he themes of great tragedy are built largely on
this theme of insistent selfhood. Any obstruction of the self-integrity
one has set one's self may provoke a violent reaction.
It may be interference with one's love, as in the case of Medea
or Othello, the pain of ingratitude as in Lear, the conflict
between "the lower and the higher self," as in the case of
Macbeth's loyalty and his ambition. These are the staple
materials of drama. In common experience, an insult to one's
wife or friend, an obstacle placed in the way of one's professional
career, deprivation of one's liberty or one's property,
or one's unhindered "pursuit of happiness," are the provocations
to violent emotions in the sustaining of the self. How
violent or what form the reaction will take depends on the
situation of the "self" involved. If one has been grossly
insulted by another upon whom one is utterly dependent
socially and economically, a rankling and impotent rage may be
the only outlet. To a person gifted with humility, the
disillusions of a false friendship may provoke nothing more than
a deep but resigned disappointment. Where passion and
determination run high, and retaliation is feasible, a violent
hate may find violent fulfillment. In earlier and more
bloodthirsty days, the dagger, the duel, and poison were, as
illustrated in the history of the Borgias, ways of maintaining
the self and venting one's anger or revenge. Even in
modern society the still distressingly large number of crimes
of violence may be traced in many, perhaps most cases, to
blind and bitter hate. To any deep personal injury, hate,
whether it takes overt form or not, is still the instinctive
answer; just such hate as Euripides represents in the jealous
Medea, when she, a barbarian captive among the Greeks,
sees Jason, her lover, about to be married to a Greek princess:

"... But I, being citiless, am cast aside,
By him that wedded me, a savage bride.
. . . . . . . .
"I ask one thing. If chance yet ope to me
Some path, if even now my hand can win,
Strength to requite this Jason for his sin,
Betray me not! Oh, in all things but this,
I know how full of fears a woman is,
And faints at need, and shrinking from the light
Of battle; but once spoil her of her right
In man's love, and there moves, I warn thee well,
No bloodier spirit between Heaven and Hell."[1]

[Footnote 1: Euripides: _Medea_ (Gilbert Murray translatio