A Portrait of Stephen Dedalus

Through James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Stephen Dedalus struggles to overcome social and religious preconceptions of his life's purpose in order to discover his true identity. He must learn to escape, not only social expectations and regulations, but, his own prim and proper, reserved mindset. For when he frees himself of these shackles, these self-made and socially implied confinements, he is able to embrace his own talents and express his true self fully.

As a child, Stephen is overly cautious to speak his mind. Which, for most children is not uncommon. Be it shyness or embarrassment, many children are frightened of giving their true opinion. But Stephen is different. He is not afraid to give an answer, he's afraid to be wrong. Afraid of judgment. Of looking foolish in front of others. The other children mock him for this; to which Joyce reflects, “He felt his whole body hot and confused in a moment. What was the right answer to the question? He had given two and still Wells laughed. But Wells must know the right answer” (Joyce 8). Stephen yearns for a concrete answer. Something to tell him whether he is right. Or wrong. Like Catholicism. There is a distinct definition of sin. Of the afterlife. Of Heaven. Or Damnation. And he wants the same clarity in his life. But when there is no correct answer, he's disgruntled. Irked by truth. And as Stephen matures, he realizes that there is not a concrete answer for everything. Like his urges, his passions and desires. Stephen begins to notice his uniqueness and singularity. “He saw clearly, too, his own futile isolation. He had not gone one step nearer the lives he had sought to approach nor bridged the restless shame and rancour that had divided him from mother and brother and sister… He turned to appease the fierce longings of his heart before which everything else was idle and alien” (87). Not even his family understands him, instead they instill shame and rancour and isolate Stephen further. And according to his Catholic teachings, he must suppress his urges. He is supposed to be Pure, Virginal and act in the image of God. But the temptation is too great; he frequents the brothels in his town, in full recognition of his sin. And it eats at him. By acting upon his natural, inherent sexuality and emotions, he betrays the church. By thinking freely, contemplating the existence of a God and God's purpose, he opposes all of his prior teachings. And it's as if he fails himself--as if he fails to meet his expectation of who he should be. And in his mind, he is a man of God. He feels he must confess his sins and reaffirm his faith. He likes the boundaries. Or he thinks he does. 

As Stephen contemplates his becoming a priest, he realizes that his life, his idealized image of who he should be, cannot be fulfilled under oppressive Catholic statutes: “Then he wondered at the vagueness of his wonder, at the remoteness of his own soul from what he had hitherto imagined her sanctuary, at the frail hold which so many years of order and obedience had of him when once a definite and irrevocable act of his threatened to end for ever, in time and eternity, his freedom” (141). As he comes to this realization, he recognizes the limits he has placed upon himself. He asks himself, “Could it be that he, Stephen Dedalus, had done these things? … The leprous company of his sins closed about him, breathing upon him, bending over him from all sides” (121). Although he asks this before his realization of his incompatibility with Catholicism, it's as if this thought sparks the initial doubt in his future as a priest. He asks almost in awe, "Could it be that he, Stephen Dedalus, had done these things?" It's as if his idealized conception of who he should be collides with the reality of his sins. The realization of his sin in combination with his Catholic up-bringing produces an immense moral burden for Stephen, "the leprous company of his sins." In order to allow himself to progress both mentally and spiritually, Stephen must  escape the crushing guilt, "breathing upon him, bending over him from all sides." The Catholic interpretation of the Bible is fairly concrete. Their answers to life's mysteries are black and white--there is no grey area. Sin is sin. Profane is profane. And God's will is almighty. But Stephen has blurred the lines between what he thinks is acceptable versus what the church believes. 

His divergent thinking leads him to discover his true future, his purpose in life. To create. He pursues beauty and esthetics, surrounds himself in light. He becomes the artist--the poet. He explains, “ ‘Art... is the human disposition of sensible or intelligible matter for an esthetic end,’ ” and later reflects in his writing, “Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race” (186)(229). He no longer wants such stern definition between right and wrong. Instead he wants to experience life and the wonders of the world. He wants to experience the people. Their struggles, their stories. He wants to understand, not to judge.

On a Scale of Black to White, Where Does "Invisible" Lie?

Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man follows the journey of a young African American man, as he struggles to define his identity and societal role. His journey is long. Arduous. But he is strong. His drive to overcome adversity and exceed all other's expectations, allows him to excel; however, his personal expectations are not self-defined. The narrator is heavily influenced by white society and their expectations. Not his own. 

At first it seems the narrator, more than anything, seeks to please the white men. Even when they degrade him, make him subhuman. Even when they strip him half naked, blindfold him and force him to fight other terrified young men. Even when they electrocute him. He wants to prove that he is better. That he is strong enough to be a member of white society. That he can be equal. But they won't acknowledge this, and he won't realize it. The Battle Royale scene is the first glimpse, as seen by the reader, of the brutality the narrator must face. He wants these powerful white men to like him, to recognize his value. But he can only handle their disrespect for so long. They think he's a joke. And when he gives a speech about the African American duty to be humble, submissive members of society, they harass him. He is no more than another angry black boy to them.  They turn his speech into a mockery. And his mask slips, but only for a moment. He preaches, "social equality" instead of "social responsibility." Which catches the white men's attention, but only for a moment. Without hesitation, he corrects his indiscretion. And rewires himself back to his obedient, passive, invisible self. He believes that in order to succeed--in order to better his race--he must give the white men exactly what they want. So if they want a fighter, he'll be a fighter. If they want a poor boy scrambling for money, he'll grapple for every last penny. If they want him to go to school, he'll go to school. And with this constant pressure to be what someone else wants him to be, he loses his individuality. He becomes the stereotypical black boy trying to work his way up the ladder, and perhaps that's what he wants to be. Successful, just like the white men.

He creates this image of himself and mentally cannot move past it; it seems that, subconsciously, he wants to escape his race. His entire motivation, up to this point, is to create a life as a white man. He doesn't say this directly, but he's hypercritical of black society and disregards the injustices to African Americans and makes them seem somewhat justified. Like when he visits Trueblood's cabin. He, and society, shun Trueblood because he is an incestuous rapist, but the color of his skin makes his name unspeakable in "civilized"--white--society. And this simply encourages the narrator's detestation for the low-class, uneducated black community. Even after he's expelled, he attempts to remain socially "above" African American culture.But in the back of his mind, he knows that this facade does not suit him. He goes to college, but gets expelled and (unwillingly) moves to New York. And here marks the end of his past identity. He attempts to maintain his studious, hard-working masquerade, but his aspirations are crushed by sabotage. Dr. Bledsoe sends him to New York for work, instructing him to deliver letters to several of his business connections. Little does the narrator know, Bledsoe damns him in these letters. Here ends his magnificent, mystical perspective of Bledsoe and "upper-class" black society. His aspiration to work under Bledsoe at the school: over. His future: over. He attempts to work, but ends up in electro-shock therapy. He failed.

He is invisible.

He has become part of the unnamed masses of African Americans that suffer below white society and he first realizes it--truly realizes it-- while in Liberty Paint's employee hospital and electricity courses through his body with excruciating precision. This is a turn. He claims, "I [want] freedom, not destruction. It was exhausting, for no matter what the scheme I conceived, there was one constant flaw--myself" (Ellison 243). He finally realizes that he cannot achieve his idealized goals if he continues living in this charade he has created. He cannot continue trying to live a white man's life; he cannot continue rejecting his heritage. And when Mary takes him in and nurses him back to health and allows him to live with her, he realizes the absurdity of his past perspective. He previously judged black folk like Mary, but now he sees that his judgments are equally as inaccurate as those produced by white men. He learns to relate to common man, or in this case woman. She took him in and nursed him back to health without even knowing him, and out of common decency she allows him to live with her. Even when he can't pay his rent. And this transforms the narrator. He, for the first time, truly connects with another person on a deeper level. He realizes Mary's sacrifices and wants to alleviate others of similar burdens. The narrator asks himself, "What and how much had I lost by trying to do only what was expected of me instead of what I myself had wished to do? ...What of those things which you actually didn't like, not because you were not supposed to like them, not because to dislike them was considered a mark of refinement and education--but because you actually found them distasteful? ...I had accepted the accepted attitudes and it had made life seem simple" (266). And as he watches an elderly African American couple lose their home, their possessions strewn on the sidewalk, he makes a stand. He feels the speech within him, building. And he stands before the crowd and persuades them into action, perhaps unintentionally. He is strong and powerful and his speeches almost overcome his very being. And his words move the crowd. They feel his emotion. More than feel, even. They become his emotion. And the Brotherhood takes notice.

Brother Jack is the catalyst which causes the narrator to truly become invisible. He cajoles the narrator into joining their cause. So he abandons Mary and basically destroys all trace of his previous self. But little does the narrator know, the Brotherhood merely wants to manipulate his speech-making skills in order to gain followers. The narrator makes speeches because they are what he feels. Because there are real problems and injustices in the world and people need to understand their consequences. But the Brotherhood sees him as too unpredictable. Too wild. Undisciplined. Free. They force him to learn how to make speeches in a proper way. Their way. And when Brother Clifton is shot down, he regains his passion, his purpose. They march after Clifton's death and the narrator speaks before the crowd, preaching, "Just look around you. Look at what he made, look inside you and feel his awful power.... When he was alive he was our hope, but why worry over a hope that's dead? ...His name was Tod Clifton, he believed in Brotherhood, he aroused our hopes and he died" (457). But the Brotherhood did not approve of his actions or his speech because they believe Clifton to be a traitor. This marks the beginning of the end of the narrator's association with the Brotherhood. When he visits Brother Hambro and discovers their intention to pursue wider "political" goals and forfeit their power in Harlem, the narrator begins to conspire against the Brotherhood. He stoops to despicable measures. He pretends to be Rhinehart, plans to use Emma, then Sybill to discover the Brotherhood's true intentions. He is not himself. He is sneaky. Slimey. Invisible. Always wearing a facade of deception. But eventually, when he discovers the Brotherhood's association with Ras, and their plot to allow Harlem to fall into chaos, he realizes that turning against one another does not solve anything. He tries to gain the attention of the rioters and tell them to unite, but Ras encourages their frenzy, negating the narrator's attempt for peace. He runs. And realizes that through all his struggle and toil, he is better off underground. Invisible. He claims, "After existing some twenty years, I did not become alive until I discovered my invisibility" ( 7).

Wait... Which Henry Are You?

Through Henry IV Part 1,  William Shakespeare utilizes facades to reveal his character's true identities. For the sake of brevity, I'm going to focus my analysis around Hal.

Initially it seems as if Hal does not take ownership of his princely responsibilities. He steals and drinks and takes advice from a seemingly drunken oaf. He wastes his time at the tavern listening to Falstaff blabber on, glamorizing himself and his lifestyle. But Falstaff acts as a Foil to King Henry. He is active. He lives life, he does not simply sit back passively and judge and wonder why things are falling to pieces. Hal recognizes this. He sees his father and knows that he doesn't want to be like him. He doesn't want to rule like him. Hal recognizes that his father has no understanding of common man's struggles. There is such a vast disconnection between royalty and the others that it would be impossible to rule effectively. And Falstaff helps him to realize this. Falstaff's tales, although at times far-fetched and absurd, reveal a great deal of wisdom. And he didn't learn this from watching the world burn around him, but rather, by experiencing the world. This seems to intrigue Hal. And from this Hal derives his identity, or more accurately "future" identity. He is the Prince, heir to the throne, and future king and he, from the beginning, is motivated to distance himself from his father's antics in ruling and reform public perspective of the king.

Hal does so by only allowing people to see the side of him that he wants them to see, which is made evident in his first soliloquy. He claims, "I will imitate the sun,/ Who doth permit the base contagious clouds/ To smother up his beauty from the world" (1. 2. 204-6). Here, Shakespeare makes a pun on "sun," so as to suggest Hal will play the role of a disobedient son. Which is intriguing. Hal, the future king, heir to the throne, intentionally wants to make himself detestable in his father's eyes. He wants his father to see him as contaminated by the base clouds that are his friends. The disgrace he brings himself causes his father to shame him by (almost) completely denying that Hal is his son. This removes pressure from Hal. If he appears to not take his future occupation seriously, no one else will take him seriously. However, it's interesting that Hal says these base clouds would "smother up his beauty from the world." Hal doesn't want to grow up under the scrutinizing gaze of the public eye; it's as if he is using his misdeeds and offenses to blend in with the rest of the people. He doesn't want to be placed on a pedestal and be worshipped by his people, he wants them to recognize that he too is imperfect, just as they are. Hal may pretend to disregard his duties, but in actuality, he spends the majority of the play using this guise to cover his true intentions. From the beginning, he focuses solely on how he will become the best ruler he can be. And by living in this image as a thief, Hal will be able to accomplish his true goal of finding common ground between the crown and the commoners.

As the play progresses, Hal maintains his connection with Falstaff and his fellow criminals, but displays more kingly qualities. When confronted by his father, Hal realizes that he must rise to the occasion and become the Prince. Not just in title, but in action. He cannot hide himself any longer, and he promises to repay his debts: "I will redeem all this on Percy's head,/ And in the closing of some glorious day,/ Be bold to tell you that I am your son" (3. 2. 137-39). And by the end of King Henry IV Part 1, Hal fulfills his promise to his father, just as he fulfilled his promise to "pay the debt [he] never promised" (1. 2. 216). And from this point forth, he asserts himself as Prince and reveals his worthiness of the crown. He deserves the title because he is willing to fight for it. But he not only fights for his title, but for his father, for the King, for his kinsmen, for his country. He saves his father's life and triumphs over Hotspur, and does so humbly. He almost mourns Hotspur's death, recognizing that the world lost a fine warrior. But also, Hal redeems himself to his father, his country, and proves that he cares for his people and is prepared to take any measure necessary to protect them and promote their well being. 

On that day he truly becomes king, "As if he mastered there a double spirit/ Of teaching and of learning instantly" (5. 2. 66-67).

"Meet Mrs. Bundren"

As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner, is uniquely told from the perspectives of multiple characters, each with his or her own voice and interpretation of reality. The Bundren family (the children: Cash, Darl, Jewel, Dewey Dell and Vardaman, and the father: Anse) reflect on the death of their mother and wife, Addie, as they transport her body from their home in the country to Jefferson, a city. Faulkner uses the Bundren family as means to question the significance of an individual's identity in relation to the futility of his actions and, more specifically, his entire existence.

Cash is the oldest of the Bundren children, but he does not overtly act the typical role of an eldest child. Typically, the oldest child is more abrasive, independent yet paternal toward his younger siblings. But Cash does not display the overwhelming characteristics of typical first born children, instead he is mild mannered, humble and patient. Especially with his siblings and father. Anse views his children as workers for his fields, and does not really consider them otherwise. To Anse they are hungry mouths that he spends his money on. Anse is a father, but not a father figure. And Cash fulfills this role, but he does so unintentionally.With an emotionally absent father, it is his responsibility to make his siblings happy. He serves his family, but does so passively, partially because he does not recognize the necessity for him to step up, and take charge of the family. Instead, he gives half-hearted attempts to control them, but is overpowered by the other character's "better" judgment. He is a master carpenter, and shows great possibilities of intelligence, and he constructs his mother's coffin. He knows how it must be transported. Cash tells his family, "It needs a balance" in order to keep the wagon from overturning. But no one listens to him. He does not truly assert his identity as the eldest child, as an intelligent individual with valuable input and knowledge. Until the end of the book, Cash's narrations consist of either lists or a short statement. He doesn't reflect emotionally and remains closed off from the situation. Instead he allows Darl to take control.

Darl is the second oldest. And interestingly enough, he narrates the first chapter. Not Anse. Not Cash. But Darl. From the beginning, Darl asserts his presence confidently. He seems to be the most stable and understanding of the characters. He narrates the most chapters and provides the most relatable perspective on his mother's death. However, Addie's death also provokes Darl into questioning life's purpose. Once Addie actually dies, Darl spirals into a half-coherent rambling in which he questions his own existence: "And before you are emptied for sleep, what are you. And when you are emptied for sleep, you are not. And when you are filled with sleep, you never were. I dont know what I am. I dont know if I am or not" (80). Darl cannot comprehend death, or perhaps life. He struggles with himself to find meaning in his life, but cannot move forward. When Addie dies, he loses his understanding of existence, which in turn, depletes his (previously evident) understanding of his identity. As the novel progresses, Darl's lack of identity, in combination with his misunderstanding of existence, causes him to, for a lack of better terminology, "go crazy." He sets fire to the Gillespie's barn (in which his mother's coffin is stored while they rest), which reveals his ultimate destruction of his identity. He once respected fellow farmers and others, but realizes the futility of his existence and runs rampant. Darl only narrates one more chapter after this incident. And it seems to be half from his perspective, half from him reflecting as almost an omniscient entity. This is where Cash steps in. He realizes that he needs to take control and tells Darl he needs to go to Jackson (for prison, but referred to as if it is a psychiatric ward). In this moment, Cash gains his identity and Darl loses his. And he is left to rot, laughing his way to Jackson.

Jewel, Dewey Dell and Vardaman are not quite as heavily influenced (identity-wise) by their mother's death. Jewel, throughout the novel, remains strong and unemotional. He is the one child that Addie ever loved. She never was partial to any of her children, except Jewel. And he is the bastard son of Whitfield (Addie's lover). He works hard, with utmost dedication, but still feels he is treated unfairly. And he is. Addie favors him, and Anse despises him. Jewel realizes the separation between himself and the rest of his family; he knows that he is different and he doesn't care. The only two things in the world he cares about and can relate to are Addie and his horse. Darl tells Vardaman, " 'Jewel's mother is a horse' " (101). And he is. He works hard, puts up with his master's abuse, but at heart is a wild animal, meant to be free. When Anse sells the horse, without consulting him, Jewel (very, very) reluctantly allows it. Because deep down, under his tough exterior, he cares for his family. Dewey Dell is the one daughter in the Bundren family. And she's pregnant out of wedlock, which completely skews her conception of reality. She is seventeen and the father of her child seems disinterested. He wants her to "take care of it." And she tries to. Because she cannot accept her responsibilities as an adult, or as a mother. But she is still naive and young. She doesn't understand city life and is easily tricked into having sex with a city boy who poses as a pharmacist. Her identity as a simple country girl inhibits her ability to perceive reality and its potential dangers. She claims, "I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth," as if she doesn't understand that she is responsible for her actions (64). She makes it seem as if it is chance that she is pregnant. As if it is nature's blind will burning her. Vardaman (the youngest), on the other hand, completely loses touch with reality at first. He rambles on about a dead fish and his mother: "It was not her because it was laying right yonder in the dirt. And now it's all chopped up. I chopped it up... Then it wasn't and she was, and now it is and she wasn't" (66). Vardaman can't accept that the woman lying in the coffin is his mother. To him, she is not her. She is "it." And then he blurs the image of his dead mother lying in the coffin with the fish he cut up. And then his perception of existence diminishes, just as Darl's does, except he is a child and Darl is an adult. After the fish incident, Vardaman refers to Addie strictly as a fish. He repeatedly claims, "My mother is a fish." The association of Addie with animals ("Jewel's mother is a horse," "My mother is a fish") shows that both Jewel and Vardaman want a physical representation of their mother's spirit. Jewel loves his horse and Vardaman associates Addie's death with his first understanding of death (his killing the fish). By identifying their mothers as animals, Faulkner suggests that both feel lost without Addie and need to place their love and care in something concrete. Otherwise, Vardaman and Jewel seem somewhat unaffected in their conception of identity and their motivations.

Anse seems to be the most physically changed by Addie's death. After she dies, he maintains a clean shave and wears his Sunday best, seemingly out of respect for Addie. Throughout the novel, Anse gripes and guilt-trips his children. He takes on his role as father, but not in the loving fatherly sense. He is simply the provider for his family. Always looking to make money to keep his children fed. As Addie lies on her death bed (she literally dies on a bed), death approaching quickly, he sends Jewel and Darl out on a delivery. For three dollars profit. Jewel misses his mother's death. He couldn't be with his own mother when she died. For three dollars. Anse is selfish and doesn't hide it. He might try to, but he doesn't do it well. Mostly he complains about how he spends all his money feeding his children, and about how he wants his new teeth. But he neglects to realize how much his children have sacrificed to him in terms of labor and possessions. His children work hard in the fields, yet he sees them as ingrates. He sells Jewel's horse to buy a new team of mules. He takes Dewey Dell's money (ten dollars from her boyfriend to get pills to terminate her pregnancy) and uses it to buy new teeth and marry another woman the day after they burry Addie. This represents the ultimate destruction of identity because the final lines of the book are "Meet Mrs. Bundren." As if Addie never existed and is easily replaced by another woman. Complete destruction of meaning and identity summed up in three words.

You May Be Heathcliff, But Who Is He?

Unlike Oedipus (and myself), Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights creates characters with distinguished identities and motivations stemming from those identities. 

Catherine is confident in her identity. As a child, Catherine exhibits her commanding nature; she takes on the role as the mistress: "In play, she liked exceedingly to act the little mistress; using her hands freely, and commanding her companions" (37). She "acts" the mistress because that is what she wants: to be the mistress of the house. She wants to be in charge, and does so freely; she commands the other children because it is in her nature. In her identity. In the very soul of her being. Her lust for control defines her, and eventually results in her downfall. For example, when she tells Nelly that she intends to marry Edgar, she reveals that she is defying her true desires. Catherine claims, " 'It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him... He's more myself than I am' " (73). She knows that she does not truly belong with Edgar, yet she proceeds to marry him. Heathcliff and she share a soul. And when she states, "He's more myself than I am," she implies that by marrying Edgar, she is not being true to herself. However, she also tells Nelly that one reason to marry Edgar would be to provide for Heathcliff. This reveals her desire to remain in control over as many people as she can. She assumes that Heathcliff will not be able to care for himself, without her around. Her motivation stems from her own selfish desires, which she attempts to cover up with "good" intentions. Like when Isabella tells her that she wants to marry Heathcliff. Catherine "selflessly" spews damning statements about Heathcliff's character, so as to protect Isabella from Heathcliff. In reality, Catherine is trying to prevent Isabella from marrying the person she truly loves. Realizing Catherine's selfishness, Isabella pronounces, " 'You are a dog in the manger, Cathy, and desire no one to be loved but yourself' " (93). Catherine, by nature, is motivated by her lust for control, and perhaps the most powerful form of control is love. And that's why she yearns for it so ardently.

Heathcliff, unlike Catherine, is damned from the start. When Mr. Earnshaw brings him home, the other children do not like him. He is the "black sheep" of the family. A gypsy. A fortune teller's son. A thief. The other characters assume that because he is from a foreign land, he automatically will be evil. Heathcliff is almost a self-fulfilling prophecy, in that he becomes what people expect of him. When Mrs. Linton remarks,  " 'A wicked boy, at all events... and quite unfit for a decent house!' " (45) It almost encourages Heathcliff to behave wickedly, which may result from his lack of self-knowledge. Heathcliff, as well as the Earnshaws and Lintons, have only a vague understanding of from where Heathcliff came and what his childhood entailed; without self-knowledge, Heathcliff falls into a cycle of resentment and revenge. Nelly tells him, " 'You are incurable, Heathcliff,' " which suggests that his resentment and inability to accept his own identity prevents him from forgiving others and moving forward in life (46). Heathcliff feels entitled to the privileges given to Catherine and Hindley, but when he doesn't receive them, he becomes vengeful. While pondering how to get revenge on Hindley, Heathcliff claims " 'God won't have the satisfaction that I shall' " (55). This reveals the motivation behind his actions. Revenge. Punishment to those who wronged him. He does not recognize his own faults and involvement in his own misfortunes. He pushes the blame onto others because he cannot accept the blame to be his own. When he holds Nelly and Catherine hostage, Heathcliff claims, " 'You'll force me to pinch the baby, and make it scream, before it moves your charity' " (246). He makes it appear as if his actions are out of his control. As if Nelly is responsible for his behaviors. Heathcliff creates his own identity, but does so based on other's judgments.

In combination, Heathcliff and Catherine unite under a self-destructive relationship. They are counter-dependent on one another to the extent of obsession. Catherine lusts for love while Heathcliff lusts for revenge. And in the end, it is the same: Both seek control over others. And when their power is threatened, they react adversely. Catherine lies and throws tantrums, while Heathcliff plots revenge. Neither can reciprocate because both feel entitled. When Catherine dies, she cannot progress. And neither can Heathcliff. He blames Edgar for her death, but in actuality, he also played a role. Both Catherine and Heathcliff cannot accept their own faults, and their inability to control every aspect of their lives. And it leaves them suspended in a phase of arrested development.

Finding Oedipus Rex--The "Swollen Foot" King

Through Oedipus Rex, Sophocles epitomizes the struggle man faces as he seeks his true identity. Originally, Oedipus thinks he knows his true identity: Son of Polybus (King of Corinth), defeater of the Sphinx, and the "rightful" ruler of Thebes. He is surrounded by glory and triumph. Oedipus has little reason to doubt his actions or decisions. And when infertility and death plagues his people, Oedipus, being the hero, vows to find the cause of the plague and eliminate it. But as the play progresses, and Oedipus is accused of killing the late King of Thebes (Laius), he begins to doubt his identity. He loses his sense of self and becomes narrow minded, defensive, ignorant. And only when he learns his true identity, can he save his people.

That's quite a bit of plot summary, so let's look at this a bit closer.

In this play, Oedipus exhibits three distinct personalities: his distinguished and logical perspective as a hero and powerful leader, his crazed, irrational mindset after talking to Tiresias, and his ultimate enlightened perspective. There is a distinct difference between Oedipus when he knows (or thinks he knows) who he is, and when he is still searching for his identity. The initial and final perspectives, where he "knows" his identity, are pragmatic and decisive. He is compassionate and cares for other's well-being; contrarily, while he searches for his identity, Oedipus is self-absorbed, frantic and disconnected. 

Before Oedipus became King of Thebes, he lived in Corinth, and believed himself to be the son of King Polybus. However, he fled Corinth upon hearing the prophecy, which revealed he would eventually kill his father and marry his mother. So, naturally, he ran away to protect them. He then solved sphinx's riddle, became the ruler of Thebes and saved the people from the sphinx's wrath. By humbly leaving his home to prevent his "father's" imminent demise, and rescuing an entire city from doom, Oedipus creates a mental vision of himself as a hero. And, more than anything, he wants to fulfill this image, so he vows to rid people of plague by finding Laius' killer(s). Oedipus believes he is the hero, which allows him to be decisive and clear in his intentions. 

But then, Oedipus' image of himself becomes muddled when Tiresias reveals he may not be the hero. Tiresias accuses Oedipus of being "the abominable contaminator" to which, Oedipus turns defensive and verbally violent. Oedipus threatens Tiresias for suggesting such absurdities: "So shamelessly set you this story on foot,/ And think, perhaps, you shall go free?" He continues to badger Tiresias with rising agitation and paranoia: "Who prompted you?... Are these inventions Creon's work, or yours?... You and the framer of this plot methinks/ Shall rue your purge for guilt!... When you are gone, you can annoy no more" (13-15). Oedipus resorts to threats and deflections to distract himself from the possibility that he may be a villain. He loses sight of his goal, becomes self-absorbed and more focused on clearing his name, instead of focusing on finding the killer. With this shift in perspective, Oedipus becomes shortsighted, irrational and presumptuous. More than anything, he wants to uphold his hero stature; Oedipus feels entitled to his position as the almighty king and doesn't want to be stripped of his privileges. Once Tiresias leaves, Creon comes to speak with Oedipus. Still in a tizzy, Oedipus proceeds to harass Creon, accusing him of undermining his rule. Despite Creon's attempts to reason with him, Oedipus refuses to listen to him. Creon observes his irrationality and asserts, "arrogance weighs aught/ Apart from reason, you are much astray" (20). Histeria rising, Oedipus' suspicions peak; he claims, "When he who plots against me in the dark/ Comes swiftly on, I must be swift in turn" (22). Like a child, Oedipus cries, "You are a traitor!... I must be ruler.... City, my city!" His childlike diction reveals his immaturity and irrational perspective. Oedipus is unable to reason through the situation; denial causes him to regress to childish methods. Jocasta (his true mother), is the person to calm him down and end his tantrum. She reveals that there is a man who can help figure out the truth: a Shepard who once worked for Laius.

Before speaking to the man, Oedipus feels at ease because he thinks the old man will reaffirm his innocence, thusly, allowing Oedipus to see himself as a hero again, rather than as a villain. So when the old man enters, Oedipus is not so accusatory as with Creon or Tiresias. He merely wants answers. The old man tells Oedipus that Jocasta and Laius are his true parents, but this time, Oedipus doesn't reject his assertion. Devastated, Oedipus realizes, "It is all plain, indeed." With his understanding of his identity, Oedipus regains focus on his initial goal: relieving Thebes of its curse. No longer blinded by fear and arrogance, Oedipus is able to approach the situation unbiasedly and rationally. He demands his own exile, asserting, " 'Tis for your good, not for my own." 

Me, Myself and Identity

I know not who I am,

Nor where I am going.

But in short, I am afraid.

And the ceaseless cycle of self-doubt leaves me paralyzed—

Alone to confront the imminent doom that is tomorrow,

Trapped and unable to overcome these crippling anxieties

Like grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight.

O, to stay hungry and foolish,

That which I have always wished for myself!

The only language I know expresses fewer and fewer of my ripening needs;

The facts which litter my memory grow less substantial.

The figure I see in the looking-glass seems less recognizably myself.

So, where now can I look for reassurance of my identity?

My actions?

My words?

My thoughts?

My failures?

No!

They know me not;

And I know me less.

I’d rather be a Pagan

Suckled in a creed outworn,

So might I have glimpses

Of the image of eternity

Or the throne of the invisible

That would make me less forlorn

Than continue on in this incessant state of unknowing.

Sometimes, the valley—the unending toil of life—is filled with tears

And sometimes, the road is hot with the sun

But I have to keep on.

I have to keep on till my work is done.

And I keep trudging on through the lonely years:

I have to keep on and remember,

All that which we behold

Is full of blessings.

I don’t want comfort.

I want real danger.

I want freedom.

I want goodness.

I want poetry.

I want God.

I want sin.

But I do not want comfort.

So I keep on till my work is done

And rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I beat on, a boat against the current,

Borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Yet, there is time

Between the essence

And the descent.

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

Time for you and time for me,

Where blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions

Which are gone in a moment’s time.

Suspended in the infinite darkness of hesitant action,

Unknowing of what is and what is still to come.

And as if it’s not enough for me

To deal with these daunting tasks and decisions,

Which ultimately lead me to my future

Everyone is constantly prying

Badgering and bombarding me with questions:

“Where are you going?”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you want to do?”

I don’t know!

Is it not enough to simply leave it at that?

What do they want from me

And why must they trouble me so?

Do I dare disturb the universe?

There falls the shadow.

Am I going to be a person of heart and humanity,

Or am I going to do whatever seems to be required of me?

Is this the way the world ends—

Not with a bang, but a whimper?

Ah, what a piece of work am I,

How noble in reason,

How infinite in faculties,

How express and admirable in form and moving,

In action how like an angel,

In apprehension how like a god.

But what am I?

Let me have lazy days to seek my deeper motives;

Let me seek deep for where I am a born natural.

Or leave me to drown in the wake of my lost identity.

_________________________________________________________

With increasing consistency, I find myself wondering if I truly know myself or if I know only what I want to know about myself. I started to second-guess my nature, and find myself feeling lost quite frequently. And I wonder if others experience similar identity crises; so I ask, How does identity, or a lack thereof, influence one's actions?