Ismene reports the struggle for sovereignty between her broth-ers and so announces the resurgence of the masculine grasp for patriarchal dominion that will ultimately destroy the possibil-ity of communpossibil-ity these three symbolically embody. Oedipus himself puts the point succinctly in response to Ismene when she relates that the boys well know the Delphic pronouncement that whosoever possesses the body of Oedipus will be protected.
Repeating his use of the Greek pothos — longing desire — Oedi-pus expresses disdainful anger, asking “do those evil ones, hear-ing this, / place khear-ingly authority above their longhear-ing desire for myself?”39 Enraged, Oedipus utters for the first of two times the curse upon his sons that will bring the destitution of his two beloved daughters: “May the gods then never extinguish their predestined strife…then neither will the one who now has the scepter / and throne remain, nor will the other who’s gone / ever return.”40 The long tutelage in cultivating the habits of compas-sion here shows itself incapable of suppressing the resurgence of rage that initiates the repetition of violence which sets the com-munity once again along a tragic path.
Yet the voice of Antigone stands against this compulsion to repeat the violence endemic to the logic of patriarchal domin-ion. Perhaps drawing strength from the courage of her sister, and perhaps too from the sacred grove of those goddesses who stand for the transformative efficacy of political persuasion, An-tigone valiantly seeks first to turn her father from his rage and then her brother from self-destruction.
When Oedipus refuses even to grant Polyneices a hearing, Antigone attempts to persuade her father not to impiously trade evil for evil. She counsels him to respect Polyneices and to
re-39 Ibid., OC, 418–19.
40 Ibid., OC, 421–27. Oedipus continues with the juxtaposition of his sons and daughters, insisting that while his sons drove him from the land by force and chose the scepter, throne and kinship over their father, his daughters gave him nurturance of life, security and the aid of kinship. See ibid., OC, 440–50. Cf. 1365–68.
flect upon the present situation from an intergenerational per-spective so these actions may be understood within the context of the wider history of troubles related to his own relationship to his parents. Oedipus allows himself to be convinced at least to give a hearing to his son. Words, it seems, have the power to bring him this far; but his old anger dies hard, and he is unable to rise above it, despite the wisdom of a daughter’s voice.41
The voice of a sister too proves incapable of moving the brother from the path of self-destruction. Upon the rearticula-tion of their father’s curse upon his sons, a curse indeed, that appeals explicitly to the ancient law of Justice which Polyneices himself rightly identifies with the Furies, Antigone seeks to use the persuasive power of words to intervene with him as Athena did with them.42 She enjoins him to turn his army back, won-dering what use it is to rage against one’s fatherland. And she articulates well how Polyneices’ response, caught up as it is in that destructive masculine logic of shame and honor, will itself bring about what Oedipus prophesied.43 The path of her own destruction is here set, for in a twisted reversal of values, Anti-gone’s own attentive concern for her brother, her willingness to be persuaded by him not to allow his body to be dishonored, is precisely what will bring about her own destitution in the final frame of the story, the tragedy that bears her name.
And yet, this drama, Oedipus at Colonus, does not end with the double failure of Antigone’s words. Rather, it builds again toward a more hopeful possibility, for if Antigone’s voice falls
41 Ibid., OC, 1181ff. Antigone seems to recognize the power of words to move people when she encourages Polyneices to continue to talk despite Oedi-pus’s silence: “Abundant words, which give delight / or show distress or stir up pity in some way, / sometimes impart a voice to those whose voice was mute” (1281–83, Blondell trans.)
42 Oedipus appeals to the ancient law of Justice at 1382 and Polyneices identi-fies his father with the Furies at 1434.
43 Sophocles, Sophoclis Fabulae, OC, 1414–46. The masculine logic of anger, shame and honor shows itself to be self-destructive three times over in the trilogy — Oedipus and Liaus: they would have killed me (546–48 — still the impoverished pros dikas ti but this certain justice is impoverished), the vio-lence of Polyneices, and then that of Creon in the Antigone.
upon the deaf ears of Oedipus and Polyneices, it is perhaps heard by Theseus, for he too was there when she offered coun-sel to her father and he shows himcoun-self compassionate and open to persuasion. Thus, it is perhaps decisive that Sophocles ends this story and Oedipus’s mortal life with a marriage ritual of sorts — a gesture toward the nuptial — whereby the touch of the father is bequeathed to Theseus, the King of Athena’s city. Upon hearing the thunder that calls him to his grave, Oedipus touches his daughters one final time. Folding them in his arms, he an-nounces his own death and seeks to comfort them, saying aloud what was said by touch before: “you have never been loved by anyone more / than this man here, of whom you will be de-prived / for the remainder of this life.”44 The messenger reports that they remained there, weeping together, holding one anoth-er; and when these lamentations of compassion grew silent, a voice called Oedipus to his death. Before he goes, however, he asks Theseus: “Dear friend, give to my girls / the ancient trust of your right hand, and daughters, yours to him,” as if this nuptial gesture of touching reciprocity might nurture once again a com-munity of compassion capable of undermining the compulsive repetition of patriarchal violence.
Here for a moment, the possibility of another politics shows itself, one determined neither by the compulsion to dominate nor by the self-defeating cycle of retribution. Rather, the reci-procity of this final touch points to a politics, difficult, but pos-sible, animated by a longing for connection rooted in a deep recognition of finite interdependence. Symbolically in the tragic poetry of Sophocles, this other politics grows between Oedipus and his daughters and lives for a moment at Colonus, nourished by the excellences they embody, before it is handed down as a legacy to Theseus so that his city, Athena’s city, might flourish.
44 Ibid., OC, 1617–19.