Founded January 1970
43.6667° N 70.2667° W
70 Falmouth Street Portland, Maine 04103
THE SOUTHWORTH PLANETARIUM
"Happy Australian Cartography Day!"
THE DAILY ASTRONOMER
July 13, 2016
Shadow of the Sphinx
Celestial mythology is not merely another name for Night Sky Mythology.
While both disciplines stand proudly by themselves, the latter is
simply a superficial sub-set of the former. Whereas Night Sky
Mythology is the shadow, Celestial Mythology is the casting body.
Hence, the differentiation between the regular mythology articles and
those labeled "The Celestial Mythologist."
It is not lightly that the DA decided to engage this aspect of
mythology, for one might insist that the DA is unequal to the task.
The first impediment is English, itself.
Yes, English finds itself at an exasperating disadvantage. For, it is
said by those familiar with many languages that the most exquisitely
crafted phrase of Churchill, Poe or Shelley cannot match the level of
eloquence of sound and expression attained by an Athenian ordering fish
for dinner. One can see that this disadvantage is double itself when
the practitioner is admittedly no Churchill. Through centuries of
language evolution, English -the jumbled assemblage of many tongues-
has, according to some, lost the natural woodwind harmonies of the fresh
old world phrases. As for this deficiency we cannot offer comment.
Another matter is one of knowing actual meanings. It is true that what
we have are merely translations of translations. Like documents
photocopied a few times over, these tales are perhaps shadows of
themselves by the time we started reading them. The subtle meanings and
complex nuances embedded in ancient verses have been painted different
shades, depriving us of the ability to comprehend the full richness and
delicate textures of Homer, et al. Thirdly, while celestial mythology
is now, like astronomy, itself, open to all those who care to know it,
few people might wish to. Celestial mythology is the opera of
astronomy: mythology in stark overstatement. Sentimentality, longing,
desire, rage, power, and life itself in clumps and gushes. It appeals
principally to those who construct palaces in cloud forms, see muses in
their lovers, demand all the vintage from the grapevine, and make a
thunderstorm of drama out of the gentlest zephyr. Celestial mythology
is the dying Catherine imploring the distraught Heathcliff to open the
window so we can feel for one last time the winter air of the moors they
explored together. Like the opera aria, celestial mythology might
draw a tear from one eye, while causing a dozen others to roll with
impatience.
These potential difficulties notwithstanding, we proceed to the
celestial mythology of the Sphinx. We're about to lose it in the
western sky this evening. It is known to most as the constellation
Leo the Lion, which has no association with the legend we're about to
discuss. A night sky mythologist would explain that Leo was placed
on the firmament by one of the gods, generally Hera, as a tribute for
its efforts to slay Heracles. The celestial mythologist is not as
concerned with why it is in the sky. The image of the Sphinx is like a
bat fluttering for a moment at a cavern entrance, attesting to a vast
society of drama lurking far with the unseen depths beyond it. Within
these "depths" is the tragic tale of Oedipus Rex. This tragedy has been
re-told many times, most notably in Sophocles' Theban trilogy. It is
the story of the ill-fated man who killed his father and married his
mother.
To explore this tragic destiny of Oedipus and his descendants we must
begin with his father, Laius.
While at the house of Pelops, Laius became enamored with his host’s
son Chrysippus and abducted him. He took him back to the home he shared
with his wife Jocasta and their infant son. Pelops eventually rescued
Chrysippus with the aid of the latter’s half-brothers, both of whom
would ultimately slay the comely youth out of fear that he was more
adored by their father than they. (They were correct in this
assumption.)
As a punishment for Chrysuppus’ abduction, Laius’ house was cursed.
A while after the youth was rescued, Laius learned of this curse from
an old sage, who advised him to consult the Delphic Oracle. The oracle
told Laius that his son would kill him and then marry his wife.
Horrified by this prophecy, Laius took the boy, then two years old, out
into the wilderness. He punctured the boy’s foot with a spike and
left him to die, thereby, in his mind, confounding the dreaded oracle.
We should take a moment to address a very awkward question that one
might want to ask at the moment. If Laius was so worried about this
oracle, why did he not simply kill the child? Merely abandoning him in
the wilds would seem to leave too much to chance. The answer is that
this was precisely the point. Exposing a child increases the
probability of his death, while not making it a certainty. One could
argue that both exposure and outright murder are equally atrocious, but
it wasn't with regards to the laws of the gods. Had Laius slaughtered
the little boy, his doom would have been inevitable, prophecy apart.
And he knew it. After all, his previous host Pelops was the son of the
dreaded Tantalus, a man so vicious that he killed the young Pelops and
served his meat to the gods. Knowing immediately the nature of the
food being presented to them, the gods immediately resurrected Pelops
and banished Tantalus to an eternity of thirst and starvation down in
Tartarus.
Thus, by exposing and leaving the child, Laius could try to stop the
prophecy without condemning his shade to everlasting torment.
Soon after Laius left the wounded boy, a shepherd happened upon him
crying alone in a field. This kind, merciful old man took the
miserable young child to his home. Realizing that he was too old and
poor to care for a child, the shepherd presented the boy to Polybus, the
childless king of Corinth. Polybus, who had always wanted a son,
gladly took the child as his own. At first, the boy hardly spoke and
couldn’t remember his name. Therefore, the king gave him the
nickname of “Oedipus,” meaning “swollen foot,” as his foot wound
was still fresh.
As he grew to maturity, Oedipus was told nothing of his origins. He
believed himself to be the child of Polybus and his wife Merope.*
Though Oedipus was strong and healthy, the foot wound often caused him
pain and occasionally required him to use a cane to walk. That
impediment notwithstanding, he was a vigorous man whom one could easily
taunt into a fury. Once, a bearded stranger proclaimed that Oedipus
was merely the “bastard son” of Polybus and therefore not a
legitimate heir to the throne. Oedipus thrashed this stranger soundly,
but found the taunt disturbing nevertheless. He secretly traveled to
the Delphic oracle to inquire as to his true father.
The oracle only spoke of the prophecy that Oedipus would kill his
father and marry his mother. It did not include the names. Like Laius
before him, Oedipus was horror struck. He fled the land without going
to see his parents, for he feared that this last visit might somehow
caused Polybus' death. He wasn’t sure where he would go, but knew
that he would never return to his home, for he loved Polybus and Merope
deeply and could not risk fulfilling the prophecy.
During his travels, Oedipus came upon a carriage train in a narrow
road. The carriage driver demanded that Oedipus stand aside to make way
for the caravan. When Oedipus, annoyed by the haughty driver’s
rudeness, refused to yield, the caravan tried to crush him under foot as
they passed. Suddenly enraged, Oedipus withdrew his sword and killed
almost all the members of the caravan. Only one servant escaped during
the melee. Laius, the king of Thebes and Oedipus’ father, had been
in the caravan. As his father lay dead on the road, Oedipus continued
his travels and came upon Thebes, itself.
Thebes was in a state of panic and despair. The surviving servant
returned to Thebes. The people learned that their king had been slain
by a strange traveler, but the servant, in his panic, did not look long
enough at the murderer to describe him. The king's murder compounded
the grief that Thebes was already experiencing due to the Sphinx
terrorizing their community. This Sphinx was a horrific winged
monster with a woman’s head and a lion’s body. The name
“Sphinx,” (also called “Plix”) means the “throttler.”
This creature was the daughter of Typhon, a hundred-headed
monstrosity born from the intercourse of Gaia and Tartarus. Some say
that the Sphinx was an emissary of Hera herself, who used the creature
to avenge the abduction of Chrysippus. Others insist that Apollo and
Dionysius cast her upon Thebes for their neglect of all proper rites.
Whatever the cause, the Sphinx plagued the Thebians. She would often
encounter a male citizen of Thebes and present him with the ancient
world’s most famous riddle:
“There is on Earth a two-footed, four-footed, and three-footed
thing under one and the same name – the only creature to change its
nature of all that go on land, through air, or in the sea; but the speed
of its limbs is weakest when it walks on all four.”
This riddle is often shortened to:
“What goes on four feet in the morning, two at noon and
three at night?”
The Sphinx preferred to choose strong men as her victims. If they
were unable to answer the riddle, these men were abducted, just as
Chrysippus had been, and eventually devoured. Many of Thebes’ young
men were killed in this manner. So desperate was Creon, brother of the
late king’s wife, Jocasta, to be rid of the Sphinx that he offered her
hand in marriage and the throne of Thebes to whoever could solve the
riddle.
Oedipus heard and quickly accepted the challenge. Unlike others who
were set upon by the Sphinx, Oedipus sought her out deliberately. He
found her sitting on her perch. At his request, the Sphinx repeated the
riddle, the whole time glaring down with both amusement and menace at
this audacious young man. When she had completed the riddle, Oedipus
replied at once, “Man.”
“Man, when a child, crawls on hands and knees. As he grows
older, he walks upon two legs. Later in life, age makes him weak and
his needs a cane. Four in the morning; two at noon; three in the
evening. Man is slowest and weakest in the morning, despite the
benefit of four feet.”
Despondent at finally hearing the correct answer, the Sphinx
leaped to her death. She never expected anybody to answer this riddle
correctly. What she didn’t realize was that Oedipus had an advantage
over the other young men. Unlike them, Oedipus sometimes had to use a
cane to walk due to his foot injury. The necessity of the cane
perhaps gave him an insight into the riddle that the others didn’t
have.
The Sphinx was dead. Oedipus was wed to Jocasta and became
the king of Thebes. The prophecy had been fulfilled. Examining this
story makes one understand why the gods allowed the oracle to be spoken
to the mortals involved within it. Had Laius not heard it, he would
not have injured his son’s foot before abandoning him. This was the
injury necessitating the cane that gave Oedipus the needed insight to
unravel the Sphinx’s riddle. Moreover, had Oedipus not heard the
oracle, he never would have fled in terror straight into his father’s
path and his mother’s kingdom.
The crafty Olympians knew what the mortals never realized: that the
fulfillment of the prophecy could only have been achieved through its
disclosure. The desperation of Laius and Oedipus to confound it was
instrumental in bringing it to fruition. One must wonder what would
have happened if either man had heard the oracle and were indifferent to
it.
Oedipus and his mother Jocasta bore two sons (Polynices and Eteocles)
and two daughters (Antigone and Ismene.) Their marriage was happy and
the kingdom flourished for many years. Only when Thebes was struck
with plague and famine was the peace replaced with fear and the
happiness with despair. An elderly sage informed the saddened Oedipus
that the plague was a punishment meted out by the gods for the king's
incestuous marriage once spoken of in a Delphic oracle . Oedipus
answered the sage by stating that the prophecy was not fulfilled, for
Polybus was still alive. The sage replied, "the prophecy was
fulfilled many years ago."
The sage was banished, but the one servant, now quite aged, who
survived the caravan slaughter spoke to Oedipus and explained what
happened, when and where. Oedipus realized to his horror that he had
killed the Theban king. It wasn't long before Oedipus and Jocasta
dsicovered that they were son and mother. In a fit of terror and
misery, Jocasta hanged herself. Oedipus blinded himself violently,
perhaps to rid himself of the visions of a mother made seductive.
Oedipus was sent away, far from Thebes and those he loved. Only his
elder daughter Antigone accompanied him in his banishment. It is only
now, at the conclusion of Oedipus' tragic life, that one finds a
compelling example of deep love between two people: a love made possible
by, and sustained despite of, the tragedy laid before us. Though
Oedipus was blinded, wretched, cursed and exiled, Antigone remained by
his side. She accompanied him to Colonus, where he would spend the
remainder of his life in a peace and comfort that he once thought he
would never know again.
Antigone and Oedipus were bound as both father and daughter, as well as
brother and sister. These bonds, each powerful enough, were further
strengthened by their ostracization: their exile from a community that
was once supporting, but ultimately turned disdainful. An illustration
that adversity is love's adhesive and false love's solvent. Delve
deeply into the shadow of the Sphinx and somewhere in the muddle of
intrigues, horrors, and tragedies, one finds two people who naturally
and platonically became what many lovers strive to be: soul mates.
*This is not the Pleiad Merope.