Review by dngoldman - Sophocles I: Oedipus The King, Oedipus at Colonus, Antigone

dngoldman 's review for:

Sophocles I: Oedipus The King, Oedipus at Colonus, Antigone by Richmond Lattimore, David Grene, Sophocles

4.75

fast-paced

Sophocles
Antigone
Oedipus the King
Oedipus at Colonus

This is an excellent translation of three of the seven remaining (out of 120) known plays by Sophocles. The translation shows the nuance and poetry of the playwright without ever being formal. Sophocles didn’t write these three plays as a trilogy or even to be performed together, but they do work together—forming three chapters of the Oedipus story. This collection presents the plays in the order they were written, not the timeline of the story. The “last” play in the timeline, Antigone, is first, followed by the first and second. Although not intended by Sophocles, seeing the ending and having it in mind adds an extra layer of pathos and tragedy (not that these plays need more!). In addition to common characters and stories, there are common themes throughout:

The arrogance of power. Those with power—Oedipus, Creon, Oedipus’ two sons—are not bad. The two kings, in particular, are presented as effective rulers. Yet each becomes a tyrant by refusing to take advice from others or heed the signs that the audience knows are there. This results in a downward spiral where the characters become more isolated and are finally defeated by their own stubbornness (e.g., tragic flaw). The tragic irony is that in Oedipus we see the king refuse Creon’s counsel, whereas later Creon refuses the advice of his advisors. The plays also show the impact on society of the tyrant leader who punishes those who offer counsel he doesn’t like—with disastrous effects on both him and those doing the reporting.
The battle between the laws of the land/order and the justice of the gods/individual choice. This theme is most prominent in Antigone but is present throughout. Creon’s fall in Antigone comes from his insistence on his law instead of following the gods’ law (natural law?).
Blindness—blind to our faults, blind to the fact that we are blind—acting as if we know. Is truth or knowing better than being ignorant and moving on?

Antigone

The earliest, and to my thinking, most successful of the three plays (although all are great). Putting content aside, the play is a delight to read, with the verbal battles between Antigone and King Creon being worthy of Shakespeare (or Lion in Winter) for their sheer entertainment. It’s easy to put each character in a box—Antigone, the angry protector of her family and of human dignity. This dignity is given by the gods, who require us to give the dead a proper burial—regardless of man-made law or their offenses on earth. Creon—the king who needs to restore order out of the ultimate disorder of Oedipus’ rule (marrying your mother, killing your father, etc.)—must enforce earthly justice. In the end, the “natural” law of the gods prevails.

But as is so often the case with ancient literature, there is more nuance than meets the eye. There is the motivation of the main characters. Antigone wants to follow the custom of the gods by burying her family’s dead—regardless of the King’s decree and at the cost of her life. But is she also motivated by family pride? And as the “battle” wears on, Antigone insists on following the custom regardless of the impact of this decision (her sister will be banished, for example). Creon sounds more reasonable at first—citing the need for order, to punish those who rebelled versus those who supported the state. He is a man of action who judges people by their actions, not intent:

“you cannot learn of any man the soul, the mind, in the intent until he shows his practice of the government and laws.” (l.175)

He relies on “good rules” to order the state. Yet as time goes on, the matter seems more like a grudge match, and the need not to appear weak or let the other side win seems more important than the principle. He fails to see (a theme throughout the plays) what is obvious to everyone: the gods are not on his side. His ability to debate himself, present in the chorus—

“my mind kept on debating. Isn’t this action possibly of a god’s?” (l.278) (Cf. Arendt)

Both the philosophy and psychology of the matter are on full display in Antigone and Creon’s verbal battle in lines 450–580, with many lines worthy of Lion in Winter:

Creon: And you dared to overstep these (my) laws?
Antigone: For me it was not Zeus who made that order.
… Nor did I think your orders were so strong that you, a mortal man, could overrun the gods' unwritten and unfailing laws.
Not now, nor yesterday's, they always live, and no one knows their origin in time.
So not through fear of any man's proud spirit would I be likely to neglect these laws, and draw on myself the gods' sure punishment.
I knew that I must die—how could I not?—even without your edict. If I die before my time, I say it is a gain.
Who lives in sorrows many as are mine, how shall he not be glad to gain his death? (ll. 450–470)

Antigone: if you think my acts are foolishness, the foolishness may be in a fool’s eye.
Creon: These rigid spirits are the first to fall. (ll. 470–475) (Irony, as Creon becomes more rigid—he too falls.)
Creon: Your act of grace, in his regard, is a crime.

In classic Greek theatre, it is Creon’s tragic flaw that does him in. He is admired for his strength of character. These very traits lead him to stop listening. As the chorus notes:

He is clever beyond all dreams
Inventive craft that he has
Which may drive him one time to do good and another time to evil. (l.364)

Creon becomes more of a tyrant, making those around him frightened to speak up:

“Your presence frightened any common man.” (l.690)

In the end, Creon, so penned in by his own decrees and refusal to look weak, falls into a trap of his own making:

“Whoever thinks that he alone is wise, his eloquence, his mind, above the rest, come, the unfolding, it shows his emptiness.” (l.706)
“Stubbornness and stupidity are twins.” (l.1030)

If this sounds like certain current day leaders, well, draw your own conclusions. The corrosive effects of power and insecurity have long been a deadly combo. He learns his lesson, but it comes too late: his son, wife, and daughter-in-law are dead. Having lost all happiness, he is a “breathing corpse.” He can only ruefully look toward the future.

It is Antigone, by the play’s end, who earns our pathos. Her death is noble, almost a reward to end her suffering:

I’ll bury him myself.
And even if I die in the act, that death will be a glory.
I’ll lie with the one I love and loved by him an outrage sacred to the gods!
I have longer to please the dead than please the living here:
in the kingdom down below I’ll live forever.

And:

I go, without a friend, struck down by fate, living, to the hollow chambers of the dead. (l.910)

I’m struck by the Christian imagery here, and the play must have influenced early Christian writers.

Oedipus the King

The tension comes from the dramatic irony. Audiences must have known the myth and the underlying facts and would likely have known of Antigone—although the story of that play came after it was produced first. Sophocles uses this foreknowledge to his advantage, building dramatic irony that is sublime. Early in the play, Oedipus demands the murderer of the prior king be found and expelled as a pollutant. He even calls out the fact that he married the former king’s wife and that he was unfortunate not to have children. Only later does he recognize that,

“I have called curses on myself in ignorance.” (l.745)

Oedipus the King expands the theme from Antigone of the well-respected king becoming a tyrant because of inflexibility—in this case, his inability to admit the facts, which crash down on him and destroy him once the truth finally breaks through.

The use of the word “seeing” recurs throughout—foreshadowing Oedipus’ self-inflicted blindness. Characters use the term metaphorically, yet Oedipus is “blind” to the facts and becomes literally blind by the play’s end. He fails to see the “your own [temper] that lies within you. Instead you chide me.”

Tiresias taunts him:

“Since you have taunted me with being blind, here is my word for you. You have your eyes, but see not where you are and evil, nor where you live, nor whom you live with. Do you know who your parents are?” (l.410)

Later, his mother begs him not to see, and he prays “not to see the day” and to “be out of men’s sight.”

In Oedipus, the characters struggle to avoid their fate. They can make free choices, but in uncovering the facts, they stumble into their destiny through imperfect knowledge. The play asks whether it would be better to be “blind” to the truth. Characters beg Oedipus to stop seeking it, but he doesn’t. Even as he refuses counsel from others, he persists, leading to his own tragedy—and his mother’s suicide.

It is easy to see the circumstances of the play as fantastical. But how much do we really know about our world, our past, our friends? There are likely facts and circumstances surrounding us that, with perfect knowledge, would seem bizarre. We live in a world of imperfect knowledge and allow ourselves to remain happily blind. Oedipus’ “tragic flaw” may be as much his refusal to accept the comfort of the metaphorical blindness the rest of us rely on.

Oedipus at Colonus

The final play in this series picks up on the themes of blindness and innocence. Taking place between Oedipus the Kingand Antigone, Colonus has the blind king wandering the countryside with his daughters. There is a definite King Lear vibe here. His blindness—both to his circumstances before the tragedy was revealed and his literal blindness now—makes him (as Lear) “more sinned against than sinning” (King Lear Act 3, Scene 2).

The play is less successful as a drama than the other two. Yet the knowledge that the two daughters, who are saved by play’s end while saving their father, will eventually be killed themselves adds a level of pathos throughout.