How Did Lysistrata Influence Ancient Greek Women

Lysistrata, Medea and Women’s Influence in Ancient Greece

Jia Lu

To say that Lysistrata and Medea confuse people is an understatement. On one hand, we witness two of arguably the most powerful female characters ever appearing on classical stage, professing “feminist manifestos” many would read as the gender awakening among ancient Greek women; yet on the other hand, you wonder whether the playwrights were really sympathizing with women in their plays by portraying them as evil, scheming foreigner or as gender stereotype. After a careful examination of the two works, I would argue that although Aristophanes’ Lysistrata and Euripides’ Medea both depicted strong female characters, the plays were hardly meant to challenge the male-dominating social

Athenian women had much fewer rights than citizen men: they were legally prohibited from managing property and money; they could not represent themselves in court; and their outdoor activity was highly restricted—women could not step out of the house without a bodyguard. Not only did women have fewer legal rights than men, they must also live up to the social expectations of being a submissive wife whose responsibility was to manage the slaves and produce children. In Lysistrata, the Magistrate’s opening comments about women—how they easily indulged in sex and cult—was probably representative of the average Athenian men: “Has not our women’s lewdness shown itself in how they beat their drums for Sabazius, that god of excess, or on their rooftops shed tears for Adonis?... That’s just the kind of loose degenerate stuff that comes from women.” (Lysistrata, line 432-447). In fact, gender stereotyping was so pervasive that even women considered themselves to be mentally weak. When Lysistrata expressed her disappointment in women at the beginning of the play—“My heart’s on fire, Calonice—I’m so angry at married women, at us, because, although men say we’re devious characters…”, her company Calonice quickly interrupted and said,

At the beginning of the show, many of us would actually sympathize with Medea, who was ruthlessly abandoned by her husband Jason: “A man, whenever he is annoyed with the company of those in the house, goes elsewhere and thus rids his soul of its boredom. But we must fix our gaze on one person only. Men say that we live a life free from danger at home while they fight with the spear. How wrong they are! I would rather stand three times with a shield in battle than give birth once.” (Medea, 245-250). We then would be completely appalled by her actions of vengeance as the plot unfolds: “we are women, unable to perform great deeds of valor, but most skilful architects of every evil.” (Medea, 405-410). Indeed, Medea proves to be a much more complicated heroine compared to Lysistrata: she is a mythical figure, the granddaughter of Helios; in earlier texts she was often portrayed as a powerful witch with black magic; and she is so blinded by love that she would chop up her brother into pieces and scatter them on the sea just to delay her father’s pursuit. Everything she does could only be explained by the fact that she is madly in love with Jason, under the influence of Aphrodite. Except there is one incongruity: for someone so clever, so strong-willed, and so treacherous, Medea could have fled somewhere under disguise and begun a new life. But alas!