MARTYRDOM, SACRIFICE and CUNNING

MARTYRDOM, SACRIFICE and CUNNING:
How Three Greek Women Handle Men in
Antigone, Iphigenia at Aulis, and The Odyssey

(Lit 374: Edge Conditions: Women in Greek Antiquity)

Women in the Ancient Greek world wielded little power. Bartered and traded away by their fathers into advantageous marriages, or forced into various levels of prostitution or courtesanship, their value existed in their fertility, their sexuality and to the extent that they could please the men to whom they were beholden.
However, Greek men relied on their women for many things beyond sexual gratification -- paternity, the dowries and riches that came with their brides upon marriage, and for companionship. In any society where the dominant group depends so heavily on the subordinate group, there are always ways in which the subordinates can control their destiny and exert their wills, at least to a certain extent. This was true of American slaves in the nineteenth century, of the indentured convict labor force in Australia, and it was true in Ancient Greece as well.


In order to investigate this phenomenon, I have chosen three women who took three very different approaches in exerting their will, albeit in subtle, clandestine ways.

Antigone, the Martyr

In an effort to prove her love for the dead brother left to rot for his perceived treachery, Antigone defies her uncle, King Creon's, express decree and buries the dead man's body. By doing so, she brings a death sentence upon herself and, with this single act, ends up unraveling her uncle's precarious hold on his empire.

As is true of most heroines in Greek drama, Antigone finds herself in a position of powerlessness. She is betrothed to Creon's son, Haemon, yet she is little more than a girl. Her parents are dead, her brothers are dead, and her only remaining nuclear family is her sister, Ismene, in whom she confides about her plan to bury her dead brother, Polynices. Her actions seem at once loyal and loving, and grandiose and attention-seeking.

In analyzing why Antigone goes to such lengths to bury her brother's body, it is necessary to understand the road she has traveled. Having watched as her family unraveled, and the truth about her parents, Oedipus and Jocasta, came out, Antigone was helpless to stop the events that result in the death of both of her beloved parents. When her brothers, Polynices and Eteocles, launched into a territorial dispute over the Theban throne, and ended by killing each other, she must be devastated. When Creon orders that Eteocles be buried with full stately honors, but Polynices' body be left out for the scavengers, Antigone finally hits her breaking point.

Would any young girl surrounded by so much death be expected to endure these losses without some sort of psychological effect? Antigone's decision, which she acknowledges to Ismene, might very well be the death of her, is a symbol of her taking back some control of her life. Though she can't bring back her dead loved ones, she can care for one who is dead and has been dishonored.
Her stand becomes particularly poignant when she and Creon face off and she refuses not only to back down, but to allow Ismene to share in the punishment for her crime. Instead of having her executed straight away, he begins to question her motives. In some translations, it appears that he is trying to get her to confess to insanity, perhaps so he can pardon her. In others, it seems that he sets out to ridicule her. In either case, Antigone will not be put off. When she asks him if his only plan is to kill her, he tells her that it is -- that once she is dead, his edict will have been satisfied.

ANTIGONE: Then what stops you? Are you waiting for me to accept what you've
said? I never will. And nothing I say will ever please you. Yet, since you did
mention glory, how could I do anything more glorious than build my own brother a
tomb? These men here would approve my actions— if fear didn't seal their lips.
Tyranny is fortunate in many ways: it can, for instance, say and do anything it
wants.
CREON These Thebans don't see it your way.
ANTIGONE But they do.
To please you they bite their tongues. (Bagg, et. al. 197)

It is not enough that Antigone has defied Creon with her actions. She goes so far as to tell him that he is a tyrant, and what's more, everyone else thinks so, too. Creon finally ends the quarrel by declaring that he will not be made a fool of by a woman, and that his son will not marry a traitorous woman. In the version translated by the Baggs, his exact line is "Enough! I want no pernicious wives for my son."

A woman who expresses discontent and anguish in the face of tyranny is pernicious. By the same token, the sweet and docile Ismene, who attempts to join her sister by falsely confessing to the crime, is labeled merely "insane." This attitude is very reflective of a society where the dominant finds itself challenged publicly by the subordinate.

Antigone begins her journey of open martyrdom as an act of love (for Polynices) and defiance (of Creon). It does not appear that she sets out from the beginning to do anything more than obey what she believes is the will and law of the gods. As events move forward, Antigone realizes that she is caught up in something bigger than she, and she is powerless to stop it. As her story spread throughout Thebes, though, the city begins to sympathize with her. They do not wish to see her put to death. This only seals her fate further. As Creon himself says, "Rebellion in the house, then it is certain there'll be no lack of rebels out of doors. No man can rule a city uprightly who is not just in ruling his own household." (Hall) He cannot afford to have his own daughter-in-law defy him, and allow her to live.

In her final speech, Antigone sets herself firmly as a martyr for a cause. She declares that she has no home – she is between Thebes and the netherworld, completely alone. She mourns the loss of marriage and children. The she declares that she is being punished simply for following the laws of heaven. In the end, she goes to her death refusing to capitulate, and in a sense, cursing her wrongdoers with a fate "no worse than mine."

The event that galvanizes Antigone’s role as martyr in Thebes is the moment when Teiresias tells Creon that his wrong treatment of Antigone has brought certain devastation on Thebes. Sickness will befall them, their altars and temples will be cursed, and all because Creon unjustly had her killed.

When Creon attempts to make things right, first by freeing Antigone, who has already killed herself, then by performing a ceremonial burial on Polynices himself, he has all but acknowledged that he was wrong. The "tyrant" has paid dearly with the loss of his son, his wife and the respect of his people, and Polynices has had his proper burial. In her death, Antigone has triumphed.

Iphigenia, the Sacrifice

In Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis, the heroine is the epitome of nobility and honor. She arrives in Aulis, certain she has been betrothed to Achilles, only to find that it was all a deception, and she has actually been promised as a sacrifice to bring wind so that her father, Agamemnon, can set his troupes to sea for battle against Troy. This is Eurypides’ last play, and his second characterization of Iphigenia. Since the play was unfinished, the ending has always been under dispute. The most popular seems to spare Iphigenia from the sacrifice by mysteriously replacing her with a deer, but in the translation by Moses Hadas and John McLean, they note that the relating of the deer story originates in a speech by Artemis as she attempts to console the grieving Clytemnestra. Still, this is one of Eurypides’ most unusual plays, and the ending, spurious as it may be, has endured perhaps as an acknowledgement of the breaking with dramatic tradition that Eurypides seems to do.

As Francis M. Dunn points out in his book, Tragedy’s End: Closure and Innovation in Euripidean Drama, it is difficult to tell exactly what Euripides actually wrote, since very little of his ending was written at the time of his death. Still, Dunn says it is not unbelievable that Iphigenia, rather than being the sacrificial lamb, might actually have been spared by the gods for her willingness to be sacrificed. He notes that Eurypides broke with the traditional form used in Greek drama, where the hero suddenly realizes his mistakes and is thereby forced to atone for them in some way. In Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, this is how Iphigenia’s sacrifice is viewed – in retrospect, as if it were committed with complete conviction, only to be discovered later as a tragic error on Agamemnon’s part. But Eurypides does not present it that way in Iphigenia at Aulis. He begins the play, not with Agamemnon’s determination to do this thing and then win the war, but with his uncertainty and doubt. He is preparing to send a letter telling his wife to turn around and go back, when he is told that they have already arrived. Now, he is trapped, with a legion full of soldiers expecting a sacrifice that will send them off to victory.

Instead of coming to appreciate the king's error, we are required to acknowledge
his good intentions and his humanity. Hence the strange and controversial
prologue that opens the play not with a narrative situating the action within a
larger continuum and describing the present crisis as a consequence of prior
events, but with an anxious exchange in broken anapests that dramatizes the
king's abject uncertainty. Hence Iphigenia's notorious change of heart that
implicitly acknowledges her father's helplessness and exonerates him of guilt
for the deed. And hence, we might speculate, the state of the ending, added or
altered at a later date, which Euripides may have left incomplete, still
struggling to find an end that would read neither tragedy nor triumph into the
king's vacillations. (Dunn 181, 182)

It is through this looking glass that Iphigenia’s sacrifice appears to be even nobler. Her plea to him to spare her life becomes even more poignant, when read from the perspective that her father, though he has perhaps committed a grievous error in judgment, is not evil or wicked, but merely human.

I was the first who called you father,
the first you called your child,
the first to climb on your knees,
and we held each other, we loved each other.
You said, "Will I see you living in your husband's house,
enjoying the happiness that is my daughter's right?"
And I answered, touching your beard, as I do now--
but now as the gesture of a suppliant--,
"And what will I do for you then, Father?
When you are old will you come to live with me,
and let me nurse your age, in return
for what you have done for me?"
I remember what we said,
but you have forgotten. (Dimock 78, 79)

When Iphigenia realizes that her father is now powerless to stop the sacrifice, she willingly acquiesces, believing that she will die for a noble cause. She tells her mother and Achilles not to grieve too harshly, and not to hold any hard feelings toward her father. Unlike Antigone, who dies in defiance of her king, and therefore her country, Iphigenia willingly lays down her life for her country.

Because of me, Greece will be free,
and my name will be blessed there.
I must not cling to life too dearly.
You brought me into the world
for the sake of everyone in my country,
and not just for your own. (Dimock 85)

She is rewarded instantly with an expression of love from Achilles, who is enamored of her courage. The desire to further reward such nobility with the ultimate gift – her life – is what Dunn says is behind the persistent deer substitution ending. Even in Ancient Greece, dramatists may not have been immune to the "happy ending."

Like Antigone, Iphigenia may have little control over whether she lives or dies, but she has absolute control over how she dies, and the message she imparts as she dies.

Penelope, the Cunning

Penelope has not seen her husband in nearly twenty years. Odysseus was off fighting a war for ten years, and then became waylaid on the journey home for another ten. Her son, Telemachus, has grown up never knowing his father. Her house is filled with men fawning all over her with the intention of wedding her. Furthermore, she is still does not know for certain whether her husband is a live or dead. It is enough to drive a woman to extremes.

As the wife (and possibly widow) of a warrior of some means, Penelope is different from Antigone and Iphigenia because she has at least some power over her lot. She cannot be married off by a father seeking to meet political or fiduciary benefit. She cannot be forced to marry at all. Indeed, should she decide to marry again, it is Penelope who will be allowed to select exactly who her next husband will be.

However, Penelope has no wish to marry at all – at least not yet. Publicly, she hasn’t finished grieving for Odysseus, and privately, she still believe he might be alive and coming home. Before his departure, Odysseus gave her a time when it would be appropriate for her to remarry. That time is past – hence, the suitors in her house. She must find a way to balance her position as "eligible widow" with her desire to remain a loyal wife.

She tells the suitors she has one more obligation as Odysseus’ wife – to weave the burial shroud for his father, Laertes. For three years, she weaves part of the shroud during the day, then takes it upstairs and unravels it again. This weaving-unraveling cycle is what keeps the suitors at bay, not wishing to dishonor Odysseus’ memory. Still, it allows Penelope to straddle the border between her loyalty to Odysseus, who is absent, and her desire to consort with the fawning, somewhat treacherous suitors. Her ambiguity with regard to her own marital status continues through most of the book, until very close to the end, in Book 21, where she curses one of the suitors, Antinous, and prays to Apollo for his death.

It is one of the first times in the book that Penelope outwardly expresses a desire. This is the turning point in her character in the book. Until that time, she has resisted making her true wishes known, because that would lock her into one prison or another. If she remained a devout widow, the suitors would leave and she might waste her entire life waiting for the return of a man who might already be dead. If she were to marry without knowing if Odysseus were truly dead, his specter would hang over her new marriage forever. Additionally, if she should marry, she would be answerable to another man. With the suitors, she has no obligation, other than the hospitality which is Greek custom. She may not be rude to them, but she need not answer to them, either. Should she marry, she would lose all of her property and whatever right of self-determination she has. As she tells the disguised Odysseus in Book 19, she fears that now that her weaving ploy has been revealed by her nefarious serving maids, she will be in the position of being forced to marry against her will, and she has no allies who will stand against it. This is how she relates her story to the disguised Odysseus.

Then, when the wheeling seasons brought the fourth year on and the months waned
and the long days came round once more, then, thanks to my maids – shameless,
reckless creatures – the suitors caught me in the act, denounced me harshly. So
I finished it off. Against my will. They forced me, and now I cannot escape
marriage, nor can I contrive a deft way out. My parents urge me to tie the knot,
and my son is galled as they squander his estate – he sees it all. (Fagle 395)

On the other hand, the society of ancient Greece relied on order and a certain class structure that could be easily categorized. Penelope, by refusing to label herself either as a wife or a widow, straddles two distinct categories, and moves between them for much of The Odyssey, until she is absolutely forced to put her cards on the table. Her behavior through many of books is contradictory and difficult to pinpoint, such as in Book 18, when she comes to the hall to warn Telemachus that the suitors are not to be trusted, then admonishes them for not presenting her with gifts. Penelope is a woman in a man’s world, where women are defined by the men in their lives. Penelope is reluctant to stay unmarried forever, though marrying will destroy any opportunity to control her own life.

Further evidence of Penelope’s cunning can be seen in Book 19, when she calls for a contest between the suitors, promising to marry the one who wins. She does this though she has been told by the stranger (the disguised Odysseus) that Odysseus will most certainly be returning and soon. The contest she chooses, though – the contest of the bow – is nearly impossible. The first contestant Leodes is not fooled. He realizes that Penelope is still trying to keep the situation as fluid as possible.

Still, better be dead than live on here, never winning the prize
that tempts us all – forever in pursuit, burning with expectation every day.
(Fagle 429)

Once Odysseus has revealed himself during the contest, and the suitors and treacherous servants are gone, Penelope accepts him with open arms and they are husband and wife again.
In all three cases – Antigone, Iphigenia and Penelope – the women are struggling hard to preserve some sense of themselves in a time when a woman’s sense of self was not highly valued. Each is concerned with the preservation of something dear: Antigone, the memory and
honor of her family; Iphigenia, the glory and honor of Greece in the Trojan War; and Penelope, the household and standing as Odysseus’ wife, preserved through her wiles, until her wandering husband could find his way home. In this way, these three women were able make their mark, independent of their men, each wielding what little weapon she had to influence the outcome of her life, one way or the other.

Works Cited

Ahl, Frederick, and Hanna M. Roisman. The Odyssey Re-Formed. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996. Questia. 3 Dec. 2005 http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=103740831.

. Antigone. Trans. Reginald Gibbons and Charles Segal. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003. Questia. 3 Dec. 2005 http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=103543126.

Blondell, Ruby, Mary-Kay Gamel, Nancy Sorkin Rabinowitz, and Bella Zweig, eds. Women on the Edge: Four Plays. New York: Routledge, 1999. Questia. 3 Dec. 2005 http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=102879512.

Cole, Susan Guettel. Landscapes, Gender, and Ritual Space: The Ancient Greek Experience. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2004. Questia. 3 Dec. 2005 http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=105929760.

Dunn, Francis M. Closure and Innovation in Euripidean Drama Closure and Innovation in Euripidean Drama. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996. Questia. 3 Dec. 2005 http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=99423960.

Hadas, Moses and McLean, John. Ten Plays by Euripides. New York, NY: Dial Press. 1936. Introduction, Moses Hadas. New York, NY: Bantam Press. 1960. New York, NY: Bantam Press. 1980.

Homer. The Odyssey. Trans. Robert Fagles. New York: Viking Penguin. 1996. New York: Penguin Books. 1997.

Hall, Edith, ed. Antigone; Oedipus the King; Electra. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. Questia. 3 Dec. 2005 http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=14569797.

Iphigeneia at Aulis. Trans. W. S. Merwin and George E. Dimock. New York: Oxford University
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Press, 1992. Questia. 3 Dec. 2005 .
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Sophocles. The Three Theban Plays: Antigone, Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Colonus. Trans. Robert Fagles. New York: Viking Penguin. 1982. New York: Penguin Books. 1984.

The Oedipus Plays of Sophocles: Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Kolonos, and Antigone. Trans. Robert Bagg. Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 2004. Questia. 3 Dec. 2005 .
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