A New Theory of Tragic Catharsis

Aristotle's Poetics has come down to us in a form that is fragmented and incomplete. For example, its famous definition of tragedy begins by stating that it is a summation of what has come before:

Let us now discuss Tragedy, resuming its formal definition, as resulting from what has been already said. Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions.¹

But nothing has been said previously about the purgation (catharsis) of pity and fear. As a result, critics and translators down through the ages have offered theories of their own about what Aristotle meant, a phenomenon commented on by Gerald Else: "The controversy over catharsis has revolved—for some periods, 'spun' would be a better term—on its own axis for so long, and with so little determinate result, that one sometimes wonders whether it should not be declared officially closed or debarred."²

Professor Else's sentiments notwithstanding, I would like to propose what I believe is an original theory of catharsis and to support it with reference to Sophocles's Oedipus Tyrannus—Aristotle's model of an exemplary tragedy (A, p. 49).

To begin with, I consider Aristotle's understanding of pity and fear. Pity, we are told, is a response to "unmerited misfortune" (A, p. 45). Consider the case of Oedipus Tyrannus, for example. Here we pity the hero because—through no fault of his own—he is fated to kill his father and marry his mother. His misfortunes—his blindness, his exile, his shame, the loss of Jocasta—appear unmerited. Might I even say unjust?

I argue that the play presents us, initially, with an imperfect moral order, a universe, overseen by gods, that permits unmerited misfortune—a universe in which undeserved suffering can presumably befall us. Which brings me around to fear.

Fear, Aristotle says, is aroused "by the misfortune of a man like ourselves" (A, p. 45), which I take to mean we fear that we too—like the hero with whom we identify—can suffer unmerited misfortune.

How then are these feelings purged? I suggest that: 1) catharsis occurs when we come to regard the hero's misfortune not as unmerited but rather as merited; and 2) with this recognition our pity for him dissipates—and with it our fear of an unjust and malevolent universe.

Let us consider Oedipus Tyrannus. I submit that by its end, we are meant to regard the hero as a tyrant—as a cruel despot unworthy of our sympathy or pity. Of course, the play's title is Oedipus Tyrannus: Oedipus the Tyrant. Most, but not all, translators take the position that "tyrannus" simply means king, as in the familiar Latin translation, Oedipus Rex. A sampling of translations offered by Amazon yields seventeen titles using either "Rex" or "King," and four using "Tyrant." For my own understanding, I rely on H. G. Liddell and Robert Scott's Greek-English Lexicon. Here "tyrannus" is defined as meaning an "absolute monarch unlimited by law or constitution … not applied to old hereditary sovereignties (Basileiai) … for the term rather regards the irregular way the power was gained, than the way in which it was exercised. … However, the word soon came to imply reproach, like our tyrant."³

Regarding Oedipus through the lens of this definition, he certainly qualifies as a tyrant, having come to power by irregular means: patricide and public acclamation. But is his behavior tyrannical in our sense of the word? Did Sophocles intend for us to see his hero as despotic—his behavior a matter of reproach? I believe so. Consider, for example, the episode with the elderly herdsman. The old man, recognizing Oedipus as the individual who killed Laius, refuses to talk, and Oedipus orders him tortured.

Oedipus.

If kindness will not get you to speak, pain will!

Shepherd.

I am...