About

Heracles, who – gripped by μανια – slays his own children.

Hecuba, struggling with her inconceivable reality.

Cassandra, who appears to be entirely detached from reality.

Euripides, who masterfully portrays psychological nuances.

The idea for this blog stems from two observations within the tragedies The Trojan Women and Heracles.

In Heracles, it is the portrayal of μανια. Euripides subverts the meaning of this word: Dionysiac exaltation turns into murderous mania. Heracles misinterprets reality and reconstructs it – a process that appears psychotic.

In The Trojan Women, psychoanalytic patterns permeate every layer of the play. The structure disintegrates. The characters seek synthesis. Hecuba runs into the flames -identification with that which has been lost, in the most literal sense. What is tragic? The Ego loses its ability to perceive reality. Disintegration, synthesis, identification, loss of reality – all at once, deeply ingrained into the play.

Analyzing these two tragedies psychoanalytically for my thesis brought their underlying depth to light. Euripides intertwined psychological nuances with every aspect of his plays. Rather than forcing psychoanalytic categories onto the material, I found them to be inherently present within the text. It quickly became apparent that this work did not end with my thesis; Euripides offers immense scope for further psychoanalytic interpretation.

Two questions gave rise to this fascination. These questions drove my thesis and now drive this blog:

Is there a discernible pattern within the psychological depth of Euripidean drama? Do certain conflicts or constellations repeat, or is every tragedy unique in that sense?
What value does a psychoanalytic interpretation hold? Not only for literary scholars but also for historians? Does it reveal something that, for example, Thucydides does not?

This blog constitutes an attempt to answer these questions in a fragmentary manner. I consciously opted for a fragmentary approach and decided against relying on totalizing interpretations. Reducing a drama to a single reading does not do the psychoanalytic approach justice. Within these tragedies, manifold dynamics are at work, each of which can be thoroughly examined. Simply declaring Medea an “evil mother” is far too simple.

For this reason, I will analyze specific partial aspects – a scene, a character, or a handful of verses. The analysis will remain very close to both the ancient and the psychoanalytic text. Many observations emerging out of these analyses might eventually add up to a pattern. This grants me a freedom that a formal thesis simply does not allow: the freedom to think, the freedom to doubt, and the freedom to ask subsequent questions. Observations are allowed to unfold rather than having to be condensed in a strictly scientific way.

FIn writing, I’ve noticed four recurring movements — four ways I approach a text: Lexis, Polis, Typos, and Methodos. I describe them not to force every post into one of them, but because they show how my thinking works. Most posts move between several at once: a close textual analysis often slides unnoticed into a historical question, an observation about patterns almost automatically calls for methodological self-scrutiny. They’re lenses, not drawers — nothing has to fit neatly into one, least of all myself.

You’ll find these four perspectives as filters at the top of the menu, under “Focus” — each post can carry several of them at once, and some carry none. I explain what the four terms mean in detail on the Perspectives page.

I do not write as a psychologist, but as a historian. This blog depicts the considerations of a historian who possesses a deep interest in psychology. This means that I cannot simply apply clinical categories to drama. Tragedy is not a clinic and characters are not patients. Nevertheless, many psychoanalytic concepts find a clear parallel within the plays, sometimes direct, often symbolic but always anchored in the text. I look for patterns, contexts, and meaning – not for diagnoses.

This blog is not pop-psychology. I do not compile lists like “5 Signs Medea is a Narcissist.” I do not diagnose characters. I do not blindly apply modern clinical categories to ancient texts. Instead, I work closely with original psychoanalytic texts. When I write about repression, I have read Freud. When I write about splitting, I have read Klein. Every post is firmly grounded in a psychoanalytic text. I use theory precisely, not as a buzzword.

My method is simple: I read a psychoanalytic text and look for direct or symbolic parallels within Euripidean plays. Sometimes these are apparent; sometimes they are only visible after detailed analysis, but they are always anchored in the text. Frequently, further questions only arise during the analysis itself. This process is open-ended.

I am well aware that in modern literary studies, psychoanalysis is often regarded as dated, speculative, and too subjective. Many classicists reject it as do many historians. However, I firmly believe that psychoanalysis deserves its place within literary interpretation. Not to replace other approaches but to add to them. Psychoanalysis can render aspects visible that might otherwise be overlooked.

This blog is a continuation of my work—step by step, with room to unfold. I am an interested reader and an inquirer, positioned in the “in-between” of psychoanalysis and history. This blog does not provide definitive answers. It offers food for thought. Questions. Perspectives. Possibilities.

Anyone ready to think along with me – to doubt, to question, to contradict – is warmly invited to do so.

Welcome!