medea gender roles essay

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Medea: Gender Roles

In Euripides Medea, the protagonist abandoned the gender roles of ancient Greek society. Medea defied perceptions of gender by exhibiting both “male” and “female” tendencies. She was able to detach herself from her “womanly” emotions at times and perform acts that society did not see women capable of doing. However, Medea did not fully abandon her role as a woman and did express many female emotions throughout the play.

In ancient Greek society , murder was not commonly associated with women. Throughout the play, however, Medea committed several acts of murder.

We learn that Medea has killed her brother. Medea does not have any guilt about planning and carrying out the murders of king Creon and his daughter Glauke. As the play develops, the reader realizes that Medea plans to commit infanticide.

I shall murder my children, these children of mine if die they must , I shall slay them, who gave them birth.(Euripides 207-213)

This contradicts societys view that women are the givers of life and that men take it away. It is especially unacceptable because she is the children’s mother. To kill a member of your family was frowned upon in ancient Greece , as it is today.

Medea displays extreme pride, which is stereotyped as a “male” characteristic. She is willing to sacrifice everything, including her children, to restore her reputation. It is a common belief that a woman’s weakness is her children, but this is not the case with Medea. Her sense of pride prevails over her maternal instincts.

Good-bye to my former plans I cannot do it. And yet what is the matter with me? Do I want to make myself a laughingstock by letting my enemies off scot-free? I must go through with itI do realize how terrible is the crime I am about , but passion overrules my resolutions Its worth the grief You could not hope, nor your princess either, to scorn my love, make a fool of me and live happily ever after. (Euripides 212-219)

Medea seeks vengeance with the same forceful determination to rectify the situation as a man would. A woman seeking revenge challenges societys view of women as weak and passive. Medea will go to great lengths to hurt Jason for the wrongs he has done to her. [Chorus]You will slaughter them to avenge the dishonor of your bed betrayed[Medea]O children, your fathers sins have caused your death(Euripides 211-219)

Medea dwells in self-pity until contriving a scheme that will avenge her hurt. Wallowing in self contempt is generally a quality attributed to women by society. Medea is so unhappy with herself after her marriage with Jason ended that she wanted to die.

Oh! My grief! The misery of it all! Why can I not die?O misery! The things I have suffered!Oh! Would a flaming bolt from Heaven might pierce my brain! What is the good of living any longer? O misery! Let me give up this life I find so hateful. Let me seek lodging in the house of death It’s all over my friends; I would gladly die. Life has lost its savor Ah! Double destruction is my unhappy lot! The troubles are mine, I have no lack of troubles.(Euripides 192-197)

Medea also experiences the “female” emotion of jealousy. Medea is jealous of Glauke, the daughter of Creon. Jason has left Medea for Glauke, who is younger, royalty and accepted by society.

Your foreign wife was passing into an old age that did you little credit As you loiter outside here you are burning with longing for the girl who has just been made your wife(Euripides 202-203)

The common opinion among society is that women tend to use deceit and trickery to achieve their goals . Medea is no exception. Medea persuades Creon to allow her to stay one more day in Corinth on the pretense of preparing for exile, while in actuality Medea was planning the murders of her enemies and children.

Do you think I would have ever wheedled the king just now except to further my own plans? I would not even have spoken to him, nor touched him either He has allowed me this one day, in which I will make corpses of my enemies.(Euripides 198)

Medea defied society’s stereotypes of male and female characters. Throughout Euripides Medea the protagonist showed extreme emotions of both sexes. At times she was the ultimate woman, and others the ultimate man.

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The events of Medea take place in a male-dominated society, a society that allows Jason and Creon to casually and brutally shunt Medea aside. The play is an exploration of the roles of men and women, both actual and ideal, but it is not necessarily an argument for sexual equality. Creon and Jason find Medea 's cleverness more dangerous and frightening because she is woman. "A sharp tempered woman…" Creon says, "Is easier to deal with than the clever type who holds her tongue." The chorus, too, feels it can offer Medea advice on what behavior best suits a woman. "Suppose your man gives honor to another woman's bed," it says. "It often happens. Don't be hurt./ God will be your friend in this."

Everyone, it seems, has a different opinion on what a good woman or a good man is and does. Jason says it would be better if men "got their children in some other way" and women didn't exist at all. "Then," he says, "life would have been good." Medea herself frequently weighs in on the subject, "We women are the most unfortunate creatures." Despite the plethora of opinions, many of them contradictory, the question isn't necessarily resolved in the play. Jason insists Medea is "free to keep telling everyone [he is] a worthless man"—not a difficult opinion for him to hold, given the comfort of his new position as Creon's son-in-law and member of the royal household. Medea promptly assures him that he is a "coward." She names him such in "bitterest reproach for [his] lack of manliness." The play is imbued with a sense that neither men nor women are doing as they should, neither are behaving as they ought, and, perhaps more importantly, that if they were, the tragedy might have been averted.

The Roles of Men and Women ThemeTracker

The Roles of Men and Women Quotes in Medea

The people here are well disposed to [Medea], An exile and Jasons's all obedient wife: That's the best way for a woman to keep safe – Not to cross her husband. But now her deepest love is sick, all turns to hate.

The middle course is best in name And practice, the best policy by far. Excess brings no benefit to us, Only greater disasters on a house, When God is angry.

Tell us, Nurse. At the gate I heard [Medea] Crying inside the house. I don't like to see the family suffering. I sympathize with them.

My husband has turned out to be the most despicable of men. Of all the creatures that have life and reason We women have the worst lot.

A woman, coming to new ways and laws, Needs to be a clairvoyant – she can't find out at home, What sort of man will share her bed. If we work at it, and our husband is content Beneath the marriage yoke, Life can be enviable. If not, better to be dead.

The fools! I would rather fight three times In war, than go through childbirth once!

Medea, scowling there with fury at your husband! I have given orders that you should leave the country: Take your two sons and go, into exile. No delay!

The direct way is best, the one at which I am most skilled: I'll poison them.

…But we are women too: We may not have the means to achieve nobility; Our cleverness lies in crafting evil.

You vile coward! Yes, I can call you that, The worst name that I know for your unmanliness!

Zeus, you granted men sure signs to tell When gold is counterfeit. But when we need to tell Which men are false, why do our bodies bear no stamp To show our worth?

As for your spiteful words about my marriage with the princess, I'll show that what I've done is wise and prudent; And I've acted out of love for you And for my sons…

Jason, you have put a fine gloss on your words. But – I may not be wise to say this – I think You've acted wrongly: you have betrayed your wife.

All for nothing tortured myself with toil and care, And bore the cruel pains when you were born. Once I placed great hopes in you, that you Would care for my old age and yourselves Shroud my corpse. That would make me envied. Now that sweet thought is no more. Parted from you I shall lead a grim and painful life.

Hateful creature! O most detestable of women To the gods and me and all the human race! You could bring yourself to put to the sword The children of your womb. You have taken my sons and destroyed me.

No Greek woman Could ever have brought herself to do that. Yet I rejected them to marry you, a wife Who brought me enmity and death, A lioness, not human…

Murderer and Trailblazer: Medea as a Feminist Text by Kyle Kim

Murderer and trailblazer: medea as a feminist text.

Medea possesses qualities that conform to the gender expectations of ancient Greece, but many parts of the play suggest that Medea is a feminist figure who challenges the gender and social norms of her time.

Like many Greek tragedies, Euripides’s Medea explores themes about society and human nature. One of the main themes presented in Medea is the role and condition of women in ancient Greek society. Both of the main characters, Medea and Jason, possess qualities that conform to the gender expectations of ancient Greece, and it would be unsurprising if audiences of this play in ancient times viewed the two characters as traditional portrayals of a woman and a man. However, many parts of the play suggest that Medea is a feminist figure who challenges the gender and social norms of her time, and many aspects of the tragedy revolve around issues of women’s rights and the marginalization of women in society. Careful analysis reveals that Medea is not a stereotypical woman but a woman who understands that there is an imbalance of power between a man and a woman and resists this injustice.

Medea’s monologue to the women of Corinth in the beginning parts of the play is a powerful proclamation of the unjust marginalization of women in society. Still in anguish over Jason’s betrayal of her, Medea cries out, “We women are the most beset by trials of any species that has breath and power of thought.” 1 She publicly states to all of the women in the city that the condition of being a woman is difficult and full of struggles. Medea then goes on to say that the burden of being a woman is not just difficult but also unequal to that of being a man. She presents marriage as an example of the imbalance of power between a man and a woman. Getting married and having a husband is inextricably tied to a woman’s reputation, Medea argues. Therefore, if a husband leaves his wife, Medea states that death is better than living with the repercussions. 2 For men, however, marriage does not bind them in any way. If a man is ever “irked with those he has at home, he goes elsewhere to get relief and ease his state of mind.” 3 When a man leaves his wife, his city, his family, and friends will not desert him and view him as an outcast. On the other hand, a woman who is deserted by her husband is likely to face humiliation and a decrease in status. The story of Jason and Medea is the ultimate example of this inequality between men and women because Jason, after abandoning Medea, does not experience any consequences while Medea is exiled from her city, deserted, and degraded. 4

Medea denounces that women essentially live in a system in which they must get husbands to be reputable and deemed valuable by society, but in exchange must submit to being objectified by their husbands. She states that women are, “obliged to buy a husband at excessive cost, and then accept him as the master of our body.” 5 Her speech of dissent manifests Medea as a woman going against the status quo. That the speech is addressed to the “women of Corinth” also suggests that she is urging the other women to realize their collective plight. 6 Furthermore, Medea pushes against gender norms by challenging the idea that the activities and lives of men are more strenuous and dangerous that that of women’s. She claims that she “would rather join the battle rank of shields three times than undergo birth-labor once,” arguing that the typical duty of men, warfare, are not more arduous or even more dangerous than the typical duty of women, birth-labor. 7 This is yet another example of Medea chipping away at the stereotypical and unfair depictions of women and their experiences in society. Medea’s monologue is powerfully feminist because it clearly identifies the inequality between men and women in society and passionately expresses and decries the lamentation and pain that accompanies the condition of being a woman.

Shortly after Medea’s monologue against the gender norms in society, Creon banishes Medea from Corinth and calls her a “Grim scowling scourge against your husband.” 8 Creon then goes on to say, “I am afraid of you” to Medea. 9 The moment when Creon, a man of authority, banishes Medea, a woman who publicly denounced gender inequality, seems emblematic of a man being fearful of a woman who goes against the status quo. Creon getting rid of Medea is an instance of the powerful suppressing dissent in order to maintain the existing power structure. In this sense, Medea’s experiences of state oppression after being abandoned by her husband, not only presents the marginalization of women, but also suggests that the gender norms of society are systematically maintained. Women cannot break out of the manmade mold of what a proper woman should be without fear of being ostracized or discarded by society and the powerful.

The dialogue between Medea and Jason is significant in that it shows the obliviousness of men to the plight of women. Jason criticizes Medea for her “fiery temper” and says that her anger and emotions were what brought upon her banishment. 10 He then justifies his betrayal of Medea by saying,

My motive is the highest of priorities: that is for us to live a prosperous life, and not run a mile from those who are impoverished. I wish to raise my children as befits my noble house, and father brothers for these sons I’ve had by you; to put them on a part to unify the line, and so achieve a happy life. 11

Jason’s justification for his actions is that he did what was best for everyone. By abandoning Medea and marrying into a noble house, Jason argues that their children will be able to live comfortable lives. His argument, however, is completely ignorant of the experience of Medea as a woman losing her husband. Jason, as a man, doesn’t realize that Medea’s life, reputation, and status in society were decimated due to him abandoning her because he didn’t face any of the same repercussions. He believes that Medea is angry at him merely because of the loss of a bedmate and finds this disgusting saying,

You women go so far to believe, as long as your sex life goes well, then everything is fine; but then if some misfortune strikes the realm of bed, you count what’s best and finest as your deepest hate. I say it should have been a possibility for mankind to engender children from some other source, and for the female sex not to exist. That way there’d be no troubles spoiling human life. 12

Jason’s male privilege blinds him to the gender inequality that exists in society. He cannot comprehend that Medea’s anger derives from the loss of status, value, and dignity as a human being and reduces her emotions to an issue of sex, thereby falling victim to the stereotype of women being innately immoral creatures. This dialogue between Jason and Medea suggests that inequality that is deeply embedded in a society and culture is difficult to recognize because it is presented as the norm. Moreover, it signifies that the group who benefits from an imbalance of power cannot truly understand the struggles and plight of the marginalized.

Euripides ends Medea by employing a deus ex machina in which Helios, Medea’s grandfather, sends her a flying chariot which she takes, with the bodies of her dead children, to Athens. This ending provides a clear resolution to the tragedy. Whether or not the chariot signifies that the gods have sided with Medea, the condition of Medea in comparison to that of Jason at the end of the play seems to indicate the moral of the story. Jason, after abandoning Medea, loses everything. His newly wed wife and his children are dead. And he’s left in a state of utter despair. He, in the end, has to face the consequences of his actions. Medea, unlike Jason, is given a vehicle to flee from any consequences that may arise from her actions. Although she also suffers from the loss of her children, she was able to achieve the justice that she thought was proper. She was able to punish Jason for his actions even when society refused to. And before flying away, Medea says to Jason, “You can’t have thought that you could spurn my marriage bed and then proceed to live a life of pleasure, reveling in mockery of me?” 13 Medea represents the inevitable implosion of society when a group of people are oppressed and made subservient. She is the personification of the collective anger and pain of women living in a man’s society. The violence and the chaos she creates is symbolic of the unleashing of the pent-up rage of women that has built up in society for generations.

Euripides, Medea , Euripides 1 , edited by David Grene and Richmond Lattimore, translated by Oliver Taplin (University of Chicago, 2013), 230-231.
Euripides, Medea , 243.
Euripides, Medea , 243-245.
Euripides, Medea , 255.
Euripides, Medea , 234.
Euripides, Medea , 214.
Euripides, Medea , 250-253.
Euripides, Medea , 271.
Euripides, Medea , 282.
Euripides, Medea , 447.
Euripides, Medea , 558-565.
Euripides, Medea , 569-575.
Euripides, Medea , 1356.

Kyle Kim (BA ’21) originally wrote “Murderer and Trailblazer: Medea as a Feminist Text” in Bella Mirabella’s Fall 2020 Interdisciplinary Seminar “ Tragic Visions .”

Thumbnail image: Mrs. Yates in the Characer of Medea (1771) by William Dickinson, Drawings and Prints, The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Home — Essay Samples — Literature — Medea — Medea and Feminism: An Exploration of Gender and Power

Medea and Feminism: an Exploration of Gender and Power

Categories: Medea

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Published: Sep 16, 2023

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The character of medea: a feminist anti-heroine, societal constraints on women, feminist themes: betrayal, revenge, and power, conclusion: the complexity of "medea" and feminist interpretation.

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MEDEA: A Woman Depicted in a Man's World

2018, PAMLA

This paper explores Seneca’s representation of Medea both in relation to Euripides’ re-shaping of Greek myth and as an expression of Roman cultural differences. Euripides masculinizes Medea, having her break several gender boundaries in order to achieve her goals. I argue that this created an adverse effect on her character’s reception in Roman culture and influenced a more vilified character of Medea found in Seneca’s Medea. By focusing on Medea’s representation, specifically through her masculinization, I show how her character directly contrasts with Roman values which ultimately reduces her character from a conflicted heroine into an oversimplified villain. Medea may be seen as an extreme example of Roman views on threats posed by powerful women. The representation of Medea and how each playwright depicts her, either masculinizing or vilifying her, have parallel examples in contemporary issues, from depictions of powerful women and even to how women feel they need to present themselves. My final point is how a complex female figure, such as Medea, can serve as a model into Roman attitudes towards powerful women but also as a parallel model to view the treatments of powerful women within our current society.

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Silvino Nyx

Jean Santilli

Some say that Medea is a heroine in the battle against Patriarchy. We will see that she is not. As a matter of fact, the title of this article is not “Medea versus the Macho Man”. A subliminal poison of our societies was produced by a socio-historical event told by mythological tales. We all know that mythologies tell tales of events that never occurred anywhere, yet happen every day everywhere. But it is necessary to decipher them, in order to be aware of the peril. That double origin – historical and mythological – is described in an essay written as a travel log: Our Lady Goddess & The Femicide of the Heroes. It is available in three languages on this page at Academia.edu. Here on the other hand, we will unveil a “systemic” problem; the “linear” approach with which it is addressed in society and tribunals makes it worse. We will propose a “systemic” approach; it is more useful, above all for the main victims of Medea & Macho: their children.

Tatiana GOLBAN

Our intention in this study is neither to define myth nor to create an interpretative typology; rather, it is to find a link between myth and literature by establishing a trace in the formation of a myth which is very old and dynamic. Our focus is on the story of Medea and its multiple versions, particularly on the way in which different literary accounts, which centre on the character of Medea, have led to the construction of a very complex and contradictory myth in Euripides' play Medea. Before Euripides, Medea is not regarded as an entirely fearsome sorceress, a monster obsessed with revenge, her children dying of other causes, but Euripides creates a new literary myth based on other existing versions. The main purpose of our study is the examination of the artistic means and procedures used by the ancient playwright Euripides to represent, in literary terms, the character of an ancient myth, Medea, as a literary archetype reproduced in various ancient texts. A special emphasis is on the manner in which the fundamental situation of the story of Medea has been subject to essential thematic changes which have led to the coining of what we know nowadays as the Medea myth.

The Body Speaketh: Interrogating Cultural Constructions of the Body

Tuhin Bhattacharjee

The seclusion of women from the Athenian stage was an extension of the Greek ideology of gender in which the woman was often defined by the rhetoric of absence. Euripides’ plays, however, consistently seek an alternative signifying system that could articulate women’s experiences. His Corinthian women support Medea with an ode, rejecting male literary traditions. Apollo had not given the gift of song to women, they protest, for if he had, women would have “found themes for poems/ And countered with our epics against men”, showing that “time is old, and in his store of tales/ Men figure no less famous/ Or infamous than women” (426-430). This remarkable critique of phallogocentrism is also an impassioned plea for the woman to inscribe herself in language, to ‘write’ herself into symbolic discourse. While recent research on gender in Euripides has pointed out how Euripidean drama often disrupts traditional gender roles, there has been no substantial study of the ‘absent presence’ of women’s bodies in these narratives. My paper shall examine the deconstruction of the Greek ideology of presence through a close reading of Euripides’ Medea.

Theatre Research International

stephen wilmer

Reacting to the concerns expressed by Sue-Ellen Case and others that Greek tragedies were written by men and for men in a patriarchal society, and that the plays are misogynistic and should be ignored by feminists, this article considers how female directors and writers have continued to exploit characters such as Antigone, Medea, Clytemnestra and Electra to make a powerful statement about contemporary society.

Affonso kristeva

Although students and scholars alike know well that ancient Greece was immensely misogynist and patriarchal, nevertheless, there have been numerous attempts to retrieve voices from the classical world at least empathetic to the plight of women. Frequently these attempts turned out to be abject failures. However, many continue to peruse the Greek literary tradition, and archaeological remains for non-misogynist voices. Euripides, at least within reasonably recent history, is for many just such a voice. Medea is one of the first feminist characters in Western literature, which involves the recognition of a significant cultural shift. Euripides'<i> Medea</i> indeed questions contemporary beliefs and standards in ancient Greek society, substantially those of the heroic masculine ethic. Still, it did so at the expense of women, not in their support. Through this paper, I would like to show the depiction of the women situation in ancient Greek and how Medea, as a female pr...

Seneca's Medea tragedy alters Euripides' version both in depicting Medea's murders onstage, but also in splitting the two children's killings into two separate events. This article provides a diachronic and phenomenological close reading of the Medea character's choice to murder her second child in Seneca's tragedy, the ways in which Seneca's adaptation plays with audience expectations, the manuscript tradition of this play, and the character traits revealed by Seneca's choice to interrupt his Medea's crimes.

Hanna M . Roisman

Marianne Hopman

summary: In the first stasimon of Medea, the chorus of Corinthian women exalts Medea's revenge as a palinode that will put an end to the misogynist tradition and bring them honor. This article analyzes Euripides' tragedy as a meta-poetic reflection on Medea's voice, its relation to the earlier poetic tradition, its power and limitations, and its generic definition. While Medea's revenge meta-phorically and symbolically unfolds as a revision of the Argo saga and thus undermines one of the most famous androcentric epics of the Greek song culture, I argue that mythical constraints ultimately prevent Medea from generating a new, gynocentric epic. Rather, the intertextuality of the final scenes increasingly departs from the Iliadic model and firmly anchors Medea's revenge in the tragic genre. Metapoetically, Medea's palinode thus defines tragedy, by contrast to epic, as a genre that is congenial to female voices but does not bring them kleos.

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1997.07.19, Medea: Essays on Medea in Myth, Literature, Philosophy and Art

Joachim vogeler , louisana state university, [email protected].

As James Clauss reminds us in the preface, this excellent collection of twelve essays on Medea grew out of a panel organized by Sarah Johnston for the 1991 meeting of the American Philological Association in Chicago. An excellent introduction by Sarah Johnston outlines the scope of this collection and provides a superb and concise summary of the twelve essays on Medea. According to Johnston, “Medea was represented by the Greeks as a complex figure, fraught with conflicting desires and exhibiting an extraordinary range of behavior” (6). After sketching Medea’s mythic history from antiquity to the twentieth century and her reception in literary and art history, Johnston explores how Medea’s complexity continues to challenge our imaginations, confront our deepest feelings, and make us realize “that behind the delicate order we have sought to impose upon our world lurks chaos” (17). Without specifying to which theories in the field of psychology she is referring, Johnston elaborates on the dichotomy of self and other which she identifies as a common element in many of the essays. A complex Medea figure unites “the opposing concepts of self and other, as she veers between desirable and undesirable behavior, between Greek and foreigner; it also allows [authors and artists] to raise the disturbing possibility of otherness lurking within self —the possibility that the ‘normal’ carry within themselves the potential for abnormal behavior, that the boundaries expected to keep our world safe are not impermeable” (8). The juxtaposition of self and other serves as the theoretical background against which Johnston contrasts the twelve essays of this collection.

In part one, entitled “Mythic Representations,” the first four essays trace the possible origins and developments of Medea as mythological figure. In part two, entitled “Literary Portraits,” the next four essays focus on the Medea figure in Pindar, Euripides, Apollonius, and Ovid. Part three, “Under Philosophical Investigation,” examines the influence Medea had on ancient philosophers who dealt with the effects of passion on the human psyche. The fourth and final part, “Beyond the Euripidean Stage,” features the influence of Euripides’ Medea on ancient vase painting and the modern stage. The editors should also be commended for compiling a very useful and extensive bibliography of almost all works cited in the papers, an index locorum, and a general index. This collection of essays on Medea displays an amazing coherence for an endeavor of this kind, and paints a very coherent and complex picture of an influential mythological figure. Most authors in this collection also make illuminating cross-references to the essays of their fellow contributors. As with any well researched project on a literary theme, scholars as well as students ought to be very pleased with a most up-to-date publication such as this 1997 work. My only point of criticism would be to note that a project taking such a comprehensive approach should be familiar with the work of Jacques Lacan, and that it would have been helpful if the editors had included a psychoanalytic investigation of Medea’s passion. Nonetheless, I expect the present volume to become a standard textbook and an obvious starting point for any students of the Medea figure. A brief survey of the twelve essays will demonstrate the scope and the quality of this project.

Fritz Graf, known for his introduction to Greek Mythology (1993), opens part one of this collection on “Mythic Representations” with an essay entitled “Medea, the Enchantress from Afar: Remarks on a Well-Known Myth.” Distinguishing between “vertical tradition” (different versions of the same mythic episode, developed over the course of centuries) and “horizontal tradition” (different versions of the same mythic episode within the same time frame), Graf furnishes an overview of Medea’s episodes in Colchis, Iolcus, Corinth, Athens, and Persia. After analyzing the themes and variations within both of these traditions and noting the consistencies and tensions between them, Graf identifies two unifying elements that tie together all the stories about Medea: her foreigness and her initiatory role. “[S]he is a foreigner, who lives outside of the known world or comes to a city from outside; each time she enters a city where she dwells, she comes from a distant place, and when she leaves the city, she again goes to a distant place” (38). Medea’s representation as the other corresponds with Johnston’s introductory remarks that, as “a geographical and cultural stranger … repeatedly exiled within Greece,” Medea implicitly demonstrates how the outsider, the other, is a threat to the inside, to the self” (14). In Graf’s second unifying theme, he identifies Medea as being “connected with a whole line of narratives that clearly are associated with initiation rites” (42). We can understand Medea as “initiatrix” when she helps Jason to overcome the dangers he must undergo in his “initiation ritual” to acquire the fleece and claim the throne back home.

In “Corinthian Medea and the Cult of Hera Akraia,” Sarah Johnston argues that no single author invented the image of the murderous mother and that fifth-century authors inherited an infanticidal Medea from the mythical tradition. This mythical figure may have been an earlier goddess of the Corinthians who “evolved out of a paradigm found in the folk beliefs of Greece and many other Mediterranean cultures—the reproductive demon, who persecuted pregnant women and young children” (14). According to Johnston, the paradigm of the reproductive demon “is likely to have been associated with the Corinthian cult of Hera Akraia” (45). As a mother who lost her children because of Hera’s refusal to protect them and help nurture them to maturity, Corinthian Medea originally emblematized the results of Hera’s neglect and/or anger (64). According to Johnston, this loss would have caused Medea to become a reproductive demon that killed other mothers’ children. At the end of Johnston’s stimulating essay, however, she has to admit that the specific reasons why the Colchian and Corinthian Medea were joined together are beyond our secure recovery (67). In an excellent essay on “Medea as Foundation-Heroine,” Nita Krevans explores Medea’s role as founder of cities. With foundations in antiquity centering primarily on male founders, the traditional roles for heroines in myth include “that of the eponymous nymph, who brings to life the metaphor of woman-as-landscape” (72), “that of the dynastic heroine, mother of a founder or of a line of local rulers” (73), and that of “the missing girl … sought by a male kinsman (or kinsmen)” (74). Often foundations are associated with a mother’s heroic child, leaving little more than a footnote for heroines. Although some foundation stories portray Medea in these traditional roles, other appearances “form a striking exception when seen against this backdrop…. [F]or every version in which she seems to follow the normal scheme, there is a variant that portrays her as a defiant anomaly” (75). With the foundation of Tomi, for example, which is associated with Apsyrtus, “we arrive at a complete inversion of the ‘kidnapped heroine’ motif” (78). Medea is the kidnapping sister, not the victim. The inversion of the gender roles sees the female as kidnapper and the male as helpless victim. Likewise, (female) Medea appears as a powerful prophet of divine status who instructs future (male) settlers about the location and destiny of their colony (78-79). The presentation of Medea in powerful, masculine roles is virtually incompatible with female fertility (80). Although Medea’s prophetic powers and divine attributes challenge the traditional boundaries between male and female, most foundation tales focus on Medea’s “extraordinary capacity for destruction” which make her “a heroine not of foundation but of annihilation” (82). Jan Bremmer’s essay asks: “Why Did Medea Kill Her Brother Apsyrtus?” rather than any other family member. After examining the specifics of this “treacherous, sacrilegious, and brutal murder” (88) as it has been described in various ancient sources, Bremmer conducts a detailed comparison of Greek sibling relationships. He concludes that brother-brother relationships and sister-sister relationships were not as close as brother-sister relationships, and it was the opposite-sex relationships on which the Greeks placed the greatest importance. In ancient (and in contemporary) Greece, “brothers [are] supposed to guard the honor, and in particular the sexual honor, of their sisters” (95). Compared with same sex sibling relationships, “brother-sister conflicts are very rare in Greek Myth” (96) and the “close contact between sisters and brothers must have continued even after the sister’s marriage” (95). “[T]he brother was responsible for the sister, and she was dependent upon him” (100). Medea’s murder of her brother Apsyrtus had such a great impact because “Medea not only committed the heinous act of spilling family blood, she also permanently severed all ties to her natal home and the role that it would normally play in her adult life. Through Apsyrtus’ murder, she simultaneously declared her independence from her family and forfeited her right to any protection from it…. There was only one way for Medea to go, then: she had to follow Jason and never look back” (100). Bremmer concludes his convincing analysis with the assumption that Medea’s fratricide elicited great feelings of horror from the Greek audience—because we hardly find any artistic representations of Apsyrtus’ murder on Greek vases (100). In “Medea as Muse: Pindar’s Pythian 4,” Dolores M. O’Higgins suggests that Pindar presents Medea as a muselike figure. In archaic Greece, people distrusted human and divine females (103-104). “For the Greeks all women were no less than a race apart. Medea most fully exemplifies the potential disloyalty present in all wives, living as necessary but suspect aliens in their husbands’ houses” (122). Foreign, female intelligence—both Medea’s and that of the Muse—had to be appropriated before the male hero, Jason, or the male poet, Pindar, could use it to his own advantage (107-108). “Traditionally, the process of song making,” O’Higgins explains, “was a joint effort…. The human bard requires a song of the Muses” (108). Pindar relied on female Muses, to create his song, and at the same time, the Muses had the capacity to dangerously intoxicate or even paralyze the poet or his audience (110). For a fuller understanding of Pythian 4, it is important to realize that Pindar also presents Medea as powerful, prophetic female, “a Muse of sorts” (114). Pindar changes the traditional parameters of the poet “as the passive vessel for information” (117), and he appropriates his Muse by basically telling her what to sing about. Pindar also appropriates Medea, the former Colchian “Muse,” who first immobilized Jason’s opponents, but then has herself fallen victim to the poetic skills of Jason—or Pindar, as O’Higgins suggests (123). “Jason ultimately may have failed in harnessing the supernatural abilities of Medea, but Pindar has not; he tames the dangerous Muse,” O’Higgins concludes (126). In “Becoming Medea: Assimilation in Euripides,” Deborah Boedeker observes that the Medea figure was not yet firmly established when Euripides composed his play. “Besides the deliberate infanticide, alternative Medeas were still possible” (127), and even within a single episode, an author was able to and ultimately had to make choices in motivating and designing the story line. Boedeker suggests that Euripides gives his protagonist her overpowering presence and canonical status by employing poetic mechanisms, namely a series of similes and metaphors, to categorize his heroine initially. During the course of the play, “Medea is gradually dissociated from such apparently obvious definitions of what she is … [and] subtly assimilated to several figures in her own story, such as Aphrodite, Jason, and the princess” (128). Medea’s implicit assimilation to other figures by mutual resemblances in diction and action gives her “an almost unbearably focused power and allows her action a certain claim to reciprocal justice” (148). “She destroys her enemies by becoming more like them, ruins them for being too much like herself. Ultimately Euripides’ Medea expands to the point where she obliterates the other characters in her myth, fully transcending—and eradicating—her own once-limited identity as woman, wife, mother, mortal” (148). Medea’s self has been consumed by the other, Johnston concludes in her introduction (11), the former victim has turned victimizer—a development for which we can both pity and fear Medea. In “Conquest of the Mephistophelian Nausicaa: Medea’s Role in Apollonius’ Redefinition of the Epic Hero,” James J. Clauss argues persuasively that Apollonius assigns Jason to the traditional role of hero, and that Medea usurps the role of “helper-maiden,” contributing to the Argonautic expedition by helping him to complete the contest (149-150). Jason, however, is not an independent hero like Heracles, who completes his contests by himself, but “thoroughly dependent on the assistance of others” (151). Jason’s brand of leadership and heroism finds its expression in “his ability to make deals with foreigners” (155). Comparing Jason and Medea to Odysseus and Nausicaa, Clauss demonstrates that Jason’s contest is not of a military kind; Medea represents his real contest and she is completely charmed by Jason’s beauty and his diplomatic skills: “To conquer Medea is to win the fleece, the opposite of the usual folktale motif, which has the young hero perform the contest to win the bride” (167). The often clueless and all too ordinary Jason ultimately succeeds as he secures the golden fleece but Apollonius’ heroism is of a different kind, with a Jason relying heavily on Medea as a powerful and indispensable “helper-maiden” (175). The implicit comparison with Nausicaa reveals Medea’s otherness who “possesses the ability to create a Heracles or destroy a man of bronze” (176). Carole E. Newlands takes a comparative approach in analyzing the dissonant structure of the full Medea story in her brilliant essay “The Metamorphosis of Ovid’s Medea.” While his Medea is initially portrayed sympathetically as a young girl whose irrational passion drives her to help Jason, in the second part of Ovid’s narrative (7.7-424), Medea appears exclusively as a witch who has lost her human characteristics. After sketching Medea’s story of the young maiden turning murderess, Newlands compares the bipartite structure of Ovid’s narrative with other marriage tales in Metamorphoses 6, 7, and 8. By juxtaposing the myths of Procne, Philomela, and Tereus (6.424-676), Scylla and Minos (8.1-151), Procris and Cephalus (7.694-862), and Boreas and Orthyia (6.677-721) with the myth of Medea, Ovid approaches urgent moral issues and offers us varying studies of the female as victim and criminal without making moral judgments. “By splitting the Medea of the Metamorphoses into two incompatible types, Ovid suggests the difficulties and inconsistencies in the rewriting of the tradition (191). … But Ovid does not explain the reason for Medea’s transformation into a sorceress and semidivine, evil being” (192), he just offers us refracted images. “Ovid adds complexity to the story of Medea by juxtaposing it with stories that are simultaneously similar and different,” Newlands concludes (207). She continues by suggesting that “Ovid’s marriage group of tales illustrates how society both denies a woman power and rejects her when she uses it” (208). By presenting two very different Medeas, Ovid creates an open-ended story that leaves the ultimate judgment to the reader. John M. Dillon’s brief essay “Medea Among Philosophers” raises many questions for the reader—as Johnston acknowledges in her introduction (10)—without providing answers. Focusing on Medea 1078-1080, Dillon shows how Euripides’ text is employed in philosophical circles to buttress the argument of different philosophical schools (215). Galen and Platonist philosophers would view Medea’s subjugation of her reason to her passion as an argument that the human tripartite soul possesses an irrational part, whereas Chrysippus and the Stoics use Medea to argue for the unity of the soul (212). Medea remains “the paradigmatic example of a disordered soul” for ancient philosophers (218), Dillon concludes. Regrettably, none of the contributors to this collection employs a psychoanalytic approach in discussing Medea’s passion and the state of her soul. “Serpents in the Soul: A Reading of Seneca’s Medea ” is an abbreviated version of chapter 12 of Martha C. Nussbaum’s book The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994). In her fascinating essay, Nussbaum argues that as an author Seneca is “an elusive, complex, and contradictory figure, a figure deeply committed both to Stoicism and to the world, both to purity and to the erotic” (246). While “Seneca’s Medea provides a clear expression of the strongest and least circular of the Stoic arguments against passion” (223), the play—and tragedy in general—are “profoundly committed to the values that Plato and Stoicism wish to reject” (247). Medea’s problem is not her love per se but her inappropriate, immoderate love for Jason. However, as Seneca tells us, there is “no erotic passion that reliably stops short of its own excess” (221). He questions the Aristotelian notion “that we can have passionate love in our lives and still be people of virtue and appropriate action” (220). Seneca argues that passionate love creates “a life of continued gaping openness to violation, a life in which pieces of the self are groping out into the world and pieces of the world are dangerously making their way into the insides of the self” (222). Extrapolating from this argument, Seneca’s Medea claims that love may even include the wish to kill. According to Nussbaum, it is not surprising that love, anger, and grief lie close to one another in the heart; these are all judgments, differing only in the precise content of the proposition, that ascribe so much importance to one unstable external being (228). Echoing Lacanian ideas, Nussbaum writes: “Desire is the beginning of the death of the self” (232). Two minor images, that of the bridle and the wave, and a central image, that of the snake, recur throughout Seneca’s play, exemplifying Medea’s passionate love. While love challenges the virtue of Stoic morality, either way of living, a life of love or a life of morality, seems to be imperfect. In her conclusion, Nussbaum returns to Seneca’s concept of mercy as a possible source of gentleness to both self and other, even when wrongdoing has been found—until rage gives way to understanding (248). Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood takes our heroine beyond the stage and investigates the dramatic and iconographical explorations of the Medea figure. In “Medea at a Shifting Distance: Images and Euripidean Tragedy,” Sourvinou-Inwood demonstrates how Euripides’ Athenian audience would perceive Medea’s character through a series of shifting relationships. Euripides constructed Medea’s character in the course of the tragedy using the three schemata of “normal woman,” “good woman” and bad woman” (254). These schemata were important crystallizations of the ancient assumptions that helped Euripides direct audience response (255). Euripides created the Medea figure by deploying a series of what Sourvinou-Inwood calls “zooming devices” and “distancing devices.” Noticing a difference in representations of Medea in Greek dress and oriental dress, Sourvinou-Inwood suggests that Medea was wearing Greek dress throughout Euripides’ play but oriental dress when she appeared in the chariot after murdering her children (289-290). The oriental dress would have enhanced the effect of distancing Medea from the Greek “good” or “normal” woman. “The change in her costume is marked by Jason’s claim, after Medea has appeared in the chariot of the Sun at [ Medea ] 1339-40, that no Greek woman would have dared to do the dreadful thing she did” (291). The zooming and distancing of Medea, the alteration of Medea in oriental dress and Medea in Greek dress allows the exploration of male fears concerning women and deconstructs the oppositional relationship between the “good Greek male self” and the “bad oriental female other” (294-296). In the end, through a series of shifting relationships, Euripides’ Medea allows the more complex perception that “the barbarian is not so different from the self” (296). The final essay in this fine collection offers a look at “Medea as Politician and Diva: Riding the Dragon into the Future.” And indeed, characterizing Medea as a revolutionary symbol, as the exploited other who may fight back, Marianne McDonald not only summarizes some of the other contributors’ main points in the closing essay but also provides a brief summary of the literary history of the various Medea dramatizations taking the reader into the twentieth century and beyond. This essay, which any scholar in comparative literature will appreciate highly, may also stimulate classicists to draw on the rich reception of the Medea theme in their teaching of the myth. McDonald contrasts the 1988 Medea play by Irish playwright Brendan Kennelly with an unpublished opera by Greek composer Mikis Theodorakis which was performed in Bilbao, Spain in 1991 and in Athens in 1993. Kennelly deals with questions of imperialism, the exploitation of women by men, Ireland by England, and he shows us a victimized Medea who victoriously fights back. Theodorakis, in contrast, emphasizes the emotional element in Medea over the rational, and “evokes Euripides’ interpretative genius through the symbolic associations of the music” (317). McDonald views Theodorakis’ opera “as another splendid example of how a modern work can elucidate this ancient text” (314). If nothing else, McDonald’s presentation raises a certain curiosity to explore these two and other modern works dealing with the Medea theme. “The twentieth century is especially rich in reworkings of this myth” (297), she claims, and the publication of the most recent Medea novel by German writer Christa Wolf, Medea: Stimmen (Munich: Luchterhand Literaturverlag, 1996) serves as another good example to support her argument. “Both Kennelly and Theodorakis,” McDonald concludes this remarkable collection of essays, “bring Euripides into modern times and into modern nations. In their own ways, they are true to Euripides and aim at the heart” (323).

Gender Roles In Medea

” Medea ” is a tragedy written by the Greek playwright Euripides, who won his first victory for this work. The story is about Medea, a princess from Colchis (modern Georgia) who marries Jason of Iolcus and becomes a prominent person in his kingdom. Medea gives up her status as Queen to exile herself with Jason after he falls out of favor with the king. Medea kills Jason’s new lover and their children to win back the heart of her husband. The piece explores Medea’s relationship with men, power, anger, isolation, revenge, love, society norms & more through Medea’s character throughout the plot.

Medea has been adapted many times in theatre and literature since its first performance. Medea’s character has been developed into a more sympathetic woman and less of a monster/witch. One of Medea’s biggest impacts on literature is as a mother who murders her children as revenge for her husband leaving her for another woman. Medea is the first mother to murder her children on stage in history, which had previously been unspoken/unwritten about mothers murdering their children. Medea also changes the concept of how society views single mothers and widows.

Greek society during Medea’s time was very patriarchal: men were seen as superior to women and it was seen as an honor to have many babies (children) with your husband or male partner. Women were expected to live at home unless they were widowed. Medea is a strong, independent woman with an education who lives on her terms and does not depend on any male authority figure to survive. Medea also refuses to marry another man even though it would be the only option for many women at this period.

Medea’s behavior is unacceptable because she does not act like most other women during Euripides’ time; Medea appears too masculine for typical female norms. Medea is characterized as an individualistic woman throughout Euripides’ play ” Medea “. Medea’s goal in Euripides’ work was to prevent the patriarchal oppression of the female gender. Many times Medea speaks about power being taken away from women or how men have wronged Medea. Medea is given more agency than other women in Greek society because Medea’s actions are what create the plot of Medea’s story.

Medea does not let anyone else dictate her life or make decisions for Medea, which makes Medea an individualistic woman by today’s standards. Euripides also introduces elements of feminism into his play ” Medea “. A study about Medea on feministsociety. com describes Medea as a feminist that “maintains integrity and wholeness” but will fight to keep that integrity even against men, whether it be Jason or another male figure trying to oppress Medea. The article continues to claim that Euripides saw women as strong individuals with their agency that could accomplish “great deeds” in the world.

Medea becomes an individualistic woman not only because Medea is her person who does things Medea’s way, but Medea also believes in feminism and works to keep Medea’s agency throughout Euripides’ play. Medea’s power comes from within Medea through Medea’s education, independence, and feminism. Medea does not let any man take away what makes Medea unique even if it means death for Medea, which is why Euripides views Medea as an individualistic woman. How is gender explored in Medea?

Medea can be considered an individualistic woman because Medea does not do things the way other women in Medea’s time would. Medea questions if gender roles are important by Medea’s actions throughout Euripides’ play. What is Medea’s relationship with power? Medea has a great deal of agency, but Medea also uses her power to dominate men. Medea makes decisions without letting any man control what happens to Medea and how Medea’s life will end up. How is femininity explored in Medea? Femininity is used as a weapon for evil or bad deeds throughout Euripides’ play “Medeea”.

Society views femininity as something that needs to be controlled and maintained for Medea to be considered a “proper” Medea Medea also uses Medea’s femininity as a weapon throughout Euripides’ play. How is Medea viewed by other women? Medea is seen as too much of an individualistic Medea for the typical female norms of Medea’s time. Other Medeas call Medea out on her feminism, independence, and education because it was not seen as acceptable behavior in Greek society during Euripides’ time.

The protagonist Medea sees all these qualities in Medea though and wishes she could follow the same path as Medea. What are some examples of how Euripides explores gender roles? One example can be found when Jason tells Medeea that he will marry Medea’s cousin Glauce because Medea is not a “proper woman” Medea does not know how to act Medeas is expected to do. Euripides explores gender roles by showing how Medea would be seen as an individualistic Medea in Greek society because of Medea’s lack of femininity and independence. What role does power play in Medea?

Power is taken away from women, according to Medea throughout Euripides’ play “Medeea”. Men make decisions for women or take power away from women through physical or emotional abuse against Medeas that would try to step out of the patriarchal gender norms. Medea fights back against this oppression by standing up for herself and trying to gain back Medea’s power Medea once had. Medea fights back by killing Medea’s children because Medeea does not want Medeas’ children to grow up living in Medean society where powerlessness is also seen as a female trait.

Medeea has control of Medea throughout Euripides’ play, but Medeaa uses Medes’ agency for evil instead of good like other women in Greek society were expected to do according to gender norms. Femininity was portrayed as something only “proper” women could possess even though Euripides viewed Medea as an individualistic woman . Medeas can be seen as individuals that choose their own path instead of following the typical role of women during time period “Medeea” was written.

How is Medea’s femininity explored in Medeea? Medea uses Medea’s femininity as a weapon to hurt Medeas’ enemies and hide Medeaa Medes’ power from Jason. Medea even changes the way Medea dresses to trick Jason into thinking Medea is more “proper” woman . Euripides explores femininity by showing how Medeea uses her femininity as a weapon or something that makes Medeas weaker instead of what would be seen as an empowering trait, which goes against typical gender norms during time period Euripides’ play was written in.

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Medea and Dido’s Power and Tragic Downfall: Cautionary Tales of Female Empowerment

By Katie McCurrie

Published: July 31, 2022

Image of Medea, with dead children, and dragons

Ancient Greek and Roman societies were highly patriarchal. Women lacked power, belonged to the domestic sphere of life, and were overly emotional. Beauty, seduction, and emotional upheaval were their most distinctive virtues. To contrast, men were at the center of the public sphere, and earned the title and fame of heroes.

Ancient Greek and Roman narrative texts confirm and further reinforce this pattern by consistently celebrating men’s power and heroism. The most famous heroes display either “military” or “founder” heroism. The first ideal consists of a combination of divine favor, fame, and power; Achilles from Homer’s Iliad is its quintessential example, since he is favored by the goddess Athena, marked by glory and fame, and demonstrates tremendous prowess in battle. “Founder heroism” consists of a combination of leadership, destiny, and reverence for the gods; Aeneas from Virgil’s Aeneid fully embodies this ideal, since he leads his people away from Troy to found Rome, in close obedience to the gods’ will.

In reflection of this societal pattern, ancient Greek and Roman texts rarely present female heroines, and when they do, they introduce women who obtain power by fully embodying male ideals and renouncing their femininity, as we see in the Amazons, the famous race of warlike women noted for their fighting skills and their renunciation of marriage and motherhood. Through characters like them, ancient Greeks and Romans were not intending to give power to women, but rather to confirm that women could not play an essential role in the ancient Greek and Roman public sphere, unless they stopped being women, which is possible in literature but not in real life.

On close examination, there are two exceptions to this consistent pattern. Both Medea and Dido, two female characters from ancient Greek and Roman epic poems, manage to acquire power and heroic status by simultaneously embodying male ideals and keeping their femininity. This paper explores these two heroines’ lives and discusses whether their presence was meant to challenge the societal pattern and introduce a new way to perceive the role of women in the ancient Greek and Roman worlds. Despite their exceptionality, this paper concludes that neither Medea nor Dido truly introduce a new approach to female power, since their heroic feats are stopped by the gods’ interventions, which lead both heroines to experience tragic downfalls. In light of this downfall, these stories can be read as cautionary tales about female empowerment, which paradoxically reinforce the patriarchal system characteristic of ancient Greece and Rome.

Medea’s story is narrated in two different works: Euripides’s Medea (fifth century BCE) and Apollonius of Rhodes’s Jason and the Golden Fleece (third century BCE). Medea, a foreigner princess who lives far away from Greece, falls in love with the Greek hero Jason and decides to leave her homeland to help him in his quest for the Golden Fleece. Jason, however, despite having promised to marry Medea, later abandons her and their two children for a new wife. Enraged, Medea gets revenge against Jason by murdering her father, his new wife, and the children she and Jason share. Throughout her life, Medea displays features of “military heroism,” especially through her revenge, and maintains traits of her femininity such as seduction and charm.

Dido’s story is told in Virgil’s Aeneid (first century BCE). Dido is the widow and queen of Carthage who falls in love with Aeneas when he comes to Carthage on his journey from Troy to Italy. After sharing love for a short period and celebrating their marriage, however, Aeneas decides to leave Dido in obedience to his “founder heroism,” namely his divinely-inspired desire to found a new nation in Italy. As Dido finds out about Aeneas’s flight, she is emotionally ruined and commits suicide. Throughout her life, Dido exhibits traits of a “founder heroism” like Aeneas in that she is responsible for the foundation of Carthage, and she does so in obedience to the gods’ will. Moreover, like Medea, Dido maintains her femininity, as is especially suggested by her oath of fidelity to her first dead husband.

The first section of this paper analyzes the military and founder heroisms which Medea and Dido respectively display. The second section examines how both heroines lose their heroism and experience a downfall during their lives. The third section analyzes the major factor leading to their downfall, Eros, who was considered an emotional force targeting women; Eros’s major culpability, which consists of making Medea and Dido as fully emotional as only women could be, further emphasizes the incompatibility between ancient femininity and power.

1) Embodiment of Both Military and Founder Heroisms, and Femininity

Medea and Dido are two female characters who exceptionally display power and heroism, and they do so by maintaining their femininity. The former displays the divine favor and power characteristic of military heroism, while the latter embodies the “founder heroism” through her leadership and reverence to the gods’ will.

Medea’s name and glorious reputation are such that the Greek Argonauts know of her before meeting her. In Jason and the Golden Fleece, Argos describes Medea to the crew as “a young girl who lives in Aietes’s palace; the goddess Hekate has taught her extraordinary skills in handling all the drugs which the dry land and the boundless waters produce. With these she charms the blasts of unwearying fire, stops still the flow of crashing rivers, and puts bonds on the stars and the holy paths of the moon” (Apollonius 3.78). Hekate’s divine favor has given Medea superhuman skills. This favor, combined with her glory and power, characterize her as a “military hero” as is proper of men in the ancient Greek and Roman worlds. Medea is not only at the center of the public sphere, but she even dominates it in a way that is traditionally reserved to male heroes, since she enables Jason, the male and weak hero, to embody “military heroism.” Her crafty advice and her drugs help him in his tasks: “burning heat enveloped Jason, striking him like the lightning bolt; but the maiden’s drugs protected him” (Apollonius 3.96). Medea’s proud Iliadic heroism is so strong that she manages to transfer it onto Jason.

Yet, on close examination, in all these characterizations she is referred to as “a young girl” or a “maiden.” While embodying features of male heroism, Medea maintains her femininity, especially by means of seduction, as she manipulates those around her with drugs or incantations. In her attempt to help Jason obtain the Golden Fleece, Medea faces a dragon while Jason cowers behind her: “As it rolled towards them, the maiden fixed it in the eye and called in a lovely voice upon Sleep, the helper, the highest of the gods, to bewitch the beast; she invoked too the queen, the night-wanderer, the infernal, the kindly one, to grant success to their enterprise” (Apollonius 4.102). Medea’s power in this scene stems from her “lovely voice” and ability to charm divine beings and subsequently the dragon. Medea shows her power again when she kills Talos by calling upon divine help with incantations of spirits: “that man, bronze though he was, yielded to destruction through the grim power of Medea, mistress of drugs” (Apollonius 4.138). Medea’s characterization as “mistress” further highlights her seduction and charm by means of manipulation.

Dido’s characterization is similar. At an early stage of her life, she displays “founder heroism,” a characteristic of men, when she obeys her dead husband’s dreamlike call to leave her homeland of Tyre occupied by her dangerous brother to find a new city named Carthage. In Virgil’s Aeneid we thus read: “Dido prepared for flight, joined by others | Who either feared or hated the cruel tyrant [her brother]. | They commandeered ships, loaded them with gold...” (Virgil 1.442-445). By performing this traditionally male task, Dido is helping her people to build a better life away from Tyre. Moreover, after the foundation of Carthage, Dido shows reverence to the gods by offering hospitality to Aeneas and his men despite their status as strangers. Dido thus explains to Aeneas her desire to welcome him and his men: “My fortune too has long been adverse | But at last has allowed me to rest in this land. | My own acquaintance with suffering | Has taught me to aid others in need” (Virgil 1.768-771).

Dido serves as a leader of her people, but she is still a woman and is often referred to as “queen.” More precisely, with concern to her dead husband, she displays both modesty and chastity by swearing an oath of fidelity to him. In a proleptic speech, after meeting Aeneas, Dido laments to her sister:

If I were not unshakable in my vow Never to pledge myself in marriage again After death stole my first love away— If the mere thought of marriage did not leave me cold, I might perhaps have succumbed this once. (Virgil 4.18-22).

Here Virgil describes Dido’s virtuous attitude by means of allusions to Penelope, the exemplary wife from Homer’s Odyssey . Thus, through this Penelopean fidelity, Dido retains her femininity while embodying various elements of the traditionally male “founder heroism.”

2) Tragic Downfall and Loss of Heroism, Power and Femininity

No matter how strongly Medea and Dido embody power and heroism without renouncing their femininity, they are both unable to display this power until the end of their lives; rather, they undergo a tragic downfall that highlights their heroic failure and includes the loss of specific aspects of femininity.

As I mentioned in the introduction, Medea’s decision to help Jason implies the flight from her own house. Her time with Jason, however, progressively undermines her “military heroism” and power. In the midst of her journey with Jason, Medea aids him to kill her brother by stabbing him in the back. And yet, at this precise moment, Medea’s attitude turns from active to passive: “The maiden turned her eyes away and covered her face with her veil so that she should not have to look upon the blood which marked her brother’s death by the sword-blow” (Apollonius . 4.109-110). In this passage, by averting her eyes, Medea displays a helplessness that reveals how her feelings for Jason have overpowered every other aspect of her life and herself. As a result, the glory of her “military heroism” is overshadowed by her helplessness. Moreover, from now onwards, helplessness prevents Medea from displaying her feminine seduction by means of manipulation.

In the tragedy Medea , this helplessness turns into downfall as a result of Jason’s decision to abandon Medea to start a new family. From then onwards, Medea progressively loses her previous self, and out of revenge decides to murder Jason’s new bride, his new father-in-law, and her own sons. Before she does so, she is very insecure and again displays helplessness. Medea thus laments, “I cannot do it. Goodbye to those earlier plans of mine. I’ll take my children from this country. Why harm them as a way to hurt their father and have to suffer twice his pain myself? No, I won’t do that. And so farewell to what I planned before” (Euripides 1227-1233). At first, Medea resists the murderous course of action, but then she reaches a point of desperation leading her to kill her sons. The murder of her own children highlights Medea’s loss of any feminine quality, including her status as mother

A similar trajectory concerns Dido. By deciding to marry Aeneas, a hero coming from abroad, Dido distances herself from her role as protectress of the Tyrian race, and she feels to have betrayed her own fellow Tyrians and her previous “founder heroism”:

It is because of you The Libyan warlords hate me and my own Tyrians Abhor me. Because of you that my honor Has been snuffed out, the good name I once had, My only hope to ascend to the stars. (Virgil 4.361-365)

Here Dido acknowledges that she is losing her heroic status, “the good name [she] once had,” and shows her awareness of having betrayed her former husband, which points to her loss of the feminine aspect characteristic of her past, namely her conjugal fidelity. As a result of this loss, Dido is helpless to her fate, and she argues weakly with herself against committing suicide:

Should I entertain once more My former suitors—and hear them laugh at me? Go begging for a marriage among the Nomads, After scorning their proposals time and again? Shall I follow the Trojans’ fleet and be subject To their every command? (Virgil 4.622-627)

Dido concludes that she is out of options.

In light of this helplessness, Dido views death as her only escape from the misery awaiting her in life. Referring to her thought process, she exclaims, “We will die unavenged, but we will die. | This is how I want to pass into the dark below. | The cruel Trojan will watch the fire from the sea | And carry with him the omens of my death” (Virgil 4.765-768). Then, Dido curses Aeneas before she kills herself in one final act of revenge. Her helplessness and suicide highlight the complexity and depth of her downfall. Her attempt at embodying founder heroism has failed.

3) Downfall through Eros’s intervention: Subtle Criticism of Femininity

Both Medea and Dido’s downfalls are not only similar for their effect upon their heroisms, but also because of their origin, which lies in the god Eros, Aphrodite’s son, who intervenes and transforms Medea and Dido from rational women capable of great feats of heroism into women overcome by passion. After having lost specific aspects of their femininity, the god Eros makes Medea and Dido gain other feminine aspects which highlight their weakness. In this way, the discussed ancient texts further highlight the incompatibility between femininity and power.

In Jason and the Golden Fleece , Eros shoots Medea with his bow and makes her fall in love with Jason: “Eros darted back out of the high-roofed palace with a mocking laugh, but his arrow burned deep in the girl’s heart like a flame. Full at Jason her glances shot, and the wearying pain scattered all prudent thoughts from her chest; she could think of nothing else, and her spirit was flooded with a sweet aching” (Apollonius 3.72). This description of Eros as “mocking” Medea and of his arrow as “burning like a flame” contributes to a destructive characterization of him as a god acting upon and transforming Medea.

In his influential work, James J. Clauss highlights Eros’s primary responsibility in Medea’s downfall: “As the daughter of Aeetes and priestess of Hecate, Medea possesses the ability to create a Heracles or destroy a man of bronze. Yet she would not have lost her soul, together with her shame, if she had never known such an all-consuming, self-destructive passion” (Clauss 176).

Moreover, in the text itself, the goddess Moon speaks to Medea as a victim of Eros: “But now you yourself, it would seem, are a victim of a madness like mine; a cruel god has given you Jason to cause you grief and pain. Be off then and for all your cleverness learn to put up with a misery that will bring you much lamentation” (Apollonius 4.100). In this passage, the Moon links Medea’s downfall (“misery”) with the “madness” of “a cruel god.” It is through Eros, a god traditionally affecting women, that Medea has transformed from a hero into a disempowered “victim” who strongly represents women’s emotional and powerless status in antiquity.

Similarly, Eros takes advantage of an unsuspecting Dido. Aphrodite commands Eros: For a single night, no more, feign his looks. Boy that you are, wear the boy’s familiar face. And when amid the royal feast and flowing wine Dido, her joy knowing no bounds, takes you Onto her lap, embraces you and plants Sweet kisses on your mouth, breathe into her Your secret fire and poison her unobserved. (Virgil 1.835-841)

Eros is both deceptive and deadly, and Dido falls for his tricks and is thus “poisoned” with love for Aeneas. Dido’s love is described as a wound, “But the Queen, long sick with Eros, | Nurses her heart’s deep wound | With her pounding blood” (Virgil 4.1-3), and as fire: “Dido is burning. | She wanders all through the city in her misery, | Raving mad.” (Virgil 4.80-82)

In this final quote, Dido is described as “mad” in the same way Medea was. The effect of Eros upon her shows that she has become lost in her emotions. Her wandering in misery causes her to neglect her male heroic duties; her return to a purely female status further proves the ancient heroines’ distance from embracing power and heroism in the public sphere.

In ancient Greece and Rome, women, unlike their male counterparts, did not have any power, and ancient literature traditionally confirmed and reinforced this pattern. Dido and Medea, however, represent a striking exception, since they display military and founder heroisms that are typical of male heroes, while preserving aspects of their femininity. And yet, as their lives develop, both Dido and Medea’s performance of power and femininity is interrupted by Eros’s intervention imposing a disempowering love upon them. This intervention restores in Dido and Medea’s lives the traditional pattern of subordination typical of ancient Greek and Roman women.

Why did these ancient authors decide to introduce such extraordinary examples of female power only to limit their exceptionality immediately afterwards? In the short space of this conclusion, I suggest that the quoted Greek and Roman authors may have constructed these stories of female empowerment as cautionary tales, within which the gods’ interventions by bringing power back to men further stress the existence of the patriarchal system.

Moreover, it is relevant that divine intervention is introduced by Eros. Eros, the god of love, is at the origin of a series of experiences that can be associated with femininity, such as passion, lovesickness, and seduction. On the other hand, masculinity traditionally capitalizes on strength, independence, power, and leadership. Recognizing this juxtaposition, not only Dido and Medea’s downfall, but also the way in which this downfall happens serve as warnings of the pointlessness of trying to embrace both femininity and power. In the ancient Greek and Roman worlds, these two elements could not and ought not be combined.

Works Cited

Apollonius of Rhodes. Jason and the Golden Fleece . Translated by Richard R. Hunter, Oxford University Press, 2009.

Bryce, T.R. “The Dido-Aeneas Relationship: A Re-Examination.” The Classical World , vol. 67, no. 5 (March 1974), pp. 257-269.

Clauss, James J. “Conquest of the Mephistophelian Nausicaa: Madea’s Role in Apollonius’s Redefinition of the Epic Hero” in Medea: Essays on Medea in Myth, Literature, Philosophy, and Art , edited by James J. Clauss and Sarah Iles Johnston, Princeton University Press, 1997, pp. 149-77.

Euripides. Medea . Translated by Ian Johnston, Vancouver Island University, 2008.

Virgil. Aeneid . Translated by Stanley Lombardo, Hackett Publishing Company, 2005.

Katie McCurrie

Katie McCurrie is from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania originally and now lives in Breen-Phillips Hall on campus. She is studying Finance and Global Affairs. In her class “Ancient Heroes: Achilles to the Avengers,” Katie learned to analyze how society and culture can transform the defining characteristics of a hero. She thus chose to research and dissect how the lives and downfalls of female heroines Medea and Dido may be considered a reflection of ancient gender norms. Her plans after graduation include growing the good in business and the world as a whole. These are admittedly lofty aspirations, but she is still discerning what being a modern hero means to her. Katie wishes to thank her professor, Aldo Tagliabue, and teaching assistant, Lucy Grinnan for their time, enthusiasm, and inspirational insight throughout the entire writing process.

Challenging Traditional Gender Norms: the Impact of Heteronormativity on Society

This essay about the discourse on gender norms highlights the pervasive influence of heteronormativity in shaping identity and behavior. It discusses how traditional gender roles impact various societal aspects, including education, professional life, and personal relationships, and emphasizes the resistance against these norms. The essay advocates for inclusivity, diversity, and intersectional approaches to address multiple forms of discrimination, aiming for a society that values and empowers every individual.

How it works

In the intricate choreography of societal dynamics, the discourse surrounding gender norms unfolds like a mesmerizing symphony, with each note representing a unique perspective, challenge, or aspiration. At its heart lies the pervasive influence of heteronormativity, silently sculpting the contours of identity, behavior, and relationships within the framework of societal expectations.

Heteronormativity, akin to an unseen hand guiding a marionette, steers individuals along predetermined paths dictated by binary notions of gender and sexuality. From the earliest whispers of childhood, its subtle sway permeates our surroundings, assigning roles, hues, and anticipations that align with traditional norms.

Yet, amidst this orchestrated narrative, a chorus of dissenting voices rises, challenging the dominance of heteronormativity and advocating for the freedom of self-expression and authenticity.

These voices, diverse and determined, form a tapestry of resistance against the rigid confines of traditional gender norms. Activists, scholars, and everyday heroes converge to untangle the strands of bias and discrimination, championing inclusivity, diversity, and respect for all manifestations of gender and sexuality.

The impact of heteronormativity reverberates across every facet of society, from the classroom to the corridors of power, from intimate relationships to public spaces. In education, entrenched gender norms dictate curriculum and teaching methods, perpetuating stereotypes and hindering opportunities for exploration and growth. In the professional realm, they influence hiring decisions, career advancement, and wage differentials, perpetuating inequality and stifling innovation.

Furthermore, the enforcement of traditional gender roles within personal relationships can sow seeds of discontent, resentment, and conflict. LGBTQ+ individuals navigate additional obstacles on their journey toward acceptance and connection, as societal prejudice and discrimination cast shadows upon their quest for self-acceptance and belonging.

Yet, amidst the challenges, there blooms a garden of resilience and optimism. Communities rally, hearts open, and minds expand as individuals challenge the status quo and embrace the beauty of diversity. Through education, advocacy, and policy reform, strides are taken toward a society that celebrates divergence and recognizes the inherent value of every individual.

Intersectional approaches emerge as a beacon of hope, acknowledging the intricate web of oppressions that intersect in the lived experiences of marginalized communities. By addressing the interplay between heteronormativity and other forms of discrimination, such as racism, ableism, and classism, we forge pathways toward a more equitable and just future for all.

In the grand tapestry of human existence, the threads of gender and sexuality intertwine to create a vivid and multifaceted tableau. By challenging traditional gender norms and dismantling the structures of heteronormativity, we invite the world to behold the kaleidoscope of human experience in all its magnificence and complexity. It is through embracing diversity, nurturing empathy, and fostering understanding that we cultivate a society where every individual is empowered to flourish as their genuine, authentic self.

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University Libraries

Need to know, life in the sick room: essays | challenging gender norms for women | book of the month from the john martin rare book room.

MARTINEAU, HARRIETT (1802-1876). Life in the sick-room: Essays . Printed in Boston by L.C. Bowles and W. Crosby, 1844. 20 cm tall.

Martineau was born in 1802 into a progressive Unitarian family in Norwich. Despite the societal expectations that confined her to domestic roles, Harriet’s intellect and determination were undeniable. In 1823, she challenged gender norms by anonymously publishing On female education , advocating for women’s rights to education and intellectual pursuits.

Her literary breakthrough came with the publication of Illustrations of political economy in 1832, a series of short stories that deftly wove economic theories into narratives about everyday people. This work not only brought her fame and financial security but also highlighted her as a significant intellectual force.

From 1834 to 1836, Martineau traveled across the United States. A staunch abolitionist and advocate for women’s rights, she wrote extensively against slavery and the lack of opportunities for women, eventually writing Society in America . Her extensive travels also led to insightful writings on the Middle East, India, and Ireland, further establishing her as a versatile and influential journalist and author.

Martineau began experiencing a series of symptoms while on her travels and, in 1839, returned to England for treatment. For someone experiencing a debilitating illness but not necessarily dying, being confined to a “sick room” was common at this time. It allowed the room to be set to the orders of the physician and made it easier for the family to care for their ill relative.

Although confined to her own sick room for five years, Martineau was financially secure and had a progressive, independent spirit. She oversaw her medical care and constructed an environment that best suited her needs. She even restricted access from her family, who she felt could be more emotionally draining than helpful. While resting and recuperating, Martineau remained very productive, writing a novel for children and the essays eventually published in Life in the sick-room .

Already considered an irritation in the medical community, she really caused a stir by claiming that Mesmerism , a pseudo-science medical treatment, cured her. Franz Anton Mesmer (1734-1815), a German physician, maintained that an “animal magnetism” pervades the universe and exists in every living thing.

He believed that its transmission from one person to another could cure various nervous disorders through its healing properties. Mesmer at first used magnets, electrodes, and other devices to effect his cures, but after arousing suspicion among his fellow physicians, he preferred to utilize his hands.

Considered quackery by many in the medical establishment, even in 1844—including by her physician brother-in-law who oversaw her care—physicians publicly attacked Martineau’s claims about Mesmerism. Her brother-in-law eventually published a detailed account of her illness. Although he promised it would anonymously appear in a medical journal, he instead created a public pamphlet and made little effort to disguise who he was talking about.

After ten years of good health, Martineau once again fell ill in 1855 and returned to her sick room. She remained there until her death in 1876. She continued to write during this time, completing, among other things, her autobiography, works promoting women’s suffrage, and critiques of the Contagious Diseases Acts , which targeted women in the name of preventing sexually transmitted illnesses.

After her death, the medical establishment, again including her brother-in-law, who publicly published the results of an unauthorized autopsy, went out of their way to discredit Martineau and her work. Without evidence, they claimed her illness led her to behave in unconventional and “unfeminine” ways. Martineau remained an inspiration to many, though, and her works live on as a testament to her resilience and rejection of the status quo.

Our copy of the first American edition of Life in the sick-room is quite unassuming. It features a standard 19th-century burgundy cloth cover that has faded over time. Since it was a book in the library’s circulating collection for most of its life, it features a “library cloth” rebacked spine with the label maker-printed call number and title easily visible. Inside, the paper is in good condition, with evidence of damage from a long-ago liquid spill. Much like Martineau herself, though, this little book has shown great resilience in the face of adversity!

Contact the JMRBR Curator Damien Ihrig: [email protected] or 319-335-9154 to take a look at this book.