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Odepus Rex
Odepus Rex
Sophocles
s(496BC-406BC)
“Blessed Sophocles, who died after a long and fortunate life, he wrote many beautiful tragedies,
and died happily, never having experienced evil”.
Phrynichus
GREEK THEATRE
Greek theatre was very different from what we call theatre today. It was, first of all, part of a religious
festival. To attend a performance of one of these plays was an act of worship, not entertainment or
intellectual pastime.But it is difficult for us to even begin to understand this facet of the Greek theatre,
because the religion in question was very unlike from modern religions. The god celebrated by the
performances of these plays was Dionysus, a deity who lived in the wild and was known for his subversive
revelry. The worship of Dionysus was associated with an ecstasy that bordered on madness. Dionysus,
whose cult was that of drunkenness and sexuality, little resembles modern images of God.
A second way in which Greek theatre was different from modern theatre is in its cultural centrality:
every citizen attended these plays. Greek plays were put on at annual festivals (at the beginning of spring,
the season of Dionysus), often for as many as 15,000 spectators at once. They dazzled viewers with their
special effects, singing, and dancing, as well as with their beautiful language. At the end of each year’s
festivals, judges would vote to decide which playwright’s play was the best.
In these competitions, Sophocles was king. It is thought that he won the first prize at the Athenian
festival eighteen times. Far from being a tortured artist working at the fringes of society, Sophocles was
among the most popular and well-respected men of his day. Like most good Athenians, Sophocles was
involved with the political and military affairs of Athenian democracy. He did stints as a city treasurer and
as a naval officer, and throughout his life he was a close friend of the foremost statesman of the day,
Pericles.
In ancient Athens, plays were performed at the Festival of Dionysus (Bacchus), and were performed
competitively; three playwrights would present four different plays each (a trilogy of tragedies and one satyr
play, or comedy), and then a panel of judges would determine the winner. As part of a religious festival,
plays were not merely entertainment, but served to heighten the religious mood. Tragedies centred on
worthy protagonists: great men whose fall could be a lesson to audiences. These tragedies were always
based on stories the audiences already knew, relying on presentation, eloquence, and acting rather than
surprise to captivate. A good modern comparison might be a religious pageant such as a Passion Play at
Easter. A key device in such plays is dramatic irony the audience knows the outcome of the story, but the
character does not, making his statements or choices ironic and dramatic in the eyes of the viewers.
Plays were performed in open-air amphitheatres that could seat up to 17,000 people. There may have
been scenery; a skene was a temporary building that served as a backdrop, and pinakes were movable
painted panels. Actors were always men, and they wore elaborate robes and painted masks that presented the
characters' most typical facial expression. Plays were expensive to put on, and so were produced by wealthy
members of society much the way they are today.
The Oedipus myth goes back as far as Homer and beyond, and sources vary about plot details. The play
that Sophocles presents is merely the very end of a long story, and some plot background must be provided
to make the story understandable for modern audiences. The real myth begins a few generations before
Oedipus was born. The city of Thebes was founded by a man named Cadmus, who slew a dragon and was
instructed to sow the dragon’s teeth to form a city. From these teeth sprang a race of giants who were fully
armed and angry; they fought each other until only five were left and these five became the fathers of
Thebes.
The trouble begins when Laius, the great grandson of Cadmus, receives a prediction from the oracle of
Apollo that his son will kill him. Thus he and his wife Jocasta give their infant son to a servant to kill by
abandoning it on a mountainside. But the servant doesn't have the heart to kill the baby, instead giving it to
another man, who gives it to the childless king and queen of Corinth. These adoptive parents name the boy
Oedipus, a reference to his feet, which were mangled and swollen when Laius and Jocasta pierced them
with an iron pin.
Laius is killed years later at a crossroads outside Thebes, and the city is beset by the Sphinx, a winged
monster with the head of a woman and the body of a lion who kills all who fail to answer her riddle. The
riddle: what goes on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the vening? The only man
who is able to solve the riddle is Oedipus, who has travelled to Thebes in an attempt to escape the fate an
oracle has predicted for him: that he will kill his father and marry his mother (remember that he thinks the
king and queen of Corinth are his parents). Oedipus delivers the answer: a man, who crawls when he is a
baby, walks when he is a young man, and limps with a cane when he is old. The Sphinx kills herself, and
Oedipus is proclaimed the saviour of Thebes, getting to marry Jocasta as a reward.
Oedipus and Jocasta have a happy marriage and a number of children. However, years later, tragedy
strikes Thebes again when a blight strikes the city, killing both crops in the field and babies in their mothers’
wombs. Oedipus sends his brother-in-law to the oracle of Apollo to ask how to lift this blight, and as the
play opens, the answer comes back: find Laius’s murderer and banish him from Thebes. Little does Oedipus
know that he himself is Laius’s murderer he killed an old man at a crossroads just before coming to Thebes,
and this old man was Laius himself.
Ancient Greek audiences would already know the background, and in fact the entirety, of the Oedipus
plays. Therefore what makes this play so great is its ability to present this material in an evocative and
powerful manner, which, of course, it does perfectly. Modern audiences might recognize the name Oedipus
from Sigmund Freud’s famous “Oedipus Complex,” his theory that young boys lust after their mothers and
see their fathers as competition for their mothers’ favours. This theory springs from Jocasta’s comment that
killing your father and marrying your mother are the kinds of things men often dream of. Freud’s theory has
been hotly debated, and the psychological community is still torn on this issue, proof that the Oedipus story
continues to be powerful and controversial even thousands of years after Sophocles’s play was written.
LIFE AND WORKS OF SOPHOCLES
Sophocles (496-406) lived during a period of Greek vitality and creativity in art, philosophy and politics
that is perhaps without parallel in the Western world. Some of history’s outstanding genius lived in this era:
the playwrights Aeschylus, Euripides, and Aristophanes; the sculptors and painters Phidias and Polygnotus;
the philosophers Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle; the lawmakers and politicians Solon, Kleisthenes, Pisistratus,
and Pericles. It seems probable that Sophocles knew many or most of these men personally; it is certain that
he was loved and esteemed as a man and artist by his polis (city state) Athens.
Of Sophocles’ output of more than 120 plays, only 7 are extant: Ajax, Antigone, Clektra, and Oedipus at
Colonus, Oedipus Rex, Philoctetes, and the Trachiniae. Fragments of at least 109 others plays attributed to
Sophocles have come down to us.
Although Sophocles’ plays emphasize the tragically ironic uncertainties of man’s existence, the
playwright himself enjoyed a long, satisfying life. Foreign kings invited him to live in their lands; while at
home; Athenians honoured his genius not only with the dramatic laurel, but with political prestige. In 406,
the 91 years old dramatist died. A lovely fragment from a lost play of Phrynichus commemorated the event
“Blessed Sophocles, who died after a long and fortunate life. He wrote many beautiful tragedies, and died
happily, never having experienced evil”.
‘Sophoclean’ itself suggests profound ambiguity, irony, and tension. It is, then, in the interplay of tragic
grandeur and character portrayal that Sophocles’ greatness lies. His achievement stems precisely from the
fact that there passes before the audience or the mind’s eye of the reader a pattern of events, related by
necessity or at least probability, in which great persons are shown to weave their dooms out of an uncanny
mixture of fate, their own freedom, and the traits of their characters and temperaments.
Sophocles lived a long life, but not long enough to witness the downfall of his Athens. Toward the end of
his life, Athens became entangled in a war with other city-states jealous of its prosperity and power, a war
that would end the glorious century during which Sophocles lived. This political fall also marked an artistic
fall, for the unique art of Greek theatre began to fade and eventually died. Since then, we have had nothing
like it. Nonetheless, we still try to read it, and we often misunderstand it by thinking of it in terms of the
categories and assumptions of our own arts. Greek theatre still needs to be read, but we must not forget that,
because it is so alien to us, reading these plays calls not only for analysis, but also for imagination.
SOPHOCLES THE GENIUS
In entering the world of Sophocles, the viewer or reader must abandon any notion that certainty and fact
are the only yardsticks of truth in human affairs. In this world the oracles of the gods may mislead, the
words of characters often have hidden meanings opposite those intended, and events which seemingly
indicate a turn for the better frequently prove harbingers of tragic falls. Great men, pursuing moral ends,
commit acts deserving punishment, but often receive a punishment harsher than they seem to
deserve. The standards of this “deserving” are at issue, and Sophoclean tragedy thus questions the
irrationality of the universe and man’s eternal pursuit of absolute knowledge a theme relevant to every age.
Antigone was probably the first of the three Theban plays that Sophocles wrote, although the events
dramatized in it happen last. Antigone is one of the first heroines in literature, a woman who fights against a
male power structure, exhibiting greater bravery than any of the men who scorn her. Antigone is not only a
feminist play but a radical one as well, making rebellion against authority appear splendid and noble. If we
think of Antigone as something merely ancient, we make the same error as the Nazi censors who allowed
Jean Anouilh's adaptation of Antigone to be performed, mistaking one of the most powerful texts of the
French Resistance for something harmlessly academic.
The story of Oedipus was well known to Sophocles’ audience. Oedipus arrives at Thebes a stranger
and finds the town under the curse of the Sphinx, who will not free the city unless her riddle is answered.
Oedipus solves the riddle and, since the king has recently been murdered, becomes the king and marries the
queen. In time, he comes to learn that he is actually a Theban, the king’s son, cast out of Thebes as a baby.
He has killed his father and married his mother. Horrified, he blinds himself and leaves Thebes forever.
Sophocles did not invent the story. Quite the opposite: the play's most powerful effects often depend
on the fact that the audience already knows the story. Since the first performance of Oedipus Rex, the story
has fascinated critics just as it fascinated Sophocles. Aristotle used this play and its plot as the supreme
example of tragedy. Sigmund Freud famously based his theory of the “Oedipal Complex” on this story,
claiming that every boy has a latent desire to kill his father and sleep with his mother. The story of
Oedipus has given birth to innumerable fascinating variations, but we should not forget that this play is one
of the variations, not the original story itself.
Beginning with the arrival of Oedipus in Colonus after years of wandering, Oedipus at Colonus ends
with Antigone setting off toward her own fate in Thebes. In and of itself, Oedipus at Colonus is not a
tragedy; it hardly even has a plot in the normal sense of the word, though it has been written toward the end
of Sophocles' life and the conclusion of the Golden Age of Athens. Oedipus at Colonus, the last of the
Oedipus plays, is a quiet and religious play, one that does not attempt the dramatic fireworks of the
others. Written after Antigone, the play for which it might be seen as a kind of prequel, Oedipus at Colonus
seems not to look forward to the suffering that envelops that play but back upon it, as though it has already
been surmounted.
LEGENDS AND OEDIPUS REX (MYTHS BEHIND THE PLAY)
Laius, childless king of Thebes, asked the oracle of Apollo at Delphi if he would have a son. He was
answered affirmatively, but told that his son would slay him. When his wife Jokasta bore him a son, he
ordered that the infant be left to die on Mount Cithaeron. In Sophocles’ version, the herdsman charged with
abandoning the infant compassionately gave it to another herdsman instead, who brought it to his king,
Polybos of Corinth. Since he and his wife Merope were childless they adopted the child, naming
him Oedipus (swollen-footed), a result of the cords with which his feet had been bound.
Oedipus was raised as prince of Corinth and heir to the throne. When he was a young man, a drunken
guest at a banquet accused him of being illegitimate. Though furious, Oedipus had said nothing at the time.
When he asked Polybos and Merope, they were insulted but did not confess that he was not their son. The
story of the insult began to circulate in Corinth, and Oedipus consulted the oracle at Delphi for the truth
concerning his origin.
Apollo ignored the question, but did reveal that Oedipus was fated to slay his father and marry his
mother. Horrified, Oedipus fled Corinth, unaware that Polybos and Merope were not his parents. On the
road to Thebes Oedipus met a party of travellers at a crossroads. In a dispute overt the right of way, Oedipus
became enraged and killed themall. One of the travellers was his father, Laius. Sometime later, Oedipus,
arriving at Thebes, was confronted by the Sphinx (a monster: half-woman, half-winged lion), who been sent
as a curse upon Thebes by the goddess Hera. The Sphinx had plagued Thebes, posing the question to its
citizens and to travellers, “What creature goes on four feet in the morning, on two at noon, on three in the
afternoon”. None of those questions could be answered, and were killed by the monster. Oedipus answer to
the riddle was “Man”: he crawls on all fours in infancy (the morning), walks on two legs in manhood
(noon), and goes with the help of a stick in old age (afternoon). The riddle having been solved, the Sphinx
killed herself. Thebes rewarded its savior with the throne, and the hand of its widowed queen Jokasta. The
oracle of Apollo was fulfilled: Oedipus had killed his father and married his mother.
AN ENIGMATIC PLAY
After defeating Polynices and taking the throne of Thebes, Creon commands that Polynices be left to rot
unburied, his flesh eaten by dogs and birds, creating an “obscenity” for everyone to see. Creon thinks that he
is justified in his treatment of Polynices because the latter was a traitor, an enemy of the State, and the
security of the State makes all of human life— including family life and religion—possible. Therefore, to
Creon’s way of thinking, the good of the State comes before all other duties and values. However, the
subsequent events of the play demonstrate that some duties are more fundamental than the State and its laws.
The duty to bury the dead is part of what it means to be human, not part of what it means to be a citizen.
That is why Polynices, rotting body is an “obscenity” rather than a crime. Moral duties—such as the duties
owed to the dead—make up the body of unwritten law and tradition, the law to which Antigone appeals.
When Oedipus and Jocasta begin to get close to the truth about Laius's murder, in Oedipus the King,
Oedipus fastens onto a detail in the hope of exonerating himself. Jocasta says that she was told that
“Strangers Killed Laius” whereas Oedipus knows that he acted alone when he killed a man in
similar circumstances. This is an extraordinary moment because it calls into question the entire truth-seeking
process Oedipus believes himself to be undertaking. Both Oedipus and Jocasta act as though the servant's
story, once spoken, is irrefutable history. Neither can face the possibility of what it would mean if the
servant was wrong. This is perhaps why Jocasta feels she can tell Oedipus of the prophecy that her son
would kill his father, and Oedipus can tell her about the similar prophecy given him by an oracle, and
neither feels compelled to remark on the coincidence; or why Oedipus can hear the story of Jocasta binding
her child’s ankles and not think of his own swollen feet. While the information in these speeches is largely
intended to make the audience painfully aware of the tragic irony, it also emphasizes just how desperately
Oedipus and Jocasta do not want to speak the obvious truth: they look at the circumstances and details of
everyday life and pretend not to see them.
Prophecy is a central part of Oedipus the King. The play begins with Creon’s return from the oracle
at Delphi, where he has learned that the plague will be lifted if Thebes banishes the man who killed Laius.
Tiresias prophesies the capture of one who is both father and brother to his own children. Oedipus tells
Jocasta of a prophecy he heard as a youth, that he would kill his father and sleep with his mother, and
Jocasta tells Oedipus of a similar prophecy given to Laius, that her son would grow up to kill his
father. Oedipus and Jocasta debate the extent to which prophecies should be trusted at all, and when all of
the prophecies come true, it appears that one of Sophocles, aims is to justify the powers of the gods and
prophets, which had recently come under attack in fifth-century B.C. Athens.
Sophocles audience would, of course, have known the story of Oedipus, which only increases the
sense of complete inevitability about how the play would end. It is difficult to say how justly one can accuse
Oedipus of being “blind” or foolish when he seems to have no choice about fulfilling the prophecy: he is
sent away from Thebes as a baby and by a remarkable coincidence saved and raised as a prince in Corinth.
Hearing that he is fated to kill his father, he flees Corinth and, by a still more remarkable coincidence, ends
up back in Thebes, now king and husband in his actual father’s place. Oedipus seems only to desire to flee
his fate, but his fate continually catches up with him. Many people have tried to argue that Oedipus brings
about his catastrophe because of a “tragic flaw,” but nobody has managed to create a consensus about what
Oedipus’s flaw actually is. Perhaps his story is meant to show that error and disaster can happen to anyone,
that human beings are relatively powerless before fate or the gods, and that a cautious humility is the best
attitude toward life.
Almost every character that dies in the three Theban plays does so at his or her own hand (or own
will, as is the case in Oedipus at Colonus). Jocasta hangs herself in Oedipus the King and Antigone hangs
herself in Antigone. Eurydice and Haemon stab themselves at the end of Antigone. Oedipus inflicts horrible
violence on himself at the end of his first play, and willingly goes to his own mysterious death at the end of
his second. Polynices and Eteocles die in battle with one another, and it could be argued that Polynices
death at least is self-inflicted in that he has heard his father’s curse and knows that his cause is doomed.
Incest motivates or indirectly brings about all of the deaths in these plays.
References to eyesight and vision, both literal and metaphorical, are very frequent in all three of the
Theban plays. Quite often, the image of clear vision is used as a metaphor for knowledge and insight. In
fact, this metaphor is so much a part of the Greek way of thinking that it is almost not a metaphor at
all, just as in modern English: to say “I see the truth” or “I see the way things are” is a perfectly ordinary use
of language. However, the references to eyesight and insight in these plays form a meaningful pattern in
combination with the references to literal and metaphorical blindness. Oedipus is famed for
his clear-sightedness and quick comprehension, but he discovers that he has been blind to the truth for many
years, and then he blinds himself so as not to have to look on his own children/siblings. Creon is prone to a
similar blindness to the truth in Antigone. Though blind, the aging Oedipus finally acquires a limited
prophetic vision. Tiresias is blind, yet he sees farther than others. Overall, the plays seem to say that human
beings can demonstrate remarkable powers of intellectual penetration and insight, and that they have a
great capacity for knowledge, but that even the smartest human being is liable to error, that the human
capability for knowledge is ultimately quite limited and unreliable.
The plots of Antigone and Oedipus at Colonus both revolve around burials and beliefs about burial
are important in Oedipus the King as well. Polynices is kept above ground after his death, denied a grave,
and his rotting body offends the gods, his relatives, and ancient traditions. Antigone is entombed alive, to the
horror of everyone who watches. At the end of Oedipus the King, Oedipus cannot remain in Thebes or be
buried within its territory, because his very person is polluted and offensive to the sight of gods and men.
Nevertheless, his choice, in Oedipus at Colonus, to be buried at Colonus confers a great and mystical gift on
all of Athens, promising that nation victory over future attackers. In Ancient Greece, traitors and people
who murder their own relatives could not be buried within their city’s territory, but their relatives still had an
obligation to bury them. As one of the basic, inescapable duties that people owe their relatives, burials
represent the obligations that come from kinship, as well as the conflicts that can arise between one’s duty to
family and to the city-state.
Oedipus gets his name, as the Corinthian messenger tells us in Oedipus the King, from the fact that
he was left in the mountains with his ankles pinned together. Jocasta explains that Laius abandoned him in
this state on a barren mountain shortly after he was born. The injury leaves Oedipus with a vivid scar for the
rest of his life. Oedipus’s injury symbolizes the way in which fate has marked him and set him apart. It also
symbolizes the way his movements have been confined and constrained since birth, by Apollo's prophecy to
Laius.
In Oedipus the King, Jocasta says that Laius was slain at a place where three roads meet. This
crossroads is referred to a number of times during the play, and it symbolizes the crucial moment, long
before the events of the play, when Oedipus began to fulfil the dreadful prophecy that he would murder his
father and marry his mother. A crossroads is a place where a choice has to be made, so crossroads usually
symbolize moments where decisions will have important consequences but where different choices are
still possible. In Oedipus the King, the crossroads is part of the distant past, dimly remembered, and Oedipus
was not aware at the time that he was making a fateful decision. In this play, the crossroads symbolizes fate
and the awesome power of prophecy rather than freedom and choice.
Creon condemns Antigone to a horrifying fate: being walled alive inside a tomb. He intends to leave
her with just enough food so that neither he nor the citizens of Thebes will have her blood on their hands
when she finally dies. Her imprisonment in a tomb symbolizes the fact that her loyalties and feelings lie with
the dead—her brothers and her father—rather than with the living, such as Haemon or Ismene. But her
imprisonment is also a symbol of Creon’s lack of judgment and his affronts to the gods. Tiresias points out
that Creon commits a horrible sin by lodging a living human being inside a grave, as he keeps a rotting body
in daylight. Creon’s actions against Antigone and against Polynices' body show him attempting to invert the
order of nature, defying the gods by asserting his own control over their territories.
WHY IS “OEDIPUS REX” ENIGMATIC?
If we have turned aside from Euripides for a moment and attempted a translation of the great stage
masterpiece of Sophocles, our excuse must be the fascination of this play, which has thrown its spell on us
as on many other translators. Yet we may plead also that as a rule every diligent student of these great works
can add something to the discoveries of his predecessors, and I think I have been able to bring out a few new
points in the old and much-studied Oedipus, chiefly points connected with the dramatic technique and the
religious atmosphere.
Mythologists tell us that Oedipus was originally a daemon haunting Mount Kithairon, and Jocasta a
form of that Earth-Mother who, as Aeschylus puts it, “bringeth all things to being, and when she hath reared
them receiveth again their seed into her body”. That stage of the story lies very far behind the consciousness
of Sophocles. But there does cling about both his hero and his heroine a great deal of very primitive
atmosphere.
There are traces in Oedipus of the pre-Hellenic Medicine King, the Basileus who is also a Theos, and
can make rain or blue sky, pestilence or fertility. This explains many things in the Priest’s first speech, in the
attitude of the Chorus, and in Oedipus’ own language after the discovery. It partly explains the hostility of
Apollo, who is not a mere motiveless Destroyer but a true Olympian crushing his Earth-born rival. And in
the same way the peculiar royalty of Jocasta, which makes Oedipus at times seem not the King but the
Consort of the Queen, brings her near to that class of consecrated queens described in Dr. Frazer’s Lectures
on the Kingship, who are “honoured as no woman now living on the earth.”
The story itself, and the whole spirit in which Sophocles has treated it, belong not to the fifth century
but to that terrible and romantic past from which the fifth century poets usually drew their material. The
atmosphere of brooding dread, the pollution, the curses; the “insane and beastlike cruelty,” as an ancient
Greek commentator calls it, of piercing the exposed child’s feet in order to ensure its death and yet avoid
having actually murdered it. The whole treatment of the parricide and incest, not as moral offences capable
of being rationally judged or even excused as unintentional, but as monstrous and inhuman pollutions, the
last limit of imaginable horror: all these things take us back to dark regions of pre-classical and even pre-
Homeric belief. We have no right to suppose that Sophocles thought of the involuntary parricide and metro
gamy as the people in his play do. Indeed, considering the general tone of his contemporaries and friends,
we may safely assume that he did not. But at any rate he has allowed no breath of later enlightenment to
disturb the primeval gloom of his atmosphere. Does this in any way make the tragedy insincere? I think not.
We know that people did feel and think about “pollution” in the way which Sophocles represents; and if they
so felt, then the tragedy was there.
I think these considerations explain the remarkable absence from this play of any criticism of life or
any definite moral judgment. I know that some commentators have found in it a “humble and unquestioning
piety,” but I cannot help suspecting that what they saw was only a reflection from their own pious and
unquestioning minds. Man is indeed shown as a “plaything of Gods,” but of Gods strangely and
incomprehensibly malignant, whose ways there is no attempt to explain or justify. The original story,
indeed, may have had one of its roots in a Theban “moral tale.” tells us that Theban Law forbade the
exposure of a child. The state of feeling which produced this law, against the immensely strong conception
of the patria potestas, may also have produced a folklore story telling how a boy once was exposed, in a
peculiarly cruel way, by his wicked parents, and how Heaven preserved him to take upon both of them a
vengeance which showed that the unnatural father had no longer a father’s sanctity nor the unnatural
mother a mother’s. But, as far as Sophocles is concerned, if anything in the nature of a criticism of life has
been admitted into the play at all, it seems to be only a flash or two of that profound and pessimistic
arraignment of theruling powers which in other plays also opens at times like a sudden abyss
across the smooth surface of his art.
There is not much philosophy in the Oedipus. There is not, in comparison with other Greek plays, much
pure poetry. What there is, is drama; drama of amazing grandeur and power. In respect of plot no Greek
play comes near it. It contains no doubt a few points of unsophisticated technique such as can be found in all
ancient and nearly all modern drama; for instance, the supposition that Oedipus has never inquired.
COMPLETE SUMMARY OF “OEDIPUS REX”
The play opens in front of the Theban palace. Oedipus, the king of Thebes, asks a passing priest why
he and his followers are lamenting and praying. The priest replies that they pray to the gods to end the
plague that has beset Thebes. This plague has wasted the city's crops and pastures and rendered all Theban
women sterile. The priest begs for Oedipus's help. Oedipus tells the priest that he feels the city’s pain, and
that he has sent his brother-in-law, Creon, to the Pythian oracle of Apollo to ask for help.
Creon appears, bearing good news. The oracle told him that the plague on Thebes was caused by the
murder of Laius, the previous king of Thebes. The murderer was born in Thebes and still lives there, and if
they can find him and banish him, the plague will be lifted. Oedipus asks Creon about the details of Laius’s
death. Creon tells him that Laius was killed as he left Thebes on a pilgrimage. There was only one surviving
eyewitness, a man who said that the king was killed by a band of robbers. Oedipus asks why the matter was
not fully investigated, and Creon tells him that the city's problems with the Sphinx demanded attention at
that point. Oedipus swears that he will solve this mystery, not merely for Laius’s sake, but for his own,
since Laius’s killer might attack him next. He summons all the people of Thebes.
The Chorus of Theban elders appears, expressing a sense of foreboding about what Oedipus might
find. The Chorus describes again the plague that has stricken the city and calls on the gods to help the city.
Oedipus enters from the palace and asks the people of Thebes to help him find Laius's killer; if any of them
has any information that would help him, he orders them to come forward. There is silence. He declares that
if the killer is among them and will give himself up, his punishment will merely be banishment. Still the
people are silent. Oedipus tells them that any information that could help will be rewarded. Still silence, and
Oedipus declares that if any men are found to be hiding the truth from him, they too will be banished. Nor
does Oedipus exempt himself from the punishment he has just declared; if he unknowingly harbours the
killer, he will leave Thebes himself. The Chorus finally speaks up, suggesting that Oedipus consult the man
closest to Apollo: Teiresias the blind prophet. Oedipus agrees with their suggestion and reveals that he has
already sent for Teiresias upon Creon’s advice.
Teiresias enters, led by an attendant. Oedipus informs him of the oracle’s statements and begs him to
help find the killer. Teiresias states that he never should have come, and asks to leave. Oedipus asks him
again,telling him that he is an enemy to Thebes if he refuses to help. Again Teiresias refuses to answer
Oedipus, and Oedipus gets angry. Teiresias counsels him to look within himself before he blames others.
Finally Oedipus angrily declares that Teiresias’s silence implicates him in Laius’s murder. At this Teiresias,
fed up, tells Oedipus what he knows: “You are the cursed polluter of this land” (35). His words enrage
Oedipus, who dares him to repeat them. Teiresias obliges, saying “the killer you are seeking is yourself”
(36). Again Oedipus goads him, and he elaborates: “you are living / In sinful union with the one you love, /
Living in ignorance of your own undoing” (36). Full of fury, Oedipus now calls Teiresias a “shameless and
brainless, sightless, senseless sot” and again accuses him of conspiring with Creon (36). Again Teiresias
vows that the enemy Oedipus seeks is himself. Continuing to mock Teiresias, Oedipus now charges him
with fraud, using the Sphinx’s riddle as proof. If Teiresias is a seer, then he should have been able to solve
the riddle. But instead Oedipus was the only one who was smart enough to do so. So much for Teiresias’s
gifts! Now the Chorus tries to step in and calm Oedipus down. Teiresias tries one last time to show him
the truth, saying “have you eyes / And do not see your own damnation? Eyes, / And cannot see what
company you keep? / Whose son you are? I tell you, you have sinned -- / And do not know it against your
own on earth / And in the grave” (37). He predicts the future: Oedipus will be more hated and more scorned
than any other man. Oedipus orders him to leave. As he goes, Teiresias repeats his warnings and his
predictions, saying “he that came seeing, blind shall he go; / Rich now, then a beggar; stick-in-hand,
groping his way / To a land of exile; brother, as it shall be shown, / And father at once, to the children he
cherishes; son, / And husband, to the woman who bore him; father-killer, / And father-supplanter” (38).
Oedipus goes back into his house.
The Chorus reflects on what Teiresias said, but does not understand it, saying that it chooses to think
that Oedipus is innocent until proven guilty because he has done such good for Thebes. Creon enters, asking
the Chorus if what he heard is true: if Oedipus has actually accused him of treason. The Chorus tries to calm
him, telling him that Oedipus was overwrought when he said these things. Oedipus comes out and repeats
his accusations against Creon, and the two argue heatedly. Creon tries to reason with him, asking
him why he would choose to give up a stable and happy life with a third of Oedipus's estate for an uneasy
rule. He tells Oedipus to test him by asking the Pythian oracle if his message was true, and if Creon comes
out guilty,Oedipus can sentence him to death. Oedipus continues to argue with him,and eventually Creon
charges him with ruling unjustly.
Jocasta enters, and the men tell her the gist of their argument. She begs Oedipus to believe Creon and
to be merciful. The Chorus joins in her pleas, and reluctantly Oedipus lets Creon go. Jocasta questions
Oedipus, and he reveals Teiresias’s prophecies. Jocasta comforts him by telling him that no man can see the
future, and she has proof. She relates the story of the prophecy an oracle once made about Laius: that he
would be killed by his own son. But that never happened; instead Laius was killed by robbers at a
place where three roads met. And as for the son, Jocasta and Laius let their infant be exposed on a hillside
with a pin through his ankles to prevent the prophecy from coming true. If Laius’s prophecy didn’t come
true, she says, then why should Oedipus's? But her mention of the meeting of three roads troubles Oedipus,
bringing back memories of a murder he committed long ago at a similar place. He asks Jocasta what Laius
looked like, and her description matches his memory. Oedipus now begins to suspect that Teiresias's words
were true. He asks Jocasta how many men were with Laius, and she tells him there were five the same
number of men that were with the man Oedipus killed. He asks about the eyewitness, and Jocasta tells
him that the man ran away to the country when he found that Oedipus had become king of Thebes.
Oedipus summons this eyewitness, and while they wait for him to arrive, he tells Jocasta more about
his youth. His parents were from Corinth, Polybus and Meropé. One day, a drunken man told Oedipus that
he was not his father’s son. Disturbed, Oedipus asked his parents if this was true, and they denied it. But it
still troubled Oedipus, so he secretly went to the oracle at Pytho and asked it. But the oracle told him
something even more frightening: that one day he would kill his father and marry his mother. The
prediction so shocked Oedipus that he left and never returned to Corinth, afraid that if he did so he would
fulfil the oracle’s prophesies. In his wanderings, Oedipus came to a crossroads where three roads met, and
here he was accosted by a haughty man. Oedipus ended up killing this man. If this man turns out to have
been Laius, then Oedipus will be banished from Thebes as punishment, but also from Corinth, to which he
can never return for fear of killing his father and marrying his mother. He can only hope that the eyewitness
confirms that robbers killed Laius. Jocasta comforts Oedipus again by saying that even if he did kill Laius,
the oracle’s prophesy for Laius still would not be true, since the son that should have killed him is dead.
They return to the house.
Alone, the Chorus muses on what it has learned and speaks about the evils of pride. Pride, it claims,
can only bring doom and punishment. Jocasta enters from the house, on her way to visit the holy temples
and pray. A messenger from Corinth enters, with the news that Oedipus's father Polybus is dead. The
Corinthians would like to make Oedipus king of both Corinth and Thebes. Overjoyed, Jocasta sends for
Oedipus. When he hears the news, he rejoices in the falseness of prophecy he can’t kill his father now. But
he is still afraid of the other half of the prophecy that he will marry Meropé. But the messenger assures him
that he needn’t worry about marrying her, because Polybus and Meropé are not really his parents. He relates
the story of how Oedipus came to be their son. A long time ago, the messenger says, he was living as a
shepherd on the mountain, and a stranger gave him an infant that he had rescued from death; the infant's
ankles were riveted (at this Oedipus confirms that he has had a limp since birth). The messenger gave
this baby to Polybus and Meropé. Oedipus inquires about the identity of the man who gave the baby to the
messenger, and the messenger tells him that the stranger was one of Laius's servants. Is he alive? Oedipus
wants to know. The messenger replies that Jocasta should know who he is. Oedipus turns to Jocasta, who is
white with fear. She begs him not to pursue this matter any more, to forget it. But Oedipus is determined to
solve this mystery, and sends for the man who gave the baby to the messenger. Jocasta warns him for his
own good to drop this line of questioning and runs into the house.
Nobody but Jocasta has figured out the puzzle yet, and the Chorus reflects that something bad seems
about to happen. Oedipus states that he wants to learn the entire truth, no matter how foul it is; he suspects
that Jocasta is upset about his seemingly low birth. He declares that he is Fortune’s child, and that he will
know who he really is. Again the Chorus expresses foreboding. A shepherd approaches; this is the man who
gave the baby to the messenger. Oedipus questions him, but he is reluctant to answer.The messenger tells
him that Oedipus is that same baby, and the shepherd reacts with fear and begs the messenger to hold his
tongue. Oedipus threatens him with physical violence, and finally the man confesses that the baby was a
child of Laius’s house. Oedipus asks if it was a slave’s child or Laius’s child, and the shepherd tells him that
it was Laius's child, that Jocasta gave him to expose on the hillside because of some prophesy. What
prophesy? Oedipus asks. That he would kill his father, the shepherd replies.The shepherd says the he didn't
have the heart to kill the infant, so he took it to another country instead. Aghast, Oedipus finally sees the
truth and runs screaming into the house. The messenger and the shepherd leave.
The Chorus reflects on the fleeting nature of happiness and the sin of pride. Nobody can escape fate.
An attendant enters from the palace with horrifying news. When Jocasta went into the palace, she went
straight to her bedroom and slammed the door, tearing her hair with her fingers. There she cried out to Laius
and wailed the tragedy of her son/husband. Oedipus entered the palace, crying for a sword and searching for
his wife. No servant answered, but he seemed to know instinctively where she was. He slammed his body
against her bedroom doors and broke them open. Stumbling in, he found that Jocasta had hanged herself.
Moaning horribly, he untied her and laid her on the ground. Then he took the gold brooches with which she
had fastened her gown, and, thrusting his arms out at full length, he gouged his eyes out. Again and again he
pierced he eyes until bloody tears streamed down his cheeks. Now he is shouting for someone to open the
castle doors and show all of Thebes the man who killed Laius. He swears he will flee this country to try to
rid his house of his curse.
The doors to the palace open and Oedipus stumble out. The Chorus cries out in agony at the sight
and hides its own eyes. Oedipus cries out to the city in a voice that hardly seems his own. The Chorus wails
that Oedipus is unspeakable and too terrible for eyes to see, that he has been punished in both body and soul.
Oedipus calls for someone to be his guide. The Chorus asks him why he injured himself, and he replies that
he doesn't want eyes when all he can see is ugliness. He pleads with the Chorus to lead him out of Thebes
and curses the shepherd who saved his life when he was a baby. The Chorus tells him that surely death
would have been better than blindness and Oedipus replies by asking how he could have met his parents in
the underworld with seeing eyes. How could he have looked upon children whom he had begotten in sin? In
fact, he says, he wishes he could dam up his ears as well. He begs the Chorus to hide him away from human
sight.
Creon enters, asking the Chorus to remember their love for the gods,and Oedipus begs him to cast
him away from Thebes. Creon replies that he must wait for instructions from Apollo. Oedipus argues that
Apollo's instructions were clear: the unclean man must leave Thebes. Oedipus also asks Creon to bury
Jocasta properly and to take care of his daughters. But before he goes, he begs, can he see these daughters
once more? His daughters Antigone and Ismene are led in, and Oedipus caresses them with hands that are
both father's and brother's. He weeps for the fact that they will never be able to find husbands with this tragic
family history. With Creon's promise that he will send him away from Thebes upon Apollo's word, Oedipus
and his family enter the palace again, Alone on the stage, the Chorus asks the audience to remember the
story of Oedipus, the greatest of men; he alone could solve difficult riddles and was envied my his fellows
for his prosperity. And now the greatest of misfortunes has befallen him. The Chorus warns the audience
that mortal men must always look to their endings, and not suppose that they are happy until they die happy.
The Sphinx’s riddle echoes throughout the play, even though Sophocles never mentions the actual
question she asked. Audiences would have known the Sphinx’s words: “what is it that goes on four feet in
the morning, two feet at midday, and three feet in the evening?” Oedipus’s answer, of course, was “a man.”
And in the course of the play, Oedipus himself proves to be that same man, an embodiment of the Sphinx’s
riddle. There is much talk of Oedipus’s birth and his exposure as an infant here is the baby of which the
Sphinx speaks, crawling on four feet (even though two of Oedipus’s are pinioned). Oedipus throughout most
of the play is the adult man, standing on his own two feet instead of relying on others, even gods. And at the
end of the play, Oedipus will leave Thebes an old blind man, using a cane. In fact, Oedipus’s name means
“swollen foot” because of the pins through his ankles as a baby; thus even as a baby and a young man he has
a limp and uses a cane: a prefiguring of the “three-legged” old man he will become. Oedipus is more that
merely the solver of the Sphinx’s riddle, he himself is the answer.
Perhaps the best example of dramatic irony in this play, however, is the frequent use of references to
eyes, sight, light, and perception throughout. When Oedipus refuses to believe him, Teiresias cries, “have
you eyes, / And do not see your own damnation? Eyes, / And cannot see what company you keep?” (37).
Mentioned twice in the same breath, the word “eyes” stands out in this sentence. Teiresias knows that
Oedipus will blind himself; later in this same speech he says as much: “those now clear-seeing eyes / Shall
then be darkened” (37). The irony is that sight here means two different things. Oedipus is blessed with the
gift of perception; he was the only man who could ”see” the answer to the Sphinx’s riddle. Yet he cannot see
what is right before his eyes. He is blind to the truth, for all he seeks it. Teiresias’s presence in the play,
then, is doubly important. As a blind old man, he foreshadows Oedipus's own future, and the more Oedipus
mocks his blindness, the more ironic he sounds to the audience. Teiresias is a man who understands the truth
without the use of his sight; Oedipus is the opposite, a sighted man who is blind of the truth right before
him. Soon Oedipus will switch roles with Teiresias, becoming a man who sees the truth and loses his
sense of sight.
Teiresias is not the only character who uses eyes and sight as a metaphor. When Creon appears after
learning of Oedipus’s accusation of him, he says “said with unflinching eye was it?” (40). This is a strange
thing to say; one would expect a bold statement to be made with “unhalting voice,” not “unflinching eye.”
Yet it continues the theme of eyes and sight; Oedipus makes accusations while boldly staring Creon down,
yet later when he knows the truth, he will not be able to look at Creon again. He will be ashamed to look
any who love him in the eyes, one reason, according to Oedipus, that he blinds himself: “how could I have
met my father beyond the grave / With seeing eyes; or my unhappy mother?” (63). Oedipus himself
makes extensive use of eyes and sight as a metaphor. When he approaches Creon a few lines later, he says
“did you suppose I wanted eyes to see / The plot preparing, wits to counter it?” (40). Ironically, Oedipus
does in fact lack the capacity to see what is happening, and the more he uses his wit to untangle the mystery,
the more blind he becomes.
The Chorus’s reflections after Oedipus discovers the truth carry the sight theme to another level.
“Show me the man,” the Chorus says, “whose happiness was anything more than illusion / Followed by
disillusion . . . . Time sees all; and now he has found you, when you least expected it; / Has found you and
judged that marriage mockery, bridegroom-son! / This is your elegy: / I wish I had never seen you, offspring
of Laius, / Yesterday my morning of light, now my night of endless darkness!” (59). Here are a number of
binaries associated with the idea of sight and blindness: illusion and disillusion, light and dark, morning and
night. Time casts its searchlight at random, and when it does, it uncovers horrible things. The happiness of
the “morning of light” is an illusion; the reality is the “night of endless darkness.” And the Chorus wishes it
had never seen Oedipus. Not only has he polluted his own sight and his own body by marrying his mother
and killing his father, he is a pollutant of others’ sights by his very existence. When Oedipus enters, blinded,
the Chorus shouts “I dare not see, I am hiding / My eyes, I cannot bear / What most I long to see . . . .
Unspeakable to mortal ear, / Too terrible for eyes to see” (62). Oedipus has become the very blight he
wishes to remove from Thebes, a monster more terrible than the Sphinx, a sight more horrible than the
wasted farmlands and childless Theban women.
What are we to make of the ironies and the structure of this play? There are two ways to read the
story of Oedipus. One is to say that he is a puppet of fate, incapable of doing anything to change the destiny
that fate has in store for him. Another is to say that the events of the play are his fault, that he possesses the
“flaw” that sets these events into action.
As a puppet of fate, Oedipus cannot affect the future that the oracle has predicted for him. This does
in fact seem to be an important message of the story; no matter what Jocasta says about the unreliability of
oracles, their predictions all come true. In an attempt to change fate, both Jocasta and Oedipus changed the
structure of their families, moving as far away as possible from the relatives that threaten to ruin them. Yet
in so doing, they set the course of the story into action. You cannot escape fate, no matter what you do. Your
dead son will come back to kill his father. The safe harbour you have found from your fated parents turns
out to be the very arena in which you will kill and marry them. As the Chorus says, “Time sees all;” fate and
the course of time are more powerful than anything a human being can do. Oedipus's tragic end is not his
fault; he is merely a pawn in the celestial workings of fate.
At the same time, Oedipus seems like more than merely a passive player lost in the sweep of time.
He seems to make important mistakes or errors in judgement (hamartia) that set the events of the story into
action. His pride, blindness, and foolishness all play a part in the tragedy that befalls him. Oedipus’s pride
sets it all off; when a drunken man tells him that he is a bastard, his pride is so wounded that he will not let
the subject rest, eventually going to the oracle of Apollo to ask it the truth. The oracle’s words are the reason
why he leaves Corinth, and in leaving Corinth and travelling to Thebes, he fulfils the oracle's prophecy. A
less proud man may not have needed to visit the oracle, giving him no reason to leave Corinth in the first
place. In the immediate events of the play, Oedipus’s pride continues to be a flaw that leads to the story's
tragic ending. He is too proud to consider the words of the prophet Teiresias, choosing, instead to rely on
his own sleuthing powers. Teiresias warns him not to pry into these matters, but pride in his intelligence
leads Oedipus to continue his search. He values truth attained through scientific enquiry over words and
warnings from the gods; this is the result of his overweening pride. Another word for pride that causes one
to disregard the gods is the Greek word hubris. Oedipus is also foolish and blind. Foolishly he leaves his
home in Corinth without further investigating the oracle’s words; after all, he goes to the oracle to ask if he
is his father’s son, then leaves without an answer to this question. Finding out that his true father is seems
important for someone who has just been told he will kill his father. Nor is Oedipus particularly intelligent
about the way he conducts himself. Even though he did not know that Laius and Jocasta were his parents, he
still does kill a man old enough to be his father and marry a woman old enough to be his mother. One would
think that a man with as disturbing a prophesy over his head as Oedipus would be very careful about who he
married or killed. Blindly he pursues the truth when others warn him not to; although he has already fulfilled
the prophesy, he does not know it, and if he left well enough alone, he could continue to live in blissful
ignorance. But instead he stubbornly and foolishly rummages through his past until he discovers the awful
truth. In this way, Jocasta’s death and his blindness are his own fault.
Regardless of the way you read the play, Oedipus the King is a powerful work of drama. Collapsing
the events of the play into the moments before and after Oedipus’s realization, Sophocles catches and
heightens the drama. Using dramatic irony to involve the audience, the characters come alive in all their
flawed glory. The play achieves that catharsis of which Aristotle speaks by showing the audience a man not
unlike themselves, a man who is great but not perfect, who is a good father, husband, and son, and yet who
unwillingly destroys parents, wife and children. Oedipus is human, regardless of his pride, his intelligence,
or his stubbornness, and we recognize this in his agonizing reaction to his sin. Watching this, the audience is
certainly moved to both pity and fear: pity for this broken man, and fear that his tragedy could be our own.