Open thy throat, O Muse! Pour forth thy golden voice! Let not thy honey-sweet tones be soured, even when they sing of such a man as Niccolo Machiavelli!
Many have read his famous work, The Prince, a small book detailing how Machiavelli thought an ideal ruler should lead and think, based on the past. Machiavelli, that serpent of lies who would be a match for the Great Serpent himself, hisses many words that can only shock anyone with decent feeling towards their fellow man. It boggles the brain that any man could be so devious, and yet sleep easily in the dark of the night, without the horrors of their thoughts haunting their dreams. But above and beyond, there is one chapter that raises my eyebrows, and turns my blood to water, to think that any man could be so devious. By this I speak of XVIII: The Way Princes Should Keep Their Word.
In this small collection of paper and ink, the serpent says that "...a prudent prince cannot and should not keep his word when to do so would go against his interest, or when the reasons that made him pledge it no longer apply. Doubtless if all men were good, this rule would be bad; but since they are a sad lot, and keep no faith with you, you in your turn are under no obligation to keep it with them" (page 48). Machiavelli is sadly cynical in his opinion of mankind, not unlike the future philosopher Thomas Hobbes. But even though this writer has her own cynical views of mankind, she does not like to think them at so fallen a state as that described by the serpent. I like to think there is at least some level of goodness and truth in humanity; though not to the extent of Pollyanna, thank the gods.
Just as outrageous, this cunning snake claims that for a prince to be a hypocrite is an acceptable, and even desirable, state of being. "It is good to appear merciful, truthful, humane, sincere, and religious; it is good to be so in reality. But you must keep your mind so disposed that, in case of need, you can turn to the exact contrary" (page 48). Oh, the travesty! Will it never end?! Sadly, if this time and age is anything to go by, no. In American society, when wishing to become president (the closest thing we have to prince), a man or woman tells the people whatever they want to hear, to encourage their votes and respect. And after the election, no sooner do they take the presidency than all their promises are thrown away like so much refuse, or else only the ones supporting whatever political party the president belongs to are carried out. They don't care to keep promises that do not suit them, and can lie as much as they feel necessary to get the vote. It's too much to hope that they all have read and been influenced by Machiavelli; it must be a sad part of the state of human nature.
The Muse is tired now. She has sung her last song. At least, for the time being.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Monday, November 11, 2013
Reading: why do it?
I sing of my reasons to read.
1. Tales and legends entertain me. They provide joy in my life, because I can learn bits of trivia, read epic adventures, laugh at amusing events, or be surprised by plot twists. I need to read like the average person needs to breathe. Without books, I would become a shadow of myself, and wither like a dead mouse by the highway, though with less parasites eating the remains of my flesh.
2. Reading stories gives me ideas for my own writing. I am a writer; it's in my blood and sinews that I must write to survive. Even though I have plenty of my own ideas, reading the work of others sometimes inspires me about characters, or plot points (though I try not to plagiarize).
3. I read to learn. Often this is because someone else, such as a teacher, wants me to, but I also sometimes do it because I want to learn something. Books are great sources of information, not all of it beneficial. Regardless, reading will teach you, if you allow it.
In Canto V of Dante's Inferno, Paolo and Francesca were reading the story of Lancelot to pass the time. Unfortunately, as they read they were suddenly overtaken by passion, and began having an affair, because Francesca was already married, to Paolo's brother, no less. It makes sense to me that the material they'd been reading would affect them this way, if the Lancelot to whom they refer is the same as the one I know of.
The Lancelot I know is part of the adventures of King Arthur. Lancelot fell in love with Guinevere, the queen of England (and Arthur's wife), and she returned his affections. Their love led to loss of control, and their affair led to the downfall of Arthur, and destruction of the dream he'd been trying so hard to accomplish.
The two lovers Dante meets may have only been reading to pass the time, but what they were reading affected how they passed the rest of their time. What we read affects what we get out of it, because authors have the ability to manipulate us. Their language and words affect our feelings toward certain characters, and make us react towards events differently. Sometimes we can start out feeling one way during the book, but by the end, we might feel something completely different. How we feel at the beginning is not always set in stone, because what we get out of the reading may change as time goes by.
The ideas about reasons for reading are quite relative. I don't think there's any really correct motive for reading, but there are some incorrect ones. Reading to be spiteful, or because you want to plan revenge on someone and are seeing how best to go about it, would not be a good reason. On the other hand, my three reasons for reading are probably quite appropriate (and not the only available reasons).
This wasn't exactly a song; it was more of a lecture. If I invoked any muse, it was far different than the usual. Maybe it was Calliope, or Klio.
1. Tales and legends entertain me. They provide joy in my life, because I can learn bits of trivia, read epic adventures, laugh at amusing events, or be surprised by plot twists. I need to read like the average person needs to breathe. Without books, I would become a shadow of myself, and wither like a dead mouse by the highway, though with less parasites eating the remains of my flesh.
2. Reading stories gives me ideas for my own writing. I am a writer; it's in my blood and sinews that I must write to survive. Even though I have plenty of my own ideas, reading the work of others sometimes inspires me about characters, or plot points (though I try not to plagiarize).
3. I read to learn. Often this is because someone else, such as a teacher, wants me to, but I also sometimes do it because I want to learn something. Books are great sources of information, not all of it beneficial. Regardless, reading will teach you, if you allow it.
In Canto V of Dante's Inferno, Paolo and Francesca were reading the story of Lancelot to pass the time. Unfortunately, as they read they were suddenly overtaken by passion, and began having an affair, because Francesca was already married, to Paolo's brother, no less. It makes sense to me that the material they'd been reading would affect them this way, if the Lancelot to whom they refer is the same as the one I know of.
The Lancelot I know is part of the adventures of King Arthur. Lancelot fell in love with Guinevere, the queen of England (and Arthur's wife), and she returned his affections. Their love led to loss of control, and their affair led to the downfall of Arthur, and destruction of the dream he'd been trying so hard to accomplish.
The two lovers Dante meets may have only been reading to pass the time, but what they were reading affected how they passed the rest of their time. What we read affects what we get out of it, because authors have the ability to manipulate us. Their language and words affect our feelings toward certain characters, and make us react towards events differently. Sometimes we can start out feeling one way during the book, but by the end, we might feel something completely different. How we feel at the beginning is not always set in stone, because what we get out of the reading may change as time goes by.
The ideas about reasons for reading are quite relative. I don't think there's any really correct motive for reading, but there are some incorrect ones. Reading to be spiteful, or because you want to plan revenge on someone and are seeing how best to go about it, would not be a good reason. On the other hand, my three reasons for reading are probably quite appropriate (and not the only available reasons).
This wasn't exactly a song; it was more of a lecture. If I invoked any muse, it was far different than the usual. Maybe it was Calliope, or Klio.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Rome's Problems
Please sing again, O Muse! This time, we sing of the perils of imperial Rome, and how they are like our own.
Like America, Rome had a drop in morality in marriage, with people succumbing to unhealthy appetites: "...there is nothing sacred to his lusts: not the matron of the family, nor the maiden daughter, not the as yet unbearded son-in-law to be, not even the as yet unpolluted son; if none of these be there, he will debauch his friend's grandmother" (Juvenal 109-111). I wish I could feel this were a mere exaggeration, but I fear it's all too true in both this generation and that. It sickens the heart to see the people sink so low that they can't control their passions.
There were many Romans who lived in poverty, and whose pleas for help fell on deaf ears: "Of all the woes of luckless poverty none is harder to endure than this, that it exposes men to ridicule" (Juvenal 148-149). Despite their many needs, those whose duty it was to help them did nothing in their defense.
Men poisoned themselves with drink just as willingly then as they do now: "Your drunken bully who has by chance not slain his man passes a night of torture...hot with wine and young blood" (Juvenal 278-280). Theft was another fear of man, not to mention murder. "When your house is shut, when bar and chain have made fast your shop, and all is silent, you will be robbed by a burglar; or perhaps a cut-throat will do for you quickly with cold steel" (Juvenal 302-304). O that we could live in the Golden Age, when locks and thefts did not yet exist, and all was young and innocent! Before the gods decided in their wrath to punish us with Pandora, and her jar of evil.
Before Augustus, there is mention of political corruption in the form of competition, lies, and even murder, as in the death of Julius Caesar. "...a group of patrician senators, fearing Caesar's popularity, conspired against him. Suetonius tells us that they stabbed Caesar 23 times on the steps of the Theater of Pompey..." (Augustus page 1). Though things are not quite as violent as that now, there is still plenty of metaphorical stabbing, both in the back and in the front. Even when great Augustus became princeps, ushering in an era of peace, he began by hunting down and murdering the conspirators against Caesar, going to war with Cleopatra, and murdering the son of that queen and Caesar, to avoid the competition (Augustus pages 2-3). Cruel and fierce Augustus was ruthless in his conquest.
The problems Rome did not have, to my knowledge, are with paranoia, and litter. In their day, Rome was the supreme power of the world; what did they have to fear from other countries? None could stand against the might of the Roman Empire, save the Gaulish people of a small village by the sea (Asterix comics, by Rene Goscinny and illustrated by Albert Uderzo). There was less need for paranoia in their time. As for litter, there is no apparent mention of it; besides, the Romans were very hygienic for their era. They created their own sewer system, and believed in bathing regularly. Besides, they didn't have aluminum, plastic, or many of the materials we have today that can be used to clutter the beaches. I'm sure back then, the oceans were more blue, and the forests far more plentiful.
And once again, the Muse's song ends, as she leaves on her dainty feet to acquire some throat spray.
Like America, Rome had a drop in morality in marriage, with people succumbing to unhealthy appetites: "...there is nothing sacred to his lusts: not the matron of the family, nor the maiden daughter, not the as yet unbearded son-in-law to be, not even the as yet unpolluted son; if none of these be there, he will debauch his friend's grandmother" (Juvenal 109-111). I wish I could feel this were a mere exaggeration, but I fear it's all too true in both this generation and that. It sickens the heart to see the people sink so low that they can't control their passions.
There were many Romans who lived in poverty, and whose pleas for help fell on deaf ears: "Of all the woes of luckless poverty none is harder to endure than this, that it exposes men to ridicule" (Juvenal 148-149). Despite their many needs, those whose duty it was to help them did nothing in their defense.
Men poisoned themselves with drink just as willingly then as they do now: "Your drunken bully who has by chance not slain his man passes a night of torture...hot with wine and young blood" (Juvenal 278-280). Theft was another fear of man, not to mention murder. "When your house is shut, when bar and chain have made fast your shop, and all is silent, you will be robbed by a burglar; or perhaps a cut-throat will do for you quickly with cold steel" (Juvenal 302-304). O that we could live in the Golden Age, when locks and thefts did not yet exist, and all was young and innocent! Before the gods decided in their wrath to punish us with Pandora, and her jar of evil.
Before Augustus, there is mention of political corruption in the form of competition, lies, and even murder, as in the death of Julius Caesar. "...a group of patrician senators, fearing Caesar's popularity, conspired against him. Suetonius tells us that they stabbed Caesar 23 times on the steps of the Theater of Pompey..." (Augustus page 1). Though things are not quite as violent as that now, there is still plenty of metaphorical stabbing, both in the back and in the front. Even when great Augustus became princeps, ushering in an era of peace, he began by hunting down and murdering the conspirators against Caesar, going to war with Cleopatra, and murdering the son of that queen and Caesar, to avoid the competition (Augustus pages 2-3). Cruel and fierce Augustus was ruthless in his conquest.
The problems Rome did not have, to my knowledge, are with paranoia, and litter. In their day, Rome was the supreme power of the world; what did they have to fear from other countries? None could stand against the might of the Roman Empire, save the Gaulish people of a small village by the sea (Asterix comics, by Rene Goscinny and illustrated by Albert Uderzo). There was less need for paranoia in their time. As for litter, there is no apparent mention of it; besides, the Romans were very hygienic for their era. They created their own sewer system, and believed in bathing regularly. Besides, they didn't have aluminum, plastic, or many of the materials we have today that can be used to clutter the beaches. I'm sure back then, the oceans were more blue, and the forests far more plentiful.
And once again, the Muse's song ends, as she leaves on her dainty feet to acquire some throat spray.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
America's Problems
Open thy throat, O Muse! Let thy honey-sweet words pour forth, to enliven the eyes of our audience of the terrors that plague our country in this day and time!
First, I sing of a drop in moral scruples in the family. I sing of children in the streets, fighting like jackals over a carcass, just to survive. I sing of the broken household, the man who hurts the wife, the wife who hurts the husband, the man and woman who live like husband and wife, and the children who have to live in these places. Worst of all, I sing of our government who sees this suffering, and does nothing.
Next I sing of money. Never enough for those who need it, and those who have it spend it like sailors just in port. Those who would guard our society themselves, our government, are little better; hast thou heard of the national debt? Like a spider who gluts itself on countless flies, it continues to grow and grow, and we become more and more in debt.
Our country has become more paranoid and violent. One can hardly turn around without hearing some news about a bomb threat, or a shooting at a school, or political corruption. Gone are the days when Americans could board a plane, or walk the streets at night, or even ask for directions to such-and-such a place without fear. All is now chaos and panic.
America has stopped caring about itself. Trash litters the streets and gutters, like the bones of men in the cave of the Cyclops. On the beach, you find pieces of glass, old cans, and other things that hurt people and animals. Trees are chopped down without care for the environment. The earth cries out in pain, but our ears are deafened by our ear buds, phones, and television sets.
Lastly, I sing of lies. Lies we tell ourselves, and others. Thefts that often go unchecked, and people who willingly poison themselves for pleasure. Poisons of the body and mind, that eventually poison the soul. They enter the lungs, the throat, the veins, and/or the optic nerves. Many try to fight these poisons, but it's as if they are fighting a giant hydra: for every person they can save, two more turn up. It's a never-ending battle for the souls of man.
If thou find this Muse's song to be preachy, I apologize. I thank thee for thy time.
First, I sing of a drop in moral scruples in the family. I sing of children in the streets, fighting like jackals over a carcass, just to survive. I sing of the broken household, the man who hurts the wife, the wife who hurts the husband, the man and woman who live like husband and wife, and the children who have to live in these places. Worst of all, I sing of our government who sees this suffering, and does nothing.
Next I sing of money. Never enough for those who need it, and those who have it spend it like sailors just in port. Those who would guard our society themselves, our government, are little better; hast thou heard of the national debt? Like a spider who gluts itself on countless flies, it continues to grow and grow, and we become more and more in debt.
Our country has become more paranoid and violent. One can hardly turn around without hearing some news about a bomb threat, or a shooting at a school, or political corruption. Gone are the days when Americans could board a plane, or walk the streets at night, or even ask for directions to such-and-such a place without fear. All is now chaos and panic.
America has stopped caring about itself. Trash litters the streets and gutters, like the bones of men in the cave of the Cyclops. On the beach, you find pieces of glass, old cans, and other things that hurt people and animals. Trees are chopped down without care for the environment. The earth cries out in pain, but our ears are deafened by our ear buds, phones, and television sets.
Lastly, I sing of lies. Lies we tell ourselves, and others. Thefts that often go unchecked, and people who willingly poison themselves for pleasure. Poisons of the body and mind, that eventually poison the soul. They enter the lungs, the throat, the veins, and/or the optic nerves. Many try to fight these poisons, but it's as if they are fighting a giant hydra: for every person they can save, two more turn up. It's a never-ending battle for the souls of man.
If thou find this Muse's song to be preachy, I apologize. I thank thee for thy time.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Our Golden Age
Friends, Americans, classmates, lend me your eyes! I come, with the aid of the Muse, to sing of things that were. I sing of a Golden Age, of peace and prosperity for all.
In the Golden Age, war is a thing of the past; at least, even if you are obliged to conquer others, at least nobody dares attack you. There is plenty meat and drink for everyone, and the problems of war have been solved by a divine ruler. This ruler and all his (for sake of convenience, the Muse suggests I use the male pronoun) line are without question the sole heirs to the position; he is without rivals, and to whom the people are unquestioningly loyal. Though with a great deal of power, the ruler is a fair person, understanding the benefits of justice. He makes the punishment fit the crime, but can afford the luxury of mercy.
Romans praised Caesar Augustus's reign as a Golden Age. Having found peace in him, after the civil wars of Julius Caesar ended, the populus Romanus swore to follow him in all he did, finally united in their self-interests. Augustus took great pains to glorify himself, but also to create the pax romana, so that the country of Rome was at the "zenith" of empire. The empire had grown, and with Augustus as first citizen, became rich beyond its dreams. The sculptures began to express ideals more than truths, to glorify Augustus, and give the people someone to look up to. Seeing someone strong and capable, with a good countenance and images of the gods on his armor, inspired the populace.
Augustus used whoever he could to improve his image: Horace and Vergil wrote for him (see the Carmen Saeculare and Aeneid), sculptors redesigned him (Augustus of the Prima Porta and The Portland Vase), and architects created obelisks and buildings that idolized him (Ara Pacis, Augustan Forum, Basilica Julia, Curia Julia, and the horologium).
There are few other countries who can claim such a similar level of peace. The only ages comparable, to my mind, include the beginning of time, when Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, living the age of innocence. Or perhaps, just after the Garden, when they were beginning to raise their family. Back then, there was peace, and learning to survive. They were so busy with these activities, they had no time for fighting.
America in the 1950's and early '60s at least pretended to be a Golden Age: the days of Camelot and John F. Kennedy, when the men were the breadwinners, the women the homemakers, and every house had a white picket fence, at least two children and a dog. There was an appearance of perfection and happiness, though there could be many skeletons lurking in the closets. Similarly to Augustus's time, the people pretended everything was perfect, despite the problems and imperfections they hid. Also similarly, America was very prosperous, compared to most of the rest of the world.
America is still prosperous, but we are definitely not in a Golden Age. There's war, recession, hostility towards our leaders and general contention every time we turn around. We can only work and wish to gain that ideal era. The Muse has finished her song again; though this time, there was less beauty in her words. I apologize.
In the Golden Age, war is a thing of the past; at least, even if you are obliged to conquer others, at least nobody dares attack you. There is plenty meat and drink for everyone, and the problems of war have been solved by a divine ruler. This ruler and all his (for sake of convenience, the Muse suggests I use the male pronoun) line are without question the sole heirs to the position; he is without rivals, and to whom the people are unquestioningly loyal. Though with a great deal of power, the ruler is a fair person, understanding the benefits of justice. He makes the punishment fit the crime, but can afford the luxury of mercy.
Romans praised Caesar Augustus's reign as a Golden Age. Having found peace in him, after the civil wars of Julius Caesar ended, the populus Romanus swore to follow him in all he did, finally united in their self-interests. Augustus took great pains to glorify himself, but also to create the pax romana, so that the country of Rome was at the "zenith" of empire. The empire had grown, and with Augustus as first citizen, became rich beyond its dreams. The sculptures began to express ideals more than truths, to glorify Augustus, and give the people someone to look up to. Seeing someone strong and capable, with a good countenance and images of the gods on his armor, inspired the populace.
Augustus used whoever he could to improve his image: Horace and Vergil wrote for him (see the Carmen Saeculare and Aeneid), sculptors redesigned him (Augustus of the Prima Porta and The Portland Vase), and architects created obelisks and buildings that idolized him (Ara Pacis, Augustan Forum, Basilica Julia, Curia Julia, and the horologium).
There are few other countries who can claim such a similar level of peace. The only ages comparable, to my mind, include the beginning of time, when Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, living the age of innocence. Or perhaps, just after the Garden, when they were beginning to raise their family. Back then, there was peace, and learning to survive. They were so busy with these activities, they had no time for fighting.
America in the 1950's and early '60s at least pretended to be a Golden Age: the days of Camelot and John F. Kennedy, when the men were the breadwinners, the women the homemakers, and every house had a white picket fence, at least two children and a dog. There was an appearance of perfection and happiness, though there could be many skeletons lurking in the closets. Similarly to Augustus's time, the people pretended everything was perfect, despite the problems and imperfections they hid. Also similarly, America was very prosperous, compared to most of the rest of the world.
America is still prosperous, but we are definitely not in a Golden Age. There's war, recession, hostility towards our leaders and general contention every time we turn around. We can only work and wish to gain that ideal era. The Muse has finished her song again; though this time, there was less beauty in her words. I apologize.
Monday, September 23, 2013
The Man who Loved his Mother, part 2
Readers, young sons and daughters of Brigham Young University, why do you read this humble blog? But I perceive it is to understand the tragedy that is Oedipus, and the writing style of the immortal Sophocles. The play is heavy with comparisons and contrasts, with light, sight, dark and blindness all juxtaposed against each other.
Oedipus begins with both eyes open, able to see as well as you or I. He thinks himself to be knowledgeable and wise, and in many ways, he is. Yet he is blind to the secrets and hidden truths that are causing his people to suffer, because of his great (as yet unknown) sins. This is also seen in his choice of dress; when first our eyes light open Oedipus, he wears colorful clothes, as befit a king. When his eyes are opened to the truth of his heritage, and then closed forever, he wears only a plain white robe, having all the dark colorful secrets stripped away like the skin of a calf ready to roast. These symbolize his sudden transformation from a colorful, blissful ignorance, to the cruel white truths he is forced to face. Now that his eyes are no longer distracted by outside images, he can see his crimes, though it cuts to the heart for him to know.
The prophet Teiresias, on the opposing hand, is constantly blind. He sees naught but the blackness of his mind, but with the blessing of the gods, he knows the truths that are hidden from most men. He knows Oedipus's great folly, and try to keep it from him as he might (to prevent the black tragedy that will occur), he reveals all. Oedipus, still with eyes in a light that blinds him to the light of knowledge, can not at first believe his prophecies. He thinks instead that they are a blind of their own, in a plot of treason to remove him from the throne, replacing him with Creon, his brother-in-law and uncle. Ironically, Creon does become king, though it was not his intention, after Oedipus becomes as blind as the prophet, and decides to leave Thebes for the good of all.
The one flaw in my theorizing is that Teiresias dresses in darkness, even though his eyes have been opened to secrets of the world. I cannot use the same allegory with him as with Oedipus. Regardless, the main theme of blindness yet seeing still stands. The man in darkness can see the light, while the man in light only sees the inner light for a short time, before he hides in darkness.
You that live in ancestral BYU, behold Oedipus, and pity him. See how his new understanding broke his heart and family, and the cruel light of truth robbed him of his wife, his sight and his throne. And once again, the Muse ends her song.
Oedipus begins with both eyes open, able to see as well as you or I. He thinks himself to be knowledgeable and wise, and in many ways, he is. Yet he is blind to the secrets and hidden truths that are causing his people to suffer, because of his great (as yet unknown) sins. This is also seen in his choice of dress; when first our eyes light open Oedipus, he wears colorful clothes, as befit a king. When his eyes are opened to the truth of his heritage, and then closed forever, he wears only a plain white robe, having all the dark colorful secrets stripped away like the skin of a calf ready to roast. These symbolize his sudden transformation from a colorful, blissful ignorance, to the cruel white truths he is forced to face. Now that his eyes are no longer distracted by outside images, he can see his crimes, though it cuts to the heart for him to know.
The prophet Teiresias, on the opposing hand, is constantly blind. He sees naught but the blackness of his mind, but with the blessing of the gods, he knows the truths that are hidden from most men. He knows Oedipus's great folly, and try to keep it from him as he might (to prevent the black tragedy that will occur), he reveals all. Oedipus, still with eyes in a light that blinds him to the light of knowledge, can not at first believe his prophecies. He thinks instead that they are a blind of their own, in a plot of treason to remove him from the throne, replacing him with Creon, his brother-in-law and uncle. Ironically, Creon does become king, though it was not his intention, after Oedipus becomes as blind as the prophet, and decides to leave Thebes for the good of all.
The one flaw in my theorizing is that Teiresias dresses in darkness, even though his eyes have been opened to secrets of the world. I cannot use the same allegory with him as with Oedipus. Regardless, the main theme of blindness yet seeing still stands. The man in darkness can see the light, while the man in light only sees the inner light for a short time, before he hides in darkness.
You that live in ancestral BYU, behold Oedipus, and pity him. See how his new understanding broke his heart and family, and the cruel light of truth robbed him of his wife, his sight and his throne. And once again, the Muse ends her song.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
The Man who Loved his Mother
Sing, O Muse, of Oedipus, king of Thebes! The great ruler who did defeat the mighty Sphinx, using his golden voice and brain (the latter sharp as the tip of a dragon's fang) rather than fist or sword! Sing of his brave attempt to escape his fate; at birth, it was announced he would be the slayer of his father and the future husband of his mother! Oedipus did all within his power to escape this fate, but the wills of the gods cannot be denied!
Sing of his hamartia, or missing of the mark! Weep for the unwise decisions made by one renowned for his wisdom! For lo, when Oedipus did go to the oracle to hear its destiny, and learned the horrible fate the gods had in store, he fled, in hopes of preventing it (pg 145). Weep for that simple crossroads where he chanced to meet an aged king and entourage-unbeknownst to him, none other than Laius, his own true parent! For in a struggle to pass each other, Oedipus allowed his rage to overcome his natural good sense, like Achilles at Troy, or a hungry wolf who chases a particularly plump sheep into a pasture where the shepherd waits, too starved to see the danger! He slew all but one, that one later being the instrument of his downfall (pgs 145-146)!
Oh, Oedipus, foolish Oedipus! You did not see that the woman Jocasta, more advanced in age than thee, was your own mother, and entered into sin with her! Your children, also your siblings, now bear your curse (pg 174)!
Sing, O Muse, of the plague that struck Thebes to punish this travesty (pg 112)! Sing of Oedipus's great struggle to find the one responsible, not knowing it was he himself! He gathered information bit by bit, as a bird gathers twigs for a nest, but didn't see that the perch he craved would soon come crashing down under the weight of his facts!
Sing of his anger, and his lack of foresight! Because of his rage, his father died by his hand! Because he could not see the truth until too late, he realized past time that he had brought a plague on Thebes, and had to flee, a blind and miserable man! Pity Oedipus, who had long to travel before he found peace at last, far from either of the lands he called home!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)