
In the early Greek imagination, the past and present were “before us,” visible and knowable, while the future lay behind our backs—we back into it blindly. The best preparation for an unseen future is to turn around.
This concept of time is reflected in works such as Sophocles’ Antigone. There are lessons often overlooked that speak to crises today.
Consider the story. Several characters attempt to right perceived wrongs but spiral into tragedy. Antigone honors divine burial traditions for her brother, Polynices, considered a traitor by the state; Creon, King of Thebes, enforces state law forbidding burial for traitors; Haemon pleads with his father to reconsider; Ismene, Antigone’s sister, urges moderation. When Tiresias, the blind prophet, tells the King he “stands on a razor’s edge,” Creon dismisses him as partisan. Tiresias responds, “Even now, the avenging Furies are lying in wait for you and will have their prey when the evil caused by your actions falls back upon you”–and prophesies Creon’s punishment: the death of his son in exchange for Antigone’s entombment and her brother’s unburied body.
After Tiresias leaves, the Chorus persuades Creon to reconsider. He relents and decides to release Antigone and bury Polynices. It’s too late—Antigone has hanged herself. Seeing this, Haemon tries to kill his father, fails, and takes his own life. Upon hearing of her son’s death, Eurydice, Creon’s wife, also commits suicide.
Sophocles’ play is not an early version of Thoreau’s essay on civil disobedience. There’s more to Antigone than the courage of conscience. The past is “before us,” with more to say.
Antigone’s Tragic Idealism: While celebrated for conscience against tyranny, we forget the Chorus initially supported Creon: “You have the power to make any law you wish.” We cry for people’s power after we’ve already surrendered it to leaders.
Creon’s Appeal to Order: Thebans craved stability following the civil war, where Antigone’s brothers—power-hungry rivals who betrayed both country and kinship—killed each other in battle. Creon represented order after chaos. Our complicity precedes outrage.
Control’s Self-Destruction: Those who fear disorder more than injustice will, without fail, produce more of both. Creon’s rigid enforcement of order violated divine law, triggering the chaos he sought to prevent. His lament—”The mistakes of a stubborn man are crude and cruel”—comes too late.
Getting what we see. – The seer, Tiresias, who foretold Creon’s future, was blind—yet he saw with remarkable clarity. The “blind prophet” is a familiar trope across cultures. Unlike prophets who merely deliver fate’s decree, Tiresias warns of preventable disaster and avoidable tragedy. Creon sees too much of what he’s seen before—the threat of chaos and the fear of the people—blind to all but what brought him to power, promising the sword, dying by the sword.
The tension extends beyond the play:
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As my ’60s political mentor provocatively noted: “Without Creons, there can be no Antigones.” Law provides the framework for moral action. Civil rights leaders broke laws but accepted the consequences. Protesters depend on the systems they challenge.
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Leslie Jamison, after surviving addiction, understood: “I completely identify with finding freedom in boundaries because I’m beholden to the truth in a different way.” Blest be the ties that bind.
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Rigid morality cannot adapt to an evolving world. The true message of tradition is not, “Repeat what we have said!” but rather, “Act as we have acted!” While truth itself does not change with the times, how we respond must. The prophet’s call to reconsider effectively challenged Creon’s unyielding principle—”Traitors must die”—”Think again.” Moral wisdom lies in recognizing when principles require reevaluation, something Creon tragically failed to do.
Finally, consider Karl Jaspers, who lived through the Holocaust and wove a tragic vision into Christian faith. For Jaspers, tragedy becomes noble when met with trust and openness—like Abraham setting out for the Promised Land “not knowing where he was going,” guided only by divine promise that didn’t point the way.
Dignity, justice, and freedom are their own Promised Land. In the Bible, memory is inseparable from hope—deliverance from oppression—and God’s judgment is mercy. Yet great hope is not always good news, and truth often unnerving. Scripture declares: “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free”—though not before it drives you up the wall. The apostle Paul said as much: “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling.”
The latest crisis is always the worst, though authoritarianism, disinformation, and political violence have existed throughout history. Apart from the bloodshed of the nation’s earlier years through the Civil War, more recent times give examples of going back with a blind eye. In 1939 alone, a pro-Nazi rally at Madison Square Garden drew 20,000 Americans under swastikas flanked by images of George Washington. Extremist groups like the Christian Front plotted bombings to incite chaos; respected politicians collaborated with Nazi propagandists to spread fascist ideologies; Father Coughlin’s radio program, “The Golden Hour of the Little Flower,” embraced Axis views and reached millions more than Rush Limbaugh; conspiracy theories targeting Jewish communities stoked fear—echoing today’s disinformation campaigns like QAnon or election fraud claims. Fear-mongering Senator Joe McCarthy—nicknamed “Tail-Gunner Joe” for exaggerated claims of heroism—conducted witch hunts against Communists, destroying countless careers.
Now again, under the guise of God and saving the nation, extremists exploit fear and division, wreaking havoc rationalized by otherwise intelligent people.
We can take heart from what we have faced before. The future is behind our backs. Remembering what proved true in crises that shook the nation, we could return to move forward again, as if for the first time—better prepared to prevail once more.
Notes and reading
Backing into the Future: The Classical Tradition and Its Renewal – Bernard Knox (1994). Knox was a classical scholar celebrated for his work on ancient Greek literature and tragedy. He was the first director of Harvard’s Center for Hellenic Studies, acclaimed for his interpretations of Sophocles. (Helped by Knox, I am responsible for what I say here about Antigone.)
Ars Vitae: The Fate of Inwardness and the Return of the Ancient Arts of Living – Elisabeth Lasch-Quinn (2020). Lasch-Quinn is an intellectual historian known for her cultural criticism and work on American social thought.
Traveling Back: Toward a Global Political Theory – Susan McWilliams-Barndt (2014). McWilliams-Barndt chairs the politics department at Pomona College and co-edits the journal American Political Thought. [Her father, political moral philosopher Wilson Carey McWilliams, was my “’60s political mentor” and longtime friend.]
Leslie Jamison – Jamison is an essayist and novelist known for her explorations of empathy, pain, and addiction. Her breakthrough collection, The Empathy Exams (2014), established her as a significant voice in creative nonfiction, combining memoir with cultural criticism and journalistic inquiry. Jamison is director of the graduate nonfiction program at Columbia University.
Karl Jaspers – Tragedy Is Not Enough (1969) – “Basic Characteristics of the Tragic.” Jaspers was a German-Swiss psychiatrist and philosopher who had a strong influence on modern theology, psychiatry, and philosophy.
Biblical references – Genesis 12, Hebrews 11:8; John 8:22, Philippians 2:12.
Emmanuel Macron, French President – Say what you will about Macron’s troubles in France, diplomats recognize him as the best among them for dealing with Donald Trump. See Seth David Radwell’s “Step Toward Healing – A Modest Proposal” (Substack American Schism – February 24, 2025).
Tip-Off #185 – What do you want?
Tip-Off #184 – A Democratic Miracle
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