It is said that during a performance of Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazusae, Euripides turned to a male relative and told him: “I fear […] that this day will be my last. The women have been plotting against me […] They say I slander them in my tragedies”[1]. On the surface, Euripides is the ultimate slanderer of women; Medea, Hippolytus, and the Bacchae, portray desire-ridden, vengeful, uncontrollable women. In this paper, however, I will explore how Euripides has given power to the female characters in his play through two political spheres: the oikos and the polis. The oikos is the private sphere left to women – it encompasses all household and family activity. On a stage, the oikos is “behind the orchestra […] a more remote space which the audience normally cannot see”[2]. The polis, on the other hand, is the public sphere and it is typically left in the hands of men. Governance and monetary exchanges, for example, were the concerns of men. And, in opposition to the oikos, the polis’ place on stage is the orchestra, open to the audience[3].
Euripides chooses to do something special in exploring the gender politics of his dramas; he creates a perfect woman in the private political sphere (oikos) and creates an untouchable, almost godly woman in the public political sphere (polis). The two case studies for this, respectively, are Hippolytus and Medea. In Euripides depiction of Phaedra, she becomes the ultimate family woman; she maintains her chastity and resultantly protects and honors the family name. On the other end of the spectrum is Medea, a woman who successfully inserts her way into the polis. She becomes untouchable and hardened, by mastering the art of being a man. Trade, conversation, and warfare-like violence are all tools Euripides uses to explore a woman’s place in the polis. Thus, this paper will explore how Euripides creates two powerful women: the victim and the perpetrator.
Phaedra’s self-sacrifice is the ultimate preservation of her chastity. In Ancient Greece, a woman’s purity is key to the conservation of the household. It maintains the structure and integrity of the family. In Christopher Gill’s article “The Articulation of the Self in Euripides’ Hippolytus”, Gill quotes Hippolytus: “Let someone teach women to be sophron or allow me to go on trampling them down forever”, Gill then explains: “By sophronein, Hippolytus seems to mean ‘to be chaste’, or perhaps better ‘virtuous’”[4]. To be sophron is an expectation held of the women in Hippolytus. Their virtuousness, ultimately a matter of the oikos, is essential in preserving the sanctity of the home. Notably, sophrosune is a term typically used for the “sexual modesty [of] men”[5]. Thus, its application to the women of the play is an expectation of a higher standard (a crossover between the oikos and the polis). Phaedra meets this standard. After being cursed to fall in love with Hippolytus, she does everything in her power to remain chaste. Thus, even though it is her “heart that is stained”, her “hands […] [remain] clean”[6]. Phaedra understands that it is her duty, as a member of the oikos, to remain pure and not fall to desire. Frustrated with her longing, Phaedra yells to the audience: “Damnation take the woman who first began to besmirch her marriage bed with other men!”[7]. Out of shame and self-preservation, Phaedra commits suicide, ending any likelihood of her “besmirching her marriage bed.” She sacrifices herself in the name of her family. And, consequently, the private realm of her life, the oikos, remains protected by her sacrificial act.
Phaedra’s self-sacrifice preserves the honor and sanctity of her family. But her suicide created a host of issues for the characters around her: her false accusation of Hippolytus is a direct cause of his death. Yet, one must examine how her sacrifice is crucial to maintaining the dignity of her family. After Theseus has taken revenge against his son, Artemis comes on stage and tells the audience (and Theseus): “I came, to make plain that your son’s heart is guiltless so that he may die with a good name, make plain, too, the maddened frenzy of your wife, or if I may call it so, her nobility”[8]. Here, Phaedra’s actions in the oikos (her suicide off stage, her preservation of individual purity), make their way to the polis. The audience and Theseus now know that both Hippolytus and Phaedra were virtuous characters. And, Phaedra, who initiated this series of events, is credited with the preservation of the family’s honor. She was virtuous in her decision to kill herself, choosing to protect the private realm before giving way to her cursed desires. Hippolytus is a tragedy, Phaedra and Hippolytus die and Theseus is left to contemplate their absences. Yet, Euripides has been purposeful in his depiction of Phaedra – he has made her the ultimate family woman, the perfector of the oikos. Without her self-sacrifice, the family would have been doomed.
Phaedra is a prime case study of a female character mastering the private realm. Phaedra understood what was important for the maintenance of a family: purity and dignity. Euripides, however, did not only explore women in their traditional space. Medea is a strong exploration into women’s role in the polis.
Medea successfully inserts herself into the polis of Ancient Greek life. Euripides endows her with the power of exchange, a traditionally male role. We see Medea master exchange more than once in Medea; she first demonstrates this within her own marriage. Women were typically married off by their fathers – it was an exchange they did not participate in. Yet, this does not apply to Medea. Early in the tragedy she tells the audience: “We [women] must buy a husband and take a master for our bodies”[9]. Here, Medea implies that she has the power and ability to purchase a husband in exchange for rights to her body. This is true for Medea’s union to Jason as her marriage is one guaranteed by oaths rather than contracts. Due to the nature of her marriage, Medea has essentially contracted her own marriage. In Margaret Williamson’s essay “A Woman’s Place in Euripides’ Medea” Williamson explains that by “contracting a marriage […] [Medea] has already translated herself into the role of a male citizen”[10]. Medea’s ability to take on a traditionally male role reflects her transition into the polis. She carries this out further, making transactions with Aegeus. Medea and Aegeus, both having something to offer one another, form a contract. Medea is right when she tells Aegeus: “You do not know what a lucky find you have made in me”[11]. In other words, not only has Medea successfully transitioned into the polis, but she is aware of her newfound political power. She has learned how to master it to her own benefit, becoming a politician of the polis. Euripides has enabled Medea to fulfill a man’s role, pushing her into the public sphere, and allowing her to maneuver it to her benefit.
Euripides also endows Medea with the resources to compose and speak like a man. The result? She has a profound ability to shapeshift to the people around her. On the inside, Medea operates like a woman. Euripides purposefully writes all of Medea’s “womanly” moments off stage, in the oikos. We see this when Medea learns Jason has betrayed her; she cries behind the scenes: “(sung) May a flash of lightning pierce my head! What profit any longer for me in life? Ah, ah! May I find my rest in death and leave behind my hateful life!”[12]. The rage and emotion of Medea’s language is unrestrained -- it is womanly. For Medea to participate in the outside world, the polis, she cannot express herself in that sphere like a woman. Thus, there is an inherent switch in how she composes herself in the outside world, particularly with other men. When faced with the possibility of being exiled by Creon, Medea knows she must adjust her composure. To convince Creon of her decency, she tells him: “Have no fear, Creon: I am not the kind of person to commit crimes against my rulers. […] For although I have been wronged, I will hold my peace”[13]. Though her tactic does not ultimately work, there’s a notable shift in Medea’s speech. Williamson observes this change, explaining that “from within the house we hear her expressing extremes of rage, misery, and hatred […] as soon as she steps outside it her language becomes controlled, abstract”[14]. Medea can shapeshift her language and composure to resemble that of men. Here, she can operate successfully in the polis, while internally remaining a member of the oikos. This duality is a powerful character development.
Medea’s ability to function in the polis is also represented physically. This is the final step in her transition from oikos to polis, and it paints her as untouchable and godly. A woman’s method of killing is traditionally poison, whereas a man traditionally uses a knife. When a woman breaks this expectation, the consequences tend to be great. For Clytemnestra, the stabbing of Agamemnon brought upon her own death. And, in Greek Mythology, Medea is turned into a monster by the gods for her actions. Yet, in Euripides’ Medea, Medea’s decision to stab her own children has a different effect: it hardens her, making her less vulnerable. She leaves more powerful than she started. Forcing pain upon Jason, Medea taunts him: “[I killed the children] to cause you grief […] Now you speak to them, now you greet them, when before you thrust them from you”[15]. The act of stabbing her children, a manly, almost war-like act, has fully transformed Medea. By engaging in the polis, she has taken on the role of a man, penetrating her children with a knife. She leaves the stage, “with the corpses of her children” as she “is born aloft away from Corinth”[16]. This is a fascinating ending to the drama; Euripides has given Medea the power of a man, in the public political sphere, yet he has not punished he for it. Rather, she leaves untouchable, floating into the sky like a god. He purposefully does not turn her into a monster because his intention has been to have Medea succeed in the realm of men.
Euripides’ dramas, Medea and Hippolytus, are two drastically different tragedies. Phaedra is the prime example of a woman operating within the private sphere; her life is dedicated to the preservation of the household. Medea, on the other hand, is the prime example of a woman operating in the public sphere; her journey depicts her transition into a man’s role. Euripides’ has chosen to make both women untouchables. Phaedra is turned into a pure, chaste figure whose self-sacrifice has protected the family name. Medea is turned into an invulnerable, powerful figure who goes unpunished for her deeds. We have the perfect victim and the perfect aggressor. To have women succeed in the oikos and polis is a political decision. It demonstrates that there is potential in both realms, and more importantly, that they can overlap.
Bibliography
Euripides., and David Kovacs. Children of Heracles: Hippolytus ; Andromache ; Hecuba. Reprinted with revisions and corrections. ed. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005.
———. Euripides. New ed], reprinted with changes and corrections. ed. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001.
Euripides, Women and Sexuality. Abingdon, Oxon: Taylor and Francis, 2003.
Kokkini, Dimitra. "THE REJECTION of EROTIC PASSION by EURIPIDES' HIPPOLYTOS." Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies. Supplement, no. 119 (2013): 67-83. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44215177.
[1] Euripides, Women and Sexuality (Abingdon, Oxon: Taylor and Francis, 2003), 32.
[2] Euripides, Women, 17.
[3] Euripides, Women, 17.
[4] Euripides, Women, 81.
[5] Dimitra Kokkini, "THE REJECTION of EROTIC PASSION by EURIPIDES' HIPPOLYTOS," Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies. Supplement, no. 119 (2013): 72, http://www.jstor.org/stable/44215177.
[6] Euripides. and David Kovacs, Children of Heracles: Hippolytus ; Andromache ; Hecuba, reprinted with revisions and corrections. ed. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005), 155.
[7] Euripides. and Kovacs, Children of Heracles, 165.
[8] Euripides. and Kovacs, Children of Heracles, 245.
[9] Euripides. and David Kovacs, Euripides, new ed], reprinted with changes and corrections. ed. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 317.
[10] Euripides, Women, 18.
[11] Euripides. and Kovacs, Euripides, 363.
[12] Euripides. and Kovacs, Euripides, 309.
[13] Euripides. and Kovacs, Euripides, 323.
[14] Euripides, Women, 17.
[15] Euripides. and Kovacs, Euripides, 427.
[16] Euripides. and Kovacs, Euripides, 427.