As the Moon Climbs

Oidipous at Colonus is the third of Sophocles’ Theban plays, which collectively relate the tragic events that befall Oidipous and his family. In the chronology of the myth, the actions of this play occur after King Oidipous and before Antigone; however, rather than being a bridge between the two, Oidipous at Colonus is more of a response to its predecessor, King Oidipous. It answers simple questions such as what occurs after King Oidipous ends, but it also tackles more complex issues such as the role of free will and the relative justice of Oidipous’ cruel fate. The play takes the stance that Oidipous committed all his crimes out of ignorance rather than malice, guided by his unavoidable destiny, and thus while he is “polluted” and must be punished for transgressing in life, he is permitted a measure of redemption after his death.

The most basic question that Oidipous at Colonus answers is what happens to the title character and his family after the events of King Oidipous reach their conclusion. The final image of the latter play is Oidipous’ shameful, powerless retreat into the palace from which he had emerged so proudly in the beginning. Oidipous at Colonus introduces him as a blind beggar who has been wandering as an exile for an indeterminate but presumably lengthy amount of time, led by his daughter Antigone. He describes his expulsion from the city as unwanted, despite his demands to be allowed to leave at the end of King Oidipous; he tells Kreon that “when I’d had my fill / of rage, and it was sweet to pass my life at home, that’s when you thrust me forth and cast me out” (Blondell 768-70). This indicates that his notorious rashness has been somewhat quelled, and that he is no longer as quick to act in anger as he once was, instead favoring the intellect that was supposed to be his claim to fame. Oidipous also discusses how his sons Polyneices and Eteokles did nothing to prevent the punishment and stayed at home like women while his daughters left home to join him, one as his caregiver and the other to give him news of the events occurring back in Thebes. From other characters, it is revealed that his sons, who were conspicuously absent from the previous play, are about to engage in their ill-fated war with each other that will lead to their deaths at one another’s hands. It is interesting to note that though he called for his daughters at the end of King Oidipous, he had no interest in facing his sons, perhaps foreshadowing the impassable rift that was to form between them. Kreon, meanwhile, appears to be in a similar position to the one he previously occupied, having all the power of kingship without the associated pitfalls, albeit having ruled Thebes as an interim leader until Oidipous’ sons took over.

Thematically speaking, the largest issue that Oidipous at Colonus seeks to tackle in response to King Oidipous is that of free will versus fate. The action of the latter is driven by the prophecies that surround and permeate it, from the first revelation by Kreon that the king’s murderer must be driven from the city, to Tiresias’ ignored pronouncements, to the long-dismissed prediction that Laios’ son would be his undoing, to Oidipous’ own concern that he would kill his own father and marry his mother. While initially eager to embrace Kreon’s information, Oidipous repeatedly ignores or attempts to avoid the terms of the other prophecies and, in doing so, eventually fulfills them. This can be perceived as an argument for free will and fate as not being mutually exclusive; for example, in freely choosing to flee from the people who he thought were his parents, he brought about his destiny to meet his real father and kill him, and subsequently to marry his mother. In Oidipous at Colonus, however, Oidipous strongly argues that he is not fully responsible for the ills that befell him. He tells the chorus, “I bore evil, strangers, bore it against my will–god be my witness! / None of those things was my own choice” (Blondell 521-2). He acknowledges that he committed inexcusable acts, but argues that he did not do so willingly, implying that he was guided by the more powerful force of fate. In answering Kreon’s accusations later, Oidipous once again refers to the “appalling circumstances that I bore–oh woe / is me!–against my will” (Blondell 963-4). The word “bore,” while referring specifically to his production of children from an incestuous relationship, also more generally references the prophecies that he brought to fruition.

While the question of fate and free will is addressed through Oidipous’ attempts to absolve himself of responsibility for his actions by claiming they were not his choice, it is also approached on a purely character-centric level through observation of Oidipous’ contrasting engagements with prophecy in the two plays. As previously noted, in King Oidipous, the title character ignores, rejects, or tries to escape the destiny foretold to him by the Delphic oracle and Tiresias. This implies an underlying pride; Oidipous believes that he is intelligent or powerful enough to avoid his fate, despite the fact that it is ordained by the gods, and so in a way he is positioning himself as an equal to those gods. However, in Oidipous at Colonus, his actions and those of the other characters are slavishly devoted to the prophecy surrounding Oidipous’ burial site, namely that the city-state in which he is buried will be victorious in some future war. When he realizes that he has arrived at the place where he will die, Oidipous is eager to “round the post of my long-suffering life” (Blondell 91) because he knows that he will be “dwelling with profit to the ones who took me in” (Blondell 92), namely the Athenians, to whom he intends to offer his body after death. Instead of fleeing from his destiny, as he had before, he embraces it as inevitable and even desirable. After Oidipous makes his pact with Theseus, Kreon, having thrown Oidipous out of Thebes previously, attempts to persuade him to return and be buried there instead. This is reasonable, as the prophecy does not specify where Oidipous’ corpse must be buried; Kreon is thus free to seek it for Thebes, although he is immediately rejected. After Kreon is taken away and the kidnapped Antigone and Ismene are retrieved, a final example of acceptance of destiny is enacted by Polyneices upon hearing his father’s pronouncements about his destined mutual fratricide. Antigone begs him, “Turn round your army, back… don’t destroy the city and yourself” (Blondell 1416-7). He refuses, claiming that he wouldn’t be able to face his men if he stopped the war and lived in exile; most importantly, he says that he “won’t report the detrimental news at all” (Blondell 1429) because he doesn’t want to disappoint his troops. He acknowledges the inevitability of the prophecy uttered by his own father, who apparently acquired his abilities once he lost his sight.

Having asserted that Oidipous was guided more by destiny than choice, the next natural question raised is whether Oidipous’ punishments were appropriate or disproportionate to his crimes. More specifically, if Oidipous committed evil acts out of ignorance, is it reasonable to punish him as if he had done the same things knowing that they were wrong? Sophocles appears to answer both in the affirmative and the negative. At one point, Oidipous emphatically proclaims, “I did nothing!… I accepted / a gift. How I wish… I had never taken
that reward for my help” (Blondell 539-41). This description of his marriage to his mother divorces it from the barbaric act of incest that it was and instead characterizes it as an innocent action that was not unreasonable under the circumstances. Later, in describing the murder of his father, he states that “I murdered and destroyed him, caught by doom, / but clean under the law: I came to this in ignorance” (Blondell 547-8). While he killed his father, the fact that he didn’t know it was his father, or a king, and that he arguably committed the act in self-defense absolves him of some, if not all, guilt. However, private guilt is less grave than public shame; he nonetheless transgressed, and his subsequent fall from power, self-mutilation and exile from Thebes are all the outcomes of his ill-fated actions. In the same way that he was destined to do wrong, he was destined to be punished for it. But because he was ignorant of his crimes until they had already been committed, and thus in one sense was morally innocent, in Oidipous at Colonus he is offered a chance to redeem himself by becoming a blessing in death rather than a curse in life.

In addressing the questions and thematic issues raised by King Oidipous in Oidipous at Colonus, Sophocles invites a re-examination of the earlier play, which yields a number of interesting parallels and reversals. For example, in the beginning of King Oidipous, Oidipous emerges from the palace to confront the suppliants that have amassed outside; in Oidipous at Colonus, he himself is a suppliant begging for an audience with Theseus. In the earlier play, Oidipous dooms himself by making pronouncements before having all the facts at his disposal; in the later play, the chorus agrees to aid Oidipous before learning who he is, and then regrets it and accuses him of trickery. Oidipous is initially rejected as a polluting influence by the people of Thebes; then, he is sought out as a blessing. Because of all these connections, the later play, in a way, is only narratively satisfying as a supplement to its predecessor, while the earlier play is best understood when viewed through the hindsight provided by its successor. As Oidipous finally gains a spiritual second sight at the end of Oidipous of Colonus, so too do readers of the play gain the insight that they previously lacked at the end of King Oidipous.

If one takes for granted that the ancient Greeks wholly endorsed the ethical principle of “help friends and harm enemies,” then Ajax is something of an enigma. The character himself embodies the principle; after all, the play begins as he tortures what he thinks are his enemies, namely Odysseus, Agamemnon and Menelaus, but what are actually herd animals. However, his most hated rival Odysseus comes to his defense at the end when the other two Greek commanders seek to deprive him of proper burial rites. It is difficult to reconcile these disparate events into a cohesive whole, but Sophocles attempts to do so in the final argument between Odysseus and Agamemnon.

As in Antigone, the argument between opposing sides is over whether the corpse of an “enemy” deserves proper burial. Menelaus and Agamemnon claim that it doesn’t, while the family of Ajax, namely Teucer, argues that it does. It is reasonable to expect the family members to push for burial, but when Odysseus arrives and takes their side, Agamemnon is shocked: “…should you not also trample him now that he is dead?” he asks. Odysseus replies, “Do not take delight, son of Atreus, in that superiority which brings no honor.” This idea that harming an enemy who cannot defend himself is dishonorable at worst and pointless at best is a strangely modern one, calling to mind the adage, “Don’t kick a man when he’s down.” It seems to indicate that while there is value in defeating an enemy, there is no merit in continuing to molest him once he is already defeated.

A few lines later, Agamemnon continues, “Remember to what sort of man you show this kindness!” Odysseus counters, “The man was once my enemy, yes, but he was also noble.” Pressed further, Odysseus says, “I yield to his excellence much more than his hostility.” This directly counters the idea of only doing harm to enemies; it creates a separate class of enemy that is worthy of distinction based on his own redeeming qualities. It even seems to contradict the previously stated (and possibly wrongheaded) ideas of Ajax and Teucer, who believe it fitting that Ajax die on the sword of Hector, his enemy, even though the weapon was given as a gift. Agamemnon then states, “Men who act as you do are the unstable sort in humankind.” To which Odysseus replies, “Quite the majority of men, I assure you, are friendly at one time, and bitter at another.” This indicates that today’s friend may be tomorrow’s enemy, which is arguably the case with Ajax himself. This also implies that the opposite could be true. Either way, it provides further reinforcement for Odysseus’ position.

Agamemnon’s last concern is that he and Menelaus, and even Odysseus, will seem cowardly if they capitulate. “On the contrary,” Odysseus replies, “we will be men of justice in the eyes of all the Greeks.” This is a difficult claim to back given that the Greeks were gossiping about Ajax earlier in the play at Odysseus’ prompting. But then Agamemnon asks Odysseus if he will take responsibility for the act, and the Ithacan immediately agrees, which seems to indicate a desire to undo what he did by spreading the information in the first place. He also expands his list of reasons by adding, “I too shall come to that necessity,” meaning he will also need burying someday and hopes that he will not be deprived of proper rites himself.

Taken holistically, Odysseus advocates kindness toward fallen enemies as well as those who warrant distinction based on their deeds. He also appears to adopt an approach counter to the “help friends and harm enemies” mentality, namely one that is closer to the idea summarized as “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” While the two are not mutually exclusive, the former does not allow helpful deeds to be done to enemies in the hopes of receiving reciprocal treatment at a potential future time, while the latter could be construed as favoring that attitude. However, one could speculate that Odysseus, having seen firsthand how quickly the gods can turn on their favored heroes, is less altruistically minded and more concerned about himself personally.

It is difficult to imagine anyone viewing or reading King Oidipous without any knowledge of the major events of the play, especially the revelation of Oidipous’ “evils.” Now, millennia later, there is an almost obsessive avoidance of “spoilers,” divulging of details important to a story or movie to someone who hasn’t seen it, which may have been completely foreign to a culture that seemed to value the reimagining of old myths and legends rather than the invention of new ones. Even so, the use of dramatic irony persists in modern fiction not so much as an external practice, in which vital information regarding the events of the plot are known beforehand, but in a more internal fashion, in which details are revealed to the audience but not the character within the fictive work. In the case of King Oidipous, the dramatic irony arises from the audience being previously aware of the crime that Oidipous has committed; there is a great deal of foreshadowing, but it would be lost on someone being exposed to the material for the first time.

To say that dramatic irony is at work in this play is an understatement; it permeates the dialogue and, like the gods, is almost an omnipresent additional character. One could even argue that the representation of Apollo’s shrine as part of the scenery, if it was actually there, is the literal manifestation of the god’s presence. Apollo knows everything, like the audience, and it is the words of his oracle as brought back by Kreon that start the characters on their inevitable slide towards tragedy. While the audience immediately understands the implication of the prophecy, the characters are still in the dark and act accordingly. Oidipous’ grand pronouncements about the perpetrator being cast out and not permitted to “participate in prayers or sacrifices / to the gods” are uncomfortable to hear, inspiring a sense of empathetic dread since he is condemning himself to the various punishments. The suspense is heightened when Teiresias arrives, especially since he repeatedly refuses to tell Oidipous what he (and the audience) knows, until finally Oidipous galls him into action and then immediately rejects his statements. When Jokasta hears what Teiresias said, she too rejects the information because she believes that previous oracles were incorrect and thus, logically, others can be wrong as well; one wonders whether the audience would have been surprised by a female using logic, flawed as it might be. Soon thereafter, however, she is the first to realize the full implications of the various prophecies, while Oidipous is still ignorant until the only remaining eyewitness to his lineage arrives at the very end. The point of revelation is the point at which the dramatic irony vanishes, and both the audience and Oidipous are left to wonder what will happen next.

Because the audience is already well aware of what is going to occur from the beginning, at least in a general sense, much more attention can be paid to the technical aspects of the play: the language, the structure, the song and dance, the acting, and so forth. It is also worth noting that although the two plays are not meant to be read or viewed together, it is difficult to read King Oidipous without recalling Kreon’s fate in Antigone. Both made harsh pronouncements of punishment without considering who they might have to punish. Both internalized the problems of the city and believed that their personal success hinged on solving those problems. The two characters even reject Teiresias in the same way, by accusing him of taking bribes. Still, Oidipous is somewhat more sympathetic than Kreon in the sense that his ills seem to have been set in motion when he was a baby, long before any character flaw had time to manifest itself, while Kreon had a strong guiding hand in his own downfall.