January Conference 1999
THEATRE
: ANCIENT & MODERN
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Visual
and verbal symbolism in Greek tragedy:
The case of the uncut rock in Oedipus at Colonus [1]
Felix
Budelmann, University of Manchester, U.K.
1
'Symbol' is not easily
defined. The sixth edition of the Concise Oxford Dictionary
has this entry: 'Thing regarded by general consent as naturally
typifying or representing or recalling something (esp. an idea
or quality) by possession of analogous qualities or by association
in fact or thought (white, the lion, the thunderbolt, the cross,
are symbols of purity, courage, Zeus, Christianity).' This
kind of definition prompts many questions. Does a symbol typify,
represent or recall just one thing, or can it have more than one
meaning? Just how general does the general consent have to be,
and what does 'naturally' mean? White is associated with purity
in one culture, but it is associated with mourning in another;
and it is associated with purity in one context but with winter
in another. Are there perhaps even individual symbols? Somebody
who had a friend killed by a thunderbolt or a lion might be said
to develop his very own symbolism of thunderbolts or lions. Next,
'typify', 'represent' and 'recall' do not mean the same thing.
Is it right to think of symbols as having exact meanings, something
they 'represent', or does the vaguer 'recall' rightly suggest
a less rigid relation between a symbol and something that the
symbol is symbolic of? Should one in fact think of a symbol precisely
as something that cannot easily be grasped, let alone expressed
in an 'a represents b' relation? And, finally, is the word 'thing'
not rather narrow? Cannot (for instance) actions, like handshakes,
be symbolic as well?
These and many more
questions about symbols have been discussed by numerous writers.[2]
As will become clear, some of the questions, especially those
concerning the difficulty of establishing a precise significance
of a symbol, are immediately relevant to the subject of this article.
However, I should stress that my aim is to contribute to the understanding
not of symbols in general but of a particular group of symbols,
those used by Greek tragedy. For this purpose, one aspect of the
definition of symbol in the Oxford Concise (which is compatible
also with more sophisticated accounts) will be particularly useful:
the awareness of two separate levels of significance. I will discuss,
in this article, passages in Greek tragedy which invite spectators
to give things -- and indeed actions -- meaning at more than one
level, passages in other words in which a thunderbolt is not just
an atmospheric phenomenon, but may also suggest divine involvement,
passages in which a lion is not only an animal, but may also symbolise
the properties of a person.
Symbolism is frequent
in many varieties of literature. It is easy to think of many modern
works, but use of symbols goes back at least as far as Homer.
There are numerous relevant passages in both Iliad and
Odyssey. Sceptres, for instance, can symbolise kingship
and authority, touching another person's knees can symbolise supplication.
Similarly, the moon in Sappho 96 may symbolise the beauty and
distance of the girl Sappho misses, and the apple in Sappho 105a
may symbolise the desirability and perhaps virginity of a young
woman, and so on.Numerous other examples could be added easily.
Turning to tragedy,
the first thing one notes is an increased emphasis on the visual.
In their different ways, performers of Homeric epic, of elegy,
iambus, monody, choral lyric and skolia enacted the words they
sang or recited. Yet none of these genres has the same scope for
visual mimesis that the use of a stage with a stage building and
props, and especially the division of roles among different performers
give to theatre. This extension of the visual dimension brings
new opportunities for the creation of symbolism. One only has
to glance at the four examples in the Concise Oxford to
see to what degree symbolism can be derived from the visual. The
colour white, the lion, the thunderbolt and the cross all lend
themselves to visual representation and interpretation.
However, it would
be a mistake to consider the visual dimension in isolation. What
I want to suggest in this article is that it is especially the
interplay between the two dimensions, between the verbal and the
visual, between language and performance,[3]
that gives much scope for symbolism in Greek tragedy.Apart from
the evidence of particular examples (to which I will turn shortly),
there are two general considerations.
The first concerns
emphasis. For a thing or an action to be recognised as symbolic,
for people to think about its meaning at more than one level,
it is necessary first of all that attention is drawn to the thing
or action. This is partly a matter of quantity: the more attention,
the better. Visual and verbal symbols are better than those
that are just visual or just verbal. The two dimensions reinforce
one another. If spectators see a cross on stage, they are likely
to pay more attention to any cross in the text and, vice versa,
if there is talk about crosses, they are likely to pay more attention
to crosses on stage.[4]
The second consideration
is of quality rather than quantity. The verbal and visual dimensions
offer two different ways of approaching things and actions in
a play. This can be the starting-point of a symbolic interpretation,
since to interpret something symbolically, as I understand it
in this article, is to give it meaning at more than one level.
Obviously, one does not begin to think of symbols every time one
looks at a thing or action and hears something about it, but this
can be a first step. In particular when there is some discrepancy
between what one hears and what one sees, this can be a strong
incentive to think about the thing or action in not just one way.
As has been pointed out by many writers, this is often the case
in the theatre. For example, spectators see a stage building but
hear it called the palace of Agamemnon. As a result, they have
much scope for thinking about this building not just as a building
but also as a symbol – a symbol of Agamemnon's family, including
his ancestors as well as his wife and children.
These general considerations
are borne out by numerous individual instances. I begin with two
well known examples. In The stagecraft of Aeschylus[5]
Oliver Taplin writes about Clytemnestra's 'control of the threshold'.
This is largely a matter of the visual ('stagecraft'), but it
is worth noticing that the effect is reinforced by the verbal.
Most important, the moment when Clytemnestra ushers Agamemnon
across the threshold into the house is the climax of a verbal
exchange which puts considerable emphasis on persuasion. What
is more, Clytemnestra's final speech, which accompanies Agamemnon's
exit, notoriously teems with references to the 'house'.[6]
Clytemnestra's power is symbolised not just by her walking into
the house behind Agamemnon, but also by the way she talks about
the house.
In 'Visual symbolism
and visual effects in Sophocles', my second example, Charles Segal[7]
discusses Ajax's sword, Philoctetes' bow, Deianira's robe and
other symbolic objects in Sophocles. Despite the title, the emphasis
here is on the verbal. Segal examines the language used of the
sword, the bow, the robe and so on, and pursues a number of ramifications.
Yet as the title of the article suggests, the visual also plays
its part. Almost all the objects Segal discusses are visible on
stage.
By now, studies like
these have of course long been familiar and, generally speaking,
both the language and the performance of Greek tragedy have prompted
a considerable amount of scholarship in recent years. None the
less, I believe that there is still room for further work on further
examples. In the rest of this article I will try to do some such
work by looking at the uncut rock in Oedipus at Colonus.
The reason, I suggest, why new work may still be useful is that
students of symbolism as well as other aspects of Greek tragedy
often come from the side of either language or stage
action.[8] Of course this is not
to say that they ignore the other side. What it is to say is that
many critics approach tragedy with a predominant interest in either
of the two and concentrate on those aspects of those plays which
can be studied particularly well from that particular angle –
to a degree this is true even for Taplin and Segal. Although almost
everybody would agree that studying language and stage action
in close connection is a worthwhile project,[9]
this project is still rarely enough carried out to give point
to this article.
2
Most immediately perhaps,
the uncut rock in Oedipus at Colonus[10]
serves as a symbol of a number of Oedipus' afflictions. It is
first introduced in v. 19 when Antigone says to her father οὗ κῶλα κάμψον τοῦδ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀξέστου πέτρου (here sit [lit. bend your limbs] on this uncut
rock) and Oedipus replies 'seat me and guard me, blind man that
I am' (21). Oedipus does not want to stand. He has asked Antigone
to find him somewhere to sit (9-11) and she confirms that he has
had what was a long journey for an old man (20). Therefore, when
she aids him in sitting down on the uncut rock, this piece of
stage action, supported by the words of the characters' conversation,
is a memorable symbol of Oedipus' old age, blindness and dependence
on other people's help. Oedipus can neither stay upright nor find
himself somewhere to sit.
What is more, Oedipus
is an outcast. He is a 'wanderer' (11, 3), who does
not know where he has arrived this evening (1-2, 11-12). In the
light of this, the rock is emphatically a rock and nothing more;
it is the opposite of a house. Oedipus has nowhere to go, except
a rock. This rock in particular is marked as a suitable seat for
a homeless wanderer by the adjective ἄξεστος ('uncut', 'unsmoothed').
As Tom Falkner[11] points out,
from the Iliad on, its opposite ξεστος ('cut', 'smoothed')
is used of man-made objects, including rocks, several of which
have their place in descriptions of communal life. One of his
examples is taken from the gathering for the trial depicted on
Achilles' shield in the Iliad (18.503-5). 'The heralds
constrained the people. The old men sat on smoothed stones (ἐρὶ ξεστοῖσι λίθοις), in the sacred circle. They held in
their hands the staffs of the loud-voiced heralds.' Passages like
this make Oedipus' uncut rock a symbol of his lack of home
and distance from any form of communal life. He is a man who,
accompanied only by his daughter, has been wandering from community
to community, unable to stay in any of them.
Oedipus' lack of home,
and indeed his blindness and helplessness, are emphasised further
through a piece of stage action a little later. It becomes clear
that Oedipus cannot even stay on the miserable piece of uncut
rock on which Antigone has seated him, because this rock is situated
on sacred ground. Already in vv. 36-7 the Man from Colonus (Ξένος)
asks Oedipus: '…withdraw from your seat. You are on ground
on which it is irreverent to tread' (χῶρον οὐχ ἁλνὸν πατεῖν). Oedipus ignores the demand and goes even further
into the grove when the Chorus arrive (113-16) but, guided by
Antigone, eventually yields to the Chorus' similar demands in
vv. 156-202. The verbal exchange in these verses accompanies Oedipus'
gradual and arduous withdrawal from sacred ground. Repeatedly
he asks if he has to go further (179, 180), and repeatedly the
Chorus order him to continue (179, 180-1) until they are satisfied
that he has left the sacred area (192-3). The rock comes to stand
for Oedipus' lack of home and distance from communal life, both
because it is itself not a home but only an uncut rock and because
Oedipus is denied even the temporary place to stay that this rock
might give him.
So far, then, it has
become clear that language and stage action together make the
uncut rock on which Oedipus sits a powerful symbol. However, it
has also begun to become clear that this symbol is complex. Unsurprisingly,
the theoretical questions about multiple meanings of symbols prove
relevant to this particular symbol. The rock does not evoke (let
alone 'typify' or 'represent') just one thing. Rather, it can
be seen to symbolise a number of things and it gains further layers
of meaning as the play moves on. Both the interaction of the verbal
and the visual and the complexity of meaning will stand out even
more clearly in the next section. It will become obvious that
the uncut rock cannot only symbolise several of Oedipus' many
afflictions, his old age, his blindness, his dependence on other
people, his distance from communal life, his lack of a home. Paradoxically,
it also evokes his suppliant status, his eventual acceptance into
Colonus, the special power that he demonstrates as the play continues
and indeed the mysterious nature of his death.
3
When Oedipus hears
that the place at which he has arrived is sacred to the 'all-seeing
Eumenides' (42) he identifies it as his final resting-place and
prays: 'May they receive the suppliant (τὸν ἱκέτην)
kindly. For I won't leave my seat in this land (ἕδρας γῆς τῆσδε) again' (44-5). As P. E. Easterling points out,[12]
with Oedipus calling himself a 'suppliant', his 'seat' is not
the same any more. No longer is it just the seat of a powerless
old man, but also the seat of a suppliant who entrusts himself
to the Eumenides and thus a seat which merits respect. Oedipus'
supplication will be prominent throughout much of the play and
will eventually meet with success as he gains the right to stay
at Colonus.[13]
In this process the
uncut rock plays a further part. In vv. 84-110 Oedipus prays to
the Semnai Theai / Eumenides[14]
(or indeed πότνιαι δεινῶπες, 'ladies of dreadful
appearance', as he addresses them). Oedipus begins by recalling
an oracle in which Apollo spoke about the place where he will
be allowed to die and then goes on to say he is sure that he has
now arrived at the place that Apollo talked about (97-101): 'It
is clear that a reliable omen from you led me to this grove. Otherwise
you would not have been the first I met on my journey, both you
and I not drinking wine, and I would not have sat down on this
venerable uncut step (κἀπὶ σεμνὸν ἑζόμην βάθρον τόδ᾽ ἀσκέπαρνον)'. Together
with the fact that he first came to the grove of the goddesses
and the fact that they, like him, do not drink wine, the uncut
rock on which he sat down is one of three omens which convince
Oedipus that he has arrived at the right place. Having learned
that it is part of the grove, he now calls it venerable and regards
it as a symbol of his affinity to Colonus and its guardian goddesses
In addition to this,
the rock may be characterised as venerable and associated with
the Semnai Theai / Eumenides by its uncut state (ἄξεστον and ἀσκέπαρνον). A number of passages, mostly from Pausanias,
suggest that sacred uncut stones, ¢rgoˆ l…qoi as
Pausanias calls them, formed a recognisable category.[15]
They were worshipped at various places in ancient Greece, sometimes
even as particular gods (although Pausanias makes it clear that
he regards such customs as mostly antiquated). A couple of these
stones were at least vaguely associated with the Semnai Theai
/Eumenides. They were situated on the Areopagus, near the precinct
of the Semnai Theai, and were called Stone of Violence (῞Υβρεως)
and Stone of Ruthlessness (Ἀναιδείς). Supposedly, prosecutors
and defendants stood on them during trials (Paus. 1.28.5-6).[16]
Within the play, the
uncut rock shares associations not just with the goddesses of
Colonus, but also with the place itself. Although inhabited and
closely associated with Athens, Colonus is characterised repeatedly
as away from the city, sacred and burgeoning with vegetation.
Early on, for instance, Antigone sees the city in the distance
and briefly talks about the bay, olive, vine and the nightingales
here at the grove (14-20). Later the Chorus invoke at greater
length the resources, natural and otherwise, of Colonus and Attica
(668-719). Most important, of course, the grove is an abaton,
forbidden ground (first at 36-40). Like the rock, the grove and
to a lesser extent the whole of Colonus, have not been shaped
be men.
Oedipus' interpretation,
therefore, of the uncut rock as an omen indicating that this is
the place where he will stay does not jar. It is easy for spectators
to associate the rock with both Colonus and its goddesses. When
Oedipus sits down on this rock, he presents himself as somebody
who belongs here. He may not have a home, he may not be a member
of any community, but he will be a resident at Colonus, along
with the Semnai Theai / Eumenides.[17]
This symbolism is
developed further by a piece of stage action. I have already noted
that the Chorus make Oedipus leave his seat and sit down outside
the sacred area. What I have not yet noted is that his new seat
resembles the old one. 'Don't walk beyond this base of native
rock (αὐτοπέ βήματος)',[18]
the Chorus say, putting an end to Oedipus' gradual withdrawal.
Clearly, stage action brings out Oedipus' dependency on others,
but there is more to it. Having had to stand up from an 'uncut
rock' or 'step' he is made to sit on a 'base of native rock'.
The implication seems to be, in one way, that Oedipus does not
have a home and cannot even stay on the rock to which Antigone
pointed him but, in another way, that he is allowed to remain
where he is: on a piece of stone that has not been shaped by men.
Oedipus begins to settle at Colonus.[19]
At this point it would
be most helpful to know precisely how the passage was staged.
Most critics assume that there were two rocks on stage, with Oedipus
making his way from one to the other; recently, however, David
Wiles has supported the view that one rock would be enough.[20]
The main question concerning Wiles' reconstruction is whether
it would make it sufficiently clear that Oedipus is leaving sacred
ground. There can be no doubt that the distinction between sacred
and profane could be brought out more easily if there were two
stones. Yet this is not to say that the effect would necessarily
be precluded by single stage property (Wiles reports the successful
staging with a single rock by the RSC in 1991). The great attraction
of Wiles's reconstruction is that it would allow the stage action
to reinforce the language. Not only are the rocks described similarly,
but they are represented by the same stage property.
It is unlikely that
the number of stage properties will ever be established with any
degree of certainty. What is certain is that Oedipus comes to
sit again, and that in itself is both remarkable and significant.
Seated characters are the exception rather than the norm in Greek
tragedy.[21] The Furies sit at
their first appearance in Eumenides (47, 141); Electra
sits by her brother's bed in Orestes (93); Agamemnon and
Cassandra enter seated on a chariot in Agamemnon (905-7)
and so do Clytemnestra in Euripides' Electra (998-9) and
Andromache and Astyanax in Troades (568-9). More regularly
it is, as in the case of Oedipus, suppliants who are seated, often
at an altar. In the surviving plays there are Danaus and his daughters
in Aeschylus' Suppliants (10, 223-4), the Priest and other
Thebans in Oedipus Rex (14-17), Aethra and the mothers
of the Seven and later Adrastus in Euripides' Suppliants
(28-36, 92-5; 63-6), Iolaus and Heracles' children in Heraclidae
(31-4), Hecuba in Hecuba (750-3), Amphytrion, Megara and
Heracles' children in Hercules (46-50), Helen in Helen
(63-7), Andromache in Andromache (42-6) and Creusa in Ion
(1258-60, 1280-1, 1306, 1312-19). Different again are Aeschylus'
Niobe and Achilles. The Euripides of Aristophanes' Frogs
(911-13) alludes to Aeschylean plays in which Niobe and Achilles
were seated silently and with their heads covered. It seems that
both were seated for significant stretches of the respective plays
(Niobe; Myrmidons / Phrygians), Niobe in
grief for the death of her children, Achilles receiving various
visitors who try to persuade him to return to to battle and, in
the later play, mourning the death of Patroclus.[22]
It is more than likely that in the lost plays there were further
seated characters, but these are exceptions that prove the rule.
For most of the time most characters in Greek tragedy stand. Oedipus'
extended sitting on the uncut rock is, therefore, noticeable.
At this point we are
again hampered by uncertainty over the staging: how long does
he remain seated on the second rock? Presumably he stands when
he expresses his gratitude to Theseus for returning his daughters
(1119-38), perhaps already when Antigone is snatched away (833-886),
and of course near the end when he leads the other characters
off the stage (1539-55). But it is conceivable that he is seated
for long stretches of the play. In any case, Oedipus sits for
a considerable time, and during this time he is not only reminiscent
of all the seated suppliants, but is also otherwise a figure that
commands attention. Various characters come and go, the Man from
Colonus, Ismene, Theseus and his men, Creon and his men, Polynices,
but Oedipus, like the Achilles of Myrmidons, stays where
he is, receiving them and seeing them off. The contrast is particularly
obvious while Oedipus sits on his rock. A mid-fourth century vase
painting, LIMC Ismene I 2, captures the effect clearly.
Oedipus is seated on 'something like an altar'.[23]
He is flanked by two young women, presumably Antigone and Ismene,
also seated, and by two men, usually identified as Creon and Polynices,
who are depicted standing at either side of the group; a Fury
is hovering at the right top of the painting. Oedipus is positioned
at the centre of the scene, resting calmly. The other four figures
look at him, and the two standing men seem to be pushed to the
margins by the seated Oedipus.
The notion of Oedipus
at the centre, seated on an 'altar-like' object, points to another
aspect of the staging. What kind of stage property is used to
represent the rock (or rocks)?[24]
Wiles thinks that in the original production not only were both
rocks one and the same, but that they were represented by the
permanent altar (reinforced by a theatrical property ) which,
according to late theorists, was positioned at the centre of the
orchestra and was called thumele. If this is true, then
Oedipus' seat is even more authoritative. As Wiles points out,
the centre of the acting area is powerful in all theatres. In
some ancient Greek theatres it is invested also with the power
derived from the altar as a focus of cult. The altar would, moreover,
be a suitable seat for Oedipus, who is accepted by the goddesses
of Colonus and who will end the play as a man with more than human
power.
Unfortunately, Wiles's
case cannot be proved. There is no archaeological evidence for
a thumele in the theatre of Dionysus at Athens (although
remnants of some kind of stone in the orchestra survive
in Epidaurus, Aigai and Dodona).[25]
More importantly, there is no way of establishing that it would
be used in the way Wiles suggests. None the less, the theory is
attractive, and it receives some support from Rush Rehm's discussion
of suppliant plays. Rehm makes a strong case for the use of the
thumele as the altar at which suppliants seek protection.
His discussion of Eumenides and Euripides' Suppliants
(he does not refer to OC) shows at the very least that
the thumele could be integrated most effectively into the
production.[26] It is unlikely
that the question will ever be decided. But if Wiles is right,
then there is further reason to take Oedipus' seat as a symbol
not only of his helplessness and his lack of home but, paradoxically,
also of his affinity to the place at which he has arrived and
of his power.
Finally, near the
end of the play, this paradox appears in one further guise. Oedipus'
rocky seat points not just to his old age and weakness but also
to his imminent death. Stone, inanimate material par excellence,
is certainly associated with death today, and at least to a degree
this connection is ancient. Tombs and stelai were made
of stone, and Niobe and other mythical figures are turned into
stone so as to lead an eternal but lifeless existence.[27]
Oedipus at Colonus exploits these associations in a number
of ways.
Oedipus shares his
mortality with all men and women, and as I will stress later,
there is much in the play that allows spectators to think about
the meaning of death in general. Yet there is much, too, that
makes Oedipus' death quite extraordinary. Most important, Oedipus,
who was known to fifth-century spectators as a cult hero, possible
even as a cult hero at Colonus,[28]
gains the power to give protection to Colonus and Athens from
his grave. In his death he becomes one of the numinous residents
at Colonus, and his death itself, as described by the Messenger,
is enshrouded in mystery. Like so much else in the play, therefore,
Oedipus' death is paradoxical. It is both the end of a life, the
fading away of an old man, and a transformation, the beginning
of something new, alluding to Oedipus' heroic status after his
death. Again the rocky seat presents itself as a highly complex
symbol.
As already noted,
Oedipus regards the 'reverent uncut step' (100-1) as one of a
number of signs that he has reached the place where he will be
allowed to die. Significantly, the phrase which I paraphrase as
'be allowed to die' is κάμψειν τὸν ταλαίπωρον βίον literally 'bend my miserable life' (91). It
takes up a reference to Oedipus' arrival at Colonus in vv. 84-5:
'Ladies of dreadful appearance, since I have now stopped my journey
καμψα (lit. bent) first in this land at your
seat, …' More important, the phrase is reminiscent of the
line in which Antigone first mentions the uncut stone (19), cited
already above: οὗ κῶλα κάμψον τοῦδ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀξέστου πέτρου ('here sit [lit. bend
your limbs] on this uncut rock'). Thus the rock begins to be associated
with Oedipus' death as early as the prologue.
At this point this
death is primarily that of an old man who has travelled from place
to place, trying to find a place where he can die. But already
here there are first indications of things to come. Apart from
some hazy promises he makes to the Man from Colonus (72-4), the
vague phrasing of his prayer for πέρασιν ... καὶ καταστροφήν τινα ('a passage and some end', 103) point to an end that is more
than an end. Pointers like this become increasingly frequent as
the play moves on, until the claps of thunder, Oedipus' ability
to lead the other characters off stage and finally the Messenger
speech leave no doubt that his is not an ordinary death.
Before reporting Oedipus'
last speeches and his disappearance, the Messenger describes the
location as follows (1590-7):
™peˆ
d ¢f‹kto tÕn katarr£kthn ÐdÕn
calko‹j b£qroisi gÁqen ™rrizwmšnon,
œsth keleÚqwn ™n polusc…stwn mi´,
ko…lou pšlaj kratÁroj, oá t¦
Qhsšwj
Per…qou te ke‹tai p…st' ¢eˆ xunq»mata:
¢f' oá mšsoj st¦j toà te Qorik…ou
pštrou
ko…lhj t' ¢cšrdou k¢pÕ la…nou
t£fou
kaqšzet'.[29] et'
œluse duspine‹j stol£j.
After he had reached
the steep threshold, rooted in the earth with brazen steps, he
stood in one of the many-branching paths, near the hollow basin,
where Theseus' and Peirithous' ever reliable tokens lie. He stood
midway between there and the Thorician rock and the hollow pear
tree and the tomb of stone; then he sat down. Then he took off
his soiled clothes.
In a discussion of
the symbolism of the uncut rock two aspects of this passage are
particularly important. First, there are numerous references to
death but also to some kind of survival after death; secondly,
several of these references recall the uncut rock or rocks on
which Oedipus sat earlier.
To begin with, the
second. The 'threshold with the brazen steps' brings back the
word βάθρον ('step') of v. 101. Then there are a 'hollow
basin', which is possibly formed of rock (see Jebb), a 'Thorician
rock', and a 'tomb of stone'. The text of the last sentence is
uncertain, but it is clear that Oedipus sits down again and that
he sits down again near (though probably not on) various pieces
of rock and stone.
Many of these landmarks
are associated with the story of the abduction of Kore and with
the mystery cult of Demeter. Claude Calame has argued recently
that Oedipus at Colonus alludes to the Eleusinian mystery
cult as much as it does to the hero cult of Oedipus,[30]
and this passage is a case in point. The scholia on 1590 and 1593
state that the 'steep threshold' and the 'hollow basin' mark the
entrance to the underworld through which Kore was carried off.
According to Demeter's false tale in her Homeric Hymn,
Thoricus is the place at which she reached the Attic mainland
when she was looking for her daughter.[31]
In this context it is also significant that Oedipus sits down
again. As Walter Burkert and others have pointed out,[32]
this alludes not only to the Homeric Hymn, in which Demeter
sits in grief for her daughter (98, 195-201), but also to the
'rock without laughter' (¢gšlastoj pštra), which
is mentioned by a scholion on Aristophanes' Knights (785a
Koster):
There is also the
rock which the Athenians call 'the rock without laughter'; here,
they say, Theseus sat down when he was about to descend to Hades
– hence the name of the rock. Or the name derives from
the fact that Demeter sat there, weeping, when she was looking
for Kore.
For spectators who
are reminded of this rock, its association with both Demeter's
search for Kore and with Theseus' descent into the underworld
to carry off Persephone (which is also evoked explicitly in vv.
1593-4 of the passage) add to the general ambience of the passage:
death as well as survival. In their different ways, Demeter, Kore
and Theseus returned from the underworld, and Demeter even founded
the Eleusinian mysteries.
All this is of course
most elusive. What is more, the passage does not just reach out
to myths and places outside the play, but it also harks back to
earlier parts of the play itself. The 'threshold with brazen steps'
recalls the 'bronze-footed threshold' of v. 57 and the 'hollow
basin' (krat»r) takes up earlier kratÁrej (with the
meaning of 'mixing-bowl') at vv. 159 and 472.[33]
Oedipus' death continues his life in mysterious ways. All this
adds to the symbolism of Oedipus and his various rocks, but it
is clearer than ever that this symbolism is most intricate. There
is more than one piece of rock or stone, and rock and stone is
not all there is. On the other hand, one of the rocks, the 'rock
without laughter' is merely hinted at, and indeed none of the
rocks in this passage are visible on stage (something I will come
back to shortly). Again it is obvious that the words 'typify'
and 'represent' do justice only to some modes of symbolism in
Greek tragedy.
I will conclude this
article by discussing a final set of complexities in the symbolism
of the uncut rock, focusing now on its cultic connotations. Again
there will be something to be said about the interplay of the
verbal and the visual. And there will also be more to be said
about the contrast between xestÒj ('cut') and ¥xestoj
('uncut'), the epithet of Oedipus' rock in v. 19.
Because of the connotations
of xestÒj, I noted earlier following Falkner, this contrast
makes the rock a suitable seat for a man like Oedipus, who neither
belongs to any community nor has a home. This observation does
not exhaust the significance of the contrast between cut and uncut
for the play. In her note on l. 19, Easterling draws attention
to a passage from Aeschylus' Eumenides (804-7) in which
Athena promises the Furies that they will have 'seats and caves
in this righteous land, sitting on altars with shining thrones
liparoqrÒnoisin ¹mšnaj ™p' ™sc£raij
honoured by these townsmen'.
She also refers to A. H. Sommerstein, who explains in his note
on the passage that 'the "thrones" … must have
been sacred stones in [the goddesses'] precinct which were periodically
anointed with oil'. The implication is that spectators may well
have been familiar not just with the 'Stone of Violence' and the
'Stone of Ruthlessness' but also with anointed sacred rocks used
in the cult of the Eumenides,[34]
and that the sacred rock in the grove in Oedipus at Colonus
would have reminded them of these rocks. At the same time, they
would probably have felt that the adjective ¥xestoj ('uncut'
or 'unsmoothed') would have marked Oedipus' rock off as quite
different. This rock is certainly not anointed or shining. In
a passage in the Odyssey (3.406-8) it is in fact xesto…
l…qoi ('cut' or 'smoothed stones') that are described as
'shining with oil'. The rock on which Oedipus sits is probably
reminiscent of rocks spectators knew from the cult of the Semnai
Theai / Eumenides at Athens, and possibly even Colonus, but described
as ¥xestoj, it is probably also distinguished from those rocks.
A comparable discrepancy
is produced by the last part of the play. As noted before, references
to Oedipus as a cult hero accumulate towards the end of the play.
However, it is remarkable that what is lacking from the play is
the site at which he would be worshipped, his tomb. Nobody except
Theseus and his descendants must know the secret location where
Oedipus died (1522-32, 1640-57, 1754-8). What everybody is allowed
to know is where he spoke his last words, so that the various
pieces of rock and stone, in particular the 'tomb of stone', as
it were, stand in for Oedipus' own tomb. Yet even these stand-ins
are not seen, but only reported. All that spectators get to see
on stage is the uncut rock, an object that is rather different
from a tomb.[35]
The various pieces
of rock and stone in Oedipus at Colonus, then, set up various
tensions between language and performance and between play and
cult. Why is this? First, there is a general consideration. In
their different ways, Walter Burkert, P. E. Easterling and Eveline
Krummen have stressed that representations of cult and allusions
to cult in Greek tragedy should always be looked at as part of
the play. No matter how clearly a play evokes cult, it still remains
a play which has its own dynamics and effects. [36]
There can be no doubt
that this is true for Oedipus at Colonus (one of Burkert's
examples). This is a play which is particularly rich in cultic
associations. Yet, emphatically, it is not a mere translation
of cult into dramatic form. Two aspects are relevant here. The
first concerns the cult of the Semnai Theai / Eumenides. Despite
the elaborate description of the purification ritual in vv. 466-92,
Oedipus is not an ordinary worshipper. Rather, he comes as their
suppliant who does not intend to leave again, and he even comes
with demands, based on the oracle that promised him he would finally
be able to stay at a seat of the Semnai Theai (84-93).
What is more the goddesses
themselves are not replicas of those worshipped at Athens and
Colonus. As Albert Henrichs has pointed out, tragedy combines
Erinyes and Semnai Theai / Eumenides, who are normally opposites
in so far as only the Eumenides / Semnai receive cult.[37]
There is indeed much in Oedipus at Colonus that is reminiscent
at least as much of the cult-less Erinyes as of the Eumenides.
They are described as 'frightening goddesses, the daughters of
Earth and Darkness' (39-40) and 'irresistible maidens' (127),
and the prohibition to enter their ground puts considerable distance
between them and any potential worshipper. Finally, Oedipus' readiness
to pronounce curses recalls the avengers that are the Erinyes.
Polynices in fact attributes the terrible end towards which he
is heading to 'this father and his Erinyes' (1434). Taking all
this together one ought perhaps not to be surprised that the potent
symbol of the rock does more than recall the cult of the Semnai
Theai / Eumenides.
Secondly, Oedipus
himself is not just a man about to become a cult hero. Oedipus
at Colonus is as much a play about the life and death of a
man as it is an aition of hero cult. The passages which
evoke Oedipus' power to protect Athens from his grave and which
describe his death as extraordinary are more than counterbalanced
by passages in which spectators are presented with an old man,
with a man who had to come to terms with guilt, with a man excluded
from human communities, with a man who at last is able to make
sense of the oracles he receives and, most important in this context,
with a man who will die. The Chorus sing about death as a relief
from the afflictions of old age (1211-48) and pray for Oedipus'
death to be easy (1556-78). Oedipus does not say what his death
means to himself, but he bids farewell as a father to his daughters
(1611-19), and his daughters lament his death in a long kommos
(1670-1750). Moreover, if Calame is right in arguing that the
description of Oedipus' death is rife with allusions to the Eleusinian
mysteries,[38] then spectators
who were familiar with that these mysteries might have been encouraged
to think about the meaning of Oedipus' death in yet another way.
Again, therefore, it seems right that the various pieces of rock
and stone produce tensions. The play suggests many ways of thinking
about Oedipus, his life and his death, and so does, appropriately,
the symbol of the uncut rock.
It hardly needs stressing
that not everything that may be regarded as symbolic in Aeschylus,
Sophocles or Euripides is as rich in associations as the uncut
rock in Oedipus at Colonus. Each case would need attention
in its own right. Yet even the discussion of only one example
should have helped to underline my general point. The study of
symbolism, as of so much else in Greek tragedy, has much to gain
from close attention to the interaction of the visual and the
verbal. Oedipus' uncut rock, therefore, should give support to
all those who believe that language and performance should be
considered more often side by side.
Return
to contents page
Endnotes
[1]
I am grateful for the valuable comments I received from the participants
of the OU conference as well as the anonymous referees. In particular
I would like to thank Pat Easterling, who not only made various
suggestions for improvement but also showed me a draft of relevant
sections from her forthcoming edition with commentary of Oedipus
at Colonus. I am greatly indebted to her generous help.
[2]
For instance, C. Geertz, 'Religion as a cultural system' and 'Ideology
as a cultural system' in The interpretation of culture. Selected
essays (Fontana, 1993) 87-125 and 193-233; V. Turner, 'Symbols
in Ndembu ritual' and 'Ritual symbolism, morality, and social
structure among the Ndembu' in The forest of symbols. Aspects
of Ndembu ritual (Ithaca: Cornell University Press 1967);
D. Sperber, Rethinking symbolism, tr. A. L. Morton (Cambridge
University Press 1975); I. Scheffler, Symbolic worlds. Art,
science, language, ritual (Cambridge University Press 1997).
In research on the theatre, symbols have had most attention from
semioticists. See E. Fischer-Lichte, The semiotics of
theater, tr. J. Gaines and D. L. Jones (Indiana University
Press 1992), especially 107-10 (on props) and 145-69 (on gestures),
with further references.
[3]
'Performance', as Edith Hall has stressed recently ('Actor's song
in tragedy' in S. Goldhill and R. Osborne (eds) Performance
culture and Athenian democracy (Cambridge University Press
1999) 96-122), is acoustic as much as visual. It makes a difference,
for instance, whether the text is spoken or sung (or something
in between), whether it is spoken fast or slowly, loud or softly,
and so on. In a discussion of symbolism, noises (such as the thunder
near the end of OC) could be fruitfully discussed. However,
in this article I do not consider the different ways in which
the language of the play is or can be performed or any other acoustic
aspect of performance, and concentrate on the way the language
(however performed) interacts with the visual aspects of
performance in the creation of symbolism.
[4]
D. Wiles, 'Reading Greek performance', G & R 34 (1987)
148-9 (article on pp. 136-51) makes this point for fire in Agamemnon:
torches on stage and imagery in the words reinforce each other.
[5]
O. Taplin, The stagecraft of Aeschylus. The dramatic use of
exits and entrances in Greek tragedy (Clarendon Press 1977)
299-300, 306-8, 322-4.
[6]
Seven references in 958-74. Two further details, both noted by
Taplin (p. 300; p. 324): Clytemnestra calls herself dwm£twn
kÚna, 'watchdog of the house' (607) when she delays the
Herold's exit through her re-entry at 587. And Clytemnestra's
confident appearance with Agamemnon's and Cassandra's corpses
at 1372 follows the Chorus's debate over whether or not to enter
the house (1348-71).
[7]
Ch. Segal, 'Visual symbolism and visual effects in Sophocles',
CW74 (1980) 125-42=Interpreting Greek tragedy. Myth,
poetry, text (Cornell University Press 1986) 113-36.
[8]
There is of course a historical reason for this division: the
study of stage action is often perceived as a reaction against
the traditional emphasis on the text.
[9]
Stressed by e. g. Segal himself, 'Visual', 126=114; S. Goldhill,
'Reading performance criticism', G & R 36 (1989) 172-82=I.
McAuslan and P. Walcot (eds), Greek tragedy (Oxford University
Press and Classical Association 1993) 1-11; D. Wiles, 'Reading'.
[10]
The uncut rock is discussed by W. Burkert, 'Opferritual bei Sophokles.
Pragmatik – Symbolik – Theater', AU 28 (1985)
5-20; T. M. Falkner, The poetics of old age in Greek epic,
lyric, and tragedy (University of Oklahoma Press 1995) 220-4;
D. Wiles, Tragedy in Athens. Performance space and theatrical
meaning (Cambridge University Press 1997) 188-91; and P. E.
Easterling in the relevant notes of her commentary (cf. n. 1 above).
[11]
Falkner, Poetics, 221-222.
[12]
Ad loc. Note also her defence of ›draj gÁj
tÁsde, which is emended in the recent OCT.
[13]
See P. Burian, 'Suppliant and savior. Oedipus at Colonus', Phoenix
28 (1974) 408-29.
[14]
Both names are used in the play: the first at 89-90, the second
at 42. The first probably was their title at Colonus, the second
at Athens. See A. Henrichs, 'Anonymity and polarity. Unknown gods
and nameless altars at the Areopagos', ICS 19 (1994) 27-58.
[15]
The term occurs at Paus. 1.28.5, 7.22.4, 9.24.3 and 9.27.1. See
also the other passages discussed in the RE entry on ¢rgoˆ
l…qoi.
[16]
Stones and rocks often carry connotations of intransigence: Il.
16.34-5, Aesch. PV 242, Soph. OT 334-6, Eur. Med.
28-9, 1279-82, Andr. 537-8, Theocr. 3.18. These connotations
may give further point to Oedipus' and the Semnai Theai /Eumenides'
associations with the uncut rock. Note also the comparison of
Oedipus with a rock in the sea immediately before he presents
himself at his most intransigent in the Polynices scene (1239-48);
on this comparison see R. W. B. Burton, The chorus in Sophocles'
tragedies (Clarendon Press 1980) 288-9.
[17]
Oedipus' affinity to Colonus is also hinted at by the use of ›dra
('seat'). It refers not only to Oedipus' seat (36, 45, 112) but
also to the seat of the Eumenides (84, 90).
[18]
192-3. aÙtopštrou is Musgrave's generally accepted
emendation of ¢ntipštrou.
[19]
P. Vidal-Naquet, 'Oedipus between two cities. An essay on Oedipus
at Colonus', in J.-P. Vernant and P. Vidal-Naquet, Myth
and tragedy in ancient Greece, tr. J. Lloyd (New York: Zone
Books 1990) 357-8 (article on pp. 329-59) points out that the
word bÁma, 'base', is frequently used for the tribune on
the Pnyx (see LSJ s. v. II.2), a reminder perhaps of the
political dimension of Oedipus' residence at Colonus. Cf. Falkner,
Poetics, 223.
[20]
Wiles, Tragedy, 188. For a recent exposition of the view
that there were two stage properties see Falkner, Poetics,
222 (with further references in his note 30). The choice between
the two reconstructions is made even more difficult by the uncertainty
over whether there was a step separating the orchestra from the
stage, which some critics believe was used to represent the second
seat.
[21]
Pointed out by P. D. Arnott, Public and performance in Greek
theatre (London and New York: Routledge 1989) 83-4, cited
by Falkner, Poetics 221.
[22]
Details are disputed. See O. Taplin, 'Aeschylean silences and
silences in Aeschylus', HSCP 76 (1972) 57-97; Radt's notes
on Niobe, Myrmidons and Phrygians in TGF;
A. H. Sommerstein, Aeschylean tragedy (Bari: Levante Editori
1996) 338-48; and P. Michelakis in this volume.
[23]
I. Krauskopf in her LIMC entry. Obviously, I do not suggest
that the vase painting reproduces the staging of the play, whether
at the first or any other performance.
[24]
Wiles, Tragedy, 188, 191.
[25]
For general discussion of the thumele, and references,
see Wiles, Tragedy, 70-2. Most recently, C. Ashby, Classical
Greek theater. New views of an old subject (Iowa City: University
of Iowa Press 1999) 42-59 has challenged the idea of a central
altar, arguing for a peripheral position.
[26]
R. Rehm, 'The staging of suppliant plays', GRBS 29 (1988)
263-307.
[27]
See Richardson on Il. 24.610-12; also Ant. 773-4,
1203-5, 1215-17, 1220.
[28]
The date at which Oedipus' cult at Colonus was established is
uncertain. See E. Kearns, The heroes of Attica (London:
Institute of Classical Studies 1989)=BICS Supplement 57,
208-9; L. Edmunds, Theatrical space and historical place in
Sophocles' Oedipus at Colonus (Lanham and London: Rowman and
Littlefield 1996) 95-7.
[29]
The text of this sentence is uncertain. Following Jebb, I adopt
¢f' oá mšsoj for ™f' oá mšsou,not
changing k¢pÒ to k¢p… . The line break makes
it undesirable to group toà te Qorik…ou pštrou
ÿ ko…lhj t'¢cšrdou together too closely at
the expense of lanou t£fou. This is avoided most economically
by having all genitives governed by (one of two) ¢pÒ.
However, the price is the awkwardness of mšsoj ¢pÒ.
Other choices of text are possible.
[30]
C. Calame, 'Mort héroïque et culte à mystère
dans l'Œdipe à Colone de Sophocle', in F. Graf
(ed.), Ansichten griechischer Rituale. Geburtstags-Symposium
für Walter Burkert (Stuttgart and Leipzig: Teubner 1998),
326-56. There still is scope for further work.
[31]
HH Dem. 125-6. The significance of the Thorician rock is
uncertain. See H. Lloyd-Jones and N. G. Wilson, Sophocles.
Second thoughts (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht
1997) 134-5 and Calame, 'Mort', 341-2, for further possibilities.
[32]
Burkert, 'Opferritual' 12.
[33]
Burkert, 'Opferritual', 10-12.
[34]
And indeed elsewhere: see W. Burkert, Structure and history
in Greek mythology and ritual (Berkeley: University of California
Press 1979) 162 n. 20 for references.
[35]
Not least because tombs and related objects often carry the epithet
xestÒj, 'cut', 'smoothed': Eur. Alc. 836, Hel.
986, Phaethon 222, AP 7.380.2, AP appendix
epigr. sepulcr. 166.3 Cougny, AP appendix epigr.
sepulcr. 607.6 Cougny, AP appendix epigr. sepulcr.
692.3 Cougny.
[36]
Burkert, 'Opferritual'; P. E Easterling, 'Tragedy and ritual',
in R. Scodel (ed.), Theater and society in the classical world
(Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press 1993) 7-23; E. Krummen,
'Ritual und Katastrophe. Rituelle Handlung und Bildersprache bei
Sophokles und Euripides', in Graf, Ansichten, 296-325
[37]
Henrichs, 'Anonymity'.
[38]
Note 30 above.
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