Leadership in Action: Wise Policy and Firm Resolve in Euripides' Iphigenia at Aulis

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Leadership in Action:Wise Policy and Firm Resolvein Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis

Andreas Markantonatos

For Alexandrostqe?r eQsim !qeta· t±r wqe~m s’ !sje?m, t]jmom

heo}r te til÷m to}r te v}samtar com/r

m|lour te joimo»r :kk\dor· ja· taOta dq_m

j\kkistom 6neir st]vamom e}jke_ar !e_.(E. fr. 853 Kannicht)

1. Introduction

In this paper, besides offering some brief general thoughts on the didac-tic function of Greek tragedy, I want to put as much interpretative stressas I can on one of Euripides’ last works, Iphigenia at Aulis, which, as Ishall suggest, is a telling example of tragedy’s relevance to the politicallife of late fifth-century Athens.1 My basic contention is that tragedynot only reproduced, played to or disputed Athenian mores, but also,by enacting political dilemmas and developing a complex questioningof the processes of moral evaluation, prompted audiences to understandtheir own good, and to revise that understanding continually in light offresh experience. My aim is to illuminate a certain kind of tragic politicsand a certain approach to tragic political reflectiveness. I am fully awarethat it is hardly new to analyze Greek tragedy in its political context; but

1 I would like to thank most warmly the participants of the conference for theirconstructive criticism and in particular Georgia Xanthaki-Karamanou, DanielIakov, Antonios Rengakos, Bernhard Zimmermann, Poulcheria Kyriakou,David Rosenbloom, and Francis Dunn for their advice and encouragement.It should be noted that the latest Loeb text and translation of Euripides are re-produced throughout the essay [Kovacs, D. (2002), Euripides: Bacchae, Iphigeniaat Aulis, Rhesus, Cambridge, MA & London].

On the didactic function of Greek tragedy, see principally Croally 1994;2005. For useful discussions of Euripides as an instructor of the Athenians,see recently Gregory 1991; 2002; 2005.

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recent scholarship has not drawn enough attention to the particular ef-fects of tragic drama on Athenian attitudes and policies, in helping itscitizen audience to assess and weigh their political leaders, important so-cial issues, and the nature of their world in general.2

The message of Iphigenia at Aulis is that in the absence of effectiveleadership at the turn of the fourth century BCE, it was especially urgentfor Athenian citizens to serve the larger public well-being, to heed rea-son over the passions in interpreting circumstance, and to embrace a far-sighted pragmatism in their democratic activity. Moreover, by emphati-cally promoting examples of honest and wise figures of authority, andby keenly endorsing long-established themes of Athenian valour andachievement, Iphigenia at Aulis brought its audience to a deeper recog-nition of their own interests, a recognition which would unify them de-spite factional conflict and mutual rivalries. It is therefore fair to say that,like the best comedy, tragedy could offer consistent, rational, and polis-based policy, especially during a period as harsh as the closing years offifth century BCE.

2. Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis and Tragic Education

It is widely accepted that Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis, produced posthu-mously in 405 BCE by his like-named son or nephew alongside Bacchaeand Alcmeon in Corinth, is extremely problematic, constantly provokingsharp debates on both textual and interpretative issues.3 This is no sur-prise, given the uncertain authenticity of the play’s beginning and end-ing, not to mention the exasperatingly incongruous, or even unmistak-

2 The bibliography on the political dimension of tragedy (and comedy, for thatmatter) is growing ever larger. See principally Forrest 1975; Rösler 1980; Con-raidie 1981; Goldhill 1986, esp. 57–78; 1990; 2000; Ober/Strauss 1990; Red-field 1990; Meier 1993; Rosenbloom 1993; 2002; 2009; Goff 1995; Griffith1995; 1998; Pelling 1997; Cartledge 1997; Jacob 1998, 41–66; 2004, 73–89;Griffin 1998; 1999; Saïd 1998; Seaford 2000; Rhodes 2003; Xanthakis-Kara-manos 2004–2005; Carter 2004; 2007; Debnar 2005; Boedeker/Raaflaub2005; Finglass 2005; Markantonatos 2007, esp. 121–193; 2011; 2012; Hen-derson 2007; Hesk 2007; Wilson 2009; Markantonatos/Pappas 2011; Markan-tonatos/Platypodis 2012.

3 For a detailed overview of modern scholarship on the play, see primarily Hose2006. Books and articles on the subject have proliferated in the last decade; cf.(e. g.) Turato 2001; Hansen 2003; Gurd 2005; Hall 2005, 2007; Michelakis2006; Miller 2008; Kyriakou 2008, esp. 247–255.

Andreas Markantonatos188

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ably spurious, lines or passages in between. Moreover, the play’s prob-lematic status is compounded by the question about whether this diffusereworking of a rather peripheral epic theme is woven tightly enough toreflect Euripides’ celebrated gift for innovative plotting and intellectualinspiration.

It should be noted that I fully endorse David Kovacs’ expert editorialsolutions, even though he has no qualms about bracketing considerableportions of the play as interpolated material which was, as he believes,introduced into the text by later unskilled hands.4 However radical hisexcisions may appear to be, I concur with Kovacs that a fourth-centuryactor or producer pruned certain scenes and enlarged others in an un-fortunate effort to pile on the sensational and bring the play into linewith Iphigenia in Tauris. It goes without saying that my heavily histori-cized reading of Iphigenia at Aulis would have been significantly differentif I had attached equal weight to the bracketed segments. But I will re-frain from referring to those spurious parts inasmuch as the original playhas no time to waste with impression-seeking accounts of offstage eventsand sensational details about the principal characters’ protean motives.5

Although it is beyond the scope of this essay to unpack every singlecontemporary political correlative to the myth of Iphigenia in Euripi-des, it may be helpful briefly to recall the results of the last three decadesof scholarship on the play’s topical references and civic themes. It hasbeen argued, on the basis of a few distinctive elements of Panhellenicrhetoric purposefully inserted in the closing scenes of the play, that anall-out war against the barbarians is presented as a tempting possibility,

4 See mainly Kovacs 2002, 157–161; 2003a, 138 and 2003b. Cf. also England1891; Page 1934; Willink 1971, who argues for a reordering of the prologue,whilst favouring the paradosis ; Bain 1977; Günther 1988; Stockert 1992, 79–87, who discusses in great detail the disputed narrative of Iphigenia’s sacrifice;Diggle 1994, 490–507, esp. 503–506, who suggests that lines 751–72 are notby Euripides, offering convincing evidence of wider interpolation; Michelakis2002, 128–143. For a defence of the manuscript tradition, especially with re-gard to the play’s prologue, see Schreiber 1963; Ritchie 1964; Mellert-Hoff-mann 1969; Van Pottelbergh 1974; Knox 1979, 275–294; Foley 1985,102–105, who sides with Knox against Bain’s strong objections to the authen-ticity of the opening scene, but fails to account for the play’s many apparentcontradictions in both content and form.

5 See e. g. Kovacs 2002, 157–161, who rightly suggests that the play is seriouslyspoilt by the Reviser’s unrealistic contrivances of plot. For a slight critique ofKovacs’ tendency to use the damning square brackets too much, see Davidson2005; cf. also Marshall 2003.

Wise Policy and Firm Resolve in Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis 189

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certainly more appealing than the destructive conflict between Athensand Sparta.6 The urgency of this Panhellenic vision is coupled with adeep longing for an earlier age in which the people’s faith in politicshad not yet been irreversibly shaken by deceitful demagogues and thetraditional norms had not been weakened beyond recovery. There aremany scholars, on the other hand, who are uncomfortable with thisreading of the play as an enthusiastic manifesto of Panhellenism: theyremain sceptical about a common crusade against Persia as a welcomemeans of fostering Hellenic unity, preferring to view the final scenesof Iphigenia at Aulis as ironic, and arguing that the intersection of mar-riage and sacrifice in the action of the play exposes the precariousness ofhuman control over the violence within and without the house ofAtreus. What is particularly characteristic of the last works of Euripides,these critics maintain, is the constant focus on the dissolution of the safe,formed world of the polis: both Bacchae and Iphigenia at Aulis depictman’s failure to impose any sense of order on the chaos that threatensto engulf him.7

Whether one agrees or not, some have also suggested a parallel be-tween the raging bloodlust of the Greek army at Aulis and the unre-strained passion for victory that consumed the Athenians, quashingmore than a few determined peace efforts during the PeloponnesianWar.8 Other critics propose that approaching the question from the per-

6 Opinion is divided on the issue of Panhellenism: some critics believe stronglythat Iphigenia at Aulis is a sarcastic, even angry, denunciation of the ideal of Pan-hellenic unity, arguing that Panhellenic values are little more than the false trap-pings with which vain, deceptive, and self-serving rulers have clothed war’snakedness (see e. g. Blaiklock 1952, 119; Funke 1964; Masaracchia 1983; Neit-zel 1980; Siegel 1980, esp. 315–317; Rabinowitz 1993, 38–54; Zelenak 1998,134–135; Saïd 2002, esp. 72–79), while others maintain the opposite view thatthe play’s principal thoughts form the heart of a manifesto for a new Panhellen-ism (see e. g. Friedrich 1935; Diller 1937, 30; Bonnard 1945, esp. 105; Dele-becque 1951, 366–375; Valgiglio 1956; 1957; Vretska 1961; Diller 1962;Goossens 1962, 683–687). Cf. also Wassermann 1949; Foley 1985, 92–102;Michelini 2000, 54–56; Michelakis 2006, 76–78. On Panhellenism, Athens,and related issues with a special focus on the tense relationship between Eastand West, see Millender 1996; Flower 2000; Hall 1997, esp. 51–56; 2002,205–220; Walbank 2002; Isaac 2004, esp. 257–303; Low 2007, 56–65;Mitchell 2007, esp. 16–19; Vlassopoulos 2007, 101–122; Hornblower 2008;Zacharia 2008.

7 See Blaiklock 1952; Funke 1964; Neitzel 1980; Siegel 1980; Masarachia 1983;Foley 1985; Saïd 2002.

8 See Dimock 1978, esp. 14–15.


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spective of particular historical events and institutions is a fruitful line ofenquiry; it has been argued that the characters’ instabilities invite com-parison with the Athenian assembly’s famous mood swings, most nota-bly exemplified in the fierce internal debate over the fate of the malepopulation of Mytilene.9 Moreover, we have good grounds for accept-ing that the diverse group of Greek military chieftains working togetheron campaign at Aulis was intended to invoke the well-established lead-ership model of multiple Athenian generals collaborating towards acommon political cause. It has been rightly noted that the two groupsshare many similarities, including the equal distribution of dutiesamong members of the administration, along with the occasional instan-ces of dispute over strategy on key campaign issues.10

Keeping in mind those perceptive observations, I shall argue thatIphigenia at Aulis offers a nostalgic look back at a time when Greek lead-ers possessed the ability to achieve consensus and sustain coalitions bynegotiating mutually agreeable solutions. The leadership qualities ofthe old chieftains are thrown into sharp relief by the indecisive failureof the Greek commanders at Aulis to engage with, much less solve, ahost of pressing political problems. Furthermore, this lack of clarityand direction which prevents the Greek warlords from grasping the ter-rible dilemma and making their own policy successful stands in totalcontrast to the self-denying nobility of Iphigenia. In an admirable andopportune display of strategic intelligence Iphigenia has the strengthof mind to espouse a compelling vision of Panhellenic achievementin spite of all the horrible consequences of her sacrifice. Indeed, her de-liberate self-abnegation serves as a dim foreshadowing of hope forGreece.

It will be my main aim, therefore, to show that Iphigenia at Aulis isanother late fifth-century play in which the audience is encouraged toread a staged story as a symbolic condensation of the current socialand political crisis in Athens – a story, that is, centred around a viciousinterplay between suspicion and deceit which challenges the ability ofthose in command to devise or execute effective policy.11 The Aulis ep-

9 See principally Hall 1999.10 See Griffith 2005, 339.11 See also Markantonatos 2007, 4–6 and passim, who argues that Sophocles’ Oe-

dipus at Colonus ‘offers a wide range of strategies for navigating principal ele-ments of Athenian fifth-century experience, especially end-of-the-war anxiet-ies and expectations’ (p. 5); cf. also Markantonatos 2002, passim. On the socialand political crisis enveloping Athens in the closing years of the fifth century


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isode, with its inefficient and indecisive Greek commanders vying forpersonal influence serves as a microcosm of contemporary Athenian his-tory. One can hardly disagree with Thucydides’ judgement that the pol-iticians who led Athens after Pericles not only allowed their powers ofreasoning to be sapped by adversity, but also fell victim to the polarizedatmosphere they helped create, mainly because of their political nimble-ness and side-changing.12 Euripides encourages the contemporary appli-cation of his tragic tale by drawing a suggestive analogy between theerror-prone Greek chieftains at Aulis and those Athenian leaders whofailed to exercise independent control over the people, and so made ahost of terrible blunders – especially the Sicilian disaster, which costAthens its empire and permanently weakened the Greek city-states.

To put it plainly, Iphigenia at Aulis mirrored to its audience theirown political resentments and uncertainties. Euripides reflects on thecontradictory sentiments of this era by fervently endorsing fundamentalaxioms and assurances of fifth-century Athenian democracy in the faceof widespread disillusionment.13 He especially emphasizes, among muchelse, the idea of wise leadership that fosters public over private interests,as well as the notion of a common good and complementary civic in-terests, embodied in the belief that the polis is worth suffering for. In

BCE, see the very succinct discussion in Zimmermann 2000, 130–140; cf. alsoDi Benedetto 19922, 105–144, who situates Euripidean tragedy in the historicalcontext of the Peloponnesian War.

12 Th. 2.65; cf. also Gomme 1956 ad loc. ; Hornblower 1991, 340–349, who pla-ces undue emphasis on Thucydides’ seemingly ambiguous remark about thosewho pursued un-Periclean policies (2.56.7) during the Peloponnesian War de-spite the subsequent direct references to post-Periclean political leaders andtheir catastrophic blunders (2.65.10–12). On Pericles as an exceptionally dis-cerning policy-maker, see Ehrenberg 1954; Fornara/Samons 1991; Kagan1991; Schubert 1994; Podlecki 1998; Samons II 2007, who overstates hiscase that Pericles’ sole purpose was to make Athens the most powerful city-state in Greece, but recognizes ‘Pericles’ individual courage and real commit-ment to his policies’ (p. 295). On fifth-century Athenian politicians, see prin-cipally Connor 1971. For less unfavourable views on Athenian demagogues, seemainly Finley 1974; Thompson 1981; Rhodes 1986; 2000. Cf. also Rose-nbloom 2004a; 2004b.

13 On disaffection and discontent amongst young people over the function ofAthenian democracy, see Ostwald 1986, 497–524; Strauss 1993, esp. 130–178. On Athenian democracy in general, see e. g. Jones 1986; Sinclair 1988;Stockton 1990; Hansen 1991; Rhodes 1994; Carey 2001; Thorley 20042; Os-borne 2010. On the Athenian empire and related problems, see principallyMeiggs 1972; Rhodes 19932; Low 2008; Papazarkadas/Ma/Parker 2009.


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so doing, he injects into the mythological world of the play a wide as-sortment of contemporary Athenian mottoes, establishing a tension be-tween the celebrated past, the disappointing present, and the uncertainfuture.

It is nonetheless important not to overlook the fact that Euripidesrefrains from extinguishing the last rays of hope. Even with a terriblefatality still hanging over the house of Atreus and a dreadful civil conflictlooming large on Greece’s horizon, our interest is strongly aroused byan unforeseen complication – the majestic spectacle of Iphigenia reason-ing out the grounds of her own death. Resembling those discerningcommanders of past generations, not least her own grandfather Tyndar-eos, who shone most brightly among them for his intelligence and di-plomacy, Iphigenia gives the Greek chieftains a clear and correct visionof Panhellenic unity and concord. The unflinching fortitude of theyoung virgin-martyr, together with her unflagging commitment tothe ideals of Greek safety and dominance, I suggest, endues fundamentalpatriotic values with a fresh and intense vitality. Hence there can be nodoubt that the reputation of Hellenic patriotism is sufficiently redeemedby the impressive dignity of her final appearance. And, indeed, it is notdifficult to imagine the effect which the lacerated innocence of Iphige-nia must have produced on an audience who were becoming more ac-customed to divisive political forces and the thoughtless pursuit of Athe-nian interests. Although Euripides’ object is not to untangle all perplex-ities, the noble martyrdom of Iphigenia gives him the opportunity tooffer a meditation of deeper moment on the great principles of demo-cratic rule, and to suggest that the Athenians could re-endow thoseprinciples with the profound earnestness of Panhellenic moral feeling,as they had done repeatedly in the past to the immense glory of theircity.

3. Mythical Paradigms of Wise Policy

In Iphigenia at Aulis the internal disturbances in the army come to a headwhen Agamemnon and the other Greek chieftains are embroiled in acomplex and bitter controversy that threatens the success of the missionand, more importantly, forfeits their claim to moral superiority in theTrojan mission. From the very beginning of the action Euripides ac-knowledges the deficiencies of political partnerships by evoking earlier,non-violent components in the Trojan mythic cycle. According to Ko-


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vacs’ reconstruction of the prologue, the play opens with a long expos-itory monologue (49–105), a convenient and familiar technique of im-parting essential information about the myth, as well as contributing sig-nificantly to the elucidation of the entire dramatic design: Agamemnonsets out to recount in detail the tumultuous events leading up to Helen’smarriage to Menelaus.14 The first part of his narrative expands to includethe shameful elopement of Helen with the Phrygian prince Paris whichtriggers Menelaus’ ferocious retaliation:

9c]momto K^dô Hesti\di tqe?r paqh]moi,Vo_bg Jkutail^stqa t’, 1lµ num\oqor,:k]mg te· ta}tgr oR t± pq_t’ ¡kbisl]moi

lmgst/qer Gkhom :kk\dor meam_ai.deima· d’ !peika· ja· jat’ !kk^kym vh|mor

num_stah’, fstir lµ k\boi tµm paqh]mom.t¹ pq÷cla d’ !p|qyr eWwe Tumd\qe\ patq_,doOmai te lµ doOma_ te, t/r t}wgr fpyr

ûxait’ %hqausta. jai mim eQs/khem t\de·fqjour sum\xai deni\r te sulbake?mlmgst/qar !kk^koisi ja· di’ 1lp}qym

spomd±r jahe?mai j!paq\sashai t\de·ftou cumµ c]moito Tumdaq·r j|qg,to}t\ sumalume?m, eU tir 1j d|lym kab½m

oUwoito t|m t’ 5womt’ !pyho_g k]wour,j!pistqate}seim ja· jatasj\xeim p|kim

>kkgm’ blo_yr b\qbaq|m h’ fpkym l]ta.1pe· d’ 1pist~hgsam (ew d] pyr c]qym

rp/khem aqto»r Tumd\qeyr pujm0 vqem_),d_dys’ 2k]shai hucatq· lmgst^qym 6ma.fpoi pmoa· v]qoiem )vqod_tgr v_kai.B d’ eVkeh’, fr sve l^pot’ ¥vekem kabe?m,Lem]kaom. 1kh½m d’ 1j Vquc_m “t±r he±r

Jq_mar fd’, ¢r b lOhor !mhq~pym 5wei,Kajeda_lom’, !mhgq¹r l³m eRl\tym stok0wqus` d³ kalpq|r, baqb\q\ wkid^lati,1q_m 1q_sam ãwet’ 1namaqp\sar

:k]mgm pq¹r ]dgr bo}stahl’, 5jdglom kab½m

Lem]kaom. b d³ jah’ :kk\d’ oQstq^sar 5q\fqjour pakaio»r Tumd\qey laqt}qetai,¢r wqµ boghe?m to?sim Adijgl]moir. (49–79)

14 On Euripidean prologues, see principally Erbse 1984, esp. 269–280; cf. alsoAllan 2000, 50–53, who sensibly argues that ‘the prologues of Euripides arenot merely expository but affect our response to the ensuing action’ (p. 52).


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To Leda, daughter of Thestius, were born three daughters, Phoebe, mywife Clytaemestra, and Helen. For this last the most prosperous youngmen in Hellas came as suitors. Terrible threats were about to be realizedfrom the envy of her unsuccessful wooers. It was a dreadful quandary forTyndareos her father, to give her in marriage or not: how could he dealwith the situation and not come to ruin? An idea occurred to him: the sui-tors should take an oath to each other and join right hands on it – makingtheir pact by means of a burnt sacrifice and swearing over the victim – thateach would come to the defense of Helen’s future husband if anyone rob-bed him of his wife and abducted her from home; they would make an ex-pedition and overthrow the city by force of arms, whether it was Greek orbarbarian. When they had sworn (for Tyndareos cleverly won them over tothis), he allowed his daughter to choose one of the suitors, him to whomthe sweet breezes of Aphrodite were carrying her. She chose Menelaus, andhow I wish she had never chosen him! The man who judged the goddesses(so run the story men tell) came from Phrygia to Lacedaemon dressed ingaily colored clothing and gleaming with gold jewelry, the luxury of thebarbarians. Helen fell in love with him and he with her, and since Menelauswas not at home, he carried her off to the cow pastures of Ida. But Mene-laus, maddened with desire, invoked Tyndareos’ oaths all throughoutGreece and claimed that the suitors must help the injured party.

Apart from bringing to the spectators’ minds a well-known episode ofthe Trojan War which continues to haunt the characters as a primarymotivation, Agamemnon’s wide-ranging account highlights the cancer-ous effects of internecine feuds on Greece, as well as underlining the im-portance of diplomatic manipulation and political pragmatism in the de-fusing of rivalries.

Tyndareos, King of Sparta and father of Helen, faced with the dif-ficult quandary of the terrible strife between the Greek suitors, comesup with the brilliant idea of persuading the wrangling princes toswear an oath to protect the marriage-rights of the chosen bridegroom.This remarkable contract, which leads to an unprecedented entanglingalliance, is reported in some detail in the Hesiodic Corpus (FH 196–204, esp. fr. 204, ll. 78–85) and Stesichorus [PMG 190 = 190 Campbell= Schol. A Hom. Il. 2.339 (i 103 Dindorf)] ; in the Catalogue of Women,especially, there is a comprehensive account of Helen’s wooing and be-stowal upon Menelaus in which the elaborate oath-making ceremony isgiven prominence.15 Similarly, a strong emphasis is here laid on the rit-uals that sealed the peace agreement (58–60): the oath, the joining of

15 See Cingano 2005; 2009, esp. 111–118; Irwin 2005, 62–63; cf. also West1985, 114–121; Mayer 1996; Clay 2003, 162–174, esp. 169; Hirschberger2004, 397–426.


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the right hands, the burnt sacrifice, the libations at the altar, and theswearing over the victim. Given the special care taken by Tyndareosto make the pact unbreakable, it comes as no surprise that the pricefor failing to comply with the settlement is most severe: total annihila-tion of the wrongdoer’s city. Although only Greek princes are allowedto compete for Helen’s favour, it is noteworthy that their pact includesan artfully-planted premise regarding a would-be barbarian offender.This Euripidean innovation serves as an early reminder of Hellenic pa-triotic slogans about the constant Asian threat: the extraordinary coali-tion of Greek sovereigns emphasizes, among other things, the popularidea that Greece has been at war with Asia from time immemorial.The mythical treaty agreed upon by suitors to defend the eventualbridegroom’s rights signals the beginning of a shared history for theGreeks – in other words there is an apparent need for a commonpast, a collective narrative which, in a time of crisis, would provideall Hellenes with a firm ground in grasping their destiny in its largestterms. These moments of Panhellenic harmony have enormous weightin the body of the play; they are typical of the theme, pervasive in Iphi-genia at Aulis, that the skilful handling of celebrated events of the pastand the constant evocation of democratic mottoes move the Athenianaudience back to their distinguished origins and forward to the hopefulfuture.

Agamemnon is therefore justified in commending the wisdom ofTyndareos, who cleverly won over the Greek suitors to an ironcladagreement and thereby put an end to their strife (66–67). This is notthe only time in the play that a character speaks highly of Tyndareos:Achilles himself heaps praise on the Spartan king, when he instructsClytaemestra, profoundly distraught with fear and grief over the im-pending sacrifice of Iphigenia, to stay calm lest she bring shame toher paternal house (1028–1031). And if we follow James Diggle in re-taining the final line of Achilles’ instruction, then we gain another flat-tering reference to Tyndareos as a man of high standing in Greece (1mc±q >kkgsim l]car, 1032).16 Apparently, far from being tarnished by

16 Diggle 1994a; cf. also Diggle 1994b, 412. In Euripides’ Orestes Tyndareos is ‘areasoning, principled man, but he has robust passions too’ (West 1987, 35); inparticular, he demonstrates an unswerving commitment to a community-ori-ented law-code, severely castigating Orestes for failing to take recourse to tradi-tional Greek procedures, but he is eventually caught in a vicious circle of vio-lence.


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the impulsiveness and infidelity of his daughters, Helen, Timandra, andClytaemestra, his great legacy has remained completely intact. As thestory goes, Helen chooses Menelaus as her husband, but soon enoughshe falls in love with the Phrygian prince Paris and leaves Sparta forTroy. Agamemnon notes that on both occasions Aphrodite divinelyprompts the course of the events (69). Specifically, since all Greek prin-cipals are bound by the sworn pact, this unanticipated complicationgives rise to a sharp, sudden release of martial momentum: Menelaus,lovestruck over Helen and desperate to take revenge for the grievousoffence to his honour, invokes the oaths throughout Greece, therebyraising a formidable army against the barbarians.

The tale of Helen’s eventful wedding and the suitors’ pact invokedby Tyndareos plays out in miniature the sacrifice of Iphigenia at Aulis,although there are important divergences from the Spartan non-violentpattern of concord and reconciliation maintained by persuasion and de-termination in the face of rancorous disunity. Apart from the obviouscausal relationship between the two episodes, their mirroring is enforcedby Agamemnon’s monologue which moves from Sparta straight toAulis, so that the two stories of chief interest to the play are juxtaposedand brought into focus at the outset. In the second part of Agamem-non’s account (80–105), the political and moral complexity arisingfrom the problem of windlessness at Aulis, as well as the ethically dubi-ous solution suggested by the Greek prophet to break the deadlock, isclearly presented in terms evocative of the earlier political and moral cri-sis at Sparta:

toqmteOhem owm >kkgmer Ånamter doq_,te}wg kab|mter stem|poq’ Aqk_dor b\hqa

Fjousi t/sde, maus·m !sp_sim h’ bloOVppoir te pokko?r ûqlas_m t’ Asjgl]moi.j!l³ stqatgce?m †jüta† Lem]key w\qim

eVkomto, s}ccom|m ce ·t!n_yla d³%kkor tir ¥vek’ !mt’ 1loO kabe?m t|de.Ahqoisl]mou d³ ja· numest_tor stqatoOFlesh’ !pko_ô wq~lemoi jat’ Aqk_da.J\kwar d’ b l\mtir !poq_ô jewqgl]moir

!me?kem Yvic]meiam Dm 5speiq’ 1c½)qt]lidi hOsai t0 t|d’ oQjo}s, p]dom,ja· pkoOm t’ 5seshai ja· jatasjav±r Vquc_m

h}sasi, lµ h}sasi d’ oqj eWmai t\de.jku½m d’ 1c½ taOt’ aqh_\ jgq}clati

Takh}biom eWpom p\mt’ !vi]mai stqat|m,¢r oupot’ #m tk±r hucat]qa jtame?m 1l^m.


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ox d^ l’ !dekv¹r p\mta pqosv]qym k|com

5peise tk/mai deim\. j!m d]ktou ptuwa?rcq\xar 5pelxa pq¹r d\laqta tµm 1lµm

p]lpeim )wikke? hucat]q’ ¢r caloul]mgm,t| t’ !n_yla t!mdq¹r 1jcauqo}lemor,sulpke?m t’ )waio?r ovmej’ oq h]koi k]cym,eQ lµ paq’ Bl_m eWsim 1r Vh_am k]wor·peih½ c±q eWwom t^mde pq¹r d\laqt’ 1l^m,xeud/ sum\xar !lv· paqh]mou c\lom. (80–105)

Thereafter the Greeks, rushing with martial ardor, took up their weaponsand came here to Aulis, land of narrow crossings, equipped with greatnumbers of ships, shields, horses, and chariots. Me they chose as general,as a favor to Menelaus since I am his brother. How I wish someone elsehad received this honor instead of me! For when the army had musteredwe were sitting at Aulis with unfavorable sailing weather, and to us inour perplexity Calchas the prophet foretold that we must sacrifice Iphige-nia, my daughter, to Artemis who dwells in this region: if we sacrificed herwe would be able to sail and overthrow the Phrygians, but otherwise not.When I heard this, I told Talthybius to proclaim in his high-pitched voicethe dismissal of the entire army since I would never have the heart to killmy daughter. At this point my brother, making every sort of argument,persuaded me to bring myself to do a terrible thing. In a folded tablet Iwrote a message and sent it to my wife, telling her that she should sendour daughter to marry Achilles. I made much of the man’s high positionand said that he was not willing to sail with the Achaeans unless a daughterof mine came as bride to his house in Phthia. That was the way I persuadedmy wife by concocting a lie about the girl’s marriage.

Here again the king is faced with a quandary over what to do with hisunwed daughter, but in this case the challenge is far greater than the se-lection of the appropriate husband. The army soothsayer has prophesiedthat Agamemnon should sacrifice his daughter so as to appease Artemis.The mortal decision aside, however, both kings are under enormouspressure from Greek chieftains to find a way out of the impasse, andin each case the situation threatens to dissolve into internecine conflict.In order to point up the similarities between the two incidents, Euripi-des deploys the theme of the maiden’s sacrifice as a shocking perversionof the wedding ritual.17 The irony is sharp and pervasive. Iphigenia ar-rives at Aulis hoping to be married to distinguished Achilles, only tofind out that she is to suffer a horrible death at the hands of her fatherfor the sake of a Greek military campaign. Unlike Tyndareos, who re-frains from selecting her daughter’s mate among so many Greek aspir-

17 See mainly Foley 1985, 68–78; Rehm 1994; cf. also Seaford 1987.


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ants and invites Helen to come down in favour of one, Agamemnonshows himself to be resolute as regards his future son-in-law. Thisclear choice is the only firm decision that he makes throughout theplay, but it is done for the wrong reason, since it serves as a disgracefulprelude to a badly orchestrated deception.

This striking antithesis in attitude between Agamemnon and Tyn-dareos draws attention to the latter’s apparent gift for devising appropri-ate methods to accomplish his goals: he is shrewd enough to relinquishthe right to choose his daughter’s husband so as to divest the final judge-ment of any political overtones that would incite the passionately squab-bling suitors to anger and resentment.18 This is another substantial inno-vation to the mythical tradition facilitating the portrayal of Tyndareos asa perceptive and diplomatic leader. Apart from Hyginus, who makesHelen the selector of her own spouse (Fab. 78), perhaps in view ofEuripides’ new slant on the myth, traditional legend had it that Tyndar-eos and his twin sons, Castor and Polydeuces, played a decisive role inthe reception of the envoys and the nomination of the bridegroom.19

Euripides’ innovation casts Tyndareos in a positive light, so as to be con-trasted to his incompetent counterparts at Aulis. Although we may agreewith those critics who argue that this Euripidean novelty primarily aimsat laying even more stress on Helen’s sexually-driven nature, it is also

18 Garland 1990, 216 remains highly sceptical of Tyndareos’ conspicuously oblig-ing behaviour in view of Helen’s promiscuity, but fails to acknowledge thewider political benefit accruing from this accommodating gesture. A represen-tation of Tyndareos on an exquisite amphora by Exekias (ca.530 BCE) gives usa rare glimpse of his celebrated modesty and tactfulness; cf. Schefold 1992,189–191 (see also pp. 207–208).

19 See, for example, Gantz 1993, I 564–567; Hard 2004, 438–441; cf. also Bux-ton 2004, 132–133. It is noteworthy that in both Apollodorus (3.10.9) and Hy-ginus (Fab. 78) Odysseus is said to lend his wisdom towards stifling the germs ofdiscord amongst the suitors in exchange for Tyndareos’ assistance in realizinghis plan to win the hand of Penelope. In the Euripidean version of the tale,the total suppression of Odysseus’ advisory service (and its convenient transferto the heart of Agamemnon’s heated argument with Menelaus) reinforces theidea that Tyndareos steals the limelight from the suitors, as he is the only personcapable of devising a way to defuse tension in Greece. Similarly, in Thucydides(1.9) and Pausanias (3.20.9) Tyndareos is the prime instigator in binding allGreek princes to a common oath; Thucydides, in particular, underplays theoath as an important motivational factor in the Trojan War, suggesting that apragmatic explication of the true causes of the war in terms of Machtpolitik ispreferable to an unquestioning belief in romantic reasons listed in a mytholog-ical story (cf. also Gomme 1945, 108–109; Hornblower 1991, 31).


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fair to say that the audience is consistently encouraged to think of theactions of the Greek commanders at Aulis in terms of Tyndareos’ ac-tions.20

There are further points of contact between the two accounts. Ac-cording to Agamemnon, the divine realm has shaped the course ofevents to its ends for a second time: Artemis has posed an abhorrentchoice to mortals. Not unlike the wild bickering between the Greeksuitors at Sparta, frustration and resentment at the protracted postpone-ment of the mission may soon lead to internecine fighting between andwithin the warmongering Greek troops. In fact, this atmosphere of bit-terness and uncertainty pervades the highest levels of command: a ter-rible strife has broken out between Agamemnon and Menelaus, whoare soon to be followed in their wrathful pugnacity by such Greek lu-minaries as Odysseus, Calchas, Achilles, and eventually the entire Greekexpeditionary force, together with the rest of the chief officers. Thesimilarity of language between the stories is inescapable. At line 55 Tyn-dareos is facing a dilemma as to whether to give his daughter in marriageto one of the Greek suitors or not (t¹ pq÷cla d’ !p|qyr eWwe Tumd\qe\patq_, ‘It was a dreadful quandary for Tyndareos her father’). Not un-like Tyndareos, at line 89 Agamemnon (perhaps along with Menelausand Odysseus) finds himself equally perplexed about the unfavourablesailing weather; the Greek warlords ask the prophet for enlightenment

20 On Helen’s lewd and lascivious nature in Euripidean tragedy, see, for example,Vellacott1975, 127–136, who rightly observes that in Iphigenia at Aulis ‘thechorus […] refer to the love of Paris and Helen in touching and romanticterms free of any censure, making the viciousness of others the more noticeable’(p. 132); Foley 1985, 77, 80, who places due emphasis on Helen’s uncontrolleder�s which leads to destructive eris. On the myth of Helen, see recently Suzuki1989; Meagher 1995; Zajonz 2002, 11–19; Shapiro 2009. Apparently, there isa strong connection between Helen and Iphigenia that shows more than meetsthe eye, principally because according to Pausanias (2.22.6 = PMG 215 = 191Campbell) there existed as early as Stesichorus an alternative path of the mytho-logical tradition which made Iphigenia the daughter of Helen and Theseus (cf.Shapiro 1992). Cf. also Conacher 1967, 250–253; Burnett 1971, 73–75, whoconvincingly argues that this mythical variant could be used to lessen the harsh-ness of Artemis’ command, as well as the hideousness of Agamemnon’s crime;Goff 2004, 354–355, who goes so far as to suggest that in the play Euripidesequates Iphigenia with Helen on the grounds that both women expedite thefall of Troy. But this seems to me to be a facile generalization. The crucial ques-tion that needs to be addressed is one of morality: it is unwise to disregard thespirit of Iphigenia’s self-sacrifice, focusing solely on its disastrous consequencesfor the Trojans.


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(J\kwar d’ b l\mtir !poq_ô jewqgl]moir, ‘and to us in our perplexity Cal-chas’). Moreover, at line 64 there is a reference to the terrible reprisals instore for the offender’s city (j!pistqate}seim ja· jatasj\xeim p|kim,‘they would make an expedition and overthrow the city by force ofarms’) duly echoed at line 92 (ja· pkoOm t’ 5seshai ja· jatasjav±r

Vquc_m, ‘we would be able to sail and overthrow the Phrygians’)where Calchas explains Artemis’ horrible mandate.

Although one can draw many more comparisons between the twocomplex situations, it is also equally important to observe that there arecertain essential differences which focus further attention on the superi-or leadership abilities of the previous Spartan king. Agamemnon com-pares so badly with Tyndareos chiefly because his persuasive power re-lies entirely on deceit, and because his decision-making begins with awillingness to submit to the vaunted caprice and private interests of oth-ers.21 Tyndareos is a free agent and reaches a decision on his own,whereas Agamemnon lacks the courage of his convictions, continuallychanging his mind in view of Menelaus’ forceful rhetoric and theGreek army’s unrestrained battle-rage. Furthermore, Tyndareos is cleverat diplomatic manoeuvring, as well as capable enough of extricatinghimself from a difficult position by making sense of his situation and de-termining his actions, while Agamemnon uncritically follows his broth-er’s plan to deceive Clytaemestra and Iphigenia into coming to Aulis onthe pretext of a marriage to Achilles, only to change his position timeand again throughout the play. Agamemnon’s initiatives, in all their dis-honesty, are bound to stir up a hornet’s nest by bringing Greeks againstGreeks. Moreover, his lack of ability is rendered doubly striking in viewof his continual envy of the inferior social status or total unawareness ofothers (as indeed happens repeatedly with the old slave and Iphigeniaherself) instead of trying to show himself a commanding and efficientruler. Tyndareos, with his wise peacemaking, had united his fellowGreeks against a common enemy by means of well-respected religiousceremonies and sacrifices. Agamemnon, on the other hand, is doomedto perform a corrupt sacrifice after much wrangling and trickery. It islittle wonder that the situation at Aulis comes to a head and, unexpect-

21 On the character of Agamemnon in the play, see Wassermann 1949; Blaiklock1952, 115–117; Jones 1962, 247–252; Conacher 1967, 254 ff. ; Siegel 1981;Foley 1985, 94–98; Ryzman 1989; Griffin 1990, 140–145; Michelakis2006, 33–35.


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edly enough, it is only Iphigenia who breaks the deadlock broughtabout by her father’s dishonesty by giving her assent to her slaughter.

As I have already mentioned, we can see at work in Iphigenia at Aulisa model of tragedy’s place within the processes of Athenian democracywhich rests on the following premise: the direct confrontation betweenthe past and the present can serve as a powerful window onto importantissues of public concern and the social determinants of political dis-course. It is clear from the foregoing discussion that the degenerativeforce of circumstance which impairs the Greek generals’ mental alertnessat Aulis is more acutely experienced by virtue of the constant thread ofallusion to a happier past, during which honest and perspicacious leadersrestrained the indulgence of narrow egotism and passion. In formertimes, contrary to all present practices, lawful oaths were not reducedto a mere instrument of partisan manipulation in the hands of conflict-ing parties, but were rather intended to deal with landmark contractualalliances in defence of Hellas itself. From this perspective, the plot ofIphigenia at Aulis does not appear episodic or skewed towards socialcomedy: the rapid succession of events at Aulis, as well as the seeminglyincomprehensible shifting currents of human motivation, discloses val-uable lessons for the Athenian audience.22 And this means that we needto work towards a recognition of the play’s most profound realism aboutthe efficient conduct of the political affairs of the Athenian empire.Euripides has no time to waste on passionate theorizing about demo-cratic idealism in light of the crisis unfolding in contemporary Athens;he rather prefers to underline the urgent need for pragmatic politicians,who can avoid error and miscalculation and are willing to espouse thebest elements of democratic tradition by following the effective leadersof earlier times. In other words, he voices the anxious concerns of theAthenian citizens of his day, who want their leaders to focus on soundpolicy-making alone.

22 Pace earlier critics: Murray 19462, 87–91; Lucas 1959, 191–192; Grube 19612,421–422; Kitto 19613, 362–369. For more favourable readings of the play, see,for example, Haigh 1896, 314–316; Conacher 1967, 249–264; Lesky 1958,143–145; 19672, 193–196; Vickers 19792, 79–81.


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4. Iphigenia’s Firm Resolve:Panhellenism and Democratic Ideology

The disparity between past and present is made even more pronouncedby the constant evocation of democratic ideals which have since losttheir lustre and been brought into disrepute by the Athenian politicians’self-interested power-struggles. The final stage of the play encloses andaffirms those Athenian values and assumptions by offering a hopefulcounterpoint to the absolute necessity which hangs over the action,made particularly explicit in the disintegration of warmth and love, aswell as in the collapse of political alliances between Hellenes. And yetthe savagery of the bloodthirsty Greek troops and the egotism of the in-competent warlords at Aulis are not powerful enough to overwhelmreasonableness, efficiency, persuasiveness, and compassion. Surprisinglyenough, this is the point of view best exemplified by an innocentself-willed martyr, Iphigenia.

The heroic figure of Iphigenia serves as the focus of those politicalthemes which draw structure and meaning from their movements alongthe axis of what is deemed to be most glorious and venerable in Athe-nian history. Iphigenia in all her beauty and youthful vivacity standssquarely in the centre of Athenian patriotic discourse, in contrast tothe Greek chieftains’ contentious and egocentric political games.23 Euri-pides plays up the clash between her tremendous strength of will andtheir shaky resolve; between her level-headed insightfulness and theirresolute ineffectiveness. The opposite pull of these characters bringsan inter-generational tension to the play: it is perhaps here that Iphigeniaat Aulis registers the pressure of contemporary feeling in view of currentaspirations nurtured and supported especially by young Athenians with areal focus on change and renewal in the face of a rigid and inefficientdemocratic regime.24 There are strong grounds for thinking that Iphige-

23 On the character of Iphigenia in the play, see Smith 1979; Siegel 1980; San-sone 1991; Gibert 1995, 202–254, 2005; Michelakis 2006, 37–40.

24 On intergenerational friction in late-fifth-century Athens, see mainly Garland1990, 203–206, 283–284, who raises doubts about how fractured the Atheniancitizen body really was; Strauss 1993, 179–211 with relevant bibliography; cf.also Markantonatos 2007, 14 n. 12, who accepts Strauss’ theory of a distinctlygerontocratic Athens in the closing years of the fifth century BCE, but notwithout certain qualifications. For instance, it would be unwise to treat conser-vative institutions, such as the body of the ten commissioners (the Probouloi), asa sure sign of an emerging but doddering gerontocracy.


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nia, with her unbendable perseverance and firm conviction, exists notonly to infuse fresh vigour into Athenian society, but also to call atten-tion to the essentially practical value of these same assurances and axi-oms; her espousal of certain social and political ideas is not merely awistful escapism, but rather a clarion call for immediate action and prac-tical thinking on the basis of accurate moral coordinates.

Most importantly, Iphigenia facilitates the close intertwining of tra-dition and innovation: after years of relentless conflict between thesetwo forces, they may now be reconciled, albeit hierarchically, and re-es-tablished as the central themes of a coherent narrative of Athenian ach-ievement. Although Tyndareos is long gone, enshrined in his well-re-spected legacy, he has in Iphigenia an advocate who bears considerableresemblance to him in her predilection for tactful diplomacy, her aver-sion to internal dissent, and her gift for effective mediation. The mantleof Tyndareos has fallen on Iphigenia, and through her we can see howhe might have acted, when faced with the immensely harsher dilemmaof having to sacrifice a daughter or even to lay down his own life forGreece. More than this, by arguing for the priority of communal hap-piness over private suffering, as well as by resisting the temptation to in-dulge her resentment, Iphigenia shares her forebears’ courage and val-ues.

Iphigenia’s role as the main champion of these democratic principlescould not be more strongly emphasized than by her final act of volun-tary self-devotion. Given its attendant rhetoric of noble generosity andunalloyed patriotism, deployed so liberally to remind the audience ofbarbarian aggression against Greek wives, her self-sacrifice echoes thepatriotic altruism evident in the actions of the Athenian war-dead andcelebrated in funeral orations,25 and the call for Greek freedom againstboth Troy and Persia. From this point of view Iphigenia at Aulis repro-duces, in more ways than one, the old Athenian democratic spirit, andso encourages the audience to act with greater self-consciousness and toavoid crude egotism. Although some interpreters have supposed that theplaywright’s sole aim was to critique Athenian Panhellenism, in factIphigenia’s self-dedication brings the audience to a deeper understand-

25 On funeral oratory as a powerful transmitter of Athenian democratic ideology,see principally the seminal discussion in Loraux 1986; cf. also Loraux 1998;2002, who brilliantly highlights the social and political overtones of the mourn-ing voice in Greek tragedy.


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ing of their empire’s decline, and promotes the most practical conclu-sions concerning effective policy.

We can now see clearly why there are sharp differences in the man-ner in which Agamemnon and Iphigenia defend their final decisions toyield to the war-madness of the lower soldiers: Agamemnon refuses toaccept responsibility for the imminent sacrifice of his daughter andclaims that he is inescapably caught in the talons of necessity, enslavedby Hellas herself (1255–1275), while Iphigenia feels a strong sense ofresponsibility towards Greece and expounds a lofty vision of Panhellen-ic grandeur which stands in marked contrast to the morbid compulsionof the sacrifice and the wild bloodlust of the mob (1374–1391). Thiswide disparity between those two interpretations of Panhellenismhelps us better understand Euripides’ emphasis on young Iphigenia asa hopeful if troubled harbinger of Athenian regeneration.

As I have already noted, it is one of the dominant thoughts of theplay that the conflict between Agamemnon and Iphigenia plays out inminiature the antithesis between a democratic establishment repeatedlyindicted for selfishness and partisanship, and an Athenian society disap-pointed with the failings of its political order and passionate for renewal.Euripides presents Agamemnon in a bad light in order to highlight theresourceful peacekeeping efforts of Tyndareos and the selfless gracious-ness of Iphigenia. This, however, has not always been the case withAgamemnon in spite of his unfavourable portrayal in other tragicplays, most markedly in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, Sophocles’ Ajax, andEuripides’ Hecuba. It is strikingly ironic that this man, portrayed by Euri-pides as submissive to the will of his brother and of the Achaean soldiers,had come to be seen, especially by the fourth century, as the ideal leaderof the most splendid Panhellenic crusade against the barbarians. This in-version goes a stage further if we consider that the archetypal signifi-cance of the Trojan War was widespread among the Athenians evenearlier than the fourth century. As a matter of fact, the play’s deploy-ment of the Trojan story as a powerful metaphor for Panhellenic recon-ciliation proves the theme’s common popularity.26

In Panathenaicus 76–86 Isocrates expresses unreserved admiration forAgamemnon, arguing that the expedition to conquer Troy offered Hel-lenes the opportunity to unite around a common cause: with his fore-thought and perceptiveness Agamemnon proved himself the perfectcommander-in-chief, always vigilant in serving the needs of the com-

26 See Loraux 1986, 69–72; Mills 1997, 64–65.


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munity, constantly on his guard against internal disorder.27 In his famousexcursus Isocrates waxes lyrical about Agamemnon’s gift for makingconsistent, rational and pro-national policy in the face of the insidiouserosion of peace; he even heaps praise on Agamemnon, the first leaderof all Hellas against the East, not only for saving the Greek cities fromconflict (77) but also for holding the army together with his strategicprudence (82). By contrast, for Euripides it is Iphigenia who becomesan admirable votary of a durable Panhellenic tranquillity. The wide dif-ferences in tone in the accounts of Agamemnon and Iphigenia give cre-dence to the notion of Iphigenia as a much-anticipated forerunner ofchange. Agamemnon, fearing the war-hungry multitudes, is determinedto sacrifice his daughter regardless of any compunction, and his personalversion of the Panhellenic cause is entirely devoid of genuine enthusi-asm or anticipation:

1c½ t\ t’ oQjtq± sumet|r eQli ja· t± l^,vik_ t’ 1lautoO t]jma· laimo_lgm c±q %m.deim_r d’5wei loi toOto tokl/sai, c}mai,deim_r d³ ja· l^· taqt± c±q pq÷na_ le de?.bq÷h’ fsom stq\teula ma}vaqjtom t|de,wakj]ym h’ fpkym %majter 9kk^mym fsoi,oXr m|stor oqj 5st’ Yk_ou p}qcour 5pi,oqd’ 5sti Tqo_ar 1neke?m jkeim¹m b\hqom,eQ l^ se h}sy, l\mtir ¢r J\kwar k]cei.l]lgme d’ )vqod_tg tir :kk^mym stqat`pke?m ¢r t\wista baqb\qym 1p· wh|ma,paOsa_ te k]jtqym "qpac±r :kkgmij_m·oT t±r 1m -qcei paqh]mour jtemoOs_ lou

rl÷r te j!l] , h]svat’ eQ k}sy he÷r.oq Lem]ke~r le jatadedo}kytai, t]jmom,oqd’ 1p· t¹ je_mou bouk|lemom 1k^kuha,!kk’ :kk\r, Ø de?, j#m h]ky j#m lµ h]ky,hOsa_ se· to}tou d’ Fssomer jah]stalem.1keuh]qam c±q de? mim fsom 1m so·, t]jmom,j!lo· cem]shai, lgd³ baqb\qym vpo

>kkgmar emtar k]jtqa suk÷shai b_ô. (1255–1275)

I understand what calls for pity and what does not, and I love my children:I would be mad otherwise. It is a terrible thing to steel myself to this deed,

27 See primarily Roth 2003, 125–135, who follows the communis opinio that theIsocratean portrait of Agamemnon is, among other things, an oblique referenceto Philip II of Macedon; cf. also Signes Cordoñer 1996, 1998, 2001, who ar-gues that the encomium on Agamemnon may be a covert reference to Isocrateshimself.


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but a terrible thing likewise not to. For my fate will be the same. See howlarge a seagoing army is here, how many Greeks with panoplies of bronze!They cannot go to the towers of Ilium or capture the glorious plain ofTroy unless I kill you: so Calchas says. A great longing runs riot in theGreek army to sail with all speed to the land of the barbarians and stopthe abduction of Greek wives. The Greeks will kill my girls in Argosand the two of you and me if I make void the goddess’ oracle. It is not Me-nelaus who has enslaved me, nor have I gone over to his purpose: it is Hel-las. To her I must sacrifice you, whether I will or no: she is my ruler. As faras it depends on you, my daughter, and on me, she must be free, and weGreeks must not have our wives forcibly abducted.

Agamemnon’s account leaves us with a profound sense of unease. Pan-hellenism is here described as deeply flawed in every important respect:it is a grave moral error and its source is a state of mental confusion.Agamemnon implies that Hellenic action is exclusive in invidious anddangerous ways, tending to encourage militarism and inflame interstatetension and conflict. Once faced with Iphigenia’s passionate plea tospare her life, Agamemnon propounds a problematic vision of Hellenicachievement in order to justify his terrible decision; this outburst ofgenuine cynicism comes as no surprise after his continual complaintsabout a series of external events over which he has no control. Infact, he paints an unflattering picture of the military campaign againstTroy, describing in rather negative terms the Greek warriors, whoseem infected with a crazed bloodlust and seek to destroy Argos unlesshe abides by Calchas’ prophecy. According to his explanation, theGreek army, contrary to his own lucid understanding (1255–1256), isincapable of clearly distinguishing between right and wrong (1264–1266). Even though the Greek rulers regard the cause of the expeditionas honourable, Agamemnon plays down the gravity of the Trojan of-fence by suggesting that the Greek reaction is disproportionate and un-warranted. In his view, the army’s obsessive yearning for revenge ismanifested in the guise of Aphrodite (1264) with all her ominous con-notations for the audience: the reference to Aphrodite further illustratesthe ambiguities inherent in the popular view of Panhellenic activity.28

One could argue that in this case Agamemnon is merely attemptingto lighten the heavy burden of responsibility for his daughter’s death. Allthe same, his brother’s besotted love for Helen, and the excessive venge-

28 On Aphrodite’s ambiguous character, see Burkert 1985, 152–156; cf. also Otto1955, 91–103; Nilsson 19673, 519–526; Cyrino 2010 with further bibliogra-phy.


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fulness displayed by the Greeks on account of her elopement – powerfularguments voiced repeatedly against the sacrifice of Iphigenia – seriouslycompromise the Hellenic orientation of the Trojan campaign. In actualfact, Agamemnon’s discontent at the shocking turn of events knows nobounds. Our final impression of his pathetic self-justification is that byusing the mask of patriotism to defend illogical and immoral actions theGreek army has already lost its hold upon all valid standards of criticaljudgement. The paramount interests of Greece override any ethicalconsideration with which they might come into conflict. Indeed, inAgamemnon’s emotionally-charged rhesis, aside from the uncompli-mentary image of the Greek army storming the walls of Argos inblind retribution for the cancellation of the expedition (1267–1268),patriotic love is reduced to a state of subjection to kinship and country(1269–1272). There is here no hint of genuine patriotism emanatingfrom the wells of Agamemnon’s soul, only a distorted notion of loyaltyto Greece forced upon men through fear and despair. Agamemnonstands powerless before a situation which has run dangerously out ofcontrol, hopelessly seeking release from his bondage to a patrioticcause that he does not fully comprehend. It is significant nonethelessthat he refrains from openly demolishing the integrity of the Panhellenicideal, but instead rounds off his account with a pretentious avowal of hisdevotion to freeing Greece from the barbarian aggression against herhelpless women (1273–1275). In light of his bleak description of thebellicose army at Aulis, these words sound rather ironic.

Against this unappealing conception of Panhellenism as a form ofcompulsory subjugation to external necessity, Iphigenia offers an inspir-ing vision of Hellenic undertaking powerful enough to submerge inter-state rivalries in an honourable struggle with the Trojan enemy. It is par-ticularly important to note that she rehearses the same arguments under-lying the ambiguous coda of Agamemnon’s pronouncement; she none-theless holds up an optimistic mirror to her father’s picture of Panhel-lenism. Unlike her father, she fully understands the purpose of theGreek mission, showing an unremitting determination to devise appro-priate but painful methods for its accomplishment, even if this results inher own death. It is relevant to emphasize that her epiphany derivesfrom a pragmatic deliberation about the best course of action. In an ad-mirable display of practical reason and unemotional self-discipline, Iphi-genia determines which course would optimally advance Panhellenicaims. Her capacity to understand the implications of her own commit-ments, and her courage to act on this insight, suggest broader conclu-


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sions about the true stakes of the political manipulation of popular emo-tions. Unlike her father, but like Tyndareos, Iphigenia is remarkably ca-pable of resolving, through lucid reflection, the question of what one isto do in a moment of crisis:

oXa d’ eQs/kh]m l’, %jousom, l/teq, 1mmooul]mgm·jathame?m l]m loi d]dojtai· toOto d’aqt¹ bo}kolai

eqjke_r pq÷nai, paqe?s\ c’ 1jpod½m t¹ duscem]r.deOqo dµ sj]xai leh’ Bl_m, l/teq, ¢r jak_r k]cy·eQr 5l’ :kk±r B lec_stg p÷sa mOm !pobk]pei,j!m 1lo· poqhl|r te ma_m ja· Vquc_m jatasjava_,t\r ce lekko}sar cuma?jar l^ ti dq_si b\qbaqoi

[lgj]h’ "qp\feim 1÷m †t±r† akb_ar 1n :kk\dor,t¹m :k]mgr te_samtar ekehqom, Dm !m^qpasem

P\qir].taOta p\mta jathamoOsa N}solai, ja_ lou jk]or,:kk\d’ ¢r Akeuh]qysa, laj\qiom cem^setai.ja· c±q oqd] to_ <ti> k_am 1l³ vikoxuwe?m wqe~m·p÷si c\q l’ >kkgsi joim¹m 5tejer, oqw· so· l|m,.!kk± luq_oi l³m %mdqer !sp_sim pevaqcl]moi,luq_oi d’ 1q]tl’ 5womter, patq_dor Adijgl]mgr,dq÷m ti tokl^sousim 1whqo»r wqp³q 9kk\dor

hame?m,B d’ 1lµ xuwµ l_’ owsa p\mta jyk}sei t\de ;t_ t¹ d_jaiom üqa to}toir 5wolem !mteipe?m 5por ; (1374–1391)

Hear, mother, the thoughts that have come to me as I pondered. It is de-termined that I must die: but to do so gloriously – that is the thing that Ido, clearing myself from all taint of baseness. Consider with me, mother,the truth of what I am saying. Hellas in all its might now looks to me,and upon me depends the power to take their ships over and destroy thePhrygians, so that the barbarians will not do anything to women in the fu-ture [and not allow them to abduct women from rich Hellas, since theyhave paid for the loss of Helen, whom Paris abducted]. All this rescuingis accomplished by my death, and the fame I win for freeing Hellas willmake me blessed.

Truly it is not right that I should be too in love with my life: you boreme for all the Greeks in common, not for yourself alone. Countless hoplitesand countless rowers will dare, since their country has been wronged, tofight bravely against the enemy and die on behalf of Hellas : shall my singlelife stand in the way of all this? What just plea can we make to counter thisargument?

It would be an error to suppose, with some interpreters, that Iphigenia’ssudden change of heart remains unexplained in spite of her persuasive


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arguments to support it.29 Aristotle considered her self-sacrifice woefullyunprepared, being offered moments after a passionate supplication forher life (Po. 1454a 31–33);30 but we must recognize that her surprisingchange of mind is explicitly attributed to a purposeful reflection. Iphi-genia repeatedly states that she was prompted to action by the carefulcontemplation of her extraordinary condition: the emphatic accumula-tion of verbs expressing deliberation at the beginning of her speech ischaracteristic of her eagerness to emphasize that her volte-face was notin any way precipitate but quite the reverse: it was the result of con-scious self-determination (1mmooul]mgm, 1374; d]dojtai, 1375; bo}kolai,1375; sj]xai, 1377). Moreover, and most relevant to my argument,Iphigenia refers to her decision to lay down her life for Greece in lan-guage strikingly reminiscent of Tyndareos’ shrewd choice to make hisdaughter’s suitors swear their loyalty (jai mim eQs/khem t\de, 57; oXa d’eQs/kh]m l’, %jousom, l/teq, 1mmooul]mgm, 1374). In both cases the useof the verb eQs]qwolai to denote the moment of epiphany experiencedby both Tyndareos and Iphigenia highlights the pragmatism behind theprocess of decision-making. To put it plainly, in striking contrast withthe Greek chieftains at Aulis they show themselves to be calm and ra-tional negotiators. In this respect Iphigenia, as a vigilant custodian ofHellenic reconciliation, follows in the footsteps of an earlier generationof leaders who were always ready to recognize the benefits to be gainedby looking beyond immediate troubles and private concerns.

What was ambiguous and problematic in Agamemnon’s pessimisticdescription of the Trojan campaign is straightforward, regular, and as-sured in Iphigenia’s confident statement; those themes and images pre-viously deployed to reflect Agamemnon’s utter helplessness and ruintransformed into powerful Panhellenic arguments. Greece looks toher for the ultimate success of the military expedition against the Tro-jans. Her new tone dispels the image of those countless warriors threat-ening to march into Argos unless Agamemnon acts upon Artemis’ ter-rible mandate: the myriad fighters swarming through Aulis from all overHellas are readying themselves to mount an attack on Troy so as to pro-tect women from barbarian hostility, rather than invading Greek sover-eign states in order to slaughter innocent virgins.

Given democracy’s continuous effort to prevent the indulgence ofexclusive, partial interests by promoting the well-being of the polis,

29 See n. 22, above.30 See also Lucas 19722, 161; Halliwell 1987, 139–143.


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the heroic exemplar chosen by Iphigenia stands squarely in the centre ofAthenian democratic ideology. It is a quintessential element of this po-litical apparatus that the war dead, laying down their lives for the sake oftheir country, have blunted the sting of death and snatched from thegrave her victory: indeed, Iphigenia is certain that she will secure undy-ing blessedness for herself as a result of her action (1398–1399).31 Thispatriotism brings to mind the celebrated acts of the many Athenian war-dead. But here is an important development: through the unblemishedfigure of Iphigenia, Euripides attempts to situate important Panhellenicpolitical mottoes within the traditional speech regime of Athenian de-mocracy – political mottoes, that is, which had been completely eclipsedby an unproductive self-centredness.32 It can be argued that, while theprevious scene ended with Agamemnon’s nadir of despair, now Iphige-nia in a moment of unflinching clarity and spiritual courage forces theaudience to confront again the threat of moral decay, spiritual degener-ation, and political collapse raised by the destructive, bitter spiral of in-ternal conflict and the thoughtless pursuit of private interests.

From these considerations it follows that, however much some crit-ics may wish to cast doubt on the value of Iphigenia’s self-sacrifice,mainly out of an instinctive antipathy for what strikes them as jingoisticpropaganda, it would be unreasonable to deny that the Persian threat re-mained alive throughout the classical period. We may not warm to Iphi-genia’s patriotic excitement, nor to her statement that it is natural forGreeks to rule over barbarians, since the first are free men, while thelatter are slaves (baqb\qym d’ >kkgmar %qweim eQj|r, !kk’ oq baq-b\qour/l/teq, :kk^mym· t¹ l³m c±q doOkom, oR d’ 1ke}heqoi, 1400–1401); but the polarity between Greek and barbarian, characteristicallyreflected in the striking antithesis of Athenian democracy and Asian des-potism, pervaded the fifth and fourth centuries, during which the Hel-lenocentric worldview became increasingly intense and dynamic.33

Whatever our perspective on Iphigenia’s patriotism, we must acknowl-edge that the notion of the Greek ascendancy over the barbarian races isinextricably linked with Athenian democratic self-definition: anti-bar-barian sentiments stem not only from the Athenians’ deep-seated aver-

31 On the eternal glory attending the war-dead, see principally Loraux 1986, 42–56.

32 See, for example, the wide-ranging discussion in Ostwald 1986, 337–411about the gradual collapse of the Athenian ancestral constitution (patrios politeia).

33 See, for example, Hall 1989, esp. 160–200.


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sion to any kind of autocratic rule, but also from their very real and le-gitimate suspicion – not in the least eased by the Persians’ active interestin Hellenic affairs in the latter part of the Peloponnesian War – that thebarbarians never ceased to have designs on Greece. To put it briefly,however much one may be shocked at the vehemence and fervour ofIphigenia’s Panhellenic policy, the strong contrast between Helleneand barbarian is far from being an ideological construct, but rather em-anates from actual circumstances and authorizes the implementation ofany means necessary to avert the deadly danger posed by the PersianEmpire.

As already noted, in Iphigenia at Aulis the realistic, matter-of-fact ap-proach to the numerous problems facing the Greek people on a politi-cal, social, and cultural level is the focus of a great deal of attention.Even though the commanders at Aulis are presented as no more thanvacillating weaklings, the preservation and continuation of Greek lifethrough the orderly application of time-honoured laws and principles,along with the rigorous defence against the Persian threat, are causestoo important to be shunned and falsified. It can hardly be an accidentthat the archetypal contest between Greece and Asia with its clear pur-pose and successful outcome is greatly heightened, regardless of misgiv-ings about the specific choices of the Greek leadership and the sheermassiveness of reciprocation. As well as strongly advising audiencesagainst the corrosive effects of contemporary scepticism about the roleof reason and judgement in Greek politics, Euripides points up theneed for pragmatism, self-control, and deliberation in an hour of peril.

Further, at this particular juncture it is essential for our better under-standing of one of the overriding considerations of the play to draw at-tention to Herodotus’ wide-ranging narrative of the Persian Wars, inwhich great importance is attached from the outset to the abductionof Greek women as the starting point of the conflict between Greeksand barbarians (1.1–5).34 In his opening chapters Herodotus attemptsto explain the cause that set Greeks and non-Greeks at war with one an-other: according to the Persians, it was the Phoenician abduction of In-achus’ daughter, Io, that set in motion a long chain of obligation andrevenge leading up to the carrying-off of Europa, Medea, and Helen.The Trojan War, in particular, marks the climax of this series of recip-

34 See also How/Wells 19282 ad loc. ; Asheri/Lloyd/Corcella 2007 ad loc. ; cf. alsoLuschnig 1988, 37–55; Gould 1989, 64–65; Lateiner 1989, 240 n. 74; Harri-son 2000, 198–199.


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rocal actions: it is here that the rape of women turns into a broader mili-tary confrontation between Greeks and barbarians. Although one mayargue that the obviously unhistorical texture of these tales of wife-steal-ing seriously undermines the veracity of the argument (Herodotus him-self is rather sceptical of the differing traditions, for that matter),35 weshould be in no doubt that the abuse of Greek women at the handsof barbarian intruders serves as an unmistakable metaphor for a widerencroachment on Greek self-government, if we remember that such aprofound disruption of the institution of marriage would endangerthe continued existence of the community. Marriage, of course, ensuresthe perpetuation and prolongation of humanity over time: it takes prideof place in Greek priorities and values, giving eloquent testimony to so-ciety’s vitality and strength.36 Besides, in the symbolic language of Greekmythology Helen is meaningfully identified with Hellas herself. In Pan-athenaicus 80 Isocrates revealingly observes that the Greek princes whorallied to defend Menelaus against the Trojan affront put their life onthe line and took up arms supposedly for Helen, but in reality for Hellas.

It follows that the deployment of the popular theme of the TrojanWar highlights the urgent need for the protection of all the citizens fromunsolicited and unjustified trespass without consideration of the vagariesof fortune or the failures of the leading elites. More than that, and mostimportant for my argument, with her selfless nobility Iphigenia becomesa fitting symbol for man’s autonomy displayed most pointedly throughintelligence and strength of will. Wise policy and firm resolve are theunmistakable marks of political independence – that is, man’s refusalto be guided by the whims of the moment and the pernicious beliefsof the masses. In ancient Greece, dying for one’s country is the ultimateexercise of free will : the very idea that a person offers his life freely forhigher causes is preparatory to heroic greatness. This is indeed the cen-tral principle of democratic ideology, according to which the highestpraise is reserved for those fallen on the battlefield in defence of freedomand ancestral law, to the point of explicitly treating martyrs as semi-di-vine.

It is therefore only natural that Euripides puts into Iphigenia’smouth this concept of the willing victim as a blessed figure, when sheasserts that her action will secure unending glory for her name (cf.also 1444, 1446). As has been already observed, it is easiest to suppose

35 Hdt. 1.5.3.36 See, for example, Just 1989, 40–75; Garland 1990, 210–241.


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that Iphigenia’s patriotic crescendo is there to merely expose the weakpoints of Athenian democratic ideology. But it is also highly possiblethat Euripides exhorts his audience, in view of Athens’ struggle for sur-vival, to rebuild those vital political structures formed over time by theneed for power and security. In fact, he holds out hope that the disin-tegration of Hellenic power can be halted, the conflict between person-al and national interests can be transcended, and the common good canbe effectively expressed. The idea of self-sacrifice, so lacking in the con-temporary political arena, is instrumental in increasing the likelihood ofAthens’ own survival and thus the survival and sustained welfare of itscitizens under the immense strain of war.

For this reason, Iphigenia’s patriotic exaltation before her sacrificialdeath would have pulled at the audience’s heartstrings. There is noroom here for barren criticism of so-called nationalistic ideas; the invo-cation of traditional principles is the only means available at this difficultmoment to instil confidence in the depressed Athenian citizenry. Tounderstand the profound impact of Iphigenia’s public-minded deliber-ations on the Athenian audience, it is important to recognize that shere-enacts in ritual terms the self-abnegation of the fallen warrior – shebecomes, as it were, a powerful symbol of heroic death on the battle-field. More specifically, both Iphigenia and the fallen warrior choosethe fairest death of all rather than awaiting the death that comes of itself.It is widely known that this ideal of not leaving one’s life to chance butchoosing the most magnificent exit is duly celebrated in Athenian fu-neral speeches.

Moreover, Iphigenia’s emotions mirror those of the brave soldier ashe faces the perils of battle. With the ultimate act of devotion to familyand country she becomes a shining example for all fighters waiting toengage the enemy. In her sacrifice these soldiers may confront deathwithout danger.37 Furthermore, the action adumbrates their final victo-ry, suggesting that a favourable outcome will be secured by heroic suf-fering. The readiness of the sacrificial victim and the devoted fighter tomeet a glorious death is of paramount importance in their desire to se-cure everlasting fame for themselves among all men. One example willsuffice to illustrate the point. Although the departure of the Greek fleetcomes after much internecine feuding, the Greek expedition beginsmore confidently in Euripides than in Aeschylus, and this is all because

37 On pre-war sacrifice, see primarily Jameson 1991; Bowie 1995, esp. 472–473;Parker 2009.


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of Iphigenia’s willingness to espouse without reservations the Panhel-lenic cause of the mission. More specifically, on the one hand in Ae-schylus’ Agamemnon 235–238 Iphigenia is taken to the altar by force,only to be slaughtered without uttering a word, conveniently gaggedas she is – a brutal action that no doubt undercuts the splendid characterof the sacrifice and intimates the disasters in store for the Greeks – buton the other, in Iphigenia at Aulis Euripides chooses to put the accent onthe girl’s free will, because his principal aim is not only to anticipate theelevation of Iphigenia to divine status, but also to close the play with ahopeful note in spite of numerous omens to the contrary.

5. Conclusion

There are undoubtedly many lenses through which Euripides’ Iphigeniaat Aulis may be viewed. In this paper, an attempt was made to examinecritically some of the ways in which the play takes a wider political per-spective, as well as picking out issues of special interest to democraticAthens. Indeed, one of the lessons Euripides intended his audience totake away from this performance in the theatre of Dionysus was thateven in the welter of vengeance and hatred, dishonesty and cynicism,delusory passion and moral weakness, a new force of patriotism couldrise ascendant within the Athenian city. At the turn of the fourth cen-tury Athens found herself in the throes of a major leadership crisis. Inthe play there is a monumental conflict fought on the one side bymen of weak character and on the other side by women with strongfeelings; there is, moreover, an extremely complex process by whichPanhellenism amalgamated with Athenian patriotism emerges despitewrong judgements, prejudice, and anger. Fortunately for Greece, thefierce atmosphere which clouded the earlier discussions makes wayfor a calmer air in which arguments can be understood and appeals toprinciple appreciated. In the last scene, therefore, reason and decencygradually fight their way out from the enveloping passions and triumphover them. Tyndareos’ mediating role is reinvested in his granddaughterand now symbolic alter ego, Iphigenia: she is, among others, the clari-fied archetype of the diplomatic hero, a remarkable woman with a high-ly developed ethical sense. Her Panhellenic mission is to call on all hernegotiating skills and moral courage to save Hellas in the face of all thosepolitical leaders who are incapable of governing effectively.


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More generally, my basic contention is that the Athenian tragediansfelt most deeply the lack of efficient leadership in Athens, no less so thantheir comic peers. It is no wonder that in many late fifth-century playsthere is a constant focus on wise leaders of the past, whose sensible ac-tions stand in sharp contrast to other corrupt and inefficient rulers, oldand young alike.38 The contrast between past and present, put to theforefront of Iphigenia at Aulis, throws into relief the contemporary dis-integration of political and social structures. Given the Athenian wardisaster, sceptics may doubt the effectiveness of tragic education, arguingthat although certain plays can force the audience to see political issuesfrom new points of view, this power is inadequate for the job of chang-ing society as a whole. But Euripides seems to believe that the emphaticenunciation of long-established standards of social morality, as well asthe intensified assertion of ancient principles and certitudes, will helpfree and independent people to bend history in the direction of theirbest hopes even in their city’s darkest hour. With Iphigenia at Aulisthe Athenians have regained a legend; an amazing story of braveryand sacrifice and, at the same time, a deeper faith in themselves andtheir democracy. The play delivers a piercing truth: although the webof human life is chequered with various changes and calamities, and in-exorable death soon dissevers its brittle threads, the war-dead are theonly ones who are infinitely happier than they could have been inlife. This hard-won reflection may calm the torrent of grief in thewounded hearts of the Athenian spectators, and instilled confidence.Euripides, at least, appears to have thought so.

38 The stark contrast between Theseus and Creon in Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonusis the prime example of this late-fifth-century trend; cf. also Markantonatos2007, 167–193 and passim.


Leadership in Action: Wise Policy and Firm Resolve in Euripides' Iphigenia at Aulis

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