Love and loyalty, hatred and revenge, fear, deprivation, and political ambition: these are the motives which thrust the characters portrayed in these three Sophoclean masterpieces on to their collision course with catastrophe. Recognized in his own day as perhaps the greatest of the Greek tragedians, Sophocles' reputation has remained undimmed for two and a half thousand years. His greatest innovation in the tragic medium was his development of a central tragic figure, faced with a test of will and character, (...) risking obloquy and death rather than compromise his or her principles: it is striking that Antigone and Electra both have a woman as their intransigent 'hero'. Antigone dies rather neglect her duty to her family, Oedipus' determination to save his city results in the horrific discovery that he has committed both incest and parricide, and Electra's unremitting anger at her mother and her lover keeps her in servitude and despair. These vivid translations combine elegance and modernity, and are remarkable for their lucidity and accuracy. Their sonorous diction, economy, and sensitivity to the varied metres and modes of the original musical delivery make them equally suitable for reading or theatrical peformance. (shrink)

It has been said that Sophocles’ Ajax lacks unity, and that its conclusion loses part of its tragic effect. This paper examines the tragedy’s structure and the associated innovations introduced by Sophocles, focusing primarily on the double agon. The paper attempts to explain the agon’s dual nature by comparing Ajax with three other works, namely the Iliad, Ichneutai and, especially, the Hymn to Hermes.

Two conjectures are proposed on Sophocles’ Thyestes (fr. 260a Radt) which restore Sophoclean language and metre.

In Sophocles’ Ichneutai the second phase of the Satyrs’ tracking of the stolen cows begins with twenty-seven lyric lines (vv. 176-202), during which the Satyrs progressively advance towards the cave of the nymph Kyllene. The papyrus assigns the entire passage to the Chorus of the Satyrs. But it seems most probable that here we have a lyric dialogue between the Chorus and Silenos, with the greater part actually belonging to him. The lyric passage is full of exhortations and instructions (...) to the Satyrs for the tracking, which most likely come from the lips of Silenos. In the preceding trimeters Silenos has promised his sons to stay and guide them in their tracking, using his words and also a ‘hound-inciting’ whistling (172-175). What follows is an impressive stage-representation (and parody) of ancient hunting with dogs, in which apparently Silenos assumes the role of a hunter, while the Satyrs assume that of tracking-hounds. (shrink)

ὓβριс φυτε⋯ει τ⋯ραννον ὕβριс κτλ. Thus the MSS, Schol. and Stobaeus 4.8. 11. ὕβριν φυτε⋯ει τυραννον ὕβριс κτλ. Thus Blaydes, followed recently by R. P. Winnington-Ingram, JHS 91, 126 = Sophocles. An interpretation, p. 192 ; R. D. Dawe, Sophoclis Tragoediae, i. 156 and Sophocles. Oedipus Rex, pp. 18, 61,182 f. ; R. W. B. Burton, The Chorus in Sophocles' Tragedies, p. 164 ; J. Diggle, CRn.s. 32, 14.

Sophocles, fr. 316 comprises matching entries in Photius,Lex.p. 489 Porson and theSudaρ166, which are thought to derive from Pausanias the Atticist's dictionary. Erbse presents the following text (ρ5):ῥικνοῦσθαι: τὸ διέλκεσθαι καὶ παντοδαπῶς διαστρέφεσθαι κατ' εἶδος. λέγεται δὲ καὶ τὸ καμπύλον γίγνεσθαι ἀσχημόνως καὶ κατὰ συνουσίαν καὶ ὄρχησιν, κάμπτοντα τὴν ὀσφῦν. Σοφοκλῆς Ἰχνευταῖς.

In his biography of Polemon, head of the Academy from 313 to 269, Diogenes Laertius comments on Polemon's fondness for Sophocles after detailing Polemon's relationship with his predecessor, Xenocrates : ἐῴκει δὴ ὁ Πολέμων κατὰ πάντα ἐζηλωκέναι τὸν Ξενοκράτην· καὶ ἐρασθῆναι αὐτοῦ φησιν Ἀρίστιππος ἐν τῷ τετάρτῳ Περὶ παλαιᾶς τρυφῆς. ἀεὶ γοῦν ἐμέμνητο ὁ Πολέμων αὐτοῦ, τήν τ' ἀκακίαν καὶ τὸν αὐχμὸν ἐνεδέδυτο τἀνδρὸς καὶ τὸ βάρος οἱονεὶ Δώριός τις οἰκονομία. ἦν δὲ καὶ φιλοσοφοκλῆς, καὶ μάλιστα ἐν ἐκείνοις ὅπου (...) κατὰ τὸν κωμικὸν τὰ ποιήματα αὐτῷκύων τις ἐδόκει συμποιεῖν Μολοττικός,καὶ ἔνθα ἦν κατὰ τὸν Φρύνιχονοὐ γλύξις οὐδ' ὑπόχυτος, ἀλλὰ Πράμνιος.ἔλεγεν οὖν τὸν μὲν Ὅμηρον ἐπικὸν εἶναι Σοφοκλέα, τὸν δὲ Σοφοκλέα Ὅμηρον τραγικόν.It would seem that Polemon imitated Xenocrates in all respects. In the fourth book of On the Luxury of the Ancients, Aristippos says that he loved him. Certainly Polemon kept him in mind and, like him, wore that simple, dry dignity that is proper of the Dorian mode. He also loved Sophocles, particularly in those passages where it seemed as if, in the words of the comic poet, ‘a Molossian dog co-authored’ plays with him and where the poet was, in the words of Phrynichus, ‘neither bland nor doctored but Pramnian’. Thus he would call Homer the epic Sophocles and Sophocles the tragic Homer. The main source of Diogenes Laertius' Life of Polemon is Antigonus of Carystus, who was active in Athens and Pergamon around the mid third century. In addition to being generally considered a reliable author, Antigonus is also chronologically close to Polemon's lifetime. He is also the source of Philodemus' History of Philosophers, a work preserved by two important papyri from Herculaneum. Philodemus, too, mentions Polemon's admiration for Sophocles, although he gives a shorter version than Diogenes Laertius: λέγεται δὲ καὶ φιλοσοφοκλῆς γενέσθαι καὶ μά || λιστα τὸ ΠΑ[.]Α[……….] | τῆς φωνῆς καὶ παρα[….] ἀποδέχεσθαι. In Dorandi's translation, Philodemus records that ‘si dice che [Polemone] fu ammiratore di Sofocle e soprattutto ne apprezzò l'audacia e ciò che suonava duro’. (shrink)

πέπλους τε νῆσαι λινογενεῖς τ’ ἐπενδύταςτε νῆσαιCanter: τε νίσαιPoll.A: τάνυσαιPoll.FSnêsaimantles and outer garments born of flaxGreek has three verbs νέω: ‘swim’, ‘spin’ and ‘heap up, pile’. The aorist infinitive of both and is νῆσαι. LSJ takes Sophocles, fr. 439 R. to be an instance of νέω. Pearson comments: ‘νῆσαι is loosely used for ὑϕαίνειν. The process of spinning, being preparatory to that of weaving, was apt to be regarded as part of the same operation rather than as a distinct (...) art … Soph. probably had in mind η 96 πέπλοι | λεπτοὶ ἐΰννητοι βεβλήατο, ἔργα γυναικῶν’. Lloyd-Jones accordingly translates the fragment ‘to weave robes and tunics made of linen’. (shrink)

I anticipate someone who dismisses Sophocles as mere literary craftsperson of high skill, arguing that such craftspeople turn up generationally and that the credit should go to the mythmakers.

In an article in the July 1959 issue of the American Journal of Philology, Mr. William Calder III offers two suggestions for the interpretation of 11. 1271–4 of Sophocles' Oedipus Rex, one concerning the reference of wv in 1271, and the other, the reference of in 1273 and 1274.

Chapters 6 and 7 of the pseudo-Aristotelian treatise On the Cosmos display ‘a series of well-crafted and carefully organized analogies’ in order to represent the power of god pervading the whole universe. The last analogy, which is by far the most important in this section, compares the rule of god over the world to the rule of the law in a Greek city. As shown by the author in the previous analogies, the perfect order of the universe is the result (...) of the continuous creation and dissolution of single things: this process—based upon the harmony of opposites—is the keystone of the eternity and equilibrium of our world. Similarly, the law is the unmoved mover of every activity and experience in the city: both positive and negative situations involving single citizens contribute to the supreme order and stability of the city. Positive examples include the activity of rulers, officials and members of the assemblies, whereas negative examples include those who go to trial defending themselves and those who are imprisoned and destined to capital punishment. In spite of their difference, all of these actions are due to one single order, that is, the civic law, which ensures the stability of the city. To stress and illustrate this concordia discors, which characterizes both the city and the universe, the author of the treatise closes the passage with a quotation from Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus :πόλις δ' ὁμοῦ μὲν θυμιαμάτων γέμει,ὁμοῦ δὲ παιάνων τε καὶ στεναγμάτωνThe author reads these verses as a perfect example of a context characterized by opposite situations: in fact, the city is full of paeans, which are interpreted as ‘songs of joy and relief’, and, at the same time, it is also full of laments and mourns. The same interpretation can be found in the Latin translation of the treatise, which gives even more emphasis to the opposition between life and death: uideasque illam ciuitatem pariter spirantem Panchaeis odoribus et graueolentibus caenis, resonantem hymnis et carminibus et canticis, eandem etiam lamentis et ploratibus heiulantem. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Sophocles’s Enemy Sisters: Antigone and IsmeneWm. Blake Tyrrell (bio) and Larry J. BennettAt the core of the Oedipus myth, as Sophocles presents it, is the proposition that all masculine relationships are based on reciprocal acts of violence. Laius, taking his cue from the oracle, violently rejects Oedipus out of fear that his son will seize his throne and invade his conjugal bed. Oedipus, taking his cue from (...) the oracle, does away with Laius, violently rebuffs the sphinx, then takes their places—as king and “scourge of the city,” respectively. Again, Oedipus, taking his cue from the oracle, plots the death of that unknown figure who may be seeking to usurp his own position. Oedipus, Creon, and Tiresias, each taking his cue from the oracle, seek one another’s downfall.All these acts of violence gradually wear away the differences that exist not only in the same family but throughout the community.—René Girard, Violence and the SacredRené Girard does not include feminine relationships in his assessment of the Oedipus myth, yet the same redundancy that characterizes the males marks the females.1 Jocasta conjoins in one person multiple and redundant social roles: she is the mother and wife of the same person, for which she [End Page 1] hangs herself, leaving for Oedipus “many pains that a mother’s furies fulfilled” (Homer Odyssey 11.279–80). Her daughters, their father’s sisters, manifest kinship redundancy in two persons. Incest produces circularly, reverting to a sibling of the parent rather than moving forward with a descendant. The absence of linear progression from one generation to the next creates a sameness and equilibrium that thwart separation and individuality. Oedipus’s brothers/sons fail in their adult roles, because neither can overcome the other’s right to the throne of Thebes and the mastery of its royal household. They are enemy brothers locked in reciprocal violence.2 Antigone and Ismene have escaped notice not only as enemy sisters but even as products of the same incest. Audiences for Sophocles’s Antigone have viewed them as “normal” women and cooperated with his characters in emphasizing the differences between them. They have assumed from Antigone’s betrothal to Haemon and resistance to Creon that she is the elder, more mature sister.3 They tend to accept without question that Antigone engages in burial rituals with Polyneices’s corpse (241–58) and returns to it (442–35).4 Bernard M. W. Knox’s critically powerful concept of the “Sophoclean hero” has bolstered this view of Antigone while reducing Ismene to a foil, and abetted the tendency of modern producers of the play to cast an older or more famous actress in the role of Antigone.5 Naturalistic readings like that of C. M. Bowra—“seeing that Ismene is her only close relative in the world, Antigone is remarkably cold to her”6—have masked the source and hence the vehemence of Antigone’s fury.That the reciprocity of the violence between Ismene and Antigone has gone unnoticed is understandable in view of the familiarity of the conflict between their brothers. Males in Greek society pursued difference by striving to excel as aristoi (best) in competition for prestige, wealth, and power.7 Whenever Eteocles and Polyneices came together, each asserted a right to Oedipus’s household and throne that was equally matched, and violence ensued from the equilibrium. On the other hand, Greek women were not supposed to compete with one another for distinction. They wove wool for clothes, maintained the household, and cared for the children, the sick, and the dead, activities that required cooperation away from public view.8 Proximity to other women was the norm and desideratum. Moreover, lawgivers like Solon based their funeral legislation on the premise that every woman wanted to participate in mourning.9 For the sake of public tranquillity, legislators tried to limit the numbers of women participants by imposing restrictions according to degrees of kinship, for instance, to children of fifth cousins. In this context, women were interchangeable, and the places they held during birth, coming of age in wedding ceremonies, and death, [End Page 2] were open to more than one woman. Closeness and... (shrink)

In this study we argue that Sophocles’ Antigone deals with a conflict between two different ways in which the human relates to the divine. One of the main factors causing this conflict is that the positions taken by the play’s main characters are characterized by their boldness and insolence. The conflict between Antigone and Creon takes place because two misconceptions of the divine seek to annihilate each other. The limitations in both Antigone’s and Creon’s misconceptions are caused by a (...) god. Due to the vagueness as to the exact divine cause of their misconceptions, the learning process of the two main characters in Sophocles’ play proves to be tragic, since it does not lead them to understand which god has made them fall into disgrace or which particular course of action they should have followed in the past or should follow henceforth. (shrink)

As far as I know, Kaibel is the only champion of the soundness of our text in this passage. In his edition of the Electra he has the following note : ‘Zu τòν xs22EFxs025Bxs22EF πατρóς ist, wie Haupt gezeigt hat , der Nominal-begriff aus dem Verbum zu ergäanzen, genau wie in μxs22EFανδικxs22EFζxs025Bιν, διττxs22EFν παxs1FD6σαι u. a. statt des Adjektivs steht das durch den Artikel gestützte Adverbium, vgl. Arist. Ran. 191 νxs025Bναυμxs22EFχηκxs025B τxs22EFν πxs025Bρxs22EF τxs22EFν κρxs025Bxs22EFν und das sprüchwörtliche τòν πxs025Bρxs22EF ψυχ࿆ς (...) τpεXειv. So ist auch der Komikervers ganz in Ordnung εγω Tov αλλov, αvδρεs, εTεθvηkη πáλaι aπavθ', ôv εζηv, wo zu εζηv und also auch zu ετεθvηkη sich ein Nominal-begriff wie βιóv oder χρóvov von selbst ergánzt; denn auf ein bestimmtes Nomen kommt nichts an, da kein Grieche thatsáchlich ein Nomen ergánzte, sondern den Begriff aus dem Verbum heraushörte.’ He concludes: ‘So unzweifelhaft richtig Haupts Erklärung ist, so pflegt man sie neuerdings doch wieder zu ignoriren oder zu verwerfen und die allerungläublichsten “Emendationen” zu bevorzugen.’ With the latter part of his assertion I fully agree, and am prepared to throw all emendations that have been so far suggested overboard. But with due diffidence I beg to try my hand once more at emending this passage, as I firmly believe that Sophocles has not written it as handed down to us. τóv aεì…στεváχovσ' is intolerably weak. It is far more likely that we have here a case of the wrong division of words. In uncials we should have read: HAEKTPATON, which ought to have been transcribed ΉHλεkτρ’. (shrink)

From a careful and persuasive analysis of Sophocles' debt in the Ajax to Homer's picture of Hector and Andromache's farewell in Iliad 6, P. E. Easterling concludes that in the Ajax ‘we have the paradox of an author's distinctive originality finding expression through his reading of another's work’. In what follows I wish to show that the validity of this statement extends to an aspect of the play which is touched upon by Easterling , but which I would like (...) to single out for special attention: the preoccupation with the problem of what constitutes noble action, or, in the play's own terminology, what is the nature of εγένεια. (shrink)

In an earlier article I reported the text Ajax offered by the so-called ‘Roman’ family of Sophocles, the manuscripts G, R, and Q. My present purpose is to give collations of G, R, and Q for Philoctetes, with some introductory comments confined to this play; I hope I may be allowed to refer the reader to my previous article for a discussion of the general problems arising from a study of these manuscripts.

La idea de que el cuerpo (σῶμα) es una tumba (σῆμα) donde el alma permanece encerrada cumpliendo un castigo por una antigua culpa es transmitida por Platón, quien la atribuye a los órficos. Filón de Alejandría utilizó en diversos pasajes de su obra esta metáfora de procedencia órfica. Nuestro interés consiste en analizar el sentido que Filón le asigna y el modo en que reelabora el significado que le fue asignado en la tradición órfica y en la interpretación platónica. Intentaremos (...) mostrar que Filón utiliza la metáfora de dos maneras distintas que manifiestan la fuerte ambivalencia existente en su pensamiento respecto de la valoración del cuerpo humano. The idea that the body (σῶμα) is a tomb (σῆμα) where the soul remains confined as a punishment for an ancient fault is transmitted by Plato, who attributes it to the orphics. Philo of Alexandria made use of this metaphor of orphic origin in various passages of his work. Our interest is to analyze the sense that Philo assigns to it and the way in which he reelaborates the meaning that was ascribed to it in orphic tradition and in the platonic interpretation. We will try to demonstrate that Philo uses the metaphor in two different ways that show the strong ambivalence existing in his thought with respect to the value of the human body. (shrink)

Sophocles’ Oedipus the King is an extended meditation on the limits of human intelligence, or more precisely, on how a man renowned for the power of his intellect could fail to know the most important truths. One could argue, however, that Sophocles intended for his audiences to take away a second, narrower lesson: namely that divinely inspired seers such as Tiresias have a surer claim on truth than do those who, like Oedipus, seek to gain knowledge through their (...) own efforts. Thus, the Oedipus can be seen as a defense of prophecy and a reaction against the complex of scientific and philosophical ideas known as “the 5th-century Enlightenment.” I offer some support for this reading of the Oedipus. I also argue that part of the cultural background of the Oedipus consisted of ideas about knowledge introduced into Greek thought by the outspoken critic of Greek popular religion, Xenophanes of Colophon. (shrink)

In this article, I argue for Sophocles’ dramatic use of γνώμη-language at the end of his Philoctetes. Through a thorough analysis of the phrase γνώμη … φίλων at l. 1467, I demonstrate how Sophocles drew on the contemporary resonances of γνώμη in Athenian legal contexts to make the play’s final scene rich and complex. In addition, the tension between the mortal and divine worlds, which is a recurrent theme in the play, is mirrored in the expression γνώμη … (...) φίλων, which is sandwiched between Μοῖρα and πανδαμάτωρ δαίμων at ll. 1466-1468. Both points add to our understanding of how the sense of closure is achieved at the end of the play. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Sophocles’ Trachiniae: Some ObservationsD. J. ConacherIn several ways Trachiniae seems almost a textbook of Sophoclean tragedy, so many elements of plot, theme, and even formal structure does it have in common with one or another (sometimes with several other) of the playwright’s works. The deceptive quality of oracles and prophecies, 1 the equally illusory nature of human happiness, the alternation between the familiar, even the domestic (insofar as (...) Greek tragedy can ever be “domestic”) and “the wild country”—the lonely, unknown, and sometimes feral areas of experience “out there”—, 2 even the curious, “diptych” structure of the play, involving the disappearance of a major tragic figure from the action: 3 all these features, so prominent in Trachiniae, are to be found in various other Sophoclean tragedies. Yet in all cases Sophocles uses what appear to be common features in different combinations and contexts to produce strikingly different tragic effects. It [End Page 21] should not surprise us, then, that Trachiniae, despite all these typically “Sophoclean” elements, 4 should turn out to be, if not the most baffling, at least among the most mysterious of his extant works.The key to the full appreciation and understanding of this tragedy lies, I think, in recognizing precisely how the poet interweaves these different elements of plot and theme to achieve, ultimately, a single tragic effect. Ironically, it is the constant alternation of human fortunes, apparent good fortune arising from ill and vice versa, which supplies the cohesive, “sequential” element to the plot. 5 Two essential thematic elements lie behind this alternation. One is the repeated misunderstanding of oracles and other prophetic utterances; the other is the repeated interaction between the protected, domestic sphere and the mysterious, natural (and sometimes magical) world, which threatens its existence. In the deployment of both these elements, the characterization of Deianira, the central figure though not the ultimate focus of this tragedy, is essential. It is through the gentle Deianira that Heracles is twice brought in contact with the savage “outside world” which leads ultimately to his undoing. Thus (as is usual in Sophocles) are the play’s prophecies fulfilled in unexpected and tragic ways. Thus, too, do the gods fulfill the destinies which they have planned through the unwitting cooperation of their pawns.Deianira sounds, as it were, the keynote of the play with her opening words in the Prologue:There is an ancient saying that one may not know the fate of any man, whether it be good or bad, until that man has died. But I, for my part, know, before I come to Hades’ house, that my lot is both grievous and unfortunate.(1–5) 6 [End Page 22]Deianira’s fear of life has begun (as she tells us in her Prologue account) in her maidenhood, with the courtship of the river-god Achelous. Here the three forms in which her monstrous suitor appears—first as a bull, then as a snake with shimmering coils, finally as a man with brow of ox and beard dripping with river’s springs—provide our introduction to the horrors of the untamed world. Heracles, a properly heroic suitor, appears to rescue her. It is significant, however, that the gentle heroine cannot bring herself to watch the struggle between the hero and Achelous, as she sits wrapped in terror lest her beauty should prove to be her bane (24–25). Thus, though threatened, Deianira remains untouched by—and ignorant of—the dangerous world outside.Deianira’s joy (18) at her rescue by Heracles is short-lived. As Heracles’ wife, and mother of his children, she is in constant fear for her absent husband (“each night dispelling last night’s terror with terror of its own,” 30–31) and these very fears are themselves fresh encounters, at one remove, with the savage world of Heracles’ labours. Her wandering husband, too (“like a tiller of a distant field, who sees it only when he sows and when he reaps,” 32–33), must himself seem like a visitor from a distant clime.The opening choral ode confirms the contrast between the world of the wandering Heracles and that of the waiting Deianira. Only the sun can tell... (shrink)

Sophocles' Philoctetes is deservedly a much-studied play, and only sparse gleanings seem likely to remain for those who seek to propose total novelties in interpreting it. Much of the time, in these notes, I am attempting to restate or remarshal arguments for well-known positions; even the arguments are often old; I can only hope the redeployment of some of them will occasionally seem to sharpen them. It will be obvious how much I am indebted to the editions by Campbell (...) and Jebb, and to recent interpretative studies by Linforth, Kitto, and Knox. Some old arguments I have probably recapitulated far too briefly, others I have perhaps reiterated at tedious length. My excuse for writing at all must perhaps be that the excellences of this play seem to be peculiarly in need of defence against critics who approach Greek tragedies with a conventional stereotype in mind, especially those who incline to think that Greek drama must in various ways have been undramatic. (shrink)

The object of this paper is twofold: in the first place, to expound afresh a passage of Greek tragedy which has been mauled by recent criticism; and, more particularly, by recognition of the light which it throws upon the development of the action, to vindicate the dramatic unity of the play.

In his Mann ohne Eigenschaften, Robert Musil has the character Clarisse comment on a debate between her husband, Walter, and Ulrich, the “man without qualities,” about the “impossible” relation between art and life. “‘Ich find das doch sehr wichtig,’ sagte sie, ‘daß in uns allen etwas Unmögliches ist. Es erklärt so vieles. Ich habe, wie ich zuhörte, den Eindruck gehabt, wenn man uns aufschneiden könnte, so würde unser ganzes Leben vielleicht wie ein Ring aussehen, bloß so rund um etwas.’ Sie (...) hatte schon vorher ihren Ehering abgezogen und guckte nur durch seine Öffnung gegen die belichtete Wand. ‘Ich meine, in seiner Mitte ist doch nichts, und doch sieht er genau so aus, als ob es ihm nur darauf ankäme.’” The English translation is even stronger: “There is nothing inside, and yet it looks as though that were precisely what matters most.” This essay interrogates this “nothing” that matters most in relation to the crown of royal authority, the “hollow crown,” as Richard II calls it in Shakespeare’s play. I further flesh out the matter and materiality of this bit of nothing in relation to the struggle between Creon and Antigone in Sophocles’ play about the foundations of royal authority. The queen in the former play and Antigone in the latter are presented as being too much sad, as manifesting a grief that pertains to this nothing, to an indeterminate loss they both “encyst” (upon) in their subjective stances. (shrink)