In a majority of Greek tragedies, the leading characters are members of a royal family, and one of them is usually king (anax, basileus, tagos, koiranos, turannos), possessed of scepter (skeptron), throne (thronos), and the other conventional accouterments of monarchical authority. The house occupied by this royal family, whose facade and front door usually dominate the acting area, is thus both a center of political authority (a palace) and a psychosocial locus of elite kin-relations. The character and style of monarchical rule can vary somewhat from play to play. In some tragedies, especially those set among ‘‘barbarian’’ nations (for example, Aeschylus’ Persians ; Euripides’ Iphigenia among the Taurians, Hecuba, Helen), the king’s power is more autocratic than in others (though the Theban, Argive, and Corinthian mon-archs of, for example, Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes, Sophocles’ Antigone and Electra, and Euripides’ Medea and Bacchae are quite autocratic too). Not infrequently there is uncertainty expressed by one character or another as to just how much authority the king has, or should have, to act as he pleases when others disagree: so, for example, Prometheus complains in Prometheus Bound that Zeus, as a typical ‘‘young tyrant’’ (96, 148-49, 942), ‘‘keeps the law to himself’’ (187-88; cf. 149-50) and shows no gratitude to his former friends and allies (221-25, 304-6); and in Aeschylus’ Suppliants the Egyptian maidens insist that Pelasgus has the authority to do whatever he likes in Argos: ‘‘You are the city, you are the people! You rule unchecked over the altars’’ (370-72), whereas the king himself insists that he cannot act without first putting his policy to the popular vote (397-400, 517-23).
Most kings in tragedy are hereditary, their authority deeply entrenched and recognized by all as legitimate. They are recognized as possessing the power and authority to make all executive decisions: to go to war, to give sanctuary to a visitor or supplicant, to exact punishment from disobedient individuals, to order public celebrations and sacrifices, and so forth. Thus, at the beginning of the Oresteia, the watchman laments the ten-year absence of his king, looking back to the good old days when things were ‘‘most excellently managed’’ (18-19), and looking forward to greeting Agamemnon personally on his return. The legendary Athenian king Theseus appears in several plays, and usually conducts himself admirably, as an authoritative but considerate and stylish ruler (Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus, Euripides’ Heracles - even briefly as a quasi-democrat in Euripides’ Suppliants, 429-62); but even Theseus may behave in problematically impatient and disastrous ways on occasion (Euripides’ Hippolytus). Two brothers may share the throne, as co-rulers (Demophon and Athamas) or may alternate as rivals (Eteocles and Polynices); and occasionally an aged monarch has ceded authority to a son or grandson, but still participates intermittently in public affairs (Cadmus in Euripides’ Bacchae, Pheres in Euripides’ Alcestis, Oedipus in Euripides’ Phoenician Women and Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus, Priam in Rhesus).
In other cases, the monarchy has been usurped by outright violence, trickery, or both: for example, Zeus in Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound, Clytemnestra and Aegisthus in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers and the Electra plays, Eteocles in Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus and Euripides’ Phoenician Women - though even in these cases the usurper is usually a close relative of the legitimate or previous ruler. But there are several tragic monarchs who have gained the throne through their own initiative or popular acclaim, as outsiders, a trajectory familiar from the careers of real-life tyrants such as Cypselus of Corinth, Pisistratus of Athens, and Hieron of Syracuse. Their legitimacy may or may not come into question as a result. Such is Oedipus (in Sophocles’ Oedipus the King), apparently a Corinthian who arrived at Thebes at a moment of crisis following the death of King Laius; likewise Creon is repeatedly (in Sophocles’ Antigone, Oedipus the King, and Oedipus at Colonus, Euripides’ Suppliants and Phoenician Women - and perhaps Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes) represented as having risen from being regent for the two young princes to assuming sole rule after their death, in order to restore order in Thebes (similarly perhaps Danaus in the second play of Aeschylus’ Suppliants trilogy). Of these, Oedipus is trusted and loved by his subjects (Sophocles’ Oedipus the King) for his conscientious concern; but Creon’s status (at least in Sophocles’ Antigone) seems less secure, since the chorus’s support for him is muted and circumspect, and it is stated that the townspeople also disapprove of his policies; yet at the end of the play, even though he has now lost the respect of everyone, including himself, he still retains the monarchy and the chorus’s support.
In addition to, or instead of, the king himself, other significant members of the royal family may play important roles within a particular play. Most of the resultant dynastic relationships and conflicts, especially the generational conflict between father and son, will be discussed in the next section. But it is of interest to consider those contexts in which the king is absent, and someone else - a council of elders, a queen - is consequently wielding authority in his place. This is usually presented as a symptom (or cause) of dangerous instability in the structure of power, and results in catastrophe of one kind or another before normalcy (sole male rule) can be restored: thus Atossa with the council of Persian elders (Aeschylus’ Persians), and Clytemnestra with the Argive elders (Aeschylus’ Agamemnon) or with her blustering and cruel new husband, Aegisthus (Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers, Sophocles’ Electra, Euripides’ Electra). In the ‘‘untragic’’ worlds of Euripides’ Helen and Ion, by contrast, the royal queen/princess plays a more constructive role: in Helen, after King Proteus has died, his son Theoclymenus has to be outwitted and morally enlightened by his sister, Princess Theonoe, before the romantic ending can be achieved; and in Ion it is Creusa’s determination that brings about the revelation of her son’s identity and destiny. More often, we find political value residing in royal daughters because of their potential for dynastic marriage - though this may be attended by violence and disruption of its own (for example, the Danaids in Aeschylus’ Suppliants, Hermione in Euripides’ Orestes, and Io in Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound); indeed a princess’s marriageability is converted into virgin sacrifice with disturbing frequency, as a means of procuring the military-political success of her father and/or the whole community (Iphigenia, Polyxena, Macaria, the daughters of Erechtheus).
In a few plays, an elite lord is visiting or residing in a polis that is not his own, or in which he does not rule: Danaus in Argos (Aeschylus’ Suppliants); Heracles and Deianira in Trachis (Sophocles’ Women of Trachis); Jason and Medea in Corinth (Euripides’ Medea); Oedipus at Colonus/Athens (Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus). In these cases we may or may not see the king who actually holds sway in that
Community; but when we do (Pelasgus of Argos, Creon of Corinth), the result is usually conflict over the issue of immigration and succession, and (in accordance with international networking protocols) the deployment of the socioreligious mechanisms of supplication, xenia, marriage, or burial.
Sometimes a council of elders appears to be more or less formally authorized to consult with the king (in Argos for Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, in Susa for Aeschylus’ Persians, and in Thebes for Sophocles’ Antigone). In such cases, while the king usually feels obliged to consult with his ‘‘council,’’ he may nonetheless override them if he chooses - though it is to be observed that in each of these cases the king suffers a serious setback and disgrace before the play is over. But in other contexts, a king is presented as needing to obtain permission from the people before proceeding with the policy he favors (Pelasgus in Aeschylus’ Suppliants, Theseus in Euripides’ Suppliants), or as deferring to the law-courts concerning the proper treatment of a homicide (Tyndareus in Euripides’ Orestes), with results that may introduce puzzling, even disruptive, notes of anachronism into the traditional story, and thus bring that world into closer contact or collision with that of democratic Athens.
In several plays, especially those set at Troy (and thus especially influenced by the Iliad and other heroic traditions) we find an aristocratic council collaborating more or less successfully in a common political cause. So for example in Sophocles’ Ajax and Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis, Agamemnon is king (anax) and commander-inchief, presiding over a group of military leaders who are themselves kings (basileis) of their respective contingents. In this context, the model may be that of kings or chieftains operating more as military co-commanders than as political leaders. The Athenians in the fifth century did in fact quite often send out multiple generals on campaign together, with results that could be effective (by providing greater breadth of expertise and distribution of responsibility) or disastrous (by undermining the unity of strategy and the loyalty of the troops). In several tragedies, tensions are shown developing between individual leaders or between the supreme commanders and the rest. Thus the near-rebellion of Neoptolemus and Philoctetes (Sophocles’ Philoctetes) and of Achilles (Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis) requires the miraculous intervention of others (Heracles, Iphigenia) to avoid disintegration of the alliance; in the case of Ajax, his individual rage (like that of Achilles in the Iliad) cannot be prevented, and it takes the diplomatic skills of Odysseus (again) to restore some degree of cohesion to the combined Greek leadership through the negotiations around his funeral (Sophocles’ Ajax).
For the most part, the authority of generals on campaign to issue orders and make plans is almost absolute. Yet even a general may feel pressure to respond to the expectations and needs of his troops. Thus, faced with the prospect of sacrificing his own daughter to ensure favorable winds, Agamemnon seems to believe that he is compelled by the will of the troops, as well as the other leaders, to carry it out (Aeschylus, Agamemnon 212-16, 230; Euripides, Iphigenia at Aulis 511-18). Subordinates such as guards, scouts, and messengers are not expected to question or criticize the decisions of their commanders (indeed, it is not always clear whether these characters are free citizen soldiers or slave retainers of the royal family); but occasionally one will voice his misgivings (Aeschylus, Agamemnon 551-82; Sophocles, Antigone 388-400, 437-40; Oedipus the King 1149-79; Euripides, Children of Heracles 415-19) and thus present a momentary lower-class perspective on the action. The chorus of elders (Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, Sophocles’ Antigone) or the herald Talthybius (Euripides’ Trojan Women) are higher-status subordinates who express dismay at their generals’ cruel commands. In general, however, while such characters may mutter or grumble, the rank-and-file soldiers or sailors never make any concerted move to challenge their leader, and never take action on their own behalf - in marked contrast to the world of Old Comedy, and to actual Athenian political practice.
In the Iliad the rewards and obligations of elite leadership, and the pressures to win glory and prove oneself best in the eyes of others, are sometimes discussed with reference to ‘‘all the Achaeans,’’ sometimes in terms of the in-group of distinguished comrades (hetairoi) and elders (presbeis). The same double focus can be observed in tragedy, though here we find less emphasis on the personal glory of the individual victor, more on the collective and on the value of victory to the army and city as a whole. In particular, whereas in the Iliad the amazing prowess of one god-favored individual warrior is the dominant theme, in tragedy no single warrior is credited with such military effectiveness - except in certain very peculiar (often fatal) circumstances: Philoctetes and his bow are needed for Troy to be captured (Sophocles’ Philoctetes); Eteocles or Menoeceus, or both, must die for Thebes to prevail (Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes, Euripides’ Phoenician Women); lolaus’ magical rejuvenation will win one final victory for his people (Euripides’ Children of Heracles). Generally in tragedy it is the strategic and political authority of the war-leaders that is at issue, not their personal prowess.
At the lower end of the political spectrum, the democratic mechanisms of power and authorization make sporadic appearances in Greek tragedy. While the popular assembly (ekklesia) as such, or the people as a voting, policy-making body, are rarely included in the tragic action, vaguer references to popular opinion and the dissatisfaction of the mob (ochlos) are widespread, as affecting the conduct of the elite. Vaguer still are the ubiquitous references to the laws (nomoi, thesmoi), both written and unwritten, and to the constraints of justice (dike, themis), all of which are frequently cited by characters in support of their own actions or their opposition to others’. Law-courts as such are mentioned only rarely (notably in Aeschylus’ Eume-nides and Euripides’ Iphigenia among the Taurians and Orestes - the latter two directly responding to the former); but we find frequent references to popular grumbling, vilification, curses, and even stoning, which might imply the existence of some kind of rudimentary judicial process. More often, however, it is the kings themselves who appear to be authorized to implement (and sometimes to invent) the laws.
Taken for themselves, as a higher (non-human) moral and institutional authority, to be cited by characters in support of their own actions or in opposition to those of others, the laws and the constraints and requirements of Justice herself are often imagined as being divine and unchallengeable. Likewise the city itself, and the collective safety and benefit of the citizens, are constantly invoked in drama, just as they were in Athenian political life. Even nature (phusis) and the implied cultural authority of Hellenism (as opposed to ‘‘barbarian’’ degeneracy or savagery) can be cited in support of a particular policy or action; and such claims will be considered later, when we turn to consider religious and moral authorities in general.
World History
