At the ideological core of Iphigeneia at Aulis is the tension between fate and action or choice. Throughout the play, king of Mycenae Agamemnon, his wife Clytemnestra, and their daughter Iphigeneia see themselves repeatedly as victims of fate, or pawns of their own destinies—and ultimately use the whims of fate and destiny as excuses for eschewing any meaningful action-taking or decision-making in the face of disaster and calamity. Though Euripides highlights several major moments where a decisive choice or canny action could change the course of events, his characters are unable to see themselves as individuals with any real sense of agency. Ultimately, Euripides uses tragic irony to argue that the inability to see oneself as capable of changing one’s fate is, in fact, what seals one’s fate. In other words, people are only victims of their own destinies if they envision themselves that way in the first place.
“Oh destiny, / spare those I pray for!” cries one of Clytemnestra’s servants at a crucial point in the play. Throughout the play, Euripides shows how all of his characters, major and minor, believe themselves to be at the mercy of the unseen forces of destiny and fate. Those who might otherwise have had a chance to affect real change in their own lives or in the lives of others miss those chances by believing themselves to be pawns of fate and destiny. In this way, they perpetuate a self-fulfilling prophecy of their lives, surrendering to fate because they believe there is no other option and then professing their belief that fate has been the force guiding them all along. Early on in the play, Agamemnon declares in a self-pitying soliloquy that he has “fallen into the snare of fate” and has been “outwitted / from the start by the cunning of destiny.” Agamemnon’s also declares himself a “slave of the mob [of commoners he] lead[s]” and a victim of “Priam’s son Paris” who has flung Greece into chaos “by winning the love of Helen.” Agamemnon is a mighty and noble king—but from almost the outset of the play, Euripides characterizes him as a man who, for all his pomp and power, sees himself as a victim of almost everything around him: his fate, his own station, and his political enemies. This establishes that even the most powerful people in Greece conceive of themselves as both hapless and hopeless in the face of forces beyond their control, such as fate and destiny, and would rather blame the whims of the divine for their problems than take any real action to change their circumstances. Euripides seems to have both deep contempt and a twisted kind of empathy for Agamemnon: his tragic flaw is that he can see no other option but to surrender to the “cunning of destiny,” and yet this tragic flaw is also presented as laughable.
Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphigeneia, also sees herself as a victim of fate and destiny. She arrives in Aulis under false pretenses, having been summoned to camp by a letter from her father which declares that she is to marry the hero Achilles. Iphigeneia willfully submits to the arranged marriage—but when she realizes it is nothing but a ruse meant to draw her to camp so that she can be sacrificed for the Grecian cause, she finds herself facing a crisis of fate and faith. At first, she struggles against the idea that she is doomed to be a human sacrifice, begging her father to spare her life—but after Agamemnon tells her that he himself is compelled by “stronger hands than [his] own” to take her life, she softens and begins to go along with what she believes the fates have decreed for her. “It is hard to hold out against the inevitable,” Iphigeneia says as she announces that she’ll willingly offer herself as a sacrifice to Artemis and die for the Grecian people. Iphigeneia’s motivation for accepting what she believes to be the “inevitable”—her fate as a sacrifice—stems from a desire to appease the gods and not further anger them by resisting the pull of destiny. “Lead me to the altar / if this is what destiny has decreed,” she declares, ignoring the idea that perhaps it is not the idea of destiny to which she is beholden but instead her own will. The roles of fate and destiny in the classical world are, of course, impossible to dispute: prophets and oracles were figures believed to have a direct connection to the gods, and the play’s action is indeed set in motion because the prophet Kalchas declares Iphigeneia must be sacrificed. Euripides and his contemporaries no doubt wrestled with the veracity of prophecies and visions and questioned whether will could ever trump destiny. But Iphigeneia at Aulis, with its almost unbelievably solemn march toward an ending which no one wants, seems to be a play which directly mocks the idea that humanity has no agency whatsoever and instead must submit to the wills of the fates.
Ancient Greece was a society ruled by a complex mythological hierarchy of gods, goddesses, demigods, and spirits; almost every chance happenstance or twist of fate could be seen as the will of forces larger and more powerful than humanity itself. Euripides uses Iphigeneia at Aulis to show how such a line of thinking, when societally reinforced, can lead to a destruction of personal agency and create the sense of one being a victim of fate or destiny, incapable of affecting change through action, choice, or deed.
Fate vs. Action ThemeTracker
Fate vs. Action Quotes in Iphigenia at Aulis
AGAMEMNON: I envy you, old man. I envy any man
whose life passes quietly, unnoticed by fame.
I do not envy those in authority.
OLD MAN: But it is they who have the good of life.
AGAMEMNON: You call that good? It’s a trap. Great honors
taste sweet
but they come bringing pain.
Something goes wrong
between a man and the gods
and his whole life is overturned.
THE OLD MAN: Atreus did not
sire you, Agamemnon, into a world
of pure happiness. You must expect
to suffer as well as rejoice,
since you're a man.
And the gods will see to that, whether
you like it or not.
AGAMEMNON: because Menelaos is my brother, they chose
me to be their general.
I wish they had saved the honor for someone else.
And when the whole army had mustered
here at Aulis,
the wind died. Calm. We still cannot sail.
There is only one hope of our going,
according to Kalchas,
the prophet. Iphigeneia, my daughter,
must be sacrificed to Artemis,
the deity of this place.
Then the wind will take us to Troy,
and the city will fall to us.
CHORUS: I have crossed the narrows
of Euripos, I came sailing and I beached
at Aulis, on the sands. I left
Chalkis, my city, where the spring
of Arethousa wells up and runs flashing
down to the sea. I came
to see for myself this army of the [Greeks,]
the oar-winged ships of the heroes,
the thousand galleys
which blond Menelaos and Agamemnon of the same
great lineage sent,
as our husbands tell us,
to fetch Helen again:
Helen.
AGAMEMNON: Oh miserable creature that I am,
now what can I say? Where
can I begin in the face of this misery?
I have fallen into the snare of fate.
I laid my plan, but I was outwitted
from the start by the cunning of destiny.
AGAMEMNON: Girl? Why do I call her a girl?
When it seems that Hades
is about to make her his wife. Oh I
pity her. I can hear her
calling out to me, "Father!
Are you going to kill me? I hope that you
and everyone you love are married like this."
And Orestes will be there too, scarcely
old enough to walk, and he will
scream cries without words,
but my heart will know what they mean.
Oh what ruin Priam's son
Paris has brought me! All this he called down
by winning the love of Helen.
AGAMEMNON: Even if I
could escape to Argos, they would follow me there.
They'd tear the city to the ground,
even the great walls that the Cyclopes built.
You see why I'm in despair. Almighty gods, how helpless
you have made me now!
There is nothing I can do.
ACHILLES: It is not the same for all of us
having to wait here
by the straits. Some of us,
who have no wives, sit here by the shore, having left
empty houses at home. Others, who are married,
still have no children.
Such is the frenzy that has seized Greece
for this war,
not without the consent of the gods.
CLYTEMNESTRA: Son of a goddess, I, a mortal,
am not ashamed to clasp your knees. What good
would pride do me now? What matters more to me
than my daughter's life?
ACHILLES: Pride rises up in me
and draws me on. But I have learned
to curb my grief in adversity, and my joy
in triumph.
Mortals who have learned this
can hope to live by reason.
CHORUS: But you, Iphigeneia, on your
lovely hair the Argives will set
a wreath, as on the brows
of a spotted heifer, led down
from caves in the mountains
to the sacrifice,
and the knife will open the throat
and let the blood of a girl.
And you were not
brought up to the sound of the shepherd's pipe
and the cries of the herdsmen,
but nurtured by your mother
to be a bride for one of great Inachos’ sons.
Oh where is the noble face
of modesty, or the strength of virtue, now
that blasphemy is in power
and men have put justice
behind them, and there is no law but lawlessness,
and none join in fear of the gods?
AGAMEMNON: Oh immovable law of heaven! Oh my
anguish, my relentless fate!
CLYTEMNESTRA: Yours? Mine. Hers. No relenting for any of us.
IPHIGENEIA: And now you want to kill me. Oh, in the name
of Pelops, of your father
Atreus, of my mother, suffering here
again as at my birth, do not let it happen.
AGAMEMNON: It is Greece that compels me
to sacrifice you, whatever I wish.
We are in stronger hands than our own.
Greece must be free
if you and I can make her so. Being Greeks,
we must not be subject to barbarians,
we must not let them carry off our wives.
IPHIGENEIA: It is hard to hold out against the inevitable. […]
Now mother, listen to the conclusion
that I have reached. I have made up my mind to die.
I want to come to it
with glory. […]
You brought me into the world for the sake
of everyone in my country.
IPHIGENEIA: If it means that one man can see the sunlight
what are the lives of thousands of women
in the balance? And if Artemis
demands the offering of my body,
I am a mortal: who am I
to oppose the goddess? It is not to be
considered. I give my life to Greece.
MESSENGER: And the miracle happened. Everyone
distinctly heard the sound of the knife
striking, but no one could see
the girl. She had vanished.
The priest cried out, and the whole army
echoed him, seeing
what some god had sent, a thing
nobody could have prophesied. There it was,
we could see it, but we could scarcely
believe it: a deer
lay there gasping, a large
beautiful animal, and its blood ran
streaming over the altar of the goddess.