Medea

Complete Study Guide

 Medea
Complete Study Guide

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 Medea Summary
Greek audiences would have known the story of the ill-fated marriage between Jason, hero
of the Golden Fleece, and Medea, barbarian witch and princess of Colchis. The modern
reader, to fully understand the events of Medea, needs to be familiar with the legends and
myths on which the play is based.

Medea was of a people at the far edge of the Black Sea; for the Greeks of Euripides' time,
this was the edge of the known world. She was a powerful sorceress, princess of Colchis,
and a granddaughter of the sun god Helias. Jason, a great Greek hero and captain of the
Argonauts, led his crew to Colchis in search of the Golden Fleece. King Aeetes, lord of
Colchis and Medea's father, kept the Fleece under guard. A sorcerer himself, he was a
formidable opponent. This legend takes place quite early in the chronology of Greek myth.
The story is set after the ascent of Zeus, King of the gods, but is still near the beginning of
his reign; Helias, the ancient sun god before Apollo's coming, is Medea's grandfather.
Jason's voyage with the Argonauts predates the Trojan War, and represents the first naval
assault by the Greeks against an Eastern people.

The traps set by Aeetes made the Golden Fleece all but impossible to obtain. By Medea's aid,
Jason overcame these obstacles, and Medea herself killed the giant serpent that guarded
the Fleece. Then, to buy time during their escape, Medea killed her own brother and tossed
the pieces of his corpse behind the Argo as they sailed for Greece. Her father, grief-stricken
by his son's death and his daughter's treachery, had to slow his pursuit of the Argo so he
could collect the pieces of his son's body for burial.

Medea and Jason returned to his hereditary kingdom of Iolcus. Jason's father had died, and
his uncle Pelias sat, without right, on the throne. Medea, to help Jason, convinced Pelias'
daughters that she knew a way to restore the old king's youth. He would have to be killed,
cut into pieces, and then put together and restored to youth by Medea's magic. The
unwitting daughters did as Medea asked, but the sorceress then explained that she couldn't
really bring Pelias back to life. Rather than win Jason his throne, this move forced Jason,
Medea, and their children into exile. Finally, they settled in Corinth, where Jason eventually
took a new bride.

The action of the play begins here, soon after Medea learns of Jason's treachery.

A Nurse enters, speaking of the sorrows facing Medea's family. She is joined by the Tutor
and the children; they discuss Jason's betrayal of Medea. The Nurse fears for everyone's
safety: she knows the violence of Medea's heart. The Tutor brings the children back into the
house. The Chorus of Corinthian women enters, full of sympathy for Medea. They ask the
Nurse to bring Medea out so that they might comfort her; the unfortunate woman's cries
can be heard even outside the house. The Nurse complies. Medea emerges from her home,
bewailing the harshness with which Fate handles women. She announces her intention to
seek revenge. She asks the Chorus, as follow women, to aid her by keeping silent. The
Chorus vows.

Creon (not to be confused with the Creon of Sophocles' Theban cycle), king of Corinth and
Jason's new father-in-law, enters and tells Medea that she is banished. She and her children
must leave Corinth immediately. Medea begs for mercy, and she is granted a reprieve of one
day. The old king leaves, and Medea tells the Chorus that one day is all she needs to get her
revenge.

Jason enters, condescending and smug. He scolds Medea for her loose tongue, telling her
that her exile is her own fault. Husband and wife bicker bitterly, Medea accusing Jason of
cowardice, reminding him of all that she has done for him, and condemning him for his
faithlessness. Jason rationalizes all of his actions, with neatly enumerated arguments.
Although he seems to have convinced himself, to most audience members Jason comes off
as smug and spineless. He offers Medea money and aid in her exile, but she proudly refuses.
Jason exits.

Aegeus, king of Athens and old friend of Medea's, enters. Aegeus is childless. Medea tells
him of her problems, and asks for safe haven in Athens. She offers to help him to have a
child; she has thorough knowledge of drugs and medicines. Aegeus eagerly agrees. If Medea
can reach Athens, he will protect her. Medea makes the old king vow by all the gods.

With her security certain, Medea tells the Chorus of her plans. She will kill Jason's new bride
and father-in-law by the aid of poisoned gifts. To make her revenge complete, she will kill
her children to wound Jason and to protect them from counter-revenge by Creon's allies
and friends. Many scholars now believe that the murder of Medea's children was Euripides'
addition to the myth; in older versions, the children were killed by Creon's friends in revenge
for the death of the king and princess. The Chorus begs Medea to reconsider these plans,
but Medea insists that her revenge must be complete.

Jason enters again, and Medea adapts a conciliatory tone. She begs him to allow the
children to stay in Corinth. She also has the children bring gifts to the Corinthian princess.
Jason is pleased by this change of heart.

The Tutor soon returns with the children, telling Medea that the gifts have been received.
Medea then waits anxiously for news from the palace. She speaks lovingly to her children, in
a scene that is both moving and chilling, even as she steels herself so that she can kill them.
She has a moment of hesitation, but she overcomes it. There is no room for compromise.

A messenger comes bringing the awaited news. The poisoned dress and diadem have
worked: the princess is dead. When Creon saw his daughter's corpse, he embraced her
body. The poison then worked against him. The deaths were brutal and terrifying. Both
daughter and father died in excruciating pain, and the bodies were barely recognizable.
Medea now prepares to kill her children. She rushes into the house with a shriek. We hear
the children's screams from inside the house; the Chorus considers interfering, but in the
end does nothing.

Jason re-enters with soldiers. He fears for the children's safety, because he knows Creon's
friends will seek revenge; he has come to take the children under guard. The Chorus
sorrowfully informs Jason that his children are dead. Jason now orders his guards to break
the doors down, so that he can take his revenge against his wife for these atrocities.

Medea appears above the palace, in a chariot drawn by dragons. She has the children's
corpses with her. She mocks Jason pitilessly, foretelling an embarrassing death for him; she
also refuses to give him the bodies. Jason bickers with his wife one last time, each blaming
the other for what has happened. There is nothing Jason can do; with the aid of her chariot,
Medea will escape to Athens. The Chorus closes the play, musing on the terrible
unpredictability of fate.
 About Medea
Medea was first performed in 431 BC. Its companion pieces have been lost, but we know
that this set of plays won third prize at the Dionysia, adding another disappointment to
Euripides' career. Although we know nothing of the other pieces, the character of Medea
undoubtedly made the Athenian audience uncomfortable; for audiences past and present,
the play is something of a shocker, nihilistic and disturbing. Of the eighty-eight or so plays
Euripides wrote, only nineteen (or possibly eighteen, as the authorship of Rhesus is in
doubt) survive. Medea is one of the earliest surviving plays of Euripides, though it was
written well into his career. It is also one of the most popular.

The specific circumstances surrounding the origin of Greek drama were a puzzle even in the
fourth century BC. Greek drama seems to have its roots in religious celebrations that
incorporated song and dance. By the sixth century BC, Athenians had transformed a rural
celebration of Dionysus into an urban festival with dancing choruses that competed for
prizes. An anonymous poet came up with the idea of having the chorus interact with a
masked actor. Later, Aeschylus transformed the art by using two masked actors, each
playing different parts throughout the piece, making possible staged drama as we know it.
With two actors and a chorus, complex plots and conflicts could be staged as never before,
and the poets who competed in the festival were no longer writing elaborate hymns, but
true plays. The playwrights were more than just writers. They also composed the music,
choreographed the dances, and directed the actors. Athens was the only Greek city-state
where this art form evolved; the comedies, tragedies, and dramas handed down to us from
the period, although labeled generically as "Greek," are in fact all Athenian works.

After the defeat of the Persians in a decisive campaign (480-479 BC), Athens emerged as the
superpower of the independent Greek city-states, and during this time, the drama festival,
or the Dionysia, became a spectacular event. The Dionysia lasted four to five days, and the
city took the celebrations seriously. Prisoners were released on bail and most public
business was suspended. Roughly ten thousand free male citizens, along with their slaves
and dependents, watched plays in an enormous outdoor theater that could seat seventeen
thousand spectators. On each of three days, the Athenians were treated to three tragedies
and a satyr play (a light comedy on a mythic theme) written by one of three pre-selected
tragedians, as well as one comedy by a comedic playwright. The trilogies did not have to be
an extended drama dealing with the same story, although often they were. At the end of the
festival, the tragedians were awarded first, second, and third prize by the judges of Dionysis.

For modern readers, the Chorus may be the most alien element of the play. Greek drama
was not meant to be what we would consider "naturalistic." It was a highly stylized art form:
actors wore masks, and the performances incorporated song and dance. The Chorus delivers
much of the exposition and expounds poetically on themes, but it is still meant to represent
a group of characters. In the case of Medea, the Chorus is constituted by the women of
Corinth. The relationship between the Chorus and Medea is one of the most interesting
Chorus-protagonist relationships in all of Greek drama. The women are alternately horrified
and enthralled by Medea: there is no question that she goes too far and commits the most
horrible act possible for a mother, and for that, she earns the Chorus' pity and
condemnation. And yet, they do nothing to interfere. The women live vicariously through
Medea. In taking her revenge, she avenges the crimes committed against all of womankind.
Powerful and fearless, Medea refuses to be wronged by men, and the Chorus cannot help
but admire her.

Medea is part of the gallery of Euripides' "bad women." Euripides was often attacked for
portraying what Aristotle called "unscrupulously clever" women as his main characters; he
depicts his tragic heroines with far less apology than his contemporaries. We are not, as in
Aeschylus' Oresteia, allowed to comfort ourselves with the restoration of male-dominated
order. In Medea that order is exposed as hypocritical and spineless, and in the character of
Medea, we see who a woman whose suffering, instead of ennobling her, has made her
monstrous.

Consistent with the norms of Greek drama, Medea is not divided into acts or discrete scenes.
However, time passes in non-naturalistic fashion: at certain points, it is clear that a
considerable amount of time has passed in the world of the play even though only a few
seconds have passed for the audience. In general, as noted by Aristotle, most Greek
tragedies have action confined to a twenty-four hour period.
 Character List
Medea

Princess of Colchis. Wife of Jason. Barbarian, sorceress, woman of passion and rage. Clever,
powerful, and ruthless, Medea enabled Jason to complete his quest for the Golden Fleece.
For his sake, she murdered her own brother; because of this act, she can never return home.
Now, in Corinth, she has been betrayed by Jason, and she refuses to suffer in silence. She is
fiercely proud, unwilling to allow her enemies to have any kind of victory; she murders her
own children in part because she cannot bear the thought of seeing them hurt by an enemy.
She is also a cunning and cold manipulator: she sees through the false pieties and
hypocritical values of her enemies, and uses their own moral bankruptcy against them. Her
revenge is total, but it comes at the cost of everything she holds dear.

Jason

Son of Aeson. Hero of the Golden Fleece. Leader of the Argonauts, Jason met Medea during
his quest for the Golden Fleece. Although he has received credit for retrieving the treasure,
Medea is the one who killed the monster guarding the Fleece. She also saved Jason's life
during the escape. Jason married her, and fathered two children by her; however, due to her
overly ardent actions on Jason's behalf, Jason and his family were exiled from his native
kingdom of Iolcus. Here in Corinth, Jason has gone behind Medea's back and taken another
bride. He is depicted as an opportunistic and unscrupulous man, full of self-deception and
repugnant smugness. He condescends to his wife, although she is in every way superior to
him.

Creon

King of Corinth. New father-in-law to Jason. Not to be confused with Creon of Sophocles'
Theban plays. Creon exiles Medea, fearing that the dangerous witch will seek vengeance
against his family. Medea takes advantage of Creon's underestimation of her: she begs for
one day to make preparations, and the king grants it. This day is enough fro Medea to
destroy Creon and his daughter.

Aegeus

King of Athens. Friend of Medea. Kindly and trusting ruler. He runs into Medea by chance, on
his way back from the great oracle of Apollo. Aegeus remains childless, and Medea promises
to help him. Not aware of her plans, Aegeus vows to grant her safe haven in Athens,
providing Medea with the means to ensure her own survival.
Nurse

Servant to Medea and Medea's children. Her worries for the children foreshadow the
children's deaths. She is loyal to Medea and disapproves of Jason's decisions. Along with the
tutor, she is an outside commentator on the events of the play. As a slave, she is a canny but
powerless observer.

Tutor

Tutor to Medea's children. The Tutor is another slave of Medea's household. Along with the
Nurse, he comments on the behavior of his masters, although he has a different perspective
on events.

Messenger

He brings the news of the deaths of Creon and the Corinthian princess.

Chorus of Corinthian Women

The women of Corinth. Medea enlists their loyalty, extracting a vow of silence. They watch
the horrific events unfold, but do not interfere. Though they condemn Medea at times, on
the whole they seem to be more enthralled than disgusted by her. Like Medea, they are
subject to the injustices that befall women; there is a part of them that seems to live
vicariously through Medea's terrible revenge.
 Major Themes
Passion and Rage

Medea is a woman of extreme behavior and extreme emotion. For her passionate love for
Jason, she sacrificed all, committing unspeakable acts on his behalf. But his betrayal of her
has transformed passion into rage. Her violent and intemperate heart, formerly devoted to
Jason, now is set on his destruction. The Greeks were very interested in the extremes of
emotion and the consequences of leaving emotion unchecked; they also tended to see
strong passion and rage as part and parcel of greatness. Medea is an example of passion
carried too far, in a woman perversely set on choosing rage over mercy and reason.

Revenge

The seductive appeal of revenge is part of the play's enduring popularity. Medea is willing to
sacrifice everything to make her revenge perfect. She murders her own children,
paradoxically, to protect them from the counter-revenge of her enemies; she also kills them
to hurt Jason, although in slaying them she is dooming herself to a life of remorse and grief.
But part of Medea's appeal is its power as a revenge fantasy; just like Medea, all have at one
time or another been beset by enemies whose power is institutionally protected and unfair.
And like Medea, we have fantasized about the satisfaction of a perfect revenge. Like the
Chorus, we watch Medea with a mixture of horror and excitement.

Greatness and pride

The Greeks were fascinated by the thin line between greatness and hubris. Throughout their
literature, there is a sense that the same traits that make a man or woman great can lead to
their destruction. Euripides plays with the idea of greatness here, often to surprising effects.
Medea has some of the makings of a great hero, but Euripides distorts and dislocates these
traits, twisting some of the conventions of his art. Her greatness of intellect and self-
absorption are beyond doubt, but the reduced field for these talents makes her into a
monster.

Pride, closely connected to greatness, is likewise distorted. While many tragedies give us a
kind of clean satisfaction in the tragic, any satisfaction gained from watching Medea takes
perverse form. Medea's pride drives her to unnecessarily brutal action. There is a
tremendous sense of waste. She fully exacts her revenge, and then takes the brutality a step
further, beyond the bounds of myth, by slaying her own children (Euripides' addition to the
story). Hers is the damaged and distorted pride of a woman, condescended to for her sex
and her barbarian origin, who is nonetheless superior to everyone around her. After all she
has suffered, in some ways Medea is most infuriated when she is ridiculed by fools.
The position of women

Euripides was fascinated by women and the contradictions of the Greek sex-gender system;
his treatment of gender is the most sophisticated one to be found in the works of any
ancient Greek writer. Medea's opening speech to the Chorus is Classical Greek literature's
most eloquent statement about the injustices that befall women. He also recognizes that
the position of women, and their subordination to men, is inextricable from the very core of
social order in Greece. Greek society functions thanks to injustice. Athens, a city that prided
itself as a place more free than the neighboring dictatorships, was nonetheless a city that
depended on slave labor and the oppression of women. (The typical apology offered by
admirers of Athens is that all ancient societies were sexist and dependent on slave labor; this
generality is untrue. Many societies were more generous in their treatment of women than
the Greeks were; and many societies functioned, even in the ancient world, without slave
labor.) Euripides was aware of these hypocrisies, and he often pointed out the ways that
Greek society attempted to efface or excuse the injustices it perpetrated.

At the same time, Medea is not exactly a feminist role model. Euripides shows the difficulties
that befall women, but he does not give us tinny virgin heroines. He gives us real women,
who have suffered and become twisted by their suffering. What we see is not a story of
female liberation, but a war between the sexes in which all emerge scarred.

The Other

The Other is a key theme. Medea's foreignness is emphasized from the start: the Nurse,
from the very opening lines, reminds us that Medea comes from a distant and exotic land.
Several points should be born in mind when reflecting on this aspect of the play. Remember
that the Other is a complex and multifaceted concept: it comprises the foreign, the exotic,
the unknown, the feared. The Other is also essential for self-definition: as the Greeks ascribe
certain traits to barbarians, they are implying certain things about themselves. Barbarians
are savage; we Greeks are not. Barbarians are superstitious; we Greeks are rational. But
throughout the course of the play, Euripides destabilizes these easy binaries. He will show,
as he does in other plays, that the Other is not exclusively something external to Greece. The
ideas Greeks have about themselves are often false. There is much, for the Greeks and for
us, that we do not know about ourselves.

Exile

Modern audiences have difficulty conceiving of how horrible exile was for the ancient
Greeks. A person's city-state was home and protector; to wander, without friends or shelter,
was considered a fate as horrible as death. Medea, for the sake of her husband, has made
herself an exile. She is far from home, without family or friends to protect her. In her
overzealous advocacy of her husband's interest, she has also made their family exiles in
Corinth. Because of her actions in Iolcus, Jason cannot return home. Their position is
vulnerable. Jason, hero of the Golden Fleece (although Euripides emphasizes that Medea
was the true agent behind the success of the quest) is now a wanderer. His marriage is
shrewd and calculating: he takes a bride of Corinth's royal family. He is faithless, but he has a
point when he argues to Medea that something needed to be done to provide their family
with security.

Euripides links the themes of exile and the position of women. When emphasizing the
circumstances women must bear after marriage (leaving home, living among strangers),
Medea is reminding us of the conditions of exile. Her position, then, is doubly grave, as she is
an exile in the ordinary sense and also an exile in the sense that all women are exiles. She is
also a foreigner, and so to the Greeks she will always be "barbarian."

Cleverness

Euripides emphasizes Medea's cunning and cleverness. These traits, which should be
admired, also cause suffering for Medea. This theme is linked to the theme of pride and the
theme of woman's position. Medea tells Creon that it is better to be born stupid, for men
despise the clever. Part of her difficulty is that she has no real outlet for her gifts. Eleanor
Wilner calls Medea "a Machiavel without a country to rule" (4). Her force, her intellect, and
her strength of will all exceed her station. The Greeks, though they have some respect for
her, often treat her smugly because of her sex and her barbarian origins. She is surrounded
by people less intelligent and resourceful than she, but social power and respect is theirs.
Remember that Aristotle considered the "unscrupulously clever" woman so distasteful as to
be a subject unfit for drama; his statement reflects typically Greek attitudes. Medea is
despised for talents that should win her praise; she is also terrifyingly free. Because she is an
outsider to normal order, she behaves without restraint or morality. Her genius, denied an
empire to build, will instead be used on the smaller playing field of personal revenge.

Manipulation

Manipulation is an important theme. Medea, Jason, and Creon all try their hand at
manipulation. Jason used Medea in the past; he now manipulates the royal family of Corinth
to secure his own ends. Creon has made a profitable match between his daughter and
Jason, hoping to benefit from Jason's fame as the hero of the Golden Fleece. But Medea is
the master of manipulation. Medea plays perfectly on the weaknesses and needs of both
her enemies and her friends. Medea plays to Creon's pity, and to the old king's costly
underestimation of the sorceress. With Aegeus, she uses her skills as a bargaining chip and
takes advantage of the king's soft-heartedness to win a binding oath from him. Against
Jason, she uses his own shallowness, his unmerited pride, and his desire for dominance. She
plays the fawning and submissive woman, to her husband's delight and gratification. Jason
buys the act, demonstrating his lack of astuteness and his willingness to be duped by his
own fantasies.
 Medea Detailed Summary
Lines 1-356
For the mythological background of the play, please consult the Short Summary. Without
knowledge of the backstory, the Medea cannot be properly understood.

The setting is before the house of Medea and Jason, in Corinth. The Nurse enters,
sorrowfully telling the audience what has recently happened to Medea. Although Medea has
committed crimes on Jason' behalf, he has now left her and taken a new wife. Jason's new
wife is the daughter of Creon, king of Corinth (not to be confused with the Creon of the
Oedipus myth). Medea has been sick with grief since the new development; she turns even
from her own children, presumably because they remind her of Jason. The Nurse fears what
Medea may do, "for her heart is violent" (l. 38).

The Tutor enters, with the two small children of Jason and Medea. The Tutor brings more
bad news: he has heard a rumor that Creon intends to drive Medea and the children out of
Corinth. The Nurse is horrified that Jason would allow his family to be treated so; she tells
the Tutor to bring the children inside, but warns him to keep them away from their mother.
We hear Medea's cries coming from the inside of the house; they make the Nurse afraid, for
Medea is a powerful and dangerous woman. Medea is heard cursing Jason and the children,
wishing for the whole house to fall. The Nurse muses that the great are not an enviable
group.

The Chorus enters, speaking to the Nurse. They pity Medea, but they also seem to think that
a woman should learn to endure; Medea is not the first to have an unfaithful husband.
Medea is heard crying out, speaking regretfully of what she did to her own family to help
Jason. The Chorus asks the Nurse to bring Medea out, so that they might comfort her.

Medea enters, delivering a monologue on her sufferings and the sufferings of woman.
Women, though creatures that can think and feel, must endure terrible indignities. Marriage
is necessary, and with marriage comes servitude. And though men are free to indulge their
appetites and enjoy the company of their friends, women must remain in the house and live
for their husbands alone. Men must bear arms, but women must bear children. And Medea
tells the Chorus that her problem is still worse: she is a foreigner in Greece, without a family
or home, and Jason has treated her like a prize won in a foreign land. Medea secures a
promise: if she can find a way to get revenge, she asks the Chorus to vow that they will
remain silent. The Chorus does as she asks, telling her she is right to seek revenge.

Creon enters, with attendants, and tells Medea that she and her two children are to be
banished immediately. When Medea, distraught, asks why, Creon admits that he is afraid of
her. She is a powerful sorceress, and he fears for his daughter's life. Medea speaks about the
hatred all people have for the clever. She begs to be allowed to stay, promising to submit to
authority, but Creon will not allow it. She continues to beg, pleading to be allowed one more
day, so that she can prepare for the journey and decide where to go. Creon, believing that
one day is not enough for Medea to do her enemies harm, grants her request. But if she or
her children are found in his lands at dawn tomorrow, they will die. Creon and his attendants
exit.

Analysis:

Euripides has the opening of the play delivered by two slaves, a Nurse and a Tutor. An
important feature of his work is allowing slaves to speak, and speak well. The Nurse and the
Tutor provide their perspective on the events in the house they serve. Significantly, both of
them condemn Jason. The Nurse, after a few brief moments on stage, is already well-
defined as a character. She is loyal to the house and to Medea, but she fears Medea and her
violent heart. There are differences of attitude between the two slaves, and these
differences seem to break down along the lines of gender: the Nurse seems to be shocked
by Jason's behavior, while the Tutor cynically remarks that everyone looks out for himself.
The slaves provide an outsider's eye on the action, and they are canny enough to predict
events. The Nurse's fears foreshadow the terrible fate of Medea's children. And yet the
slaves are completely powerless to alter the course of events.

Passion is an important theme of the play. The Nurse reminds us that Medea is here because
she followed Jason back to Greece out of love. (For the mythological background of the
play, please consult the Short Summary. Without knowledge of the backstory, the Medea
cannot be properly understood.) Passion and love motivated Medea to help Jason: it is
thanks to her and her mastery of arcane arts that he won the Golden Fleece. But though we
know that in the past passion was the motivation for heroic acts, it was also the motivation
for Medea's terrible crimes: to help Jason escape, she killed her brother. To win back his
rightful place in Iolcus, she turned the daughter of Pelias into murderers. As long as Jason
returned her love, Medea's power and passion were enlisted for his aid. But passion also
consumes: we here Medea's cries from offstage, as she curses Jason and her own children.
Passion has its dark side: possessiveness, jealousy, the means by which love becomes
hatred. The Nurse confides to the audience that "Love is diseased" (l. 16); the incredible
force of Medea's passion, infected by Jason's betrayal, will now become destructive.

Greatness and pride are two more themes, closely connected. The Nurse speaks of the
dangers of great people's passions. Because the great always have their own way, their
tempers swerve wildly, unchecked. This theme is very typically Greek, and in Medea it
overlaps with the theme of passion. For the Greeks, pride was something of which one had
to be wary; at the same time, they had a much more complicated understanding of pride
than the Judeo-Christian concept that we have inherited. For Christians, pride is one of the
seven deadly sins, opposite of the virtue of humility. The main hero of Christianity, Jesus
Christ, is the embodiment of humility. The Son of God is born poor and subjects himself to a
humiliating death by crucifixion. In contrast, a reader would be hard-pressed to find a truly
humble Greek hero. There is sacrifice and suffering, but one learns to moderate one's pride
after a tragic fall. At the same time, the Greeks recognized pride as a necessary part of
greatness. Medea sets up parallels between pride and passion: both make Medea's great
acts possible. And both lead to her corruption.

Another key theme is the position of women. To say that Euripides was a feminist would be
a terrible oversimplification, as well as an anachronism. Nor are his views on women (or any
other subject) consistent throughout his career; each new play presents its own vision, its
own revelations. But what can be said with certainty is that Euripides was fascinated by
women and the difficulties of their position. By examining the treatment of women,
Euripides pointed out the injustices and blind spots of his society. He was also extremely
savvy about the ways that art has been used to defame woman's character, and smart
enough to recognize that many of the cherished myths and fables of the Greeks reinforced
male-dominated order by teaching women to accept (and enjoy) subjugation. Medea points
out many specifics of Greek life that are nearly universal to pre-industrial societies. A
woman, when she marries, must leave her own home and join her husband's. She is
therefore always an outsider. Women are not free to socialize in public space as men are;
while men roam wild, indulging sexual appetites or enjoying the company of friends, women
are expected to stay at home. Medea makes herself the spokeswoman for the suffering of
women, and by this act she secures the loyalty and secrecy of the Chorus.

But it would be too simple to see the play as a proto-feminist diatribe against the excesses
of patriarchy. One of Euripides great insight, and one of his most discomforting ones, is that
the oppressed do not automatically become noble. The greatest victory a Euripidean tragic
hero can claim is to learn compassion and wisdom through suffering; however, most of
Euripides' characters fall far short of that mark. His plays teach us that those who suffer
often become monstrous. Euripides may be deeply critical of male-dominated Greek order,
and he may be deeply sympathetic to the position of women, but he does not grant Medea
and the women of Corinth the moral high ground. Medea may earn our sympathies in her
first speech, but she will soon be revealed as a terrifyingly self-centered and ruthless
woman. Euripides shows us injustice without giving us heroes who can correct it: instead,
we are given the cold reaction of revenge. We are not brought to greater order through
struggle. A society's hypocrisy must be paid for, and the price is high and bloody.

Another key theme is exile. Modern audiences have difficulty conceiving of how horrible
exile was for the ancient Greeks. A person's city-state was home and protector; to wander,
without friends or shelter, was considered to be a fate as horrible as death. Medea, for the
sake of her husband, has made herself an exile. She is far from home, without family or
friends to protect her. Also consider that in her overzealous advocacy of her husband's
interest, she has made their family exiles in Corinth. Because of her actions in Iolcus, Jason
cannot return home. Their position is vulnerable. Jason, hero of the Golden Fleece (although
Euripides emphasizes that Medea was the true agent behind the success of the quest) is
now a wanderer. His marriage is shrewd and calculating: he takes a bride of Corinth's royal
family. The Tutor points out the shrewd nature of Jason's actions, voicing no surprise that
men always act in self-interest. Euripides links the themes of exile and the position of
women. When emphasizing the circumstances women must bear after marriage (leaving
home, living among strangers), Medea is reminding us of the conditions of exile. Her
position, then, is doubly grave, as she is an exile in the ordinary sense and also an exile in the
sense that all women are exiles. She is also a foreigner, and so to the Greeks she will always
be "barbarian."

The Other is a key theme. Medea's foreignness is emphasized from the start: the Nurse,
from the very opening lines, reminds us that Medea comes from a distant and exotic land.
Several points should be born in mind when reflecting on this aspect of the play. Remember
that the Other is a complex and multifaceted concept: it comprises the foreign, the exotic,
the unknown, the feared. The Other is also essential for self-definition: as the Greeks ascribe
certain traits to barbarians, they are implying certain things about themselves. Barbarians
are savage; we Greeks are not. Barbarians are superstitious; we Greeks are rational. But
throughout the course of the play, Euripides destabilizes these easy binaries. He will show,
as he does in other plays, that the Other is not exclusively something external to Greece.
There is much, for the Greeks and for us, that we do not know about ourselves.

Another key point to remember is that the Other (the foreign, the exotic, the terrifying) is an
essential component of adventure. Jason's quest, and all the quests of Greek heroes, would
not be possible without strange and fearsome lands to visit. For Jason, Medea's Other-ness
may have had something to do with her initial attractiveness. Although we cannot know if
Jason was sincerely attracted to her or if he merely used her to secure his own ends, or
both, it is probable that Medea's uniqueness drew Jason to her. Throughout the play, we
hear again and again that Medea is different from Greek women. Jason's marriage to Medea
can be seen as an attempt to bring the adventure home with him. Medea describes herself
as "something he won in a foreign land" (l. 256). The marriage can be seen as Jason's
attempt to subordinate the foreign to the Greek, woman to man; it is an attempt to join the
struggle and danger of adventure with the return to home and stability. In Aeschylus'
Oresteia, these syntheses/subordinations of seemingly opposite forces lead to order and
harmony. In Medea, they lead to chaos.

Another theme is Medea's cleverness. Medea tells Creon that it is better to be born stupid,
for men despise the clever. Part of her difficulty is that she has no real outlet for her gifts.
Eleanor Wilner calls Medea "a Machiavel without a country to rule" (4). Her force, her
intellect, and her strength of will all exceed her station. The Greeks, though they have some
respect for her, often treat her smugly because of her sex and her barbarian origins. She is
surrounded by people less intelligent and resourceful than she, but social power and respect
is theirs. Remember that Aristotle considered the "unscrupulously clever" woman so
distasteful as to be a subject unfit for drama; his statement reflects typically Greek attitudes.
Medea is despised for talents that should win her praise; she is also terrifyingly free. Because
she is an outsider to normal order, she behaves without restraint or morality. Her genius,
denied an empire to build, will instead be used on the smaller playing field of personal
revenge.

Lines 357-662
The Chorus pities Medea, but she assures them that twenty-four hours is all she needs to
destroy Jason, his new bride, and Creon. She will use her skill in the arts of poison to destroy
them, but their remains the matter of safe haven afterward. Medea is determined that no
man will wrong her and then live to tell about it.

The Chorus delivers an incredible ode ("Flow backward to your sources, sacred rivers, / And
let the world's great order be reversed . . ."); they seem to have been won over to Medea's
side, and they are living vicariously through her and her plans for revenge. Finally, women
will be paid their due.

Jason enters, reprimanding Medea for her loose tongue, telling her that she has brought her
exile on herself. He has tried to speak on behalf of her and her children, but she has ruined
herself. He tells her he will make sure that they do not go penniless, and that he still does
not hate her even if she despises him. Medea lashes back, calling Jason a coward. She
reminds him of the many things she made possible for him: she helped him yoke the fire-
breathing bulls, she was the one who slew the giant serpent that guarded the Golden
Fleece, and she killed Pelias. All was to protect Jason. She also provided Jason with two
children, depriving him of any excuse to take another wife.

Jason's responds with enumerated arguments, neatly organized, about how Medea has
benefited more from their marriage than he. He tells her that her love compelled her to act,
and so he owes his life to Aphrodite, goddess of love, rather than Medea. He also tells her
that she, thanks to their marriage, lives among Greeks and is quite famous. Finally, he argues
that he took the new bride to save their house; they came to Corinth as exiles, and they
needed to secure their position. If he has children by the new marriage, his children by
Medea will have siblings to protect them. He accuses Medea of being irrational and caught
up in womanly concern for love. The Chorus tells Jason that he has spoken well, but also
says that he has still betrayed his wife.

Medea and Jason bicker: Medea tells Jason that he should have discussed the plan of a new
marriage with her first, but Jason responds that she is too irrational. He offers to provide
money for Medea, as well as send her to the houses of friends; she proudly rejects the offer.

The Chorus delivers an ode on the dangers and benefits of love: love brings great rewards,
but unmoderated or ill-chosen love brings suffering. They continue to sing, speaking of the
pain of exile.
Analysis:

Medea is a complex and fascinating character. After Creon has left, we learn immediately
that she has manipulated him. She has played the role of weak and vulnerable woman, and
through it she has secured enough time to destroy her enemies.

She is also fiercely proud. When considering how to kill her enemies, she rules out the direct
approach, fearing that she might be caught and give her enemies cause to laugh. The fear of
being shamed is one of Medea's driving motivations. The loss of Jason is not only a matter of
passion; Medea has been completely humiliated by Jason's decision to take a new bride. Her
pride shows again when she refuses Jason's aid. Though her situation is difficult, she would
rather destroy all than accept help from one who has wronged her so horribly. Living as a
barbarian among Greeks has made her more defensive, more full of hurt pride.

Medea has a powerful effect on the Chorus; she has made them complicit to her plans, and
as soon as she promises that she will have her revenge the Chorus responds with glee. Their
Choral Ode is a reproach against men: the Chorus recognizes that the domination of women
is inseparable from the very order of their culture. Medea's revenge is a chance to strike
back, and the rareness of the event is like a miracle: "Flow backward to your sources, sacred
rivers / and let the world's great order be reversed" (ll. 410-1). In this ode, they speak of the
negative depiction of women in the popular imagination, in art and literature. The Chorus
points out that if women were allowed to be poets, the stories would be quite different.
Euripides is questioning the fundamental stories of his culture. He is pointing out that art
exists in the context of power relations: for every story and every work of art, there is a
guiding ideology; there is someone with something to gain and someone else with
something to lose. Works that people take for granted as "universal" art are in fact products
of a very specific political positioning. A culture has an interest in covering its tracks, effacing
its wrongs, justifying its injustices; a civilization accomplishes these tasks in part through art,
popular legends, and unquestioned beliefs.

Significantly, Jason is depicted as a hollow shell of a hero. He is calculating, smug, and

condescending. His arguments in defense of his actions show that he has studied rhetoric,
but the professionalism of his arguments is off-putting. His reasons are tidily enumerated,
and his excuses, though well-organized, seem to skirt the important issues. He uses rhetoric
to reconstruct truth as he wishes it to be. When the Chorus says that Jason speaks well but
still has betrayed his wife, they speak for most audience members as well. Jason's smugness
is particularly unattractive because he owes so much to his wife: again and again, she saved
his life and completed the quests that he could not. He is an opportunistic man; as in the
past, when he used Medea, he now uses the family of Corinth for gain. In their bickering,
Jason and Medea show two different ideas of marriage. Jason sees marriage as a
social/financial arrangement: he speaks in terms of wealth and security. Medea, though she
earlier described marriage as a kind of bondage, still speaks of a more idealistic fashion. She
speaks of vows and reciprocity; Jason brushes this talk aside, and treats Medea as if she
irrational.

The depth of Medea's passion now manifests itself as rage, and no wonder. Her husband,
who owes her everything, has cast her aside. She is constantly at the mercy of those less
clever than she. And though in many ways righteousness is on her side, her arguments are
brushed aside as womanly irrationality. Many critics have speculated that Medea often
speaks with Euripides' rage: like Medea, Euripides was a genius who was not given his due.
At the Dionysia, the judges favored others. The Medea itself, now recognized as one of the
greatest works of the ancient world, was beaten by now-forgotten plays. Revenge is an
important theme, and part of the wonder of the play is the fact that despite Medea's
monstrosity, her spell over us is as strong as the hold she has on the Chorus. Her revenge
becomes our fantasy, and the depth of her rage usually has some echo, however
uncomfortable, in us.

We see more of Medea's fierce pride. She bemoans her fate as an exile, but proudly scorns
Jason's offer of aid. To take pity and gifts from the man who wronged her is worse than
exile. Though her pride may seem admirable in this case, the same pride will drive Medea to
unspeakable acts.

Lines 663-975
Aegeus, King of Athens and Medea's old friend, enters. He is coming from a visit to the
oracle of Apollo. Still childless, Aegeus asked the god to help him, but the oracle's answer
only baffled him. He is in Corinth to see an old friend, a wise man, to discuss the oracle's
reply. Medea informs him of the sorrows that have befallen her of late, and Aegeus is
sympathetic and shocked by Jason' behavior. Medea begs Aegeus to help her, promising
that through her medical expertise she will help him to have children. Aegeus, mindful that
Medea has been exiled by the powerful king of Corinth, tells her that he cannot help her to
reach Athens, but if she comes he will provide her safe haven and hospitality forever. Medea
makes Aegeus promise that he will not hand her over to her enemies, no matter what.
Aegeus swears by all the gods. Medea wishes him well, and the kindly king exits.

Medea is overjoyed. Now, with promised safe haven from Aegeus, she can execute all of her
plans. She will call back Jason, adapting a conciliatory tone. She will beg him to allow her
children to remain in Corinth, and she will send the children bearing gifts to Jason's new
bride. The gift will be a poisoned dress, bringing death to the princess and all who touch her.
These deeds done, Medea will then murder her children.

The Chorus urges Medea not to continue with these plans. Medea replies evenly that there
is no room for compromise. She will kill her children to wound her husband. The Chorus
delivers another ode ("From of old the children of Erechtheus are splendid"). They sing of
the holy rivers of Athens, asking if the divinities of Athens will bless Medea, or the citizens of
Athens shelter her, after such an abominable act. The also sing of the horror of the act itself,
and the coldness of heart it will require.

Jason enters, with attendants. Medea is fawning, apologizing for her anger, congratulating
Jason on his good sense and his new marriage. She calls out the children to greet him. As
they reach out to their father, Medea speaks of a feeling of foreboding. She imagines the
children, "after a long life" (l. 901) reaching out their arms in this way when they die. She
begins to cry. The Chorus, too, becomes teary-eyed. Jason approves of Medea's change of
heart, although he is puzzled by her tears. She asks him to try and arrange for the children to
be allowed to stay in Corinth; he promises to try. Medea then sends an attendant to get the
dress and diadem for the princess of Corinth. Her children will bring these gifts to her. Jason
objects to the extravagance, but Medea insists. He exits, with attendants, followed by the
Tutor and the children.

Analysis:

In her exchanges with Aegeus and Jason, we see Medea as master manipulator.
Manipulation is an important theme. She plays perfectly on the weaknesses and needs of
both her enemies and her friends. Earlier, we watched as Medea played to Creon's pity and
underestimation of the sorceress. With Aegeus, she uses her skills as a bargaining chip and
takes advantage of the king's soft-heartedness to win a binding oath from him. Against
Jason, she uses his own shallowness, his unmerited pride, and his desire for dominance. She
plays the fawning and submissive woman, to her husband's delight and gratification. Jason
buys the act, demonstrating his lack of astuteness and willingness to be duped by his own
fantasies. Just as he has successfully convinced himself that his marriage to the Corinthian
princess is a noble act, he accepts Medea's submissive woman act because it is exactly what
he wants to believe.

Manipulation is more complicated than simple lying. Note that with Aegeus, Medea tells the
truth, though she omits important details (i.e. she is planning to kill the Corinthian royal
family). With Aegeus, we see Medea use the partial truth to achieve maximum advantage
for herself. In these various manipulations, we see the depth of Medea's cleverness and skill.
She has the know-how to make deadly poisons and drugs of fertility; she has the cunning to
manipulate both enemies and friends. But we also are reminded that Medea is barred from
the highest circles of power. Her cunning manipulation of others is the act of a desperate
woman, outside the structures of power and the bonds of kinship. In a bad situation, Medea
uses her wits secure two ends: a brutal, single-minded revenge, and her own survival. We
are reminded of Eleanor Wilner's comment that Medea is a Machiavel without a kingdom to
rule. Unable to rule the system, she remains nonetheless capable of tearing it all down,
though not without great cost to herself.

The scene where Medea weeps for her children to some extent humanizes her, although the
effect remains chilling rather than sentimental. Presenting her children to Jason, she
becomes wet-eyed thinking about her children's mortality. These moments, and her later
speech in which she talks sorrowfully to her uncomprehending young sons, show us that
Medea feels remorse for her actions. She imagines their deaths "after a long life"; the
dramatic irony is that her children do not have long to live. Medea is not without feeling, nor
is she a sociopath. She comprehends the difference between right and wrong, but chooses
to follow the dictates of rage.

Lines 976-1250
The Chorus sings with pity of the horrible fate awaiting Jason's bride and Medea's children.
All are doomed. The sing of Jason's choices, and how they will make him wretched; they also
sing with pity for Medea, who will wet her hands with her own children's blood.

The Tutor returns, children in tow. He comforts Medea: they will be allowed to stay in
Corinth. The princess has accepted the gifts. He does not seem to understand Medea's
distress. She sends him inside. Medea now has a long speech as she addresses her children,
speaking to them of how sorrowful she is to be leaving in exile without them. She speaks of
all she hoped to witness: their marriages, their care for her in her old age, their ritual
washing of her dead body. She seems to hesitate, and announces that she will not go
through with her plans. But she steels herself and resolves once again to carry out her
revenge. She spends last moments with the two children, holding their hands and pitying
them. Medea and the children exit.

The Chorus sings of the pains of rearing children. After all of the troubles of parenting, even
if the child turns out well, the possibility of death remains. And the death of a child is the
greatest of griefs.

Medea enters again, telling the Chorus that she watches the horizon, waiting for the
messenger to bring the news of her revenge. The Messenger enters: the poison has worked.
He is shocked by Medea's calmness, and her unwillingness to flee. She entreats him to tell
the story of the girl's death, for Medea's pleasure. The Messenger recounts that the girl was
not pleased to see the children, but she was won over by the beauty of the gifts. She tried
them on soon after Jason left; she was overjoyed by her own appearance, but she soon
began to convulse; a nurse, thinking the convulsions a result of diving ecstasy, cried out
praises to God. But it soon became clear that the girl was dying. The death was terrible: the
diadem seared her with flame, blood and fire oozing from the girls school, and the poison of
the dress ripped the girls flesh from her bones. Creon came and clasped the dead body to
him, weeping. He cried out pitifully, hyperbolically wishing, as grievers do, that he had died
with her. When the old king tried to get up, he found his flesh was stuck to the dress. The
poison worked a second time, and he died as his daughter did.
The Chorus observes that this day has given Jason much grief, but he has deserved it. They
speak of their pity for the girl. Medea speaks now of the final part of her plan. She must steel
herself and murder her children. With a shriek, she charges into the house.

Analysis:

Although Euripides makes Medea an eloquent spokesperson for the evils that befall women,
he refuses to give us a simple story of revenge justly taken. Medea is incredibly self-
absorbed. Even as she grieves for her children, she seems more moved by what she is
depriving herself: she speaks tearfully of how she hoped that her children would one day
tenderly wash her body for burial. There is a strong contrast between Medea's false plan,
proposed to Jason, and her real plan. In the false plan, we see the ultimate act of
selflessness: a mother separating herself from her children for their own good. Despite her
sorrow, she would have the children brought up in Corinth because of the greater future it
offers them. In the true plan, we have the opposite end of the spectrum. Medea will not
only slaughter her children, but she seems to be thinking more about her own grief than the
actual deaths. She is moved to tears by sentimental thoughts of being cared for in old age.
She thinks selfishly of how she will miss them; the horror of their being dead seems
secondary.

Euripides also adds another complicating element to Medea's revenge. Many scholars now
believe that Medea's murder of her children was Euripides' original addition to the myth; in
older versions, the children were murdered by Medea's enemies in revenge for the death of
Creon and his daughter. The shocking addition of having a mother slaughter her own
children makes a dark story even darker, and it effectively robs Medea of the moral high
ground. Rage and reason are played against each other as Medea's resolve wavers. But she
decides to go through with her plan, in part because of her incredible pride. Again and again,
she speaks of her children's uncertain future. Their blood is not wholly Greek, and she fears
that they will be mocked. Also, the allies of Corinth will seek terrible revenge against the
children. As always, Medea cannot stand the thought of being victimized: "This shall never
be, that I should suffer my children / To be the prey of my enemies insolence" (ll. 1060-1). She
later says that unless she hurries and does the act herself, she will "suffer my children / To be
slain by another hand less kindly to them. Force every way will have it they must die. . ." (ll.
1238-40). Medea cannot bear the thought of her enemies destroying her children.
Paradoxically, she decides to prevent this grief by killing them herself.

The power and pleasure of revenge are a central theme here. Medea remains one of the
most popular of all ancient Greek plays. Although Medea is clearly a monster, she continues
to fascinate us. In part, it is because she ruthlessly carries out what most of us are too
controlled to do. She is deprived of institutional power, humiliated by her enemies, wronged
in love. But she has the means to destroy all who have hurt her. Eleanor Wilner writes, "How
many have dreamed of that satisfaction? Or better, how many have not?" (10). One of
Medea's greatest frustrations is that she has been beaten by fools. Her husband is hollow.
The woman for whom he has left Medea is a vain and silly girl; appropriately, Medea
destroys her through her own vanity. With sinister irony, the dress and diadem kill the girl
while hideously disfiguring her once-lovely face and body.

Euripides often targets piety in his plays. When an old nurse sees the princess's convulsions,
the foolish old woman mistakes the condition as divine possession. She thinks she is
witnessing a miracle, but she is proven wrong a moment later, when the princess begins to
die. And Creon, weeping over his daughter's body, cries out in overdone fashion that he
wishes to die with his daughter. Thanks to the poison of the dress, his rhetorical wish is
fulfilled. The play mocks stock sentiments and piety. Speakers of conventional pieties are
made to look like fools.

Lines 1251-1419
The Chorus cries out to the god Helius, who is Medea's ancestor. They sing of the horrible
act Medea is about to commit. From inside the house, we hear the cries of Medea's children
as she slaughters them. As the children cry for help, the Chorus considers interfering, but in
the end they stay out of it. They deliver another ode on the horror of infanticide.

Jason enters, with attendants. He asks the Chorus where Medea hides; the sorceress will
surely die for her act. He has come to take the boys under guard, for fear that the royal
house will seek vengeance against them. The Chorus tells Jason that his children are dead,
by Medea's hand. Jason is aghast. He orders his men to break down the doors, and he
speaks of how he will repay her for her crimes.

Medea appears above the palace, in a chariot drawn by dragons. The corpses of the two
children are with her. She laughs at Jason's vain efforts. The chariot is a gift from Helius, god
of the sun, her father's father. Jason reviles her, saying that no Greek woman would dare to
do as she has. He berates himself for taking this evil bride. Medea responds coldly, saying
that Zeus knows all she did for Jason and how Jason repaid her. They bicker, each blaming
the other for what has happened. Jason demands the bodies, so that he can bury them.

Medea refuses. She will bury them herself, and establish a holy feast and sacrifice to Hera to
atone for her sin. She will go to Athens, where safe refuge awaits her. And Jason, she
foretells, will die without distinction. He will die in an accident, struck on the head by a piece
of timber from his old ship, the Argo. They bicker again. Jason bewails his fate, and the
horrible deaths of his boys. The Chorus ends the play, singing that the gods contrive events
in ways that are surprising to man.

Analysis:

Facing his wife, who appears in the sky in a divine chariot, Jason brings us back to the theme
of the Other. Once again, we are reminded of the difference between Medea and Greek
women. He tells her that no Greek women would have done as she has done. But Jason
makes this pronouncement without seeming to understand the implications. Consider the
Chorus, which has stood by mutely and allowed this slaughter to take place. Consider also
that Jason has shown us how Greek men behave. Jason's easy distinctions between Other
and Us, Barbarian and Greek, docile woman and righteous man, all seem too simplistic after
the events we have just witnessed. He has attempted to bring part of his adventure home
with him, and all has ended in disaster. Euripides has refused to hand anyone the moral high
ground, but instead has shown us a vicious war between the sexes in which the oppressed,
rather than become ennobled, turn against their oppressors with the viciousness that they
deserve. He is showing us a world, our world, in which attempts at easy categorizations do
not hold; in which synthesis of supposed opposites does not work; in which the very terms
by which we know these opposites turn out to be a product of our self delusion.

And Euripides will go farther: he uses Medea to expose the bankruptcy of popular Greek
ideas of heroism. Medea has many traits that would be admirable, if only she were a man.
She is ruthless, brilliant, cunning, and powerful. But her position is one of weakness: she is
not a ruler or a warrior on the battlefield. Euripides gives us qualities that are considered
heroic, but he puts them in a woman and reduces the scale, making the playing field one of
marriage and spurned love. The fine Homeric speeches of warriors on the verge of combat
are reduced to the bickering of an enraged wife and a petty husband. In this play, Euripides
calls sacred ideas about heroism into question. Consider, for example, the character of
Agamemnon as he is portrayed by Aeschylus in the Oresteia. Agamemnon also kills his own
child; and yet, although he is not admired for this act, after his death Aeschylus still gives him
his due as a great man and hero. Our reaction to Medea's infanticide is one of unmitigated
horror. By granting unlimited self-absorption and ruthlessness to a woman, Euripides
exposes these traits for what they are. We become aware of the double standards we use
for heroes and heroines. For the thoughtful audience, watching Medea's infanticide changes
how we view Agamemnon's. Although in some ways we still admire Medea, we are not
allowed to feel as comfortable about this admiration as we are with, say, Agamemnon.

More directly, he changes how we view Jason. Euripides emphasizes Jason as a non-hero, an
opportunistic and selfish man who tries to manipulate others to serve his own ends. Even in
this chosen task, he fails, as his wife proves to be more adept than he. The greatest
difference between Medea and Jason is that she is aware of the gap between ethical
behavior and her own actions. Jason manages to deceive himself with his ideas of his own
righteousness. Remember Medea's line, spoken not without irony: "And women, though
most helpless in doing good deeds, / Are of every evil the cleverest of contrivers" (ll. 408-9).
Deprived of a state to rule, the genius becomes a destroyer, and she is fully aware of what
she does: "I know indeed what evil I intend to do, / But stronger than all my afterthoughts is
my fury, / Fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils" (ll. 1078-80). Compare this level
of honesty with the sanctimonious speeches of Jason, who betrays his wife and children like
the fortune-seeking coward that he is, and then pretends that he has done right by them. In
this final part of the play, Medea foretells the last part of Jason's story, an unheroic end for
an unheroic man: he will be killed by accident, by a falling timber from his own ship.

And finally, there is the question of the gods and their role in these events. Like many
Euripidean plays, we end with a kind of deus ex machina, as Medea's escape becomes
possible thanks to a chariot that was a divine gift. But although he has been criticized by
critics for this device, the end seems fitting for his intentions. Medea, after all, is a woman
who is powerless but yet has access to surprising resources. Furthermore, Euripides'
universe is one where the intentions of the gods do not make sense; life does not make
sense. And one must also remember that Medea's supernatural escape was part of the
original myth.

The final argument between Jason and Medea has echoes of the Oresteia. Jason tells Medea
that the avenging ghosts of the children will curse her; she coolly brushes the prediction
aside. She will bury them herself, and through the aid of the goddess Hera she will atone for
their deaths. It is Jason, once again, who will die in ignominy, after having suffered through
the death of his new bride and his two sons. The Chorus ends, as many Choruses do, musing
about the unpredictability of fate.

What can we make of this ending? In the Theban plays of Sophocles, the gods help even
Oedipus to achieve a kind of redemption. His fall, too, has a kind of terrible logic. In the
Oresteia of Aeschylus, every death requires an atonement in blood, until Athena and Apollo,
in all their glory, descend and help set the world right. So what can we make of Medea,
where every death comes about through Medea's unchecked rage? Where many deaths are
undeserved, and terrifyingly brutal, even by the standards of Greek tragedy? Where we
nonetheless watch with fascination, and even satisfaction, as Medea coldly destroys her
enemies and children, one by one, until she has nothing left? Where the Chorus watches but
does not interfere, although Euripides makes sure to remind us that they could? Considering
these questions, and considering also the elusiveness of divine will in Medea, one begins to
see why this play must have been an unsettling spectacle for its first audience. We are left
the final tableau of the barbarian sorceress, exultant and destroyed at the same time, having
achieved her final victory over her enemies only at the cost of her children's lives. Below her,
Jason wails in impotent fury and grief, and the Chorus sings that the gods have had their
hand in these events; yet how or why is anyone's guess. Medea establishes the Euripidean
universe, one in which heroism is rare, the gods are at worst malicious and at best absent,
and suffering falls on the innocent and the guilty with equal brutality. In later plays, his vision
is deepened by the possibility of compassion, but that possibility does not exist here.
Medea's rage, unchecked and unchanged, carries us from the opening of the play to its final
horrific moments. In this way, she is an interesting counterpoint to Achilles of Homer's Iliad.
The Iliad is the story of Achilles' rage, and the final transformation of that rage into
understanding and compassion; Medea's rage is as central here as Achilles' rage in the Iliad,
but no redeeming transformation occurs in Euripides' play. Her hatred indicts her world, the
home that is also her prison, the injustices and hollow pieties of Greek civilization. The play
also implicates us, as her hatred and rage, though extreme, remain unnervingly and
immediately recognizable; the grim satisfaction she takes in her revenge, however brutal
and self-destructive, bears at least some resemblance to our own secret and unfulfilled
fantasies.