drama wherein sage is in conflict with sage, but indeed there are
very few whose action revolves round a sage. And truly, can we
imagine that an event shall turn into tragedy between men who have
earnestly striven to gain knowledge of self? But the heroes of
famous tragedies do not question their souls profoundly; and it
follows therefrom that the beauty the tragic poet presents is only a
captive thing, is fettered with chains; for were his heroes to soar
to the height the real hero would gain, their weapons would fall to
the ground, and the drama itself become peace--the peace of
enlightenment. It is only in the Passion of Christ, the Phaedo,
Prometheus, the murder of Orpheus, the sacrifice of Antigone--it is
only in these that we find the drama of the sage, the solitary drama
of wisdom. But elsewhere it is rarely indeed that tragic poets will
allow a sage to appear on the scene, though it be for an instant.
They are afraid of a lofty soul; for they know that events are no
less afraid, and that a murder committed in the presence of the sage
seems quite other than the murder committed in the presence of those
whose soul still knows not itself. Had Oedipus possessed the inner
refuge that Marcus Aurelius, for instance, had been able to erect in
himself--a refuge whereto he could fly at all times--had he only
acquired some few of the certitudes open to every thinker--what
could destiny then have done? What would she have entrapped in her
snares? Would they have contained aught besides the pure light that
streams from the lofty soul, as it grows more beautiful still in
misfortune?

But where is the sage in Oedipus? Is it Tiresias? He reads the
future, but knows not that goodness and forgiveness are lords of the
future. He knows the truth of the gods, but not the truth of
mankind. He ignores the wisdom that takes misfortune to her arms and