“We may become the makers of our fate when we have ceased to pose as its prophets.”

—Karl Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies

Part II

Descending from Mount Parnassus along the Pythian way, Oedipus traveled east toward the sunrise. By midday he had reached the triple meeting of roads.

Behind him rose Delphi.

Before him two roads diverged. One bent toward Daulia’s quieter fields. The other led to the great city of Thebes.

He looks down one, then the other, as a chariot from Thebes rolls into the narrow pass. Within it rides an old man. The herald orders Oedipus to stand aside.

He does not yield.

The herald tries to push him off the road, but he pushes back. The driver strikes him, and he strikes back.

Cursing the insolence, the old man brings his goad down upon him.

Oedipus erupts.

When silence returns, save one who fled into the hills, all lie dead along the roadside—the old man at his feet.

He turned his eyes toward Thebes.

Under the hot afternoon sun, the road lay silent; he met neither traveler nor trader. Fields stood unattended, burning, browning in the heat.

At the great city’s gate, no guard hailed him. No one entered, no one exited.

Then he saw her. There, perched upon a rocky outcrop, the Sphinx watched.

Beneath her lay bones.

“You will answer,” she said. “What creature walks on four legs in the morning, on two at noon, and on three in the evening?”

“Man.”

She cast herself upon the rocks.

From behind the walls, a cry rises. The city gates swing open.

The people pour out and draw the stranger in.

Truth risks being wrong.

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📘 Begin here | ⬅️ Previous Waypoint (5.1) | ➡️ Next Waypoint (5.3) 🔒

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🗂️ Indexes: Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4

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