SOURCE: “The Oedipus Complex and the Oedipus Myth,” in The Family: Its Function and Destiny, edited by Ruth Nanda Anshen, Harper & Brothers, 1949, pp. 420-48.

[In the following excerpt, Fromm contends that Oedipus Tyrannus must be examined in conjunction with Oedipus at Colonus and Antigone in order for its theme of the son rebelling against patriarchal control to be fully explicated.]

If the Oedipus Rex is capable of moving a modern reader or playgoer no less powerfully than it moved the contemporary Greeks, the only possible explanation is that the effect of the Greek tragedy does not depend upon the conflict between fate and human will, but upon the peculiar nature of the material by which this conflict is revealed. There must be a voice within us which is prepared to acknowledge the compelling power of fate in the Oedipus, while we are able to condemn the situations occurring in Die Ahnfrau or other tragedies of fate as arbitrary inventions. And there actually is a motive in the story of King Oedipus which explains the verdict of this inner voice. His fate moves us only because it might have been our own, because the oracle laid upon us before our birth the very curse which rested upon him. It may be that we are all destined to direct our first sexual impulses toward our mothers, and our first impulses of hatred and violence toward our fathers; our dreams convince us that we are. King Oedipus, who slew his father Laius and wedded his mother Jocasta, is nothing more or less than a wish-fulfillment—the fulfillment of the wish of our childhood. But we, more fortunate than he, in so far as we have not become psychoneurotics, have since our childhood succeeded in withdrawing our sexual impulses from our mothers, and in forgetting our jealousy of our fathers. We recoil from the person for whom this primitive wish of our childhood has been fulfilled with all the force of the repression which these wishes have undergone in our minds since childhood. As the poet brings the guilt of Oedipus to light by his investigation, he forces us to become aware of our own inner selves, in which the same impulses are still extant, even though they are suppressed. The antithesis with which the chorus departs:—

“… Behold, this is Oedipus
who unravelled the great riddle, and was first in power,
Whose fortune all the townsmen praised and envied;
See in what dread adversity he sank!”

—this admonition touches us and our own pride, us who since the years of our childhood have grown so wise and so powerful in our own estimation. Like Oedipus, we live in ignorance of the desires that offend morality, the desires that nature has forced upon us and after their unveiling we may well prefer to avert our gaze from the scenes of our childhood.¹

The concept of the Oedipus complex, which Freud so beautifully presents in the passage just quoted, became one of the cornerstones of his psychological system. He believed that this concept was the key to an understanding of history and of the evolution of religion and morality. His conviction was that this very complex constituted the fundamental mechanism in the development of the child, and he maintained that the Oedipus complex was the cause for psychopathological development and the “kernel of neurosis.”

Here we shall limit ourselves to a brief description of the Oedipus complex with regard to the little boy.

Freud assumed that the little boy at the age of 4 or 5 is sexually attracted to his mother; hence he is jealous of his father, who appears to him as a superior, threatening rival; hence he becomes intensely afraid of his father and specifically afraid of being castrated. Since this fear becomes too intense for comfort and security, the boy changes his aim. He gives up the mother as an object of his sexual strivings and identifies himself with the father. In doing so he overcomes his fear, and at the same time his own masculine development is strengthened by the fact that he now wants to be like his father. Freud assumed that a particular identification takes place—namely, with the father's conscience, his commands, and his prohibitions—and that thus the bases for the development of conscience in the boy are laid.

In normal development, the Oedipus complex results in the strengthening of masculine development and in the growth of conscience. The boy's attachment to the mother is transferred later on to girls of his own age, although his choice of a love object may remain determined to some extent by the image of the mother. In the neurotic development the tie with the mother is not severed. She herself, or women who resemble her, remains the exclusive love object. In the latter case, the relationship to the mother surrogate retains the qualities which were characteristic of the little boy's attachment to his mother—those of dependency, lack of responsibility, and the need to be taken care of. Simultaneously, rivalry with the father or father surrogates and the hate and fear of them remain active too.

Freud assumed that the Oedipus complex determines also the development of the little girl, who is attached to the father and competes with the mother. Some theoretical difficulties, however, arise in the concept of the girl's Oedipus complex, a discussion of which would lead us too far into the intricacies of Freud's system and is at the same time not necessary here. For the same reason we shall omit a discussion of the passive attachment of the boy to the father, rooted in the boy's feminine component.

Freud's concept was a result of clinical observations and theoretical speculation, and it must have been very gratifying to him to discover that one of the classic Greek myths, that of Oedipus, seemed not only to be a symbolic expression but also a confirmation of his theory and that the fact of the incestuous tie to the mother and the resulting rivalry with the father was revealed by the myth to be one of the most profound, though unconscious, strivings in man.

Freud referred to the Oedipus myth in the version of Sophocles' tragedy King Oedipus. This tragedy tells us that an oracle has told Laius, the King of Thebes, and his wife, Jocasta, that if they would have a son this son would kill his father and marry his own mother. When a son, Oedipus, is born to them, Jocasta decides to escape the fate predicted by the oracle by killing the infant. She gives Oedipus to a shepherd who is to abandon the child in the woods with his feet bound so that he would die. But the shepherd, taking pity on the child, gives the infant to a man in the service of the King of Corinth, who in turn brings him to his master. The king adopts the boy as his own son, and the young prince grows up in Corinth not knowing that he is not the true son of the King of Corinth. He is told by the oracle in Delphi that it is his fate to kill his father and to marry his mother. He decides to avoid this fate by never going back to his alleged parents. On his way back from Delphi he engages in a violent argument with an old man riding in a carriage, loses his temper, and slays the man and his servant without knowing that he has slain his father, the King of Thebes.

His wanderings lead him to Thebes. There the Sphinx is devouring the young men and women of the city, and she will cease doing so only if someone will find the right answer to a riddle she asks. The riddle is this: “What is it which first goes on four, then on two, and eventually on three?” The city of Thebes has promised that anyone who can solve the riddle and thus free the city from the Sphinx will be made king and will be given the king's widow for a wife. Oedipus undertakes the venture. He finds the answer to the riddle—which is man, who as a child walks on all four, as an adult on two, and in his old age on three (with a cane). The Sphinx throws herself into the ocean, the city is saved from calamity, and Oedipus becomes king and marries Jocasta, his mother.

After Oedipus has reigned happily for some time, the city is ravaged by a plague which kills many of its citizens. The seer, Theiresias, reveals that the plague is the punishment for the twofold crime which Oedipus has committed, that of patricide and incest. Oedipus, after having tried desperately not to see this truth, blinds himself when he is compelled to see it, and Jocasta commits suicide. The tragedy ends at the point where Oedipus has suffered punishment for a crime which he committed unknowingly and in spite of his conscious effort to avoid committing it.

Was Freud justified in concluding that this myth confirms his view that unconscious incestuous drives and the resulting hate against the father-rival are to be found in any male child? Indeed, it does seem as if the myth confirmed Freud's theory that the Oedipus complex justifiably bears its name.

If we examine the myth more closely, however, questions arise which cast some doubts on the correctness of this view. The most pertinent question is this: If Freud's interpretation is right, we should expect the myth to tell us that Oedipus met Jocasta without knowing that she was his mother, fell in love with her, and then killed his father, again unknowingly. But there is no indication whatsoever in the myth that Oedipus is attracted by or falls in love with Jocasta. The only reason we are given for Oedipus' marriage to Jocasta is that she, as it were, goes with the throne. Should we believe that a myth the central theme of which constitutes an incestuous relationship between mother and son would entirely omit the element of attraction between the two? This question is all the more weighty in view of the fact that, in the older versions of the oracle, the prediction of the marriage to the mother is mentioned only once in Nikolaus of Damascus' description, which according to Carl Roberts goes back to a relatively new source.²

Furthermore, Oedipus is described as the courageous and wise hero who becomes the benefactor of Thebes. How can we understand that the same Oedipus is described as having committed the crime most horrible in the eyes of his contemporaries? This question has sometimes been answered by pointing to the fact that it is the very essence of the Greek concept of tragedy that it is the powerful and strong who are suddenly struck by disaster. Whether such an answer is sufficient or whether another view can give us a more satisfactory answer remains to be seen.

The foregoing questions arise from a consideration of King Oedipus. If we examine only this tragedy, without taking into account the two other parts of the trilogy, Oedipus at Colonus and Antigone, no definite answer can be given. But we are at least in the position of formulating a hypothesis, namely that the myth can be understood as a symbol not of the incestuous love between mother and son but of the rebellion of the son against the authority of the father in the patriarchal family; that the marriage of Oedipus and Jocasta is only a secondary element, only one of the symbols of the son's victory who takes his father's place and with it all his privileges.

The validity of this hypothesis can be tested by examining the whole Oedipus myth, particularly in the form presented by Sophocles in the two other parts of his trilogy, Oedipus at Colonus and Antigone.³

In Oedipus at Colonus we find Oedipus near Athens at the grove of the Eumenides shortly before he dies. After having blinded himself, Oedipus had remained in Thebes, which was ruled by Creon, his uncle, who after some time exiled him. Oedipus' two daughters, Antigone and Ismene, accompanied him into exile; but his two sons, Eteocles and Polyneices, refused to help their blind father. After his departure, the two brothers strove for possession of the throne. Eteocles won; but Polyneices, refusing to yield, sought to conquer the city with outside help and to wrest the power from his brother. In Oedipus at Colonus we see him approach his father, begging his forgiveness and asking his assistance. But Oedipus is relentless in his hate against his sons. In spite of the passionate pleading of Polyneices, supported by Antigone's plea, he refuses forgiveness. His last words to his son are:

And thou—begone, abhorred of me, and unfathered!—begone, thou vilest of the vile, and with thee take these my curses which I call down on thee—never to vanquish the land of thy race, no, nor ever return to hill-girt Argos, but by a kindred hand to die, and slay him by whom thou hast been driven out. Such is my prayer; and I call the paternal darkness of dread Tartarus to take thee unto another home,—I call the spirits of this place,—I call the Destroying God, who hath set that dreadful hatred in you twain. Go, with these words in thine ears—go, and publish it to the Cadmeans all, yea, and to thine own staunch allies, that Oedipus hath divided such honours to his sons.⁴

In Antigone we find another father-son conflict as one of the central themes of the tragedy. Here Creon, the representative of the authoritarian principle in state and family, is opposed by his son, Haemon, who reproaches him for his ruthless despotism and his cruelty against Antigone. Haemon tries to kill his father and, failing to do so, kills himself.

We find that the theme which runs through the three tragedies is the conflict between father and son. In King Oedipus, Oedipus kills his father Laius who intended to take the infant's life. In Oedipus at Colonus Oedipus gives vent to his intense hate against his sons, and in Antigone we find the same hate again between Creon and Haemon. The problem of incest exists neither in the relationship between Oedipus' sons to their mother nor in the relationship between Haemon and his mother, Eurydice. If we interpret King Oedipus in the light of the whole trilogy, the assumption seems plausible that the real issue in King Oedipus, too, is the conflict between father and son and not the problem of incest.

Freud had interpreted the antagonism between Oedipus and his father as the unconscious rivalry caused by Oedipus' incestuous strivings. If we do not accept this explanation, the question arises as how otherwise to explain the conflict between father and son which we find in all the three tragedies. One clue is given in Antigone. The rebellion of Haemon against Creon is rooted in the particular structure of Creon's relationship to Haemon. Creon represents the strictly authoritarian principle both in the family and in the state, and it is against this type of authority that Haemon rebels. An analysis of the whole Oedipus trilogy will show that the struggle against paternal authority is its main theme and that the roots of this struggle go far back into the ancient fight between the patriarchal and matriarchal systems of society. Oedipus as well as Haemon and Antigone are representatives of the matriarchal principle; they attack a social and religious order based on the powers and privileges of the father, represented by Laius and Creon.

Since this interpretation is based on Bachofen's analysis of Greek mythology, it is necessary to acquaint the reader briefly with the principles of Bachofen's theory.

In his “Mutterrecht” (mother right), published in 1861, Bachofen suggested that in the beginning of human history sexual relations were promiscuous; that therefore only the mother's parenthood was unquestionable, to her alone consanguinity could be traced, and she was the authority and law giver—the ruler both in the family group and in society. On the basis of his analysis of religious documents of Greek and Roman antiquity, Bachofen came to the conclusion that the supremacy of women had found its expression not only in the sphere of social and family organization but also in religion. He found evidence that the religion of the Olympian gods was preceded by a religion in which goddesses, mother-like figures, were the supreme deities.

Bachofen assumed that in a long-drawn-out historical process men defeated women, subdued them, and succeeded in making themselves the rulers in a social hierarchy. The patriarchal system which was thus established is characterized by monogamy (at least so far as women were concerned), by the authority of the father in the family, and by the dominant role of men in a hierarchically organized society. The religion of this patriarchal culture corresponded to its social organization. Instead of the mother-goddesses, male gods became supreme rulers over man, as the father was in the family.

One of the most striking and brilliant illustrations of Bachofen's interpretation of Greek myths is his analysis of Aeschylus' Oresteia, which according to Bachofen is a symbolic representation of a last fight between the maternal goddesses and the victorious paternal gods. Clytemnestra had killed her husband, Agamemnon, in order not to give up her lover, Aegisthus. Orestes, her son by Agamemnon, avenges his father's death by killing his mother and her lover. The Erinyes, representatives of the old mother-goddesses and the matriarchal principal, persecute Orestes and demand his punishment, while Apollo and Athene (the latter not born from woman but sprung from the head of Zeus), the representatives of the new patriarchal religion, are on Orestes' side. The argument is centered around the principles of patriarchal and matriarchal religion, respectively. For the matriarchal world there is only one sacred tie, that of mother and child, and consequently matricide is the ultimate and unforgivable crime. From the patriarchal point of view, the son's love and respect for the father is his paramount duty and therefore patricide is the paramount crime. Clytemnestra's killing of her husband, from the patriarchal standpoint a major crime because of the supreme position of the husband, is considered differently from the matriarchal standpoint, since “she was not related by blood to the man whom she killed.” The murder of a husband does not concern the Erinyes, since to them only ties of blood and the sanctity of the mother count. To the Olympian gods, on the other hand, the murder of the mother is no crime if it is carried out as revenge for the father's death. In Aeschylus' Oresteia, Orestes is acquitted, but this victory of the patriarchal principle is somewhat mitigated by a compromise with the defeated goddesses. They agree to accept the new order and to be satisfied with a minor role as protectors of the earth and as goddesses of agricultural fertility.

Bachofen showed that the difference between the matriarchal and patriarchal order went far beyond the social supremacy of men and women respectively, but was one of social and moral principles. Matriarchal culture is characterized by an emphasis on ties of blood, ties to the soil, and a passive acceptance of all natural phenomena. Patriarchal society, in contrast, is characterized by respect for man-made law, by a predominance of rational thought, and by an effort to change natural phenomena by man. Insofar as these principles are concerned, the patriarchal culture constitutes a definite progress over the matriarchal world. In other respects, however, the matriarchal principles were superior to the victorious patriarchal ones. In the matriarchal concept all men are equal, since they are all the children of mothers and each one a child of Mother Earth. A mother loves her children all alike and without conditions, since her love is based on the fact that they are her children and not on any particular merit or achievement; the aim of life is the happiness of men, and there is nothing more important or dignified than human existence and life. The patriarchal system, on the other hand, considers obedience to authority to be the main virtue. Instead of the principle of equality we find the concept of the favorite son and a hierarchical order in society.

The relationship [Bachofen says] through which mankind has first grown into civilization which is the beginning of the development of every virtue and of the formation of the nobler aspects of human existence is the matriarchal principle, which becomes effective as the principle of love, unity, and peace. The woman sooner than the man learns in caring for the infant to extend her love beyond her own self to other human beings and to direct all her gifts and imagination to the aim of preserving and beautifying the existence of another being. All development of civilization, devotion, care, and the mourning for the dead are rooted in her.⁵

The motherly love is not only more tender but also more general and universal. … Its principle is that of universality, whereas the patriarchal principle is that of restrictions. … The idea of the universal brotherhood of man is rooted in the principle of motherhood, and this very idea vanishes with the development of patriarchal society. The patriarchal family is a closed and restricted organism. The matriarchal family, on the other hand, has that universal character with which all evolution begins and which is characteristic of maternal life in contrast to the spiritual, the image of Mother Earth, Demeter. Each woman's womb will give brothers and sisters to every human being until, with the development of the patriarchal principle, this unity is dissolved and superseded by the principle of hierarchy. In matriarchal societies, this principle has found frequent and even legally formulated expressions. It is the basis of the principle of universal freedom and equality which we find as one of the basic traits in matriarchal cultures. … Absence of inner disharmony, a longing for peace … a tender humaneness which one can still see in the facial expression of Egyptian statues penetrates the matriarchal world. …⁶

Bachofen's discovery found confirmation by an American scholar, L. H. Morgan, who entirely independently came to the conclusion⁷ that the kinship system of the American Indians—similar to that found in Asia, Africa, and Australia—was based on the matriarchal principle and that the most significant institution in such cultures, the gens, was organized in conformity with the matriarchal principle. Morgan's conclusions about principles of value in a matriarchal society were quite similar to Bachofen's. He proposed that the higher form of civilization “will be a repetition—but on a higher level—of the principles of liberty, equality, and fraternity which characterized the ancient gens.” Both Bachofen's and Morgan's theories of matriarchy were, if not entirely ignored, disputed by most anthropologists. This was also the case in the work of Robert Briffault, who in The Mothers⁸ continued Bachofen's research and confirmed it by a brilliant analysis of new anthropological data. The violence of the antagonism against the theory of matriarchy arouses the suspicion that the criticism was not entirely free from an emotionally founded prejudice against an assumption so foreign to the thinking and feeling of our patriarchal culture. There is little doubt that many single objections to the matriarchal theory are justified. Nevertheless, Bachofen's main thesis that we find an older layer of matriarchal religion underneath the more recent patriarchal religion of Greece seems to me to be established by him beyond any doubt.

After this brief survey of Bachofen's theory we are in a better position to take up the discussion of our hypothesis that the hostility between father and son which is the theme running through Sophocles' trilogy is to be understood as an attack against the victorious patriarchal order by the representatives of the defeated matriarchal system.

King Oedipus offers little direct evidence except in some points which will be mentioned presently. But the original Oedipus myth in the various versions which existed in Greece and upon which Sophocles built his tragedy gives an important clue. In the various formulations of the myth, the figure of Oedipus was always connected with the cult of the earth goddesses, the representatives of matriarchal religion, according to Bachofen. In almost all versions of the Oedipus myth, from parts which deal with his exposure as an infant to those which are centered around his death, traces of this connection can be found.⁹ Thus, for instance, Eteonos, the only Boeotian city which had a cult shrine of Oedipus and where the whole myth probably originated, also has the shrine of the earth goddess, Demeter.¹⁰ At Colonus (near Athens), where Oedipus finds his last resting place, was an old shrine of Demeter and the Erinyes which has probably existed prior to the Oedipus myth.¹¹ As we shall see later on, Sophocles has emphasized this connection between Oedipus and the chthonic goddesses in Oedipus at Colonus.

Another aspect of the Oedipus myth—Oedipus' connection with the Sphinx—seems also to point to the connection between Oedipus and the matriarchal principle as described by Bachofen. The Sphinx had announced that the one who could solve her riddle would save the city from her wrath. Oedipus succeeds, where everyone else before him had failed, and thus becomes the saviour of Thebes. But if we look at the riddle more closely we are struck by the insignificance of the riddle in comparison with the reward for its solution. Any clever boy of 12 might guess that that which goes first on four, then on two, and eventually on three is man. Why should the right guess be proof of such extraordinary powers as to make their possessor the saviour of the city? The answer to this question lies in an analysis of the real meaning of the riddle, an analysis which must follow the principles of interpretation of myths and dreams as they were developed by Bachofen and Freud.¹² They have shown that often the most important element in the real content of a dream or myth appears as a much less important or even insignificant part of the manifest formulation, whereas that part of the manifest formulation which has the main accent is only a minor part in the real content.¹³

Applying this principle to the Sphinx myth, it would seem that the important element in the riddle is not the part which is stressed in the manifest formulation of the myth, namely, the riddle itself, but the answer to the riddle, man. If we translate the Sphinx's words from symbolic into overt language we hear her say: He who knows that the most important answer man can give to the most difficult question with which he is confronted is man himself can save mankind. The riddle itself, the answer to which required nothing but cleverness, serves only as a veil for the latent meaning of the question, the importance of man. This very emphasis on the importance of man is part of the principle of the matriarchal world as Bachofen described it. Sophocles in Antigone made this principle the center of Antigone's as against Creon's position. What matters for Creon and the patriarchal order he represents is the state, man-made laws, and obedience to them. What matters to Antigone is man himself, the natural law, and love. Oedipus becomes the saviour of Thebes, proving by his very answer to the Sphinx that he belongs to the same world which is represented by Antigone and expressive of the matriarchal order.

One element in the myth and in Sophocles' King Oedipus seems to contradict our hypothesis—the figure of Jocasta. On the assumption that she symbolizes the motherly principle, the question arises why the mother is destroyed instead of being victorious, provided the explanation suggested here is correct. The answer to this question will show that the role of Jocasta not only does not contradict our hypothesis but tends to confirm it. Jocasta's crime is that of not having fulfilled her duty as a mother; she had wanted to kill her child in order to save her husband. This, from the standpoint of patriarchal society, is a legitimate decision, but from the standpoint of matriarchal society and matriarchal ethics it is the unforgivable crime. It is she who by committing this crime starts the chain of events which eventually lead to her own and to her husband's and son's destruction. In order to understand this point we must not lose sight of the fact that the myth as it was known to Sophocles had already been changed according to the patriarchal pattern, that the manifest and conscious frame of reference is that of patriarchy, and that the latent and older meaning appears only in a veiled and often distorted form. The patriarchal system had been victorious, and the myth explains the reasons for the downfall of matriarchy. It proposes that the mother by violating her paramount duty brought about her own destruction. The final judgment, however, whether this interpretation of Jocasta's role and of King Oedipus is correct must wait until we have analyzed Oedipus at Colonus and Antigone.

In Oedipus at Colonus we see the blind Oedipus accompanied by his two daughters arriving near Athens, close to the grove of the goddesses of the earth. The oracle has prophesied that if Oedipus would be buried in this grove he would protect Athens from invasion by her enemies. In the course of the tragedy Oedipus makes known to Theseus the word of the oracle. Theseus gladly accepts the offer that he become the posthumous benefactor of Athens. Oedipus retreats into the grove of the goddesses and dies in a mysterious way not known to anybody but Theseus.

Who are these goddesses? Why do they offer a sanctuary to Oedipus? What does the oracle mean by telling us that Oedipus in finding his last home in this grove reverts to his role of saviour and benefactor?

In Oedipus at Colonus Oedipus implores the goddesses, saying:

Queens of dread aspect, since your seat is the first in this land whereat I have bent the knee, show not yourselves ungracious to Phoebus or to myself; who, when he proclaimed that doom of many woes, spake of this as a rest for me after long years—on reaching my goal in a land where I should find a seat of the Awful Goddesses, and a hospitable shelter—even that there I should close my weary life, with benefits, through my having dwelt therein, for mine hosts, but ruin for those who sent me forth—who drove me away.¹⁴

Oedipus calls the goddesses “Queens of dread aspect” and “Awful Goddesses.” Why are they “dreadful” and “awful,” since to him they are the goddesses of his last resting place and those who will give him peace eventually? Why does the chorus say:

A wanderer that old man must have been—a wanderer, not a dweller in the land; else never would he have advanced into this untrodden grove of the maidens with whom none may strive, whose name we tremble to speak, by whom we pass with eyes turned away, moving our lips, without sound or word, in still devotion.¹⁵

The answer to this question can be found only in that principle of interpretation, valid both for myths and dreams, which has been recognized by Bachofen and Freud. If an element appearing in a myth or in a dream belongs to a much earlier phase of development and is not part of the conscious frame of reference at the time of the final formulation of the myth, this element often carries with it the quality of dread and awfulness. Touching upon something hidden and taboo, the conscious mind is affected by a fear of a particular kind—the fear of the unknown and the mystifying.

Goethe, in one of the least understood passages of Faust, has treated the problem of the dread of the mysterious mothers in a spirit very similar to that in Sophocles' Oedipus at Colonus. Mephistopheles says:

Unwilling I reveal a loftier mystery—
In solitude are throned the Goddesses,
No space around them, Place and Time still less;
Only to speak of them embarrasses;
They are the Mothers!
Faust (terrified): Mothers!
Mephistopheles: Hast thou dread?
Faust: The Mothers! Mothers!—a strange word is said.
Mephistopheles:
It is so. Goddesses, unknown to ye,
The Mothers, named by us unwillingly.
Delve in the deepest depth must thou,
to reach them:
It is thine own fault that we for
help beseech them.

Here too, as in Sophocles' tragedy, the feeling of dread and terror is bound up with the mere mentioning of the goddesses, who belong to an ancient world which now is banned from the light of day, from consciousness.

As we see from this short passage, Goethe anticipated Bachofen's theory; according to Eckermann's diary (January 10, 1830) Goethe mentioned that in reading Plutarch he found “that in Grecian antiquity the Mothers are spoken of as Goddesses.” This passage in Faust has appeared enigmatic to most commentators who tried to explain the mothers as a symbol of Platonic ideas, the formless realm of the inner world of spirit, and so forth. Indeed, it must remain an enigma unless one understands it in the light of Bachofen's findings.

It is in the grove of these “awful” goddesses where Oedipus, the wanderer, at last comes to rest and finds his real home. Oedipus, although himself a man, belongs to the world of these matriarchal goddesses, and his strength lies in his connection with them.

Oedipus' return to the grove of the goddesses, though the most important, is not the only clue to the understanding of his position as representative of the matriarchal order. Sophocles makes another and very plain allusion to matriarchy by having Oedipus refer to Egyptian matriarchy¹⁶ when he tells about his two daughters. This is the way he praises them:

O true image of the ways of Egypt that they show in their spirit and their life! For there the men sit weaving in the house, but the wives go forth to win the daily bread. And in your case, my daughters, those to whom these toils belonged keep the house at home like girls, while ye, in their stead, bear your hapless father's burden.¹⁷

The same trend of thought is continued by Oedipus when he compares his daughters with his sons. Of Antigone and Ismene he says:

Now, these girls preserve me, these my nurses, these who are men not women, in true service: but ye are aliens, and no sons of mine.¹⁸

We have raised the question whether, if incest was the essence of Oedipus' crime, the drama should have told us that he had fallen in love with Jocasta unwittingly. In Oedipus at Colonus Sophocles has Oedipus himself answer this question. The marriage to her was not the outcome of his own desire and decision; instead, she was one of the rewards for the city's saviour.

Thebes bound me, all unknowingly, to the bride that was my curse.¹⁹

We have already pointed to the fact that the main theme of the trilogy, the conflict between father and son, finds its full expression in Oedipus at Colonus; here the hate between father and son is not, as in King Oedipus, unconscious; indeed, here Oedipus is very much aware of his hate against his sons, whom he accuses of having violated the eternal law of nature. He claims that his curse is stronger than the sons' prayer to Poseidon, “if indeed Justice (Dike, the Goddess of Justice who protects the eternal law of natural bonds and not the man-made rights of the first-born son), revealed of old, sits with Zeus in the might of eternal laws.”²⁰ Simultaneously he gives expression to his hate against his own parents, accusing them of their intention to sacrifice his life. There is no indication in Oedipus at Colonus that the hostility of Oedipus' sons against their father has any connection with the incest motif. The only motivation which we can find in the tragedy is their wish for power and the rivalry with their father.

The end of Oedipus at Colonus clarifies still further the meaning of Oedipus' connection with the goddesses of the earth.

After the chorus has prayed to the “Unseen Goddesses,” “the Goddess Infernal,” the messenger reports how Oedipus died. He had taken leave of his daughters and—accompanied only, though not guided, by Theseus—walks to the holy place of the goddesses. He seems to need no guidance, since here at last he is at home and knows his way. The messenger sees Theseus

… holding his hand before his face to screen his eyes, as if some dread sight had been seen, and such as none might endure to behold.²¹

We find here again the emphasis on something awful and terrifying which was already mentioned at the beginning of Antigone; it is the same awe of the unknown, of the mystery of the goddesses. The line following the ones just quoted makes it very clear how the remnants of the forgotten matriarchal religion as blended with the ruling patriarchal system. The messenger reports that he saw Theseus

… salute the earth and the home of the gods above, both at once, in one prayer.²²

But by what doom Oedipus perished, no man can tell, save Theseus alone. No fiery thunderbolt of the god removed him in that hour, nor any rising of storm from the sea; but either a messenger from the gods, or the world of the dead, the nether adamant, riven for him in love, without pain; for the passing of the man was not with lamentation, or in sickness and suffering, but, above mortals, wonderful. And if to any I seem to speak folly, I would not woo their belief, who count me foolish.²³

The messenger is puzzled; he does not know whether Oedipus was removed from the earth by the gods above or by the gods below, by the world of the fathers or that of the mothers. But there seems to be little doubt that, in a formulation written centuries after the mother goddesses had been conquered by the Olympian gods, this doubt can only be the expression of a secret conviction that Oedipus was brought back to the place where he belongs, to the mothers.

How different is the end of Oedipus at Colonus from that of King Oedipus. In the latter his fate seemed to be sealed as that of the tragic criminal whose crime removes him forever from his family and from his fellow men, destined to be an outcast, abhorred though perhaps pitied by everyone. In the former he dies as a man surrounded by two loving daughters and by new friends whose benefactor he has become, not with a feeling of guilt but with a conviction of his right, not as an outcast but as one who has eventually found his home—with the earth and the goddesses who rule there. The tragic guilt which had pervaded King Oedipus has now been removed, and only one conflict has remained as bitter and unsolved as ever—that between father and son.

The conflict between the patriarchal and matriarchal principles is the theme of the third part of the trilogy, Antigone. Here the figure of Creon, which has been somewhat indistinct in the two former tragedies, becomes colorful and definite. He has become the tyrant of Thebes after Oedipus' two sons have been killed—one by attacking the city in order to gain power, the other defending his throne. Creon has ordered that the legitimate king should be buried and that the challenger's body should be left unburied—the greatest humiliation and dishonor to be done to a man, according to Greek custom. The principle which Creon represents is that of the supremacy of the law of the state over ties of blood, of obedience to authority over allegiance to the natural law of humanity. Antigone refuses to violate the laws of blood and of the solidarity of all human beings for the sake of an authoritarian hierarchical principle.

The two principles for which Creon and Antigone stand are exactly those which Bachofen characterized as the patriarchal as against the matriarchal principles. The matriarchal principle is that of blood relationship as the most fundamental and indestructible tie, of the equality of all men, of the respect for human life and of love. The patriarchal principle is that the ties between man and wife, between ruler and ruled, take precedence over ties of blood. It is the principle of order and authority, of obedience and hierarchy.

Antigone represents the matriarchal principle and thus is the uncompromising adversary of the representative of patriarchal authority, Creon. Ismene, in contrast, has accepted the defeat and given in to the victorious patriarchal order; she is a symbol of women under patriarchal domination. Sophocles makes her role very clear by having her say to Antigone, who has decided to defy Creon's command:

And now we in turn—we two left all alone—think how we shall perish, more miserably than all the rest, if, in defiance of the law, we brave a king's decree or his powers. Nay, we must remember, first, that we were born women, as who should not strive with men; next, that we are ruled of the stronger, so that we must obey in these things, and in things yet sorer. I, therefore, asking the Spirits Infernal to pardon, seeing that force is put on me herein, will hearken to our rulers; for 'tis witless to be over busy.²⁴

Ismene has accepted male authority as her ultimate norm; she has accepted the defeat of women “who should not strive with men.” Her loyalty to the goddesses is only expressed in begging them to forgive her who has to yield to the force of the ruler.

The humanistic principle of the matriarchal world, with its emphasis on man's greatness and dignity, finds a beautiful and forceful expression in the chorus' praise of the power of man.

Wonders are many, and none is more wonderful than man; the power that crosses the white sea, driven by the stormy south-wind, making a path under surges that threaten to engulf him; and Earth, the eldest of the gods, the immortal, the unwearied, doth he wear, turning the soil with the offspring of horses, as the ploughs go to and fro from year to year.²⁵

The conflict between the two principles unfolds in the further development of the play. Antigone insists that the law she obeys is not that of the Olympian gods. Her law “is not of today or yesterday, but from all time, and no man knows when they were first put forth”;²⁶ and, we may add, the law of burial, of returning the body to mother earth, is rooted in the very principles of matriarchal religion. Antigone stands for the solidarity of man and the principle of the all-embracing motherly love. “'Tis not my nature to join in hating but in loving.”²⁷

For Creon obedience to authority is the supreme value; human solidarity and love, if in conflict with obedience, have to yield. He has to defeat Antigone in order to uphold patriarchal authority and with it his virility.

Now verily I am no man, she is the man, if this victory shall rest with her, and bring no penalty.²⁸

Creon lays down the authoritarian, patriarchal principle in unequivocal language:

Yea, this, my son, should be thy heart's fixed law—in all things to obey thy father's will. 'Tis for this that men pray to see dutiful children grow up around them in their homes—that such may requite their father's foe with evil, and honour, as their father doth, his friend. But he who begets unprofitable children—what shall we say that he hath sown, but trouble for himself, and much triumph for his foes? Then do not thou, my son, at pleasure's back, dethrone thy reason for a woman's sake; knowing that this is a joy that soon grows cold in clasping arms—an evil woman to share thy bed and thy home. For what wound could strike deeper than a false friend? Nay, with loathing, and as if she were thine enemy, let this girl go to find a husband in the house of Hades. For since I have taken her, alone of all the city, in open disobedience, I will not make myself a liar to my people—I will slay her.

So let her appeal as she will to the majesty of kindred blood. If I am to nurture mine own kindred in naughtiness, needs must I bear with it in aliens. He who does his duty in his own household will be found righteous in the State also. But if any one transgresses and does violence to the laws, or thinks to dictate to his rulers, such a one can win no praise from me. No, whomsoever the city may appoint, that man must be obeyed, in little things and great, in just things and unjust; and I should feel sure that one who thus obeys would be a good ruler no less than a good subject, and in the storm of spears would stand his ground where he was set, loyal and dauntless at his comrade's side.

But disobedience is the worst of evils. This it is that ruins cities; this makes home desolate; by this, the ranks of allies are broken into headlong rout; but, of the lives whose course is fair, the greater part owes safety to obedience. Therefore we must support the cause of order, and in no wise suffer a woman to worst us. Better to fall from power, if we must, by a man's hand; than we should be called weaker than a woman.²⁹

Authority in the family and authority in the state are the two interrelated supreme values for which Creon stands. Sons are the property of their fathers and their function is to be “serviceable” to the father. “Pater potestas” in the family is the basis for the ruler's power in the state. Citizens are the property of the state and its ruler, and “disobedience is the worst of evils.”

Haemon, Creon's son, represents the principles for which Antigone fights. Although he tries at first to appease and persuade his father, he declares his opposition openly when he sees that his father will not yield. He relies on reason, “the highest of all things that we call our own,” and on the will of the people. When Creon accuses Antigone of being tainted with the “malady of disobedience,” Haemon's rebellious answer is:

Our Theban folk, with one voice, denies it.(30)

When Creon argues:

Am I to rule this land by other judgment than mine own?

Haemon's answer is:

That is no city which belongs to one man …
Thou wouldst make a good monarch of a desert.(31)

Creon brings the argument again to the crucial point by saying:

This boy, it seems, is the woman's champion.

And Haemon points to the matriarchal goddesses by answering:

And for thee, and for me, and for the gods below.(32)

The two principles have now been stated with full clarity, and the end of the tragedy only carries the action to the point of final decision. Creon has Antigone buried alive in a cave—again a symbolic expression of her connection with the goddesses of the earth. The seer, Teiresias, who in King Oedipus was instrumental in making Oedipus aware of his crime, appears again, this time to make Creon aware of his. Striken by panic, Creon gives in and tries to save Antigone. He rushes to the cave where she is entombed, but Antigone is already dead. Haemon tries to kill his father; when he fails, he takes his own life. Creon's wife, Eurydice, upon hearing the fate of her son, kills herself, cursing her husband as the murderer of her children. Creon recognizes the complete collapse of his world and the defeat of his principles. He admits his own moral bankruptcy, and the play ends with his confession:

Ah me, this guilt can never be fixed on any other mortal kind, for my acquittal! I, even I, was thy slayer, wretched that I am—I own the truth. Lead me away, O my servants, lead me hence with all speed, whose life is but as death! …

Lead me away, I pray you; a rash, foolish man; who have slain thee, ah, my son, unwittingly, and thee, too, my wife—unhappy that I am! I know not which way I should bend my gaze, or where I should seek support; for all is amiss with that which is in my hands,—and yonder again, a crushing fate hath leapt upon my head.³³

We are now in a position to answer the questions which we raised at the beginning. Is the Oedipus myth as presented in Sophocles' trilogy centered around the crime of incest? Is the murder of the father the symbolic expression of a hate resulting from jealousy? Though the answer is doubtful at the end of King Oedipus, it is hardly doubtful any more at the end of Antigone. Not Oedipus but Creon is defeated in the end, and with him the principle of authoritarianism, of man's domination over men, the father's domination over his son, and the dictator's domination over the people. If we accept the theory of matriarchal forms of society and religion, then, indeed, there seems to be little doubt that Oedipus, Haemon, and Antigone are representatives of the old principles of matriarchy, those of equality and democracy, in contrast to Creon, who represents patriarchal domination and obedience.³⁴

Our interpretation, however, needs to be supplemented by another consideration. Although the conflict between Oedipus, Antigone, and Haemon on the one side against Creon on the other contains a memory of the conflict between patriarchal and matriarchal principles, and particularly of its mythical elements, it must also be understood in terms of the specific political and cultural situation in Sophocles' time and of his reactions to that situation.

The Peloponnesian War, the threat to the political independence of Athens, and the plague which ravaged the city at the beginning of the war had helped to uproot the old religious and philosophical traditions. Indeed, attacks against religion were not new, but they reached a climax in the teachings of Sophocles' Sophist adversaries. He was opposed particularly to those Sophists who not only proclaimed despotism exercised by an intellectual elite but also unheld unrestricted self-ishness as a moral principle. The ethics of egotistical supermen proclaimed by this wing of the Sophists and their amoral opportunism were the very opposite of Sophocles' philosophy. In Creon Sophocles created a figure representing this school of sophism, and Creon's speeches resembled the Sophist pattern even in style and expression.³⁵

In his argument against the Sophists, Sophocles gave new expression to the old religious traditions of the people with their emphasis on love, equality, and justice. “The religious attitude of Sophocles … is primarily concerned not with the official religion of the state but with those helpful secondary powers which always were closer to the faith of the masses than the aristocratic Olympians and to whom the people turned again in the dangers of the Peloponnesian War.”³⁶ These “secondary powers,” which were different from the “aristocratic Olympian” gods, are easily identified as the goddesses of the matriarchal world.

We see, then, that Sophocles' views expressed in the Oedipus trilogy are to be understood as a blend of his opposition to contemporary sophism and of his sympathy for the old, non-Olympian religious ideas.³⁷ In the name of both he proclaimed the principle that the dignity of man and the sanctity of human bonds must never be subordinated to inhuman and authoritarian claims of the state or to opportunistic considerations.³⁸

Thus far we have been concerned only with the interpretation of the Oedipus myth and not with Freud's clinical description of the Oedipus complex. Quite regardless of the question of whether or not Freud's clinical description is correct, we arrive at the result that the complex centered around the boy's incestuous strivings toward his mother and his resulting hostility against the father is wrongly called an Oedipus complex. There is a complex, however, which fully deserves to be called an Oedipus complex, the rebellion of the son against the pressure of the father's authority—an authority rooted in the patriarchal, authoritarian structure of society.

The child does not meet society directly at first; he meets it through the medium of his parents, who in their character structure and methods of education represent the social structure and are the psychological agency of society, as it were. What, then, happens to the child in relationship to his parents? He meets through them the kind of authority which prevails in a patriarchal society, and this kind of authority tends to break his will, his spontaneity, his independence. But, since man is not born to be broken, the child fights against the authority represented by his parents; he fights not only for his freedom from pressure but also for his freedom to be himself, a full-fledged human being and not an automaton.

In this struggle some children are more successful than others; most of them are defeated to some extent in their fight for freedom. The ways in which the defeat is brought about are manifold, but, whatever they are, the scars left in the child's unsuccessful fight against irrational authority are to be found at the bottom of every neurosis. Such a scar is represented in a syndrome the most important features of which are: a weakening or paralysis of the individual's originality and spontaneity; a weakening of the self and the substitution of a pseudoself in which the feeling of “I am” is dulled and replaced by the experience of self as the sum total of expectations others have about the self; a substitution of heteronomy for autonomy; a fogginess, or, to use Dr. Sullivan's term, a parataxic quality in all interpersonal experiences.

It is the child's rebellion against proprietary paternal authority in all its various forms which can be properly called the Oedipus complex.

Does our interpretation of the Oedipus myth and of the Oedipus complex imply that Freud's theory was without foundation?

The history of thought is a history of continuous revision and reinterpretation of previous theoretical statements which at a later period appear to have expressed the optimum of truth attainable in a given historical period. With regard to Freud's theories the same holds true; there is hardly any theoretical statement of Freud's which does not contain at least a true kernel from which one can proceed to a more correct insight into the facts. Freud's theory of the Oedipus complex is a case in point.

Freud observed three facts, and each of these observations was valid. We now propose to show that the unified theoretical interpretation which he gave to his three observations was fallacious and that the progress of psychological theory lies in the direction of seeing the observed phenomena afresh and of interpreting them differently. The facts which Freud observed were the following: First, he noted the presence of sexual strivings in children. Although this phenomenon has found wide recognition today, at the beginning of the century it was a revolutionary and significant discovery which furthered our knowledge of child psychology tremendously. Second, Freud observed that the ties by which children are bound to their parents are often not severed at a time when in the normal development they should be severed and the child should become independent. He saw that this irrational “fixation” of children to their parents is to be found in all neuroses and is one of the causes for the development of neurotic symptoms and neurotic character traits. The significance of this discovery can hardly be overestimated. The more data we collect, the more it becomes apparent that the peculiar lack of maturity and self-assertion and the emotional and intellectual distortions which are so characteristic of every neurosis result from this fixation, which paralyzes the person's free use of his own emotional and intellectual powers. Third, Freud recognized the significance and frequency of conflicts between father and son, and he showed how an unsuccessful rebellion against the father's authority and the fears resulting from the defeat form the basis for a neurotic development.

The observation of these three phenomena led Freud to the formulation of a brilliant theory. He assumed that the second phenomenon, the attachment to the mother, was rooted in the first phenomenon, the sexual strivings of the child, and that the third phenomenon, the conflict with the father, was a result of this sexual rivalry. This theory is very appealing, indeed, because it has the advantage of explaining three different phenomena by one assumption and thus to require the least amount of theoretical construction. Individual and anthropological data³⁹ gathered since Freud formulated his theory, however, have shaken our conviction as to its validity. These data have shown that the Oedipus complex in Freud's sense is not a universal human phenomenon and that the child's rivalry with the father does not occur in cultures without strong patriarchal authority. Furthermore, it has become evident that the tie to the mother is not essentially a sexual tie—in fact, that infantile sexuality when not suppressed has as its normal aim autoerotic satisfactions and sexual contact with other children. Moreover, it has become evident that pathological dependence on the mother is caused by nonsexual factors—particularly by the dominating attitude of the mother, which makes the child helpless and frightened thus intensifying the need for the mother's protection and affection.

Freud's concept of the Oedipus complex is part of a broader concept in which neurosis is explained as the result of a conflict between the irrational passions of the child and the reality represented by the parents and by society. It is the child who is the “sinner,” and neurosis is the punishment, as it were. The concept of the Oedipus complex presented here is also part of a larger concept of neurosis. The cause of neurosis is seen primarily not in the conflict between man's irrational passions and the justified demands of society but in man's legitimate striving for freedom and independence and in those social arrangements which thwart it and thus create destructive passion which in turn must be suppressed by external or internal force.⁴⁰

While Freud assumes that the conflict arising from the child's incestuous strivings is rooted in his nature and thus unavoidable, we believe that in a cultural situation in which respect for the integrity of every individual—hence of every child—is realized the Oedipus complex will belong to the past.

Notes

1. Sigmund Freud, “The Interpretation of Dreams,” in The Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud, translated by Dr. A. A. Brill, New York, The Modern Library, Random House, Inc., 1938, p. 308.

2. Cf. Carl Roberts, Oedipus, Berlin, Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1915.

3. While it is true that the trilogy was not written in this order and while some scholars may be right in their assumption that Sophocles did not plan the three tragedies as a trilogy, the three must nevertheless be interpreted as a whole. It makes little sense to assume that Sophocles described the fate of Oedipus and his children in three tragedies without having in mind an inner coherence of the whole.

4. “Oedipus at Colonus,” in Whitney J. Oates and Eugene O'Neill, Jr. (eds.), The Complete Greek Drama, vol. I, New York, Random House, 1938, pp. 1383 ff.

5. J. J. Bachofen, “Der Mythus von Orient und Okzident, edited by Manfred Schroeder, Munich, Ch. Becksche Buchhandlung, 1926, pp. 14 f.

6. Ibid., pp. 15, 16.

7. Tentatively in his Systems of Consanguinity and Affinity, 1871, and more definitely in Ancient Society, Chicago, Charles H. Kerr & Company, 1877.

8. New York, The Macmillan Company, 1927.

9. Cf. Schneidewin, “Die Sage von Oedipus,” in Abhandlung der Gesenichte der W. z. Gott., 5 (1852), 192.

10. Cf. Carl Roberts, op. cit., pp. 1 ff.

11. Ibid., p. 21.

12. Their interpretation of the Sphinx myth, however, differs from the one which follows here. Bachofen emphasized the nature of the question and stated that the Sphinx defines man in terms of his telluric, material existence, that is, in matriarchal terms. Freud assumed that the riddle is the symbolic expression of the child's sexual curiosity.

13. For those readers who are not familiar with Freud's dream interpretation, one brief explanatory remark is in order. What I have called here the real thought of the dream or myth is what Freud calls the latent dream in contrast to the manifest content, which is the dream as remembered. Freud assumed that symbolic language was a secret code the main function of which was to distort and veil the latent thought. While in my opinion the main function of symbolic language is not that of hiding but of giving fuller expression to inner experiences than conventional language permits, it remains nevertheless true that both dreams and myths also frequently tend to hide and distort the real meaning of the thought expressed. In dreams this is the case if the dreamer is not aware in waking life of the thoughts which he expresses in a dream and does not want to be fully aware of them even in his sleep. In myths the latent content is censored and changed if it deals with elements which are rooted in older historical periods forgotten, feared, or despised at the time the myth is formulated.

14. Translation by R. C. Webb, op. cit., pp. 80 ff.

15. Translation by R. C. Webb, ibid., pp. 130 ff.

16. Sophocles probably refers here to a passage from Herodotus, vol. II, p. 35.

17. Ibid., pp. 338 f.

18. Ibid., pp. 1367 f.

19. Ibid., pp. 525 f.

20. Ibid., pp. 1380 f.

21. Ibid., pp. 1650 f.

22. Ibid., pp. 1656 f.

23. Ibid., pp. 1660 f.

24. Ibid., pp. 50 f.

25. Ibid., pp. 332 f.

26. Ibid., pp. 455 f.

27. Ibid., pp. 523 f.

28. Ibid., p. 483.

29. Ibid., pp. 640 f.

30. Ibid., pp. 730 f.

31. Ibid., pp. 740 f.

32. Ibid., pp. 745 f.

33. Ibid., pp. 1320 f.

34. No less a thinker than Hegel saw the conflict represented in Antigone in the same light many years prior to Bachofen. He says of Antigone: “The gods, however, which she worships are the gods below, the gods of Hades, the inner gods of emotion, of love, of blood, and not the gods of the day, of the free and self-conscious life, of the nation, and the state.” (Hegel, Aesthetik, vol. II, p. 2, Absch., chap. 1; compare also Philosophy of Religion, vol. XVI, p. 133.) Hegel in this statement is so much on the side of the state and its laws that he defines Creon's principle as that of “the free life of the people and the state” in spite of the undeniable evidence that Creon does not represent freedom but dictatorship. In view of this one-sided sympathy of Hegel's, it is all the more significant that he states so clearly that Antigone stands for the principles of love, of blood and emotion, which later on Bachofen found to be the characteristic principles of the matriarchal world. While Hegel's sympathy for the patriarchal principles is not surprising, one does not expect to find it in Bachofen's writings. And yet Bachofen's own attitude to matriarchal society has been quite ambivalent. It seems that he loved matriarchal and hated patriarchal principles, but inasmuch as he was also a religious Protestant and a believer in the progress of reason he believed in the supremacy of the patriarchal principle over the matriarchate. In a great part of his writings his sympathy with the matriarchal principle finds expression. In other parts, and this holds true of his brief interpretation of the Oedipus myth (Bachofen's “Mutterrecht” in Der Mythos vom Orient und Okzident, op. cit., pp. 259 f.), he, like Hegel, sides with the victorious Olympian gods. To him Oedipus stands on the frontier between the matriarchal and the patriarchal world. The fact that he does not know his father points to a matriarchal origin in which only the mother but not the father is certain. But the fact that he discovers eventually who his real father is, according to Bachofen, marks the beginning of the patriarchal family in which the true father is known. “Oedipus,” he says, “is connected with the progress to a higher level of existence. He is one of those great figures whose suffering and pain lead to a more beautiful form of human civilization; one of those still rooted in the old order of things who are at the same time sacrificed and thus become the founders of a new epoch” (p. 266). Bachofen stresses the fact that the dreaded mother-goddesses, the Erinyes, have subordinated themselves to the Apollonian world and that the connection between Oedipus and them marks the victory of the patriarchal principle. It seems to me that Bachofen's interpretation does not do justice to the fact that Creon, although he is the only one who survives physically, symbolizing the victory of the patriarchal world, is the one who is morally defeated. It may be assumed that Sophocles intended to convey the idea that the patriarchal world was triumphant but that it would be defeated unless it adopted the humanistic principles of the older matriarchal order.

35. Cf. Callicles in Plato's Georgias and Thrasymachus in his Republic.

36. Wilhelm Schmid, “Geschichte der Griechischen Literatur,” 1. Teil, in Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaften, edited by Walter Otto, 7. Abt., 1. Teil, 2. Band, Muenchen, 1934.

37. It is interesting to note that the same blend between progressive political ideas and a sympathy with mythical matriarchal principles is to be found again in the nineteenth century in Bachofen's, Engels', and Morgan's work. (Compare my paper on “Zur Rezeption der Mutterrechtstheorie” in Zeitschrift fuer Sozialforschung, III (1934).

38. Cf. also Wilhelm Nestle, “Sophokles und die Sophistik,” Classical Philology, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1910, vol. 5, II, pp. 129 ff.

    The problem of hostility between father and son was also of great personal significance in the life of the poet. His son Jophon sued the aged father and wanted the court to deprive him of the right to manage his own business affairs, a suit from which Sophocles emerged victoriously.

39. Cf. particularly Malinowski's work.

40. Cf. E. Fromm, Man for Himself, New York, Rinehart & Co., 1947.