Quotes & Analysis Flashcards
Here I am myself—
you all know me, the world knows my fame:
I am Oedipus.
Oedipus introduces himself with this flourishing pronouncement. When he qualifies this point saying, “the world knows my fame,” he expands his notoriety beyond just the immediate group to refer to a more universal renown
Sophocles immediately establishes the fact that Oedipus is already a celebrated hero: this tragedy will tell not of his epic ascent but rather of his tragic fall
If ever, once in the past, you stopped some ruin
launched against our walls
you hurled the flame of pain
far, far from Thebes—you gods,
come now, come down once more!
Even as the priests ask Oedipus, a mortal man, for help, the chorus members turn their pleas to higher powers, directly imploring the gods to “come now, come down” to their aid. This language showcases the Greek belief that the gods intervened directly in human affairs and could take on corporeal bodies to do so.
The chorus’s plea makes references to past interventions with the lines “if ever, once in the past” and “once more!” These references imply that the gods have directly changed the fate of Thebes before—and that those past events signify that they have a continued obligation to do so. Thus the chorus’s speech points to the intimate relationship between divine and mortal realms, which in turn means an intimate relationship between fate (the will of the gods) and free will (the will of humans).
Thebes, city of death, one long cortege
and the suffering rises
wails for mercy rise…
O golden daughter of god, send rescue
radiant as the kindness in your eyes!
The chorus continues to lament the current decrepit state of Thebes. Sophocles’ language here is highly lyrical: that Thebes is deemed “city of death” shows how horrifically it has been affected by the plague, and the phrase “one long cortege” presents it as a single funeral procession for its demise.
The chorus then describes their own laments and the role they play in the cacophony of Thebes: a mix of ”wails for mercy,” “wild hymn,” and “cries of mourning.” Thus we have the combination of horror and entreaties for aid, being described by the very public performing the acts themselves.
The references to “kindness in your eyes” also bears noticing considering the importance of vision. Indeed, the salvation of Thebes will come through “eyes”—yet its radiance will be the cruelty that gouges out Oedipus’s eyes in order to absolve the city of its crime.
Now my curse on the murderer. Whoever he is,
a lone man unknown in his crime
or one among many, let that man drag out
his life in agony, step by painful step
Having learned that the plague is a punishment for the murder of Laius, Oedipus here condemns the killer. He spitefully demands that his life be drawn out in extended pain rather than lived freely or ended quickly.
Here, the protagonist seems to have cursed himself
and demanded his own torturous death—which would make
the play’s plot his own fault. In this case, Oedipus is not just
at the whims of destiny and the gods, but rather lives a
tragic life due to human action and free will. The tension
between these two poles—fate and human agency—remains
a central problem to the play, and it begins already in this
famous curse.
Just send me home. You bear your burdens,
I’ll bear mine. It’s better that way,
please believe me.
Tiresias comes to Oedipus to offer counsel on the plague.
But when asked to share his wisdom, Tiresias asks to be
allowed to depart without any comment.
By pressing Tiresias to tell him about the murderer of Laius, Oedipus is actively pursuing his own demise. Sophocles thus presents a division between the information held by prophets like Tiresias and its assimilation into the populace: his foresight seems to only come true when it is at last vocalized to Oedipus—for at that point it will become self-fulfilling prophecy.
The text also implicitly cautions against the hubris of pursuing knowledge beyond one’s range of understanding, for Oedipus’s tragic action is not so much the murder itself but rather his insistent wish to know the truth instead of just to “bear your burdens” in silence.
Did you rise to the crisis? Not a word,
you and your birds, your gods—nothing.
No, but I came by, Oedipus the ignorant,
I stopped the Sphinx! With no help from the birds,
the flight of my own intelligence hit the mark.
Tiresias and Oedipus begin to fight, each insulting the other
about the way they have been negligent of Thebes.
Oedipus claims ”nothing” came from the spiritual realm, and it was “Oedipus the ignorant” who was successful. His ignorance is set in contrast with the “help from the birds”—the foresight
permitted by reading divine signs—and Oedipus thus implies that his “own intelligence” has merit even if it is not derived from divine prophecy. He was able to solve the riddle of the Sphinx through his own mental acuity alone, without the aid of the gods.
Oedipus’s statement is quite blasphemous, for it elevates his human intelligence above divine providence. He displays himself to be deeply proud, assuming that his previous accomplishments have given him a status that cannot be challenged by others, even the gods.
Blind who now has eyes, beggar who now is rich,
he will grope his way toward a foreign soil,
a stick tapping before him step by step.
After pronouncing that Oedipus will suffer a terrible end,
Tiresias tells this riddle about the killer of Laius. He
describes the pitiful way the killer’s life will end.
That Tiresias has left Oedipus with a riddle recalls the
hero’s own triumph when he solved the riddle of the Sphinx.
In a sense, Tiresias is offering a second test to Oedipus’s
character: perhaps if he were able to solve this relatively
straightforward riddle, he could avoid his fate. That he
cannot do so speaks to how extensively Oedipus has been
blinded by his pride—to the point that he cannot perform
the same task that garnered him acclaim in Thebes to begin
with. Sophocles thus renders Oedipus’s tragic downfall the
result of not just any character flaw, but rather one that
undermines his defining heroic characteristic: intelligence.
But whether a mere man can know the truth,
whether a seer can fathom more than I—
there is no test, no certain proof
though matching skill for skill
a man can outstrip a rival. No, not till I see
these charges proved will I side with his accusers….
Never will I convict my king, never in my heart.
After Tiresias and Oedipus have finished fighting, the
chorus expresses their sympathy for the king. They
acknowledge the power of oracles, but also refuse to accept
Tiresias’s judgement until it has been proved certain.
The chorus challenges Tiresias, as Oedipus did before, on
whether he does indeed profess prophetic powers above
those of humans. They wonder “whether a seer can fathom
more than I,” thus expressing a deep-seated skepticism with
oracles. Like Oedipus, they want the proof of “matching skill
for skill”—an even playing field, such as when Oedipus
proved his strength and intelligence against the Sphinx.
Perhaps the chorus, composed as it is by residents of
Thebes, has been influenced by Oedipus’s more secular and
humanist sensibilities, which prioritize human agency over
the will of the gods. Indeed, they seem willing to defend
Oedipus to great lengths when they say “Never will I convict
my king, never in my heart.” That is to say, the chorus is
willing to deny explicit evidence against Oedipus due to
their strong attachment to him as a ruler.
Look at you, sullen in yielding, brutal in your rage—
you will go too far. It’s perfect justice:
natures like yours are hardest on themselves.
Oedipus permits Creon to leave without punishment. But as he departs, Creon shouts this condemnation of Oedipus.
His insult points again to the crippling pride in Oedipus’s
personality. That he is “sullen in yielding” speaks to how
reluctant he is to accept the calming advice of Jocasta and
the chorus, while “brutal in your rage” reiterates how
terrifying he is if allowed to fully unleash his frustration.
Creon’s language also stresses that Oedipus’s fate is the result of his own faulty actions. Saying “it’s perfect justice” implies that
Oedipus’s story is not the result of a pre-designed divine
plot to unseat him, but rather is the natural and necessary
result of his own arrogant behavior. Similarly, “natures like
yours are hardest on themselves” places the burden of
agency onto Oedipus’s “nature.” By Creon’s account, it is the
tragic hero who brings fate on himself.
You who set our beloved land—storm-tossed, shattered—
straight on course. Now again, good helmsman,
steer us through the storm!
In the wake of Oedipus’s fight with Creon, the chorus
continues to defend their ruler. They repeatedly call upon
him to save them from the current plague.
Here, the chorus again brings
up the way Oedipus had previously saved their “beloved
land,” this time making use of a sailing metaphor, in which
the plague is a “storm” and their ruler a “good helmsman.”
The image presents composure and good judgment as the
necessary qualities to save Thebes—both of which Oedipus
is, of course, lacking at this point. Yet the chorus seems
unaware of this discrepancy. That they simply continue to
implore Oedipus speaks to their own sort of blindness—for
they, like their ruler, cannot tell that he acts unjustly
Listen to me and learn some peace of mind:
no skill in the world,
nothing human can penetrate the future.
Jocasta gives this consoling speech after Oedipus recounts
his interaction with Tiresias. She claims that prophets have
no real knowledge of events to come, and that Oedipus
therefore should not be disturbed by what Tiresias has said
Much like Oedipus praised his intelligence over the bird auguries of Tiresias, Jocasta claims that human skill can only affect the current state of affairs and cannot “penetrate” or enter any zone beyond that of the present. Though this appeal might strike some as disheartening, it would grant “peace of mind” to Oedipus and Jocasta by denying the significance of the prophecies they have heard thus far. That is to say, it would allow them to exist in their human realm without the anxiety that they should change their actions to respond to the unique “skill” of Tiresias.
Jocasta is not denying the existence or providence of the gods. Her claim is that mediums such as Tiresias do not actually bridge the gap between the two realms.
Great laws tower above us, reared on high
born for the brilliant vault of heaven—
Olympian Sky their only father,
nothing mortal, no man gave them birth,
their memory deathless, never lost in sleep:
within them lives a mighty god, the god does not
grow old.
Jocasta and Oedipus have just finished discussing the
significance of the prophecies that each has received. When
they depart, the chorus offers a chilling and complex speech
about the state of the gods in Thebes.
Their first move is to aggrandize the gods and stress their
omnipresence in human affairs. That “Great laws tower
above us” indicates that a different and more powerful set
of rules exist in the divine realm—ones that would
supersede the relatively minute human regulations. Indeed,
“no man gave them birth,” thus directly contrasting the
power of Oedipus as a human king with the divine rulers
who exist entirely independently of him.
The chorus fixates on how they are “nothing mortal,” “deathless,” and “the god does not grow old”—which contrasts with the ephemeral nature of humans and their laws. Part of their entitlement thus comes from the way they are immune to the current state of Thebes and the eventual fate of Oedipus.
They are dying, the old oracles sent to Laius,
now our masters strike them off the rolls.
Nowhere Apollo’s golden glory now—
the gods, the gods go down.
After first contending that the gods are everlasting and allpowerful, the chorus rapidly shifts positions here. They claim that given the current state of Thebes, the relative power of Oedipus, and the potential falseness of the prophecies, the gods may in fact be in decline.
To substantiate this point, the chorus directly inverts their earlier descriptions: if before, the gods were deathless and immortal, here we learn the oracles “are dying.” This formulation is both literal and metaphoric, for it refers to their increasing lack of importance in Thebes society, due to the perspective of “our masters.” Indeed, this lack of adherence to old prophecies extends to more than just prophets such as Tiresias—for it even applies to “Apollo’s golden glory.” The gods themselves are deemed to be in decline: they “go down” in public interest and in perceived relevance.
The chorus implies that a massive societal shift has taken place in the way of Oedipus’s rise to power: a movement away from the providence of religion and instead toward a more secular orientation. By repeatedly praising human intelligence and disparaging prophecy, Oedipus has already shown this to be his personal belief system—and the chorus has affirmed the actions and ideas of their ruler. Thus Thebes seem to have arrived at a complex and pivotal decision: if the prophecies about Oedipus prove untrue, it would cause them to see the gods as “down,” and gravitate toward an increasingly secular society.
Man of agony—
that is the only name I have for you,
that, no other—ever, ever, ever!
Jocasta has just concluded that Oedipus is her son and she
repeatedly implores him not to continue his investigation.
When he refuses to do so, she screams this at him.
Here, Jocasta similarly replaces his name, but instead with the epithet “man of agony,” thus foreshadowing how this will be Oedipus’s new legacy by the play’s end. Beyond condemning him to a life of misery, Jocasta’s language also subtly wipes away his identity. Replacing his specific name with this generic term denies the coherence between Oedipus’s current royal position and his actual identity. Jocasta implies that he will hold “no other” title or identity in the years to come, and that this identification with agony with be permanent: “ever, ever,
ever!” Thus Sophocles uses Jocasta’s moment of
realization—called in Greek tragedy an anagnorisis—to
demonstrate the pending end of Oedipus’s identity as it is
currently defined.
If you are the man he says you are, believe me
you were born for pain.
When interrogated by Oedipus, the shepherd at first resists his attempts to procure information. Yet eventually the shepherd gives in, condemning Oedipus to his terrifying fate.
These lines articulate an important new position on the role of fate in Oedipus’s destiny. Whereas other characters or critics may believe the tragic action occurred due to a mixture of destiny and human folly, the shepherd clearly attributes what will occur solely to a pre-determined narrative. That Oedipus was “born for pain” implies that his life’s torment began precisely at the moment he came into the world: his later actions thus would only fulfill this predesigned path, rather than carving a new one. This point builds on Jocasta’s claim that his name is “man of agony”—which makes his identity similarly equivalent to pain—and reiterates the power of the gods and fate to control each moment in human affairs. Thus Sophocles moves at this crucial moment in the tragedy to highlight the role of destiny over human action
