Anger has often been the subject of discourse as one of the most distinctive human emotions. Most ancient Greeks seem to agree with Aristotle, however, that anger is a passion, borne out of a perceived slight, resulting in seeking revenge. Pain and pleasure must be in the mix too, offering us modern folks with plenty of interpretations on this hefty subject that loftier minds have already written about extensively. Literature is replete with studies on anger and revenge, often portraying them as heroic in men and beastly in women. It begins with Aristophanes, widely regarded as the greatest representative of ancient Greek comedy. His play Wasps satirizes men's preoccupation with social status in Athens, thereby creating generational conflict. Transitioning to the rebellious existentialist Simone de Beauvoir, her short story “The Monologue” unveils feminine rage, conveying the idea that sometimes the ultimate act of revenge is to persist in living despite lacking a clear purpose. Through critical and literary analyses, these works serve as chronicles of anger and revenge throughout the ages, illustrating how predecessors and contemporaries navigated their own paths through these complex emotions.
I. In Hot Blood
In modern times, the expression 'hot blood' may be a familiar one, often carrying diverse metaphorical connotations; for the Greeks, however, it possessed a more literal meaning. In the compilation of essays titled Ancient Anger: Perspectives from Homer to Galen, specifically in the chapter “Angry bees, wasps, and jurors,” the author D.S. Allen cited Aristotle, stating that “ancient doctors defined anger as ‘a boiling of the blood or warm substance surrounding the heart’” (80). In ancient Athens, the quality of a virile man was precisely determined by how effectively he expressed his anger in the political arena against others. Crucially, Athenian prosecutors gained legitimacy by invoking personal anger when presenting their cases, encouraging jurors to align their public anger accordingly. Thus, the birthplace of democracy, Athens, was also where anger became associated with justice. Allen agreed, asserting that “anger was valorized as a crucial judicial tool,” emphasizing that the “ethics of anger” not only govern individual behavior within social contexts, particularly among men but also form the basis on which institutions operate (82). Why did Athenians hold anger in such high regard, considering it, as Allen stated, as “socially useful and necessary?”
A certain Aristophanes, an Old Comedy playwright in ancient Greece, might be able to shed light into the details of the social importance of anger. Aristophanes often uses his raw humor to satirize the political elite and their handling of social and cultural issues, but also—surprisingly—the role of women in Greek society. In his play Wasps, he unravels the story of an Athenian household grappling with the repercussions of a son’s realization that his father’s relentless commitment to jury duty has resulted in an excessively harsh temperament (hint: anger). The son takes it upon himself to confine his father at home, convinced that such seclusion is the remedy needed to mitigate his father’s excessive devotion to the judicial process. The antagonistic father, Philokleon, expresses his discontent from his house arrest:
“My friends, I have long been pining away while listening to you from my window, but I absolutely know not what to do. I am detained here, because I have long wanted to go with you to the law-court and do all the harm I can.” (Aristophanes, vol 2, lines 316-321)
Whether Aristophanes is satirizing his fellow Athenians remains a matter of contention—but he probably is. Nevertheless, his play unmistakably reinforces the significance of anger in upholding democratic freedom, a theme resonant in our present political landscape. The juror Wasps may argue in favor of anger, but it does become a problem when public (politics) and private (households) spheres clash against each other. In other words, men could carry out angry punitive acts if it would not interfere in their family lives in a destructive way. However, anger turns into a problem for Athenians once they bring it inside the household, precisely because of the negative connotations associated with the angry woman (see: Medea, Clytemnestra et al). In order not to invalidate anger though, Athenians choose to elect one punisher per household, which basically reinforces how patriarchy is established since only fathers, sons, and brothers have the privilege to enact it (Allen). This is psychologically fascinating because in choosing to exclude women from the public spheres where men are allowed to wield anger, it keeps women away from this custom. Consequently, when we delve into Euripides’ Medea, society deems her monstrous because women are never allowed to express anger in a social context. In Wasps, Aristophanes satirizes irate juror men, intoxicated by their corrupted authority over the wealthy and powerful, and who serve justice with questionable effectiveness. This allegorical play provides insight into how some ancient Greeks perceived and ridiculed anger as a tool for justice. In reflection, it draws parallels to modern humanity, where individuals still cling to cantankerous habits, fostering irascibility and politicians to this day neglect their responsibilities, perpetuating a system with debilitating consequences. Aristophanes underscores that only through comedy can audiences comprehend the repercussions of their actions.
II. The monologue is her form of revenge. –Flaubert
If ancient Greeks sought to repress the angry woman, then they would have not liked what Simone de Beauvoir had to say. A French existentialist, de Beauvoir’s scholarly plea was to dismantle the idea of the eternal feminine—of how one became a woman. In “The Monologue,” the protagonist Murielle shuts herself away from the world in her apartment, providing readers with a quick-paced, barely punctuated insight into this woman’s tormenting and furious thoughts. In her monologue, we are immersed in Murielle's chaotic mind, where we discover that a great deal of hate and grief has accumulated in her life, preventing her from forming any sort of healthy relationship with others:
“They are killing me the bastards. The idea of the party tomorrow destroys me. I must win. I must I must I must I must I must. I’ll tell my fortune with the cards. No. If it went wrong I’d throw myself out of the window and I mustn’t it would suit them too well.” (De Beauvoir, 111)
What Simone de Beauvoir skillfully deconstructs here is the manifestation of female violence, presenting a nuanced exploration of a complex and conflicted character. As established earlier, the angry woman is perceived as a natural monstrosity, with instances of women resorting to killing being exceptional. Consequently, society struggles with the perplexity of dealing with an angry woman, as per ancient Greek norms where women were discouraged from employing anger as a tool in either public or private realms. Still, the portrayal of female rage in literature provides an avenue for women to experience catharsis, irrespective of the morality of their actions. Thus, the emergence of the anti-heroine serves to challenge patriarchal oppression. De Beauvoir contextualizes female rage through Murielle, enabling its expression and reception. Consequently, de Beauvoir presents women who do not silently endure their pain; instead, they unleash their anger uncontrollably. In the end, after a litany of accusations towards basically all the people in her life, Murielle’s monologue concludes with an imagined phone call to her second ex-husband. It is perfectly fitting that this woman’s closing words are a revenge scenario. Yet, even in her own imagined conversation he hangs up on her. But Murielle’s final wish is for revenge, which only seems to exist after her death where she imagines walking into Paradise with both son and “beloved” daughter together. “You owe me this revenge, God.” Murielle entreats, “I insist that you grant it me” (120).
I. In Hot Blood
In modern times, the expression 'hot blood' may be a familiar one, often carrying diverse metaphorical connotations; for the Greeks, however, it possessed a more literal meaning. In the compilation of essays titled Ancient Anger: Perspectives from Homer to Galen, specifically in the chapter “Angry bees, wasps, and jurors,” the author D.S. Allen cited Aristotle, stating that “ancient doctors defined anger as ‘a boiling of the blood or warm substance surrounding the heart’” (80). In ancient Athens, the quality of a virile man was precisely determined by how effectively he expressed his anger in the political arena against others. Crucially, Athenian prosecutors gained legitimacy by invoking personal anger when presenting their cases, encouraging jurors to align their public anger accordingly. Thus, the birthplace of democracy, Athens, was also where anger became associated with justice. Allen agreed, asserting that “anger was valorized as a crucial judicial tool,” emphasizing that the “ethics of anger” not only govern individual behavior within social contexts, particularly among men but also form the basis on which institutions operate (82). Why did Athenians hold anger in such high regard, considering it, as Allen stated, as “socially useful and necessary?”
A certain Aristophanes, an Old Comedy playwright in ancient Greece, might be able to shed light into the details of the social importance of anger. Aristophanes often uses his raw humor to satirize the political elite and their handling of social and cultural issues, but also—surprisingly—the role of women in Greek society. In his play Wasps, he unravels the story of an Athenian household grappling with the repercussions of a son’s realization that his father’s relentless commitment to jury duty has resulted in an excessively harsh temperament (hint: anger). The son takes it upon himself to confine his father at home, convinced that such seclusion is the remedy needed to mitigate his father’s excessive devotion to the judicial process. The antagonistic father, Philokleon, expresses his discontent from his house arrest:
“My friends, I have long been pining away while listening to you from my window, but I absolutely know not what to do. I am detained here, because I have long wanted to go with you to the law-court and do all the harm I can.” (Aristophanes, vol 2, lines 316-321)
Whether Aristophanes is satirizing his fellow Athenians remains a matter of contention—but he probably is. Nevertheless, his play unmistakably reinforces the significance of anger in upholding democratic freedom, a theme resonant in our present political landscape. The juror Wasps may argue in favor of anger, but it does become a problem when public (politics) and private (households) spheres clash against each other. In other words, men could carry out angry punitive acts if it would not interfere in their family lives in a destructive way. However, anger turns into a problem for Athenians once they bring it inside the household, precisely because of the negative connotations associated with the angry woman (see: Medea, Clytemnestra et al). In order not to invalidate anger though, Athenians choose to elect one punisher per household, which basically reinforces how patriarchy is established since only fathers, sons, and brothers have the privilege to enact it (Allen). This is psychologically fascinating because in choosing to exclude women from the public spheres where men are allowed to wield anger, it keeps women away from this custom. Consequently, when we delve into Euripides’ Medea, society deems her monstrous because women are never allowed to express anger in a social context. In Wasps, Aristophanes satirizes irate juror men, intoxicated by their corrupted authority over the wealthy and powerful, and who serve justice with questionable effectiveness. This allegorical play provides insight into how some ancient Greeks perceived and ridiculed anger as a tool for justice. In reflection, it draws parallels to modern humanity, where individuals still cling to cantankerous habits, fostering irascibility and politicians to this day neglect their responsibilities, perpetuating a system with debilitating consequences. Aristophanes underscores that only through comedy can audiences comprehend the repercussions of their actions.
II. The monologue is her form of revenge. –Flaubert
If ancient Greeks sought to repress the angry woman, then they would have not liked what Simone de Beauvoir had to say. A French existentialist, de Beauvoir’s scholarly plea was to dismantle the idea of the eternal feminine—of how one became a woman. In “The Monologue,” the protagonist Murielle shuts herself away from the world in her apartment, providing readers with a quick-paced, barely punctuated insight into this woman’s tormenting and furious thoughts. In her monologue, we are immersed in Murielle's chaotic mind, where we discover that a great deal of hate and grief has accumulated in her life, preventing her from forming any sort of healthy relationship with others:
“They are killing me the bastards. The idea of the party tomorrow destroys me. I must win. I must I must I must I must I must. I’ll tell my fortune with the cards. No. If it went wrong I’d throw myself out of the window and I mustn’t it would suit them too well.” (De Beauvoir, 111)
What Simone de Beauvoir skillfully deconstructs here is the manifestation of female violence, presenting a nuanced exploration of a complex and conflicted character. As established earlier, the angry woman is perceived as a natural monstrosity, with instances of women resorting to killing being exceptional. Consequently, society struggles with the perplexity of dealing with an angry woman, as per ancient Greek norms where women were discouraged from employing anger as a tool in either public or private realms. Still, the portrayal of female rage in literature provides an avenue for women to experience catharsis, irrespective of the morality of their actions. Thus, the emergence of the anti-heroine serves to challenge patriarchal oppression. De Beauvoir contextualizes female rage through Murielle, enabling its expression and reception. Consequently, de Beauvoir presents women who do not silently endure their pain; instead, they unleash their anger uncontrollably. In the end, after a litany of accusations towards basically all the people in her life, Murielle’s monologue concludes with an imagined phone call to her second ex-husband. It is perfectly fitting that this woman’s closing words are a revenge scenario. Yet, even in her own imagined conversation he hangs up on her. But Murielle’s final wish is for revenge, which only seems to exist after her death where she imagines walking into Paradise with both son and “beloved” daughter together. “You owe me this revenge, God.” Murielle entreats, “I insist that you grant it me” (120).
“Ancient doctors defined anger as ‘a boiling of the blood or warm substance surrounding the heart.’”
III. The Human Condition
In the cradle of democracy and drama that was Ancient Greek culture, there existed politically naive notions of administering justice, and an incomplete psychological grasp on anger. In Hannah Arendt’s The Human Condition, she observes the need for forgiveness, allowing that our actions emanate from our existence, yet they may not consistently align with the ideals we strive to embody. Thus, the potential for anger and revenge arises from between the cracks of broken promises to each other and the broader world. During Aristophanes’ time, the inclination towards punishment borne out of anger, represents a desire to destabilize relationships—either by inflicting harm or complete obliteration. This idea follows into Murielle’s wish for revenge against everyone in her life—she asks for destruction, so that others may envy her in the afterlife with her children. Arendt, then, finds that the potential for forgiveness comes solely due to the inherent conflict between our actions and the aspirations we hold. Like other desires—forgiving and forgetting—anger is a necessity. It is, after all, how we hold each other accountable. But neither can we live in a world without forgiveness because this would mean that we can never recover and move forward—forever confined to Murielle’s erratic monologue. Aristophanes’ play never touches on the possibility of forgiveness because Philokleon never considers for a second that he owes his son an apology for his ill-tempered behavior. It would be an action too unexpected for the Greeks who valued ruthless heroic men. The same can be said of Murielle as she is only looking to hurt herself and others; thus, the inherent reality of these emotions is their unyielding nature. In contemporary society, we must delve into literature to challenge the established canon of the human disposition toward righteous anger, and revenge. Opting for the unexpected path, such as forgiveness, in both modern and future times, then we can confront how extensively we allow anger to govern our lives—but it does not mean we cannot enjoy a good revenge story here and there for academic purposes, of course.
Works Cited
Arendt, Hannah. The Human Condition. 2nd ed., University of Chicago Press, 2018.
Aristophanes. Wasps. The Complete Greek Drama, vol. 2. Eugene O'Neill, Jr. New York. Random House. 1938.
Braund, Susanna, and Glenn W. Most. Ancient Anger: Perspectives from Homer to Galen. Cambridge University Press, 15 Jan. 2004. Pages 76-99.
Cartwright, Mark. “Aristophanes.” World History Encyclopedia, 13 Mar. 2013.
De Beauvoir, Simone. The Women Destroyed. Patrick O’Brian. New York. Pantheon Books, 1969.
In the cradle of democracy and drama that was Ancient Greek culture, there existed politically naive notions of administering justice, and an incomplete psychological grasp on anger. In Hannah Arendt’s The Human Condition, she observes the need for forgiveness, allowing that our actions emanate from our existence, yet they may not consistently align with the ideals we strive to embody. Thus, the potential for anger and revenge arises from between the cracks of broken promises to each other and the broader world. During Aristophanes’ time, the inclination towards punishment borne out of anger, represents a desire to destabilize relationships—either by inflicting harm or complete obliteration. This idea follows into Murielle’s wish for revenge against everyone in her life—she asks for destruction, so that others may envy her in the afterlife with her children. Arendt, then, finds that the potential for forgiveness comes solely due to the inherent conflict between our actions and the aspirations we hold. Like other desires—forgiving and forgetting—anger is a necessity. It is, after all, how we hold each other accountable. But neither can we live in a world without forgiveness because this would mean that we can never recover and move forward—forever confined to Murielle’s erratic monologue. Aristophanes’ play never touches on the possibility of forgiveness because Philokleon never considers for a second that he owes his son an apology for his ill-tempered behavior. It would be an action too unexpected for the Greeks who valued ruthless heroic men. The same can be said of Murielle as she is only looking to hurt herself and others; thus, the inherent reality of these emotions is their unyielding nature. In contemporary society, we must delve into literature to challenge the established canon of the human disposition toward righteous anger, and revenge. Opting for the unexpected path, such as forgiveness, in both modern and future times, then we can confront how extensively we allow anger to govern our lives—but it does not mean we cannot enjoy a good revenge story here and there for academic purposes, of course.
Works Cited
Arendt, Hannah. The Human Condition. 2nd ed., University of Chicago Press, 2018.
Aristophanes. Wasps. The Complete Greek Drama, vol. 2. Eugene O'Neill, Jr. New York. Random House. 1938.
Braund, Susanna, and Glenn W. Most. Ancient Anger: Perspectives from Homer to Galen. Cambridge University Press, 15 Jan. 2004. Pages 76-99.
Cartwright, Mark. “Aristophanes.” World History Encyclopedia, 13 Mar. 2013.
De Beauvoir, Simone. The Women Destroyed. Patrick O’Brian. New York. Pantheon Books, 1969.
|
About the Author
Gabriela Pires is a senior majoring in English Literature, set to graduate in Fall 2024. Her next step involves pursuing a master's degree at SFSU. Gabriela penned A Boiling of the Blood for her senior seminar, exploring themes of anger, forgiveness, and forgetting through literary history. Additionally, she holds the roles of co-chair for SFSU's Graduate Literature Association and technology editor for this year's Sutro Review. |