Introduction

Eugene O’Neill (1888-1953), the greatest American playwright of the twentieth century, revived on the modern stage those theatrical elements that were mainly characteristic of ancient Greek tragedy. His work, which transformed the genre of tragedy, tackles timeless human concerns. Myth, the Bible, and ancient Greek tragedies form the main foundation of O’Neill’s work. However, the author includes a deep psychological analysis of human nature — he uncovers subconscious impulses and hidden motivations that cause a character to make destructive choices, thus somewhat rejecting a key theme of ancient Greek tragedy, such as the inevitability of fate.

O'Neill's plays often serve as modernist reflections of ancient tragedies, where characters grapple with highly contemporary yet universal existential and psychological conflicts. Desire Under the Elms (1924), the cycle of plays Mourning Becomes Electra (1931), and The Iceman Cometh (1939) essentially provide modernist reinterpretations of ancient Greek tragedies and myths, where psychological suffering replaces divine punishment. O’Neill deeply explores the hidden layers of the modern human psyche, and along with specific American elements, this gives individual resonance to the plots and motifs of ancient Greek myths and tragedies.

The complex family conflicts vividly depicted by the playwright are often rooted in the Oedipus complex—the son’s subconscious rivalry with his father for the mother’s affection. These are intricate and, in fact, unsolvable conflicts that appear through the ambivalence in human psychological life. As Sigmund Freud notes, “We know nothing about the origin of this ambivalence. It can be considered a fundamental phenomenon of our emotional life... This ambivalence, originally alien to our emotional life, was acquired by humanity from the father complex, which is powerfully manifested in the individual’s psyche” (Freud, 1960, p. 202). By integrating elements of psychoanalysis, O’Neill transformed American drama. Harold Bloom rightly observes that O’Neill was influenced by Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and Freud, which instilled in him a sense of human helplessness in facing such psychic complexes and conflicts (Bloom, 1987, p. 1).

However, this certainly does not mean that the playwright simply provides an artistic illustration of their theoretical concepts or postulates. As Leila Pirtskhalava points out, “despite our mentioning of Carl Gustav Jung’s concept of ‘archetype’ or drawing parallels with Freudian ‘personality structure’ (even though in the framework of the ‘personality structure’ scheme, it remarkably coincided with Freud), this does not mean at all that O’Neill followed Jung’s or Freud’s theory" (Pirtskhalava, 2005, p. 15). The fact is that Nietzsche’s, Freud’s, or Jung’s doctrines were “in the air” at that time and influenced the development of various writers’ artistic ideas. In O'Neill's characters, one can see elements of the Freudian “personality structure,” the Oedipus complex, and those innate, archaic, universal models of the psyche that Jung called “archetypes.” 

O'Neill's fascination with ancient Greek tragedy clearly shows in both the structure of his plays and their thematic depth. The merging and sometimes deconstruction of motifs from ancient Greek plays—such as the inevitability of fate, revenge, family curses, incest, murder, and betrayal—highlight universal human experiences and demonstrate that these themes remain relevant today. O'Neill's own view on this matter was quite ambivalent.

Call me a tragic optimist. I believe everything I doubt and I doubt everything I believe. And no motto strikes me as a better one than the ancient “Hew to the line and let the chips fall where they may!” (cited in Dowling, 2014, p. 9).

The reception of ancient Greek tragedy in world literature over the centuries remains an endlessly rich topic. The connection between ancient tragic forms and modern existential questions makes O'Neill's plays timeless. The American playwright explores the same universal issues that are central to the conflicts in the works of great Greek tragedians. Both sets of characters are ordinary people, with their flaws and strengths, virtues and faults. The core of tragedy has always been to reveal the shared feelings that connect all humans. Its goal was never simply entertainment. The pleasure derived from the concept of the tragic as an aesthetic idea is unique and involves stirring the deepest emotional and intellectual responses. As Aristotle explains, we shouldn’t expect tragedy to deliver any kind of pleasure, but only that which is inherent to it, since the playwright must give us pleasure through the imitation of compassion and fear (Gordeziani, 2009, p.  308).

Desire Under the Elms is probably O'Neill's most well-known play. It is a three-act drama set within the Cabot family. This drama focuses on Ephraim Cabot, the father, who has three sons from different wives. In the 1850s, they lived together on a large farm. Because of the father's authoritative rule, all three sons hold resentment toward him. Ephraim Cabot marries Abbie Putnam, a young woman. Right after her arrival, the existing problems on the farm begin to surface, and her presence makes these issues worse. The main conflict in the family centers around the issue of inheritance.

The main themes of the play are incest, infanticide, love, revenge, and fateful reckoning. The father’s destructive power influences the characters' destinies. Ephraim Cabot is a relentless man. He claims he can start over at any age. His main weapon is his children's fear of him. Normal family bonds are almost completely broken; the actions of family members are driven by greed and sexual desire, ultimately leading to tragedy—the murder of a family member. This sin, as M. Frendo notes, is one of the primary motifs of ancient Greek tragedy (Frendo, 2019, p. 21).

What was the primary focus of ancient Greek tragedy? It was after the most significant disorder and chaos that divine justice was restored — meaning balance was restored. In fact, it is hard to find a tragedy where this wasn't fulfilled. It is worth noting that all subsequent dramatic art continues to emulate this characteristic of ancient Greek tragedy.

In the play Desire Under the Elms, parallels with Euripides’ Medea are clearly outlined, both in the plot and among the characters. Overall, O'Neill employs timeless Greek and Shakespearean dramatic techniques within modern contexts. While most contemporary writers avoid transferring themes like incest and infanticide from Greek myths, O'Neill does not. As Pickering notes, “he knew Euripides’ Hippolytus and Medea and could not see why Medea should not be transferred to the American stage” (Pickering, 1978, p. 125).

The core of tragedy can also be understood in this way. It doesn't matter whether the playwright directly brings the myth to the stage or not. What matters is evoking an emotion that stirs compassion in the audience. That was exactly the purpose of ancient Greek tragedy. Different authors interpreted myth in various ways—the original content was either partially reflected or the playwright took significant liberties with it. O'Neill brought the classical principles of ancient tragedy to the American stage—reinterpreting traditional mythological plots and using a strange sequence of events that first elicit compassion for the protagonist in the audience, then lead to catharsis. In fact, O'Neill breathes new life into ancient Greek myths.

In world literature, we see many variations of the Medea myth. Although Euripides elevates the character to a very high level, instead of evoking hatred toward the child-murdering mother, we feel compassion for her—despite everything, she is not seen as a fallen woman who is destroyed after her husband's betrayal or her children’s murder. On the contrary, she shows us that, despite this terrible sin, she has not fallen. Euripides demonstrates what suffering a woman can endure. As Nana Tonia notes: 

In his (Euripides’) works, the tragic conflict develops within the hero's soul as a struggle between conflicting feelings. This is a psychological conflict—a battle between emotion and reason in the human soul, vividly depicted with unprecedented depth in Medea's tragedy: its main hero, Medea, after intense emotional turmoil, makes a decision whose criminal seriousness she herself recognizes. The audience observes her constantly changing and conflicting emotions, as she, like the hero of the tragedy, remains alone on stage, facing her unfolding misfortune. She does not know what awaits her, as she fights against evil but also commits the greatest evil, because her actions are no longer guided by God or fate. This spiritual catastrophe leaves no hope for the restoration of justice (Tonia, 2008, p.  418).

The suggestiveness of Medea’s artistic image allows for both centripetal and centrifugal interpretations. She becomes a multifocal lens that reflects female characters and situations from different eras and cultures. She transforms into a kaleidoscopic image that forms an associative network of historical or fictional women who are as divided, hybrid, and ambiguous as she is. Thus, Medea and her vague long shadow challenge the historical and geographical contexts of reception, as she embraces diverse feminine experiences, disrupting ideas of universality and homogenization. Indeed, as A. F. Prata and R. Verano note, Medea’s contradictory and differential nature can destabilize the reproduction of narratives, theories, and concepts, as she complicates and interweaves origins and meanings (Prata & Verano, 2024, p. 14).

Euripides’ Medea faces her most serious challenge—she is alone in a foreign land, abandoned by the only person she loved. Here is how she assesses her own situation:

But I am destitute, without a city, and therefore scorned by my husband, a captive I from a foreign shore, with no mother, brother, or kinsman in whom to find a new haven of refuge from this calamity. (Euripides, 1996, p. 25).

Abbie Putnam is also lonely, having no one and being raised as an orphan: "I've had a hard life, too—oceans o' trouble an' nuthin' but wuk fur reward. I was an orphan early an' had t' wuk fur others in other folks' hums" (O'Neill, 1982, p. 226).

Both women must cope with the difficulties of life on their own. Both have to make difficult choices. Abbie initially made her choice in favor of financial well-being and married a seventy-five-year-old man. Medea faced a much more difficult choice—this was a choice between her father, that is, her homeland, and love.

Medea is the woman who loves Jason more than anyone else. She kills everyone, sacrifices everyone except one man. She loves her husband more than her children. She kills her children in a moment when she is blinded by passion:

 “At last I understand the awful deed I am to do; but passion, that cause of direst woes to mortal man, hath triumphed o'er my sober thoughts.” (Euripides, 1996, p. 14).

Passionate love also blinds Abbie: "What d'we give a durn? I love ye, Eben! God knows I love ye!" (O'Neill, 1982, p. 244). For Abbie, too, Eben Cabot comes before everyone and everything, even before her own child.

Medea fully understands why she kills her children. Her main motive is revenge. As Jason explains to her, he does everything for the welfare of their children because they are the most important thing to him. Medea decides to take away from him exactly those whom Jason values most, for whose sake he marries another woman. Medea could kill Jason, but she doesn't. Abbie doesn't do this either, because the choice is between others and the person she loves.

Abbie has realized that the cause of suspicion, that is, the obstacle that arose between her and the beloved man, is their child, so she removes it from her path. Jason cares about his own welfare; the same is Eben’s only concern from the very beginning of the work. Jason is indecisive, an oath-breaker who, unlike Medea, cannot plan, cannot foresee. So is Eben. Like Jason, his every plan fails—he also needs a helper, an eye-opener. The main characters—women—perform this function. Both women achieve their intended goal: Medea takes revenge on her husband, and Abbie proves her love and loyalty to Eben. Both Eben and Jason fail to understand what kind of women they are dealing with. They cannot see what a woman's nature is like; neither Jason nor Eben understands who they have beside them. As Ketevan Nadareishvili notes:

It seems Jason still couldn't understand the true nature of his wife. In his accusation against Medea, he combined everything: her wild nature, untamable spirit, barbaric traits, past evil deeds, and her foreignness. In his view, all of this led to the unbelievable act committed by the Colchian woman. But Jason once again failed to realize that Medea, despite all this, was a woman, and the insult was directed specifically at Medea, the woman (Nadareishvili, 2008, p. 54).

The same can be said for O'Neill's characters: not a single man truly understands what a woman's nature is like. Like Jason, Eben doesn't realize who he has beside him.

Abbie, for her part, has to adopt several roles—she is both a stepmother, Eben's lover, the mother of his child, and even a mother to him. To calm Eben, she even has to take on the role of Maw, Eben's deceased mother:

I'll sing fur ye! I'll die fur ye! (Despite her overwhelming desire for him, there is a sincere maternal love in her manner and voice—a horribly frank mixture of lust and mother love). Don't cry, Eben! I'll take yer Maw's place! I'll be everythin' she was t' ye! (O'Neill, 1982, p. 243).

Eben tells Abbie that she is not God and cannot fix everything: "EBEN—(moved) I calc'late not. (Then shaking her hand off his arm—with a bitter smile). But ye hain't God, be ye?" (O'Neill, 1982: 259).

In Greek mythology and drama, Medea is often portrayed as a goddess. In Euripides' Medea, the protagonist is human yet also exhibits divine qualities. Euripides demonstrated that humans can determine their own fate independently of the gods. Every decision Medea made was solely her own. Medea’s character is notable because she does not let fate control her; instead, she controls her own destiny, even though she is ultimately endowed with goddess-like qualities.

It is noteworthy that after Eben's words, Abbie can resolve everything. Of course, Abbie lacks divine signs, but the fact that a mortal can also handle specific issues and make decisions without divine intervention is clear.

Both women make their critical decision when they are rejected—anger caused by rejection drives them toward terrible murder. Abbie loses her temper on the grounds of jealousy, after Eben tells her: "I don't want t' be happy—from yew!" (O'Neill, 1982, p.  239). She responds: "Then ye're a dog, Eben Cabot!" (O'Neill, 1982, p.  239).

Medea shows exactly such anger when she meets Jason after learning of his marriage: "Thou craven villain (for that is the only name my tongue can find for thee, a foul reproach on thy unmanliness)" (Euripides, 1996, p. 31).

Eben and Jason express anger in approximately the same way. Eben becomes suspicious of Abbie's love and shouts at her: “They must be a devil livin’ in ye! T'ain’t human t' be as bad as that be!" (O'Neill, 1982, p. 257).

Jason similarly evaluates Medea when he learns that she has killed the children: "For a woman—no, but you are a Jojo (ugly inside and out) beast... Oh, you monster! Most hateful to me" (Euripides, 1996, p. 57). 

It is noteworthy that Medea cannot manage her own grief for her children, just as Abbie cannot mourn her baby’s death. In both tragedies, the mother's mourning either is not directly shown or is incorporated into the overall structure of the play, which heightens the tragic effect, even though the chorus in ancient Greek tragedy allows the audience to fully grasp the seriousness and emotional weight of these scenes. The revenge plot requires that the hero quickly leave the city of Corinth after killing the king and his daughter. Medea is not given time to mourn her children, but Euripides portrays maternal mourning over the children's bodies before she kills them herself, which is a common tragic scene (Duncan, 2025, p. 207).

The similarities between O'Neill's Desire Under the Elms and Euripides’ Medea show how old Greek tragic elements can be effectively adapted to modern American drama. Both pieces examine universal themes of love, betrayal, revenge, and the devastating results of passionate choices. Through psychological insight and intricate character development, O’Neill revitalizes ancient mythological themes while focusing on specifically American issues of the early twentieth century.

For Jason, Medea is a betrayer and a traitor: “I was blind before, now I understand, unfortunate me, that I brought you from the land of barbarians to my misfortune, here to Hellas. You are a traitor to your father. You are an enemy and betrayer of your native land!" (Euripides, 1996, p. 57) 

Abbie also feels deceived and used. This is precisely why she tells Eben:

Ye've made a fool o' me—a sick, dumb fool—a-purpose! Ye've been on'y playin' yer sneakin', stealin' game all along—gittin' me t' lie with ye so's ye'd hev a son he'd think was his'n, an' makin' him promise he'd give ye the farm and let me eat dust, if ye did git him a son! (O'Neill, 1982, p. 257)

Excessive emotions are shared by both female characters, and both have planned the murders. For Abbie, this serves only one purpose - to prove her loyalty to her beloved. Of course, she loved the child, but being with Eben is more important to her.

I didn't want t' do it. I hated myself fur doin' it. I loved him. He was so purty—dead spit 'n' image o' yew. But I loved yew more—an' yew was goin' away—far off whar I'd never see ye agen, never kiss ye, never feel ye pressed agin me agen—an' ye said ye hated me fur havin' him—ye said ye hated him an' wished he was dead—ye said if it hadn't been fur him comin' it'd be the same's afore between us. (O'Neill, 1982, p. 261)

She admits that Eben himself was the reason for the murder. For Medea, too, Jason was the motive: 

Jason: "Did you sacrifice your children for jealousy?" 

Medea: "Do you think that's little for a woman?" (Euripides, 1996, p. 58)

Both Jason and Eben only value their children after they lose them. Only then does the youngest Cabot feel remorse when he realizes he won't be able to spend time with his son, talk to him, or sing to him.

Both women kill the child they gave birth to, making the hardest choice. Abbie wants to clear the way for love, while Medea was jealous and unable to forgive her beloved man's betrayal. A rejected woman’s revenge is always brutal.

Love and hatred are intertwined in both authors’ works—one can quickly turn into the other. This serves as a form of punishment for that terrible sin shared by all characters. Both Abbie and Medea seek revenge on others and punish themselves. As Rismag Gordeziani notes, "the situation when a child might kill a parent, or vice versa, when a parent kills a child, when family members kill each other, when impermissible incest occurs, etc., evokes particular trembling in mortals and makes them think about the reasons and essence of punishments inflicted on people in general, about human helplessness before great laws and the imperfection of human knowledge" (Gordeziani, 2019, p. 170).

It was precisely this structure that Eugene O'Neill borrowed from Greek tragedy – first, he introduced chaos and conflict, then restored justice to reflect the American reality of his time. He gave ancient Greek tragedy a modern form and presented on stage a depiction suitable for different eras and realities.

Metaphors, symbols, allusions, and parallels play a crucial role in O'Neill's plays, ultimately creating a unified picture where images of different characters blend together. In his artistic universe, it is essential to depict the moral inclinations of characters, which influence their actions—either causing them to avoid certain events or to go with the flow. Desire Under the Elms is precisely such a combination of events, despite the play being divided into three parts. The first part can be seen as a phase of searching and self-discovery, where characters attempt to set boundaries, understand their desires, and explore their possibilities. In the second part, a central crime occurs that determines each character's fate, while in the third part, justice is restored, and order—or at least the appearance of peace—replaces chaos.

O'Neill adapted the classical principles of ancient tragedy to express the core of his modern world. The twentieth century not only updated traditional forms but also called for a new approach—depth psychology—which helps readers understand the hidden motives behind characters’ actions and desires. At the same time, modernizing ancient myths and revitalizing mythologemes allowed the dramatist to explore the archetypal qualities of human nature and the fundamental, inescapable conflicts of existence that manifested in his era.

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^[1] For more detailed information on this issue, as well as on the relationship between myth and archetype, gainst thy children? Be dumb, or be warned—thou shalt not escape punishment."

^[2] Translator's note: This text has been translated into English from the Georgian translation. In E.P. Coleridge's English translation, the same passage reads: "Woe to thee, wretch! what stain is this thou hast brought on womanhood? What madness seized thee to betray thy own bed-fellow? What savage crime didst thou commit against thy children? Be dumb, or be warned—thou shalt not escape punishment."