‘I understand the horror of what I am going to do; but anger, the spring of all life’s horror, masters my resolve.’ – Medea, from the play Medea, deciding to kill her own children.
Horrified? That was exactly the response of the original audience over 2500 years ago – when it was first performed in competition, Euripides’ Medea came last. In general, Greek tragedy is short, and whilst this makes it surprisingly accessible to read, it also means that the plot moves a brutal pace. Medea is no exception; within about 50 pages Euripides crafted one of the most intense and controversial plays, even by modern standards.
Filicide was the worst crime someone could commit in the ancient world, especially as a woman. But this did not stop Medea, and nor were her sons the extent of the casualties – Medea also poisons the princess and the king of Corinth, where the play is set. What could possibly provoke such violence? She acted because her husband Jason (the same Jason who got the golden fleece) was planning on remarrying, this time into the royal family of Corinth, and the king was sending her into exile.
When plainly laid out, the murders seem like an extremely disproportional response, and yet there still is a certain balance to the play. Medea says life has been cruel to her, and she is right. The play opens with her cursing Jason’s betrayal in trying to remarry – and it is a betrayal. In Ancient Greece women had little agency, being dependent on their fathers, until they were handed over to then be dependent on their husband. In events prior to the play, she had taken a huge risk in leaving her family to run away with Jason, madly in love, and helped him complete his quest, retrieving the golden fleece. His repayment – marrying someone else.
Well, two wrongs hardly make a right. But to the Greeks, Medea’s reasons might have been justifiable, if only she had been a man. She talks of honour and vengeance, ‘what is the matter with me? Are my enemies to laugh at me?’ Instead of an obedient wife, she acts more like a Greek hero – fuelled by rage and refusal to be seen as weak, and when she kills her children, she uses a sword, a typical man’s weapon.
And this is possibly the most threatening thing about Medea – societal and gender constraints don’t apply to her. But not only does she tip the gender balance, by the end of the play Euripides has taken it a step further, and Medea has her final scene in the chariot of her grandfather, the sun god Helios – making her the only mortal in all of Greek tragedy to be in a chariot, like a god. This is both remarkable and contentious, and by this stage in the play it could be easy to write her off as inhuman, calling her a monster for her deeds. But this is not accurate, as her dialogue is incredibly humane and emotional throughout.
She is undoubtably a formidable character, others in the play are genuinely frightened of her. The king himself banishes her, plainly admitting, ‘I fear you. Why wrap up the truth?’ and proceeds to say it is because she is both angry and a ‘clever woman’. It was dangerous to be a clever woman in the Ancient world, since often they were not content to passively sit at home, and this was not received well (especially in Athens where this play was first performed). This is true of Medea, who is active and independent, as well as opinionated and speaks for herself. Nowadays these can be seen as ‘feminist’ qualities, especially as Medea refuses to be inferior to her husband Jason – if anything she is superior, and in the play, it makes for amazing, really entertaining dialogue where Medea verbally cuts him down for wronging her.
But Medea does not just speak up for herself, she speaks for all women, delivering a monologue so great that parts of it was later quoted in Suffrage meetings. ‘Surely, of all creatures that have life and will, we women are the most wretched.’ This is her grand entrance speech, and she uses it to tell the world about not just her situation, but the suffering of women everywhere. She goes on to mention the dowry system – how not only are they forced to essentially buy a husband, but then have no idea whether they will be good or bad and are stuck either way. By choosing to run away with Jason, Medea was a rare exception, but this just makes it more impressive that she forces the audience to consider society from a female perspective, and clearly exposes the injustice of the system.
Medea sees social issues and calls them out. But it is not really Medea calling them out, it is Euripides. Her speech is exceptional by any standards, but even more so since it was written by a man, performed by a man, and quite possibly watched by an audience of all men (women in Athens were often confined to the domestic sphere, and there is no evidence they were allowed to watch plays). Medea is the ideal mouthpiece for this criticism, as from start to finish she challenges societal norms, whether through her dialogue or her ventures.
It is extremely easy to demonise Medea, as often women in literature are. She is controversial, because of how she does not obey convention nor fit into gender roles. And she gets away with it, emerging at the end of the play unscathed, which is especially surprising after all her terrible deeds. Even in much later literature, this does not happen. Consider Lady Macbeth, who was ambitious and ruthless, but also clever and courageous in a way Macbeth was not. But quite shortly after achieving her ambitions, she is driven mad, all power and whatever status she had removed – effectively warning the audience against such ‘unwise’ actions. But playing Medea off as mad would not do justice to her, nor Euripides. Even if Medea is still called a villain, she is an incredibly complex one, and at least most certainly sane. And the contemporary audience could well have perceived her as the villain, though possibly for different reasons like her ‘lack’ of ‘womanliness’.
It is difficult to say whether Medea is a feminist icon or not. She does display feminist qualities such as being assertive and actively fighting for what she wants, but when taking into consideration her (morally questionable) actions, she is not someone to aspire to emulate. Perhaps the real icon is Euripides, a man who recognised that women were more than passive creatures, and brought a play, performed by men, to an audience of men, with a character so ambiguous and provocative that she continues to startle 2500 years later.
