I am more than nominally intrigued by the dismemberment motifs in the Bakkhai and Oedipus the King. People lose arms, legs, hands and (most notably) eyes. What is it about the loss of such integral appeditures that Euripides and Sophocles were so fixated on? In both plays the apex of tragedy begins its sweep upward at the announcement of Penthus's limbs being torn off and Oedipus's eyes being gouged out. We respond (how could we otherwise?) with disgust and untenable curiosity when the horrific events are announced. We are at once revolted by the conjured images of our imaginations--How could a mother do that (rip and tear and shred bare-handed) to her son? And how could a son do that (Oedipus-like) to his mother. And then gouge out his eyes? And at the same instant our curiosity is unconstrained--How much blood did Penthus have in him? What did Aguae look like when trance-like she began the frenzied dismemberment of her beloved son? At the moment of action, what was the "look" in Oedipus's eyes? What did he see? And what is the wrenching sound of dismemberment?
As the true tragedy of the plays is revealed--a stew of hubris, god-ignoring, and fate--the disgust and curiosity is in some small way satisfied. The lament of Agaue and Kadmos is more wrenching than the imagined sounds of the dismemberment--they too are being dismembered while their own disembodied limbs lie strewn across the stage. The cure for the curiosity is more potent than the curiosity itself. No need to see Oedipus in the self-mutilating act--his tearless cries at the sound of his daughter's sobbing is enough to satiate our want of eyes.
We have seen enough.
And maybe, if we were watching, something in us has lost a limb too.
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