Vengeful violence – to what extent is it justified?

Sophie Kerr

In fifth century Athens, anger was viewed as an innate response to being wronged or disrespected. Revenge relieved them of their complaint and was essential for the preservation of their reputation and honour. They took pride in extending their agendas past “private revenge”; however, they left the perpetrator of such violence in the hands of the legal system and viewed this punishment as a form of vengeance in itself for the victim. However, this moral standard they set for their society is not sustained when it comes to entertainment. Instead, they indulge in the fantasy world of violence, just as a modern audience would enjoy the ‘Saw’ and ‘The Purge’ franchises whilst not openly advocating for the justifications of violence.

In his ‘Poetics’, Aristotle states that in order to create a great tragedy, fear and pity must be evoked in the audience, leading to a catharsis of such emotions, often achieved by the suffering of the characters on stage. One of the greatest ways ancient playwrights create pity in tragedy is in the subversion of the harmony of the household through an act of intra-familial violence.

In the words of Dover, ‘an Athenian felt that his first duty was to his parents, his second to his kinsmen, and his third to his friends and benefactors; after that, in descending order, to his fellow citizens, to citizens of other Greek states, to barbaroi and to slaves’. This conveys that the worst crime one can commit is an act of violence or murder against his immediate family because, as William Allan puts nicely, ‘it violates the closest bonds of allegiance’, and the inclusion of such kin-killing elicits a powerful emotional reaction in the audience. Usually, such a response is only provoked after a family member has been wronged by another, and so the need for achieving revenge is a means of personal justice, and as aforementioned, as a means to protect their reputation and honour. However, where do we draw the line between sheer brutality and the delivery of justice?

Euripides’ Bacchae deploys Dionysus’ revenge for King Pentheus of Thebes’ hubris and incompliance to accept his worship, through the mistaking of a friend for a foe. Upon Agave’s lack of recognition of her son Pentheus, she tears his limbs apart with her bare hands believing him to be prey. The sound of Pentheus’ harrowing cries in attempt to provoke Agave’s recognition of him is full of pathos and suffering, arousing a great sense of sympathy in the audience. Here, a personal form revenge of Dionysus is at work, as her carries out the most satisfying punishment: rejection by a family member, just as Dionysus himself was denied by both his mortal (Agave, Ino and Autonoe) and divine descent (Zeus). Due to his status as a god, we are invited to permit any punishment Dionysus exacts; gods are typically regarded as having the moral high ground however are not held to the same moral standards as mortals, allowing them freedom to act as they please. However, this only creates more sympathy on behalf of Agave in particular as she is completely innocent of the destruction of her family. Therefore, from Bacchae we can observe that in Greek tragedy, there are many injustices in which we are left only to challenge.

Kin-killing is again deployed elsewhere in many of Euripides’ extant plays, and similarly to Bacchae, his Medea involves a tragic filicide, however, here the perpetrator of such a heinous crime is not in the hands of a god (Dionysus), but a foreign woman. Allan observes ‘women’s vengeance is always related to their status within the family unit as when their position within the household is being undermined’. This is true for Medea, as her abandonment and adultery by the shame- ful, oath-breaking liar Jason drives her revenge plot, acting as a consequence of this injustice. However, this is not to say that Medea is completely free of blame for her situation, nor was it the adultery alone that sparked her revenge. Another huge contributing factor to her vengeance is in being laughed at by her enemies; a Greek audience would understand the significance of this as they can recognise Medea’s honour and reputation has been subverted. (Although her status aa a foreign woman makes us question whether the Greek audience would hold her to their golden standards). However, this is not to say that Medea is completely free of blame for her situation. Firstly, she murders her own brother, betraying her father, in order to escape with Jason, and so cuts herself off from her birth family. She is also aware that in killing her sons she will suffer alongside Jason, evident in her hesitation as she holds a contest with herself to convince her to perform the act, and yet after all of this she still follows through. From observing Dover’s previous comment that protecting family is placed above all else, the audience perhaps would not traditionally take the side of Medea as she turns this concept of household harmony on its head. Nonetheless, because of the unrealism and unrelatability of the tragedy, the audience are invited to enjoy watching the sufferings of Medea and the wider society as a result of her decision to commit filicide, not necessarily justifying her actions completely. The main conflict arising in Euripides Medea is the constant struggle to decide who to side with, as there is sympathy for both parties involving innocent children and an abandoned foreign woman.

Vengeful acts are not limited to ancient Greek tragedy; in our earliest sources of Greek literature, the Homeric epics Iliad and Odyssey, revenge is a key premise. Achilles breaks his self-driven vow to abstain from fighting in order to avenge his friend Patroclus’ death by, not only murdering, but mutilating Hector. In the Odyssey, the slaughter of the suitors reasserts Odysseus’ position as the aner, the man, of his household upon his return to Ithaca, and delivers justice due to the suitors subversion of hospitality, drinking all of his wine, eating all of his food, overstaying their welcome, and sleeping with his maidservants. In both instances, it could be considered that love and protectiveness over one’s friends and loved ones is the motivator for such acts of violence as opposed to its victims. Moreover, because the suitors and Hector deserve to die, or in other words, their deaths were morally acceptable as there was sufficient reason for such a form of punishment or treatment, violence here is justifiable.

The topic of vengeance and violence in ancient literature, particularly ancient Greek tragedy, has been widely discussed by scholars as to the reception of it by modern and ancient audiences, as well as the extent one can justify acts of murder driven by revenge. However, deserved or not, the act of murder itself will always remain tragic.