Customer Reviews

Euripides IV: Rhesus / The Suppliant Women / Orestes / Iphigenia in Aulis (The Complete Greek Tragedies) (Vol 6)

5 star:		(0)
4 star:		(3)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

It has always pained me that Euripides met such a grisly end. Driven out of Athens for political reasons - he had many enemies and through their influence he had been hauled into court on a charge of impiety -- Euripides sought refuge in Macedonia. There, he was received with great honor by the king but did not live long to enjoy it: shortly after his arrival, he was torn to pieces by the king's dogs. I can only hope that the rumors are true and that Euripides, at the age of 75, was on his way to a late-night romantic tryst when he was attacked. It comforts me to think of him tottering along, filled with eager anticipation, right up until the moment when the dogs lunged.

Euripides is my favorite of the great Greek tragedians for two reasons. For one thing, he is much more accessible than Aeschylus or Sophocles. He doesn't strive to be weighty. His characters speak in the common idiom and seem to be drawn from real life, which renders Euripides' plays much more moving as well as more humorous than those of his literary predecessors. Despite his light-handed approach, however, Euripides is grappling with deep moral and philosophical issues, vainly trying to reconcile the tenets of popular religion with his own sense of what is right and just. Whereas Aeschylus never seems to question his faith and Sophocles, whatever his real views may have been, upholds the status quo, Euripides is genuinely struggling to make sense of an unjust world and is looking for an objective system of morality and truth. It is for this reason that his words still resonate with modern readers and his tragedies still carry an emotional punch. Rather than formally review the four tragedies featured in "Euripides IV" - "Iphigenia in Aulis," "The Suppliant Women," "Orestes," and the possibly spurious "Rhesus" -- I'm just going to examine this one aspect of Euripides' writing and the way in which his depiction of the relationship between gods and mortals creates an ongoing theological polemic.

In "The Suppliant Women," a play that deplores the suffering caused by war, members of the Chorus debate the existence of divine justice. One Chorus member says to another, "Then you believe in gods who stand for justice?" The other replies, "Of course; what other beings make things happen?" The first remains skeptical, muttering, "I see much else in the way they treat us." The ending of the play echoes this sentiment, casting doubt upon the righteousness of the gods. As the play draws to a close, the leaders of Athens and Argos have agreed that the vicious cycle of war between city-states is pointless. "Cities!" says the King of Argos, "You might use Reason to end your troubles; but with blood, not words, you ruin your affairs. Enough!" Suddenly, the goddess Athene appears (_ex machina_) and interrupts the peace talks. Addressing young boys whose fathers have been killed, she exhorts them to avenge their fathers' deaths when they reach manhood. The entire play has been about the horrors of war and the needless suffering it causes, but with Athene egging them on the leaders abruptly switch gears, abandon all talk of peace, and vow to continue the cycle of blood vengeance. Earlier in the play, a Chorus member had cried, "Justice has called for justice, blood for blood." As the play ends, Euripides seems to be asking: Is "blood for blood" the real way to achieve justice? Would a goddess who embodies both wisdom and justice (Athene) really urge such a course of action? As I will explain more fully when I talk about "Orestes," I think that Euripides uses the plot device of the deus ex machina to draw attention to the ways in which men use the pretext of religion to justify, or to avoid responsibility for, their own actions. In the play, Athene conveniently descends and sanctions continued bloodshed. In real life, the belief that war is "the will of the gods" conveniently absolves men of responsibility.

In "Rhesus," the gods are duplicitous and human beings are their dupes. In this play, which is the only extant tragedy with a storyline taken out of the "Iliad," we see Athene scheming on behalf of the Greeks. She is alarmed because Paris is on his way to alert the Trojan leader, Hector, that Greek spies might have infiltrated the Trojan camp. She comes up with a plan to trick Paris: she will appear to him in the guise of Aphrodite, the goddess who supports Troy and is Paris' personal benefactor, and will convince him that his suspicions are without basis. Don't worry, Athene assures the Greek spies, Odysseus and Diomedes: "I'll hold (Paris) here with rotten lies." She does so, and Paris is pathetically gullible. "Always you are in truth the good friend of my city and me," he tells the false Aphrodite. "I trust you. I always believe what you say." As a result of this dirty trick, Paris does not say anything to Hector. Athene then instructs Odysseus and Diomedes to kill Rhesus, a warrior ally of Hector's whose death will ensure a Greek triumph in battle the next day. In short, Troy's doom is sealed because Paris trusted in the goddess who appeared to him, the goddess whom he believed to be on his side. A character in the play cries out to "The Spirit of Justice" for vengeance when Rhesus' body is discovered - ironic, given that it was Athene, Justice personified, who orchestrated Rhesus' death through the use of "rotten lies." Euripides seems to be questioning a number of things here: Are the gods really on anyone's side? Does absolute Justice exist? If the gods engage in trickery, if they are not reliable, why do humans look to them for justice? Yet, people do look for a higher moral order, in our time as well as Euripides' age. Euripides acknowledges that people have a need to believe in an absolute authority and in justice as a divine law; otherwise, life seems arbitrary. The play's final lines illustrate this determination to place faith in gods, however unworthy of that trust gods may be. It is the morning after the murder of Rhesus. Hector, little realizing that his hopes of victory died with Rhesus, urges his troops on to battle, expressing confidence that the Trojans will win. The leader of the Trojan guards agrees with Hector, adding, "Who knows? The god who is on our side might grant us the victory."

The "Orestes" is possibly the weirdest Greek tragedy in existence and definitely worth a read. As the play opens, Orestes has killed his mother Clytemnestra and is being punished for the crime by the Furies (aka The Eumenides). A howling mob is waiting outside the palace, intent upon avenging Clytemnestra's death. Orestes and sister Electra ask their uncle Menelaus to defend them against the mob, but he is understandably reluctant to do so. Orestes vacillates between blaming Apollo for the murder - "It was he who drove me to this dreadful crime" -- expressing remorse, boasting that the murder was justified and indeed a "patriotic service" because it will discourage other wives from being unfaithful to their husbands, blaming his father, blaming Helen of Troy, and finally saying that Clytemnestra brought the whole thing on herself by killing her husband. About three-quarters of the way through the play, Orestes, Electra, and Orestes' best friend Pylades concoct a harebrained scheme to kill Melelaus' wife Helen and abduct Menelaus' daughter Hermione as a way of punishing their uncle for his betrayal. Just when the play is reaching its lurid zenith, with Orestes setting the ancestral palace on fire and holding a knife to Hermione's throat, Apollo materializes, takes responsibility for the murder of Clytemnestra, and solves all of Orestes' difficulties in the most bizarre way imaginable: Helen is whisked up to Olympus and made into a goddess; Orestes, who just moments before had been trying to kill Hermione, is given her hand in marriage and is made king of Sparta; Apollo instructs Electra and Pylades to marry, assuring them that great happiness awaits them. Orestes, a little stunned by this turn of events, thanks Apollo but adds the very interesting comment: "And yet, when I heard you speak, I thought I heard the whispers of some fiend speaking through your mouth." Certainly, in "Orestes" the deus ex machina ending is so ridiculous that it forces the reader to sit up and take notice. What exactly is going on here? It is interesting that Euripides, who was so much more of a religious skeptic than Aeschylus or Sophocles, is the tragedian who employed the "god from the machine" solution to his characters' dilemmas most frequently. Just when problems are at their worst, a god or goddess appears, solves everything, and everyone goes home happy. Either Euripides was a lazy and/or not especially talented playwright who couldn't think of any other way to tie up loose ends, or something more subtle is at play. I think that Euripides is using this ludicrous ending to draw attention to other, even more ludicrous, aspects of the story of the House of Atreus: Orestes' father Agamemnon killed his daughter Iphigenia; Agamemnon's wife Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon in retaliation; Orestes killed Clytemnestra to avenge Agamemnon's death. Each person felt justified in his or her actions. This cycle of "blood for blood" is no less ridiculous than the idea that a god will appear, take responsibility for everything, and provide a happy ending for all.

Often dismissed as melodrama, I found "Iphigenia in Aulis" surprisingly moving. Again, Euripides contrasts free will - the decisions men make of their own accord - with "God's will," the belief that everything is fated (and its corollary, that men should not be held wholly accountable for their actions). When Agamemnon sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia to the goddess Artemis at the end of the play, the Chorus places the blame on Artemis, saying that the murder was "God's will" and that "the fault is with the goddess and with fate." This corresponds to the Homeric view of Agamemnon as a man who was flawed but who really had no choice but to accede to the murder. After all, what kind of fool would thwart a goddess' will? However, Euripides has embellished the myth in ways which add a different psychological dimension to the tragedy and make for a far more compelling tale. In Euripides' version, Agamemnon had multiple opportunities to save his daughter, but his ambition and his cowardice proved stronger than his fatherly devotion. When the fleet found itself trapped at Aulis because the winds were not favorable, Agamemnon was reluctant to cancel the expedition and send the allies back home because he didn't want to miss out on the experience of being the great, powerful commander of the great expedition against Troy. As Menelaus reminds him, "(Y)ou called me into council. `What shall I do?' you asked me. `What scheme, what strategy can I devise that will prevent the stripping-off of my command and the loss of my glorious name?'" Menelaus notes that when the dubious soothsayer Calchas suggested sacrificing Iphigenia to Artemis, "at that instant your heart filled up with gladness and happily, in sacrifice, you promised to slay the child." A very interesting aspect of Euripides' version is that Calchas and his prophecies are not viewed as especially trustworthy. In fact, Menelaus and Agamemnon dismiss prophets as "useless." In short, neither believes that Artemis is demanding the death. Agamemnon's agony is not spiritual but practical: will the troops get angry if he fails to sacrifice his daughter as promised? Menelaus provides Agamemnon with an "out," offering to kill Calchas. But Agamemnon worries that others who were present at the moment when Calchas uttered his prophecy will leak the news to the army, and that the army will kill him when it finds out that Iphigenia is not going to be killed. As his fears build, Agamemnon gradually stops blaming himself and instead adopts a fatalistic attitude. He is given other chances to turn things around and send Iphigenia back home, but he refuses to take advantage of them, saying, "(W)e have arrived at a fatal place: a compulsion absolute now works the slaughter of the child...Now in my despair I am quite helpless, and it is God's will." Agamemnon's suffering is real, but he manages to convince himself that he is a pawn of Fate rather than "the author of this evil."

In "Iphigenia in Aulis," as in the three other Euripidean tragedies included in this book, the characters question the existence of the gods even as they pray to them. Clytemnestra says to Achilles, who has offered to save Iphigenia: "If there are gods, you, being righteous will win reward in heaven; if there are none, all our toil is without meaning." To me, this last line summarizes the dilemma with which Euripides is struggling in all of his works and which is the theme running throughout these four plays. On the one hand, the gods as they have been depicted are unjust, mercurial, and false. How can one have faith in such gods? Is religion simply a convenient means of justifying behavior and shirking responsibility for one's actions? On the other hand, if there are no gods, is there any meaning to life's toil? If there are no gods, are there any absolute truths, or is everything morally relative? I do not believe that Euripides was a sophist, an atheist, or an agnostic. Rather, I see him as a man who found the religious system of his time deeply unsatisfying and was in search of objective truths and a moral philosophy that would allow him to find meaning amidst suffering.

This volume carries many of the same virtues and pitfalls as the other Grene/Lattimore collections. For more information, please see my review of 'Aeschylus I.' To speak directly to this volume, I can guarantee that each play is produced in straightforward English. The entire collection is a pleasure to read.

This fourth book in the Euripides series gives the reader another fairly rare play: Rhesus. Readable translation that is easily affordable with good general introductions. A bit too conservative in translation at points.