“Zero...zero...and zero” (2404). Earlier, Hamm states that
“Outside of here it's death” (cite). Thus what the characters
fear is death or, more generally, non-existence, the “infinite
emptiness [that] will be,” as Hamm says (2406). Beckett associates
death with the desert by causing Nell's final word before dying to be
“desert.” The image of the desert is a suggestive symbol: it
suggests not merely physical lack of life but also spiritual aridity
(as in “The Second Coming,” where the dawn of a new era takes its
setting in “sands of the desert,” suggesting the spiritual
aridity at the end of the preceding, Christian era). Overall, the
desert is a symbol of general void. The irony of the situation in
Endgame,
however, is that, in trying to guard themselves against the void, the
emptiness, and the spiritual and physical death which await them, the
characters create a stifling, unhappy system and a life for
themselves which, self-enclosed, is equally void and empty: a life
spent desiring to escape, as Clov does, or like Hamm, recognizing
“it's time it ended” but continuing to “hesitate” (2395). As
with the anxiety over not knowing, the anxiety caused by a fear of
the void of substance (physical, spiritual, etc.) is inescapable, not
only because in attempting to protect one's self from the void, one
creates another void but also because, specifically, the modernists
could no longer rely on older systems to impart meaning upon the void
and thus make it meaningful (for example, in the Christian vision,
death is merely one step on a the greater journey towards
God/heaven). Modernist thought perceives that, within and without
social structures (friendship, family, master/servant coordinations,
religion, etc.), there is no meaning; thus, even as modernists yearn
for structures of meaning, they recognize the futility of such
structures, thus creating an inescapable anxiety.
One
final observation can be made regarding modernist anxiety over what
remained to come: both Beckett and Yeats, in their respective works,
depict an anxiety over the repetition of life. The motif of cyclical
existence is key in “The Second Coming” wherein Yeats employs his
vision of history as two spiraling gyres which alternatingly expand
and contract. As one gyre reaches its most expansive point (as during
the modernist era), tension mounts, “things fall apart” (3).
Thus, Yeats suggests there is anxiety over the cyclical, repetitive
nature of history which predicts recurring chaos. In Endgame,
similarly,
there is tension at the possibility of life repeating. This
possibility comes up three times in the play: with the flea, the rat,
and the boy. In each case, Hamm and Clov express a desire to destroy
life; when confronted with the existence of the flea, for instance,
Hamm exclaims “But humanity might start from there all over again!
Catch him, for the love of God!” (2405), indicating his tension at
the thought of life reproducing. This disagreement with the cycle of
life is somewhat perplexing in the case of Hamm and Clov. Considering
their fear of the emptiness that awaits them beyond the here-and-now,
one wonders why Hamm and Clov aren't elated at the prospect of life
flourishing, filling the void - why they do not see the flea, rat,
and boy hopefully. Similarly, one might ask why the poet of “The
Second Coming” does not see the dawn of a new era as heralded by a
“second coming” (even if a “second coming” without religious
implications) as a hopeful change, why the image “troubles [the]
sight” (13) of the speaker when it suggests a change in the current
state of “mere anarchy” which the speaker deplores in the first
few lines of the poem.
Both
Beckett and Yeats suggest that the problem with hope, when it appears
to occur, is that it occurs within a futile, inescapable system of
stasis. For instance, the toy dog in Endgame
which lacks one leg may be seen as a bizarrely hopeful object: it is
a dog that is being put together; supposedly it will be complete –
there is potential in the object. However, even if it is completed,
even if that hope is fulfilled, it remains still a toy dog, a
plaything, a pawn in someone else's game, just as the characters in
the play are pawns (as suggested by their red and white pairing). The
play ultimately views modern life as a futile “endgame” in
which, despite appearances of hope, the final outcome (death,
non-existence, emptiness) is unavoidable; the anxiety that arises at
the notion of the continuation of life thus is an extension of the
anxiety felt at living a futile, empty existence of which there can
be no meaningful outcome.
Similarly, while the “Second
Coming” in Yeats' poem would certainly mark a change in the
direction of the world, it would still be a change within the limits
of all possible history, a movement between two alternatives but not
a true escape. In Yeat's model of history, it hardly matters what is
at the center of the gyre, whether it is the figure of Jesus Christ
or the figure of the sphinx, because, whatever it is, history will
continue “turning and turning in the widening gyre” (1),
continually leading to a point where “things fall apart” (3).
Yeats and Beckett both indicate, thus, that the modernist anxiety
permitted no sentiment of hope, for life, as the modernists viewed it
in view of current catastrophic events and in consideration of the
past's structures and ways of thinking which had so utterly failed,
was futile, forever fluctuating between various extremes but never
truly progressing.
The
prevalent sentiment of the modernist period, anxiety, was so deep and
dire that the period was nicknamed after it as “The Age of
Anxiety.” To understand modernity, then, one must attempt to
understand modernist anxiety. As I have argued based on analysis of
Yeats' “The Second Coming” and Beckett's Endgame,
the anxiety felt by the modernists was multifaceted; it derived from
a number of aspects, which as in the interpretation of this paper,
may be divided into aspects of the past, the present, and the future.
The modernists felt anxiety over the lack of meaningful order in
their contemporary world. Springing from their view of the immediate
world, the modernists were forced to reconsider the past and
recognize that the social structures and systems of thinking they had
relied on could no longer hold - an understanding of disconnection
that increased the modernists' sense of anxiety. Their view of the
present and past cast serious doubts on the modernists' outlook of
the future and the unknown in general. Stripped of the ability to
trust in ordered systems of meaning, the modernists were reduced to
an entirely subjective perception of the universe which denied the
acquisition of objective, absolute truth – a perception which, in
fact, suggested there is no such thing as objective truth. Similarly,
the disconnection with and distrust of the past's systems of meaning
rendered the modernists incapable of perceiving meaning in their
surroundings; they were forced to confront the void, the unknown, the
future, without anything stable to provide support, to help them make
sense of and find meaning in the emptiness they perceived. As such,
the modernist anxiety was all-encompassing and inescapable, creating
in the modernist thinker and writer an outlook of all existence as
inescapable futility, history as repetitive and barren.
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