Antigone

The Guards in Antigone symbolically represent the Nazi soldiers who blindly followed Hitler during WWII. Anouilh explicitly reminds his audience of what is perhaps the most frightening part about the Guards—they are humans, too:

They have wives they are afraid of, kids who are afraid of them; they’re bothered by the same day-to-day worries that beset us all. At the same time they are policemen: eternally innocent, no matter what crimes committed; […] eternally indifferent, for nothing that happens can matter to them. (16)

Anouilh is here drawing parallels between the attitudes of the Guards and the attitudes of the Nazis—and by extension, the Vichy government and the collaborators that allowed the Nazi occupation. The Nazis and their allies acted as if they were above those they oppressed and lacked any regard for human empathy. They moved throughout the war without caring how many they killed as long as their actions did not affect them personally. In the play, the selfishness and moral indifference of the Guards embodies this amoral attitude, making them a small but crucial component of the theme of conscience versus obedience to authority. The last line of the play is delivered by the Chorus, who says, “Only the Guards are left, and none of this matters to them. It’s no skin off their noses. They go on playing cards” (71). The Guards are a chilling reminder of what can happen when one group of people decides they are above other people, and forget their shared humanity.

Working hand-in-hand with the symbolism of the Guards as Nazi soldiers is the motif of Creon and his men comparing the people of Thebes to animals. Even worse than the self-elevation committed by Creon and his Guards is the dehumanization of the citizens over which they rule. Antigone, especially, is frequently compared to animals. When she is caught burying Polynices, one of the Guards tells Creon, “I turned my back for about five seconds and there she is, clawing away like a hyena” (39, italics mine). In another instance, when Creon and Antigone are alone, Creon mocks his niece by saying, “You must want very much to die. You look like a trapped animal” (48, italics mine). In both cases, Antigone is no longer seen as the daughter of king Oedipus, or even as Creon’s own flesh and blood, but instead as a traitor not worthy of human dignity.

Antigone reclaims this insulting tactic and uses it against Creon and the Guards. When Creon compares his citizens to animals, Antigone snaps back, “Animals! Oh what a king you would make, Creon, if only men were animals!” (53). She is quick to remind him that their people are human beings, and he is not treating them as such. Then, she dehumanizes Creon and the Guards by saying, “You are all like dogs, that lick everything they smell. You with your promise of a humdrum happiness—provided a person doesn’t ask too much of life” (58). In one sharp statement, Antigone uses Creon’s own rhetorical tactic against him, exposing him to the same ridicule he has tried to use against others.

One of the last, and perhaps the saddest, times the animal motif makes an appearance is when Antigone is awaiting her death. She is waiting with a guard, when she utters, “A pair of animals” (66). When the guard asks her what she means, she tells him, “When the wind blows cold, all they need to do is press close to one another. I am all alone” (66). In the end, Creon has completely stripped Antigone of her human dignity, to the point where she is left even more solitary than an animal in the wild.