Stranded in Iliad 8 with Nestor and Diomedes: On Reading Homer and Neoanalysis

As I discussed in the general post on book 8, this book is bookended by speeches from Zeus. Book 8 invites some conclusion because its structure seems rather dissolute or unsure: between Zeus’ speeches is a confusing battle scene that starts with Nestor wrecking his chariot and Diomedes rescuing him, near the end of the book, Hektor reigns supreme and nearly kills Nestor and Diomedes. On either side of this action, Hera and Athena flirt with intervening before Zeus’ stops them and rearticulates the plot. 

In important ways, these scenes prepare us for the crisis that motivates the return to Achilles in book 9; but they also act somewhat retrospectively, reinforcing the the themes of the epic’s first third, including Zeus’ control over the action, his managing of the other gods’ defense, and the raising up of other Achaeans, like Diomedes and Nestor, in the face of a vacuum of leadership. Such recapitulations and thematic ‘turning’, I suggest, supports the idea that book 8 is something of a potential stopping point in performance. Even if such thematic reinforcement does not exclusively serve the halting of a performance, at the very least it refocuses the plot on the “plan of Zeus”, the suffering of the Achaeans, and the absence of Achilles.

Such arguments for narrative coherence, however, have often met resistance in Homeric scholarship. In his article “On the “Importance of Iliad book 8”, Erwin cook addresses the scene where Diomedes rescues Nestor from his wrecked chariot. As he notes, many have argued that the scene is modeled on something allegedly included in the lost poem the Aithiopis and that, since the Aithiopis was ‘later’ than the Iliad, that this scene is not a proper part of book 8 and is therefore some sort of a later addition (an interpolation). Cook shows how this book reminds audiences of Zeus’ plan for Achilles and activates the theme of grief (Homeric akhos) repeatedly in its service. He concludes “Homer has marshaled the considerable resources at his disposal, including his inherited traditions and narrative art, with the twin objectives of inspiring akhos in his audience and thereby heightening the emotional drama of the pivotal scene that leads to the embassy to Akhilleus in the next book.”

The late Martin West, probably one of the most famous and successful Hellenists in the Anglophone world over the past two or generations, became a strong proponent of Neoanalysis in the latter part of his career. This approach takes its final form in the two Making of.. Books publishing by Oxford (Making of the Iliad and The Making of the Odyssey), which set out to isolate the ‘original’ version of each poem as it was composed (even written) by individual poets, before the texts were ruined by editors and later scholars. (Not to mention time…). While West’s brilliance as an editor and commentator (his editions of Hesiod have not been surpassed in 60 years) certainly gained these arguments an immediate audience, their reception was not universally positive. In a review of his Iliad book, Bruce Heiden starts by quipping “Despite its misleading title, The Making of the Iliad is not about the Iliad. Its subject matter is an unattested, completely imaginary archaic Greek hexameter poem whose development as a work-in-progress M. L. West sketches in some detail.”

West’s approach is likely the most extreme version of a resuscitation of the analytical approach to Homer. This approach was dominant in the 19th century as scholars struggled with inconsistencies in epic language and plot and the vicissitudes of textual transmission. The scholarship of this school was so rigorous and convincing that by the 1920s, the opposing “Unitarians” were largely discredited as romantics and fools. Of course, the rise of oral-formulaic theory with the work of Milman Parry and Albert Lord changed this story by providing a different way to think about the art of Homeric language and composition. But West would not be the only scholar and reader frustrated by the next half-century of work endeavoring to explore or “prove” Homeric orality.

color photograph of an early Greek vase with orange-brown figures driving a chariot
Mycenaean potery krater decorated with a horse-drawn chariot, 1350-1300 BC (LH IIIa2). Found in Tomb 70, Enkomi, Cyprus. British Museum, GR 1897.4-1.1113. BM Cat Vases C340.

At one significant level, the return to neoanalysis provides permission to think about the way the Homeric epics we have were influenced by other story traditions (in part, the topic of my book with Elton Barker, Homer’s Thebes). As is clear from Cook’s discussion of the chariot scene in Iliad 8, the Iliad is replete with scenes that echo, draw on, or otherwise engage with what we think we know from other narrative traditions. There are, however, significant challenges to this approach: First, there’s a circularity in what we know about these traditions because they are by and large preserved as part of the commentary tradition on the Iliad and the Odyssey (by which I mean the majority of what we know about poems from the epic cycle and other epic traditions remain only in connection with the Homeric epics). 

Second, there is a danger to the assumption that a shared narrative pattern necessarily shows direct connection. As Elton and I argue in our first article together (“Flight Club….”), a shared element could be evidence of influence in either direction, of both traditions drawing on a common antecedent, or, as is more likely, of something much more complicated. In an oral performance tradition, different versions of stories play off one another, creating similarity and difference in a cycle whose end products are nearly impossible to disentangle. Neoanalysis–like analysis before it–can yield a simplistic judgment on relationships between texts:  “The level of specificity and correspondence assumed by neoanalytical studies relies on levels of fixity and repetition characteristic of literary texts and not oral traditions.” (As we put it in Homer’s Thebes see Marks 2008:9–11 criticizes neoanalysis for a diachronic approach that betrays a “source and recipient model” (10))

Now, this is not to claim by any means that neoanalysis has little to offer. A sophisticated approach to the relationship between poetic traditions can demonstrate quite effectively how shared diction, motifs, and narrative patterns are used to create different narrative traditions. There is, I think, ample space for a performance based kind of analytical reading of ancient myth and poetry. And I think some scholars like Bruno Currie or Thomas Nelson are nearing that (even if the reliance on allusion gives me the screaming fantods). One of the things that is interesting about neoanalysis is a tendency to try to “establish the priority of the non-Homeric material” ( Kelly 2012:227).

In general, I have no qualms with showing Homeric poetry stands at the end of a tradition rather than the beginning (because, well, I think it works that way). My wariness comes more from the positivistic approach that identifies Homer with something we don’t have, except in scholarship on Homer, and resides as well in prizing a one-to-one correspondence between a passage in Homer and another text without considering the steps in between, the various versions of either tradition that may have existed, or other lost narratives that shaped the Homeric ones we are trying to contextualize. Such a process at worst can result in an inscrutable parallelomania; most of the time, it models a simplistic kind of interpretation that ignores too much of what we have learned about orality and human cognition.

But the primary qualm I have developed with neoanalysis and similar approaches over the years is that it is too firmly situated in the business of authorship and too little concerned with the experiences of audiences. This is, to a great extent, my discomfort with the language of allusion as well: in its worst examples, the identification of allusion functions to illustrate the cleverness and knowledge of the critic beyond the realistic operations of the narrative.  Neoanalysis and similar approaches do too little to show to what extent audiences were aware of similarities between performed texts. They engage in what I playfully deride as “supply side poetics”, imagining that the full weight of the meaning of poetry comes from what the author wanted it to mean and not from what audiences are willing and able to entertain.

In Homer’s Thebes Elton and I have a home-made graphic illustrating the way meaning making is modeled here: it leaves too little room for audience engagement, misinterpretation, and the mechanics of reception. In addition, it is too insensitive to the potential for multiple versions of ‘traditional’ narratives building off one another, cannibalizing themselves, and competing for attention in an iterative process.

When it comes to Iliad 8, the structure seems to so well articulate prior themes and set the audience up for the return to the political themes of book 9. Note as well that Diomedes and Nestor are crucial to the beginning of that book, too, creating a bridge between the human action of books 8 and 9. Zeus and Hektor are similarly absent from the later book, despite the clear influence they still wield over its action. It is interesting to consider how these plots may have been similar to other stories, but I think one can see that audiences can enjoy the Iliad without any knowledge of this controversy at all.

Almost as if Homeric epic transcends the need for any other stories at all….

Short bibliography on Neoanalysis

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Burgess, Jonathan. “Beyond Neo-Analysis: Problems with the Vengeance Theory.” The American Journal of Philology 118, no. 1 (1997): 1–19. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1562096.

Cook, Erwin F. “On the ‘Importance’ of Iliad Book 8.” Classical Philology 104, no. 2 (2009): 133–61. 

Currie, B. 2016. Homer’s Allusive Art. Oxford.

Danek, G. 1998. Epos und Zitat: Studien zur Quellen der Odyssee. Vienna.

Kakridis, J. T. 1949. Homeric Researches. Lund.

Kelly, A. 2006. “Neoanalysis and the Nestorbedrängnis: A Test Case.” Hermes 134: 1–25.

Kelly, Adrian. 2007. A Referential Commentary and Lexicon to Homer, “Iliad” VIII. Oxford.

Kelly, Adrian. 2012. “The Mourning of Thetis: ‘Allusion’ and the Future in the Iliad.” In F. Montanari, A. Rengakos, and C. Tsagalis, 211–256. Leiden.

Kullmann, W. 1960. Die Quellen der Ilias. Wiesbaden.

———. 1984. “Oral Poetry Theory and Neoanalysis in Homeric Research.” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 25:307–324.

Kullmann, Wolfgang. “Gods and Men in the Iliad and the Odyssey.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 89 (1985): 1–23. https://doi.org/10.2307/311265.

———. 2002. “Nachlese zur Neoanalyse.” In Realität, Imagination und Theorie, ed. A. Rengakos, 162–176. Stuttgart.

Marks, J. R.  2008. Zeus in the Odyssey. Hellenic Studies 31. Washington, DC.

Nelson, Thomas J. 2023. Markers of Allusion in Archaic Greek Poetry. Cambridge (Cambridge University Press).

READY, JONATHAN L. Review of NEOANALYSIS AND HOMER, by F. Montanari, A. Rengakos, and C. Tsagalis. The Classical Review 63, no. 2 (2013): 321–23. http://www.jstor.org/stable/43301410.

WEST, MARTIN. “The Homeric Question Today.” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 155, no. 4 (2011): 383–93. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23208780.

Willcock, M. M. . 1997. “Neo-Analysis.” In Morris and Powell 1997:174–189.

Wishing the Impossible: Hektor in Iliad 8

Book 8 offers us our third vision of Hektor in as many books. In book 6, he takes us inside the city of Troy as he speaks to his mother, Helen, and Andromache. Book 7 shows him challenging Ajax to a duel before returning the focus on the city itself. In book 8, Hektor (eventually) takes control of the battlefield and leads the Trojans to remain outside the city walls over night for the first time in the war (according to the Iliad).

At first glance, Hektor seems to be one of the epic’s most straightforward characters: he is the leader of the Trojan war effort, a father and husband, and brother to the prince who started the conflict. The Greeks almost unanimously describe him as a danger on the field: Achilles evokes this by calling him “man-slaying Hektor” from the beginning. And his named-murder count supports his menace: he kills the most named heroes of everyone in the epic. But from our perspective, the Iliadic presentation isn’t without question: Hektor fails to match up to Ajax and Diomedes and ultimately runs when faced with Achilles.

This particular Hektor may be more complex than a stock Trojan leader from the mythical tradition. Compare, for example, the Hektor depicted in Euripides’ Rhesos: he is much more menacing and authoritarian—to the point of being tyrannical—than the Iliad version. Homer’s Hektor wistfully wishes for his son’s future, upbraids and then humors his brother, and is eulogized at the end of the epic as the only Trojan who was kind to Helen. Over a century ago, J. A. Scott argued that the remarkable nature of Hektor’s character was because he was a Homeric innovation, central and special to our Iliad. F. M. Combellack, writing decades later, diagnosed that much of this argument was based on Scott’s own love for the Trojan hero.

Indeed, readers seem to respond to Hektor: I frequently hear that he is the one noble character in the epic, the one person we root for no matter what. (There’s something about our psychological attraction for the victim, for the oppressed here, but I will leave that for another time). James Redfield and Lynn Kozak have both written about Hektor’s character in different ways, but I think both of them get something right: Hektor is different from all of the other characters in the epic.

I used to try to explain that difference with students by saying that Hektor isn’t divine like Achilles or surpassingly clever like Odysseus—he is closer to what a decent person can hope to be: steadfast and strong in the face of adversity, loyal and dear to his family. At the core, he is a clear instantiation of that archaic definition of justice, to help one’s friends and hurt his family. At the core, however, there’s a sadness, a withdrawal to Hektor. And I think we find this in his language, and his resistance to it.

Hilary Mackie (1996, 11 and 107-9) positions Hektor as the archetypal Trojan speaker even though many features of his speeches are idiosyncratic.  He is intensely concerned with his fame (kléos) and frequently imagines other people talking about him. His imagination produces a capacity for self-delusion, a desire for a different world, as he is forever trying to fit the world to his words with impossible wishes and paradoxical desires (8.165-6, 179 and 196-7). Hektor does not “converse” normally. Frequently he commands a subordinate or family member and then leaves without response (6.116, 6.286, 6.369, 6.494-5, 6.529-7.1, 12.442 and 17.491.); Hektor often reacts only with action, cf. 3.75, 5.493, 6.342, 12.80, 13.787, 20.379, 22.78, and 22.91). This summary of Hektor, however, goes against our typical emotional responses.

Il. 8.529-542

“But let’s keeps ourselves safe out here for the night,
Then at first light we will arm ourselves and
Wake up sharp Ares alongside the grey ships.
I will find out then if Tydeus’ son, strong Diomedes,
Will push me back to the wall from the ships
Or if I will savage him with bronze and carry away his bloody weapons.

Tomorrow will show the proof of our excellence, if he will stand
To face my spear’s approach. But I think that he will fall there
Struck among the first ranks and many of his companions
Will be there around him as the sun sets toward the next dear.
But I wish I were deathless and ageless for all time,
Then I would pay them back as Athena or Apollo might,
And now on this day bring evil to the Argives.”

So Hektor spoke and the Trojans cheered in response.

ἀλλ’ ἤτοι ἐπὶ νυκτὶ φυλάξομεν ἡμέας αὐτούς,
πρῶϊ δ’ ὑπηοῖοι σὺν τεύχεσι θωρηχθέντες
νηυσὶν ἔπι γλαφυρῇσιν ἐγείρομεν ὀξὺν ῎Αρηα.
εἴσομαι εἴ κέ μ’ ὁ Τυδεΐδης κρατερὸς Διομήδης
πὰρ νηῶν πρὸς τεῖχος ἀπώσεται, ἤ κεν ἐγὼ τὸν
χαλκῷ δῃώσας ἔναρα βροτόεντα φέρωμαι.
αὔριον ἣν ἀρετὴν διαείσεται, εἴ κ’ ἐμὸν ἔγχος
μείνῃ ἐπερχόμενον· ἀλλ’ ἐν πρώτοισιν ὀΐω
κείσεται οὐτηθείς, πολέες δ’ ἀμφ’ αὐτὸν ἑταῖροι
ἠελίου ἀνιόντος ἐς αὔριον· εἰ γὰρ ἐγὼν ὣς
εἴην ἀθάνατος καὶ ἀγήρως ἤματα πάντα,
τιοίμην δ’ ὡς τίετ’ ᾿Αθηναίη καὶ ᾿Απόλλων,
ὡς νῦν ἡμέρη ἧδε κακὸν φέρει ᾿Αργείοισιν.
῝Ως ῞Εκτωρ ἀγόρευ’, ἐπὶ δὲ Τρῶες κελάδησαν.

This is typical of Hektor’s speeches: he expresses an eagerness to fight that nears being boastful; like many Trojan speakers committed to the either/or proposition of kill or be killed. But he rallies his people. His wish to be immortal isn’t praised in the scholia: (“Praying for the impossible is barbaric” βαρβαρικὸν τὸ εὔχεσθαι τὰ ἀδύνατα, Schol. bT ad Hom. Il. 8.538-539b). Hektor’s language here evokes the ‘bipartite’ immortality that appears often in epic poetry. In Homer’s Thebes, Elton and I note:

“The quasi-magical formula with which the goddess offers Odysseus the chance to become immortal—“to be deathless and ageless for all days” (θήσειν ἀθάνατον καὶ ἀγήραον ἤματα πάντα, 5.136)—resonates through the epic cosmos. We hear it when Demeter tries to make Demophoon immortal in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter or when Eos succeeds in making Tithonus deathless but not ageless in the Hymn to Aphrodite. Homer’s Thebes 2020, 99

To see how Hektor’s wish here is different from these other instances, it is useful to look at a famous passage from a speech from Sarpedon.

Il. 12.322-328

“Oh, if the two of us could really escape this war,
And would somehow become ageless and deathless,
I wouldn’t fight among the foremost myself
Nor would I send you into man-ennobling battling.
But since death’s fates stand ready around us now
Countless, those ends no mortal is permitted to escape or avoid,
Let us go and give glory to someone else or take it ourselves.”

ὦ πέπον εἰ μὲν γὰρ πόλεμον περὶ τόνδε φυγόντε
αἰεὶ δὴ μέλλοιμεν ἀγήρω τ’ ἀθανάτω τε
ἔσσεσθ’, οὔτέ κεν αὐτὸς ἐνὶ πρώτοισι μαχοίμην
οὔτέ κε σὲ στέλλοιμι μάχην ἐς κυδιάνειραν·
νῦν δ’ ἔμπης γὰρ κῆρες ἐφεστᾶσιν θανάτοιο
μυρίαι, ἃς οὐκ ἔστι φυγεῖν βροτὸν οὐδ’ ὑπαλύξαι,
ἴομεν ἠέ τῳ εὖχος ὀρέξομεν ἠέ τις ἡμῖν. ”

The Scholia are a little more generous to Sarpedon’s wish:

Schol bT Ad Hom. Il. 12.322-328

“This is a noble statement. For he says that death is common to all, but dying with a good reputation is only for the good. For he means to say that there’s no ultimate safety or escape from death, just a minor delay in time with ignominy.

     ex. εἰ μὲν γὰρ πόλεμον περὶ τόνδε φυγόντε<— ἡμῖν>: εὐγενὴς ἡ γνώμη· τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἀποθανεῖν κοινὸν ἀποφαίνει πάντων (cf. 326—7), τὸ δὲ μετ’ εὐκλείας τῶν ἀγαθῶν μόνων. καὶ τὴν παραυτίκα σωτηρίαν οὐκ ἀπαλλαγὴν θανάτου, ἀλλ’ ἀναβολὴν χρόνου μικρὰν μετ’ ἀδοξίας γινομένην φησὶν εἶναι

Where Hektor imagines that if he were immortal, he would fight forever, Sarpedon imagines that if he were immortal, he would not fight at all. He most clearly articulates that essential notion of Homeric kleos, that human life has meaning because it is limited and that giving up so precious a thing, warriors may gain some qualified type of immortality through renown.

While Hektor flirts with this in his speech to the Achaeans in book 7, here in front of the Trojans he rallies them by promising that he would spend his immortality on an eternal war. Troy is fated to live only as long as Hektor lasts and fights; he imagines that his immortality might translate similarly into a city that cannot end, braced by him against a war that ever rages. 

At the core of the difference between Sarpedon and Hektor is the fiction of the choice, the very one Achilles claims he has in book 9. Here’s the inescapable sadness fundamental to Hektor’s characterization. Exchanging life for glory is meaningless, if not impossible, if everyone you loves dies without you there to protect them.

Pottery: red-figured volute-krater (bowl for mixing wine and water) with figure scenes on confined to a narrow, frieze-like band that encircles the lower element of the neck. (a) Combat of Achilles and Hector in the presence of Athena and Apollo.
British Museum E468, c. 490-460 BCE

Short bibliography on Hektor

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know. Follow-up posts will address kleos and Trojan politics

Clark, Matthew. “Poulydamas and Hektor.” College Literature 34, no. 2 (2007): 85–106. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25115422.

Combellack, Frederick M. “Homer and Hector.” The American Journal of Philology 65, no. 3 (1944): 209–43. https://doi.org/10.2307/291490.

Farron, S. “THE CHARACTER OF HECTOR IN THE ‘ILIAD.’” Acta Classica 21 (1978): 39–57. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24591547.

Lynn Kozak, Experiencing Hektor: Character in the Iliad. Bloomsbury Classical Studies Monographs. London; New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2016. xiv, 307. 

Hillary Mackie. Talking Trojan: Speech and Community in the Iliad . Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1996.

W. R. Nethercut. “Hektor at the Abyss.” Classical Bulletin 49 (1972) 7-9.

Pantelia, Maria C. “Helen and the Last Song for Hector.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-) 132, no. 1/2 (2002): 21–27. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20054056.

James Redfield. Nature and Culture in the Iliad: The Tragedy of Hektor. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975.

Scott, John A. “The Parting of Hector and Andromache.” The Classical Journal 9, no. 6 (1914): 274–77. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3287165.

Scott, John A. “Paris and Hector in Tradition and in Homer.” Classical Philology 8, no. 2 (1913): 160–71. http://www.jstor.org/stable/262449.

Traill, David A. “Unfair to Hector?” Classical Philology 85, no. 4 (1990): 299–303. http://www.jstor.org/stable/269583.

Tyranny and the Plot: Introducing Iliad 8

Book 8 returns the Iliad to battle. It begins with a divine council, where Zeus attempts to control the actions of the other gods and by doing so, shapes the plot to come. The violence inspires Hera to try to disobey Zeus’ injunction, resulting in the flow of battle first favoring the Trojans and then the Greeks. Zeus has Iris prevent Athena and Hera from engaging further in the battle and the end of the book features two important moments: Zeus reveals his plan to the rest of the gods for the sides to struggle until Patroklos dies; Hektor has the Trojans camp outside the city for the first time in the conflict. The plot of this book engages critically with the major themes I have noted to follow in reading the Iliad: (1) Politics, (2) Heroism; (3) Gods and Humans; (4) Family & Friends; (5) Narrative Traditions. But the central themes I emphasize in reading and teaching book 8 are Gods and Humans and Narrative Traditions.

Zeus and the Plot of the Iliad

As I discuss in the introductory post on book 4, Zeus is instrumental in shaping the plot of the Iliad. The epic is cast as part of his “plan” in book 1, but he also articulates the plot of the epic at several key moments. There are different ways to think about Zeus’ intervention: As Bruce Heiden argues, we too often think about the Iliad as a text to be read, rather than one that was performed. The performance units are unknown to us: certainly, parts of epic narrative circulated as episodes (the teikhomakhia, “battle around the wall”; or teikhoskopia, “viewing from the walls”) but we can’t know from ancient references to such scenes whether they correspond to the same scenes we have in the written texts. Some have proposed that the book divisions we have were also performance units, but few of the books exhibit a kind of clear beginning, middle and end that would lend themselves to such performances.

Based on the three days of performances at the City Dionysia in Athens, some scholars have suggested a three-part sequence in a ‘monumental’ or ideal performance of the Iliad in some sort of a religious festival. There are several proposals, but the one I have always found most persuasive is Heiden’s: he remarks that Zeus has significant decisions and speeches in books 1 and 24, to begin and end and shape the plot, but that he also outlines the plot to come for the first time: in the latter part of book 8, and the latter part of book 15. Each of these moments could be seen as a ‘teaser’ for the next performance, outlining or anticipating the narrative to come in the same way a weekly television episode might end with “Next week, on [the Iliad]…” In this case, the performance units would be books 1-8, 9-15, and 16-24.

Now, even if we don’t subscribe to the tripartite performance structure, or, more importantly, if we acknowledge that the epic’s contents have not always been enjoyed in such a fashion, we can still see the effect that Zeus’s speeches have on the epic. He refocuses the action and dictates the plot.

Il. 8.469-483

“Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered Hera:
‘At dawn you will see the powerful son of Kronos,
If you want, cow-eyed Queen Hera,
Destroying the great host of spear-wielding Argives.
Hektor will not take a break from war until
The swift-footed son of Peleus rises among the ships
On that day when they battle among the prows
In the greatest strain over Patroklos who has died.
This is divinely decreed. I don’t care about whether
You are angry, not even if you run away to the ends
Of the earth and the sea, where Iapetos and Kronos
Sit and take pleasure neither in the rays of Helios
Nor in the winds, since Tartaros is steep around them.
Even if you go wandering there, I don’t care if you’re
Angry, since there’s no one more doglike than you.”

Τὴν δ’ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς·
ἠοῦς δὴ καὶ μᾶλλον ὑπερμενέα Κρονίωνα
ὄψεαι, αἴ κ’ ἐθέλῃσθα, βοῶπις πότνια ῞Ηρη
ὀλλύντ’ ᾿Αργείων πουλὺν στρατὸν αἰχμητάων·
οὐ γὰρ πρὶν πολέμου ἀποπαύσεται ὄβριμος ῞Εκτωρ
πρὶν ὄρθαι παρὰ ναῦφι ποδώκεα Πηλεΐωνα,
ἤματι τῷ ὅτ’ ἂν οἳ μὲν ἐπὶ πρύμνῃσι μάχωνται
στείνει ἐν αἰνοτάτῳ περὶ Πατρόκλοιο θανόντος·
ὣς γὰρ θέσφατόν ἐστι· σέθεν δ’ ἐγὼ οὐκ ἀλεγίζω
χωομένης, οὐδ’ εἴ κε τὰ νείατα πείραθ’ ἵκηαι
γαίης καὶ πόντοιο, ἵν’ ᾿Ιάπετός τε Κρόνος τε
ἥμενοι οὔτ’ αὐγῇς ῾Υπερίονος ᾿Ηελίοιο
τέρποντ’ οὔτ’ ἀνέμοισι, βαθὺς δέ τε Τάρταρος ἀμφίς·
οὐδ’ ἢν ἔνθ’ ἀφίκηαι ἀλωμένη, οὔ σευ ἔγωγε
σκυζομένης ἀλέγω, ἐπεὶ οὐ σέο κύντερον ἄλλο.

Zeus’ control of the plot, in an echo of his language at the beginning of books 4 and 8, is somehow related to his physical might and reminders of a theomachy that led to the Titans (or someone like them) being exiled to Tartarus. At the beginning of 8, he reminds the gods that they cannot overpower him and threatens to hurl anyone who disobeys him into the underworld (10-20). In book 4, Zeus is not explicit in threatening Hera, but he does imply he will destroy one of her favorite cities as payback for the destruction of Troy (4.25-30). Book 5 is replete with echoes of divine war; but book 8 seems the most explicit in bookending the action with references to the consequences of opposing Zeus. By flexing his rhetorical muscle, Zeus both forestalls any further action against him and clarifies the epic’s plot.

If we are imagining books 1-8 as a performance unit, this final speech closes Zeus’ response to Achilles’ request in book 1: Achilles asks for the Achaeans to be punished; here Zeus makes it clear that Patroklos’ death is a part of his honoring of that request. Of course, there interpretive space for understanding Zeus’ action. A scholiast explains for the phrase “this is divinely decreed” that “[Zeus] is tossing out that this is fated, so that he doesn’t seem to play the part of tyrant” τὸ μοιρίδιον προβάλλεται, ἵνα / μὴ δοκῇ τυραννεῖν, Schol. bT ad Hom. Il. 8.477). As if that settles it all!

color photograph of a red figure vase showing Zeus with sceptre pursuing a woman, another woman fleeing
Kassel, Antikensammlung (Schloss Wilhelmshöhe) cf. 540 BCE

On the performance of the Iliad and book 8

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know. Follow-up posts will address book 8 and other traditions

Cook, Erwin F. “On the ‘Importance’ of Iliad Book 8.” Classical Philology, vol. 104, no. 2, 2009, pp. 133–61. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.1086/605340

Fenno, Jonathan. “‘A Great Wave against the Stream’: Water Imagery in Iliadic Battle Scenes.” The American Journal of Philology 126, no. 4 (2005): 475–504. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3804872.

Foley, J. M. 1988. The Theory of Oral Composition: History and Methodology. Bloomington.

———. 1999. Homer’s Traditional Art. Philadelphia.

González, José M. 2013. The Epic Rhapsode and His Craft: Homeric Performance in a Diachronic Perspective. Washington, D.C.: Center for Hellenic Studies.

Heiden, B. (1996). The three movements of the iliad. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, 37(1), 5-22. Retrieved from https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/three-movements-iliad/docview/229178418/se-2

Bruce Heiden. “The Placement of ‘Book Divisions’ in the Iliad.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 118 (1998): 68–81. https://doi.org/10.2307/632231.

Heiden, B. 2008. Homer’s Cosmic Fabrication: Choice and Design in the Iliad. Oxford.

Lord, Albert. 2000. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

MORRISON, J. V. “‘KEROSTASIA’, THE DICTATES OF FATE, AND THE WILL OF ZEUS IN THE ‘ILIAD.’” Arethusa 30, no. 2 (1997): 273–96. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44578099.

Scodel, Ruth. 2002. Listening to Homer: Tradition, Narrative, and Audience. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Stroud, T. A., and Elizabeth Robertson. “Aristotle’s ‘Poetics’ and the Plot of the ‘Iliad.’” The Classical World 89, no. 3 (1996): 179–96. https://doi.org/10.2307/4351783.

Taplin, Oliver. . 1992. Homeric Soundings: The Shape of the Iliad. Oxford.

Ashamed and Afraid: The Rhetoric of Kleos in Iliad 7

Homer, Iliad 7.81-93

“But I kill one of you—and Apollo grants me glory,
Then once I strip off your weapons, I will take them to holy Troy
And I will hang them on the temple of far-shooting Apollo.
But I will return the body to the well-benched ships,
And the Achaeans with the long hair will bury him.
They will heap him up a sign on the broad Hellespont
And then someone of the people who are born later will say
As they sail on the wine-dark sea in a many-benched ship,
“This is the grave of a man who died long ago,
Someone whom shining Hektor killed when he was the best”
So someone will say some day, and my fame will never perish”
So he spoke and everyone stayed quiet in the silence.
They were ashamed to refuse, but afraid to accept.”

εἰ δέ κ’ ἐγὼ τὸν ἕλω, δώῃ δέ μοι εὖχος ᾿Απόλλων,
τεύχεα σύλησας οἴσω προτὶ ῎Ιλιον ἱρήν,
καὶ κρεμόω προτὶ νηὸν ᾿Απόλλωνος ἑκάτοιο,
τὸν δὲ νέκυν ἐπὶ νῆας ἐϋσσέλμους ἀποδώσω,
ὄφρά ἑ ταρχύσωσι κάρη κομόωντες ᾿Αχαιοί,
σῆμά τέ οἱ χεύωσιν ἐπὶ πλατεῖ ῾Ελλησπόντῳ.
καί ποτέ τις εἴπῃσι καὶ ὀψιγόνων ἀνθρώπων
νηῒ πολυκλήϊδι πλέων ἐπὶ οἴνοπα πόντον·
ἀνδρὸς μὲν τόδε σῆμα πάλαι κατατεθνηῶτος,
ὅν ποτ’ ἀριστεύοντα κατέκτανε φαίδιμος ῞Εκτωρ.
ὥς ποτέ τις ἐρέει· τὸ δ’ ἐμὸν κλέος οὔ ποτ’ ὀλεῖται.
῝Ως ἔφαθ’, οἱ δ’ ἄρα πάντες ἀκὴν ἐγένοντο σιωπῇ·
αἴδεσθεν μὲν ἀνήνασθαι, δεῖσαν δ’ ὑποδέχθαι·

This speech comes near the beginning of Iliad 7 as Hektor is challenging one of the Greeks to fight him in single combat. Its position and content speak directly both to the characterization of Hektor, some problems of the structure of the Iliad, and the metapoetics of kleos (or, more appropriately, the occluded poetics of the epic “kleos function”). Let me try to address them in order.

First, Hektor is using this language not 45 minutes in performance time from his encounter with Andromache and Astyanax on the wall of Troy where he ends by praying for his son to be better than his father and to delight his mother’s heart by returning from nettle with another man’s weapons just as Hektor hopes for himself now (6.479-81). There as well, Hektor engages with what some have called “tis-speech” imagining the future words of others (de Jong 1987). Hilary Mackie refers to these moments as vignettes and notes that all but one of them appear in Hektor’s speeches (6.460-1; 6.479-50; 7.88-91; 7.300-2; and 22.107). For Mackie, these support Hektor’s tendency towards “an inward focus and absorption in the scenes he is creating” (1996, 98-99). This separation from reality, the rumination and the accompanying verbal tic of moving between a harsh assessment of reality (Hektor’s statements that he will in fact die) and flights of fancy, is supportive of a character in distress, I believe. Hektor is engaging in classic rumination, in delaying tactics, as he pushes against the reality of his situation. His decisions and his actions may be shaped by trauma. (Or, to put it less aggressively, his characterization may be such that it allows others to see him as responding erratically as one in a traumatized state may do.)

In a way, Hektor is a complement for Achilles’ contemplation of heroic valor and the promise of eternal fame. But he approaches it from a more shame-based perspective. (See Schein the Mortal Hero, 177-178 for more on hector as a hero shaped by shame and Redfield, Nature and Culture 119-126 for Hektor’s heroism as a function of responsibility and obligation.) In nearly every major speech that indicates a decision or a resistance/regret for one being suggested (see Hektor in book 6 and 22), Hektor worries of shame and reputation which may be considered part of the rhetoric of fame, since the latter is shaped to an extent by the meaning of the former. Hektor, as Richard Martin has noted (1989, 133), is particularly concerned with winning a reputation. This concern expands beyond the boundaries of the poem (in time and space) in a manner that is really only achieved elsewhere by Achilles. When he refuses Andromache’s plea to stay within the walls in book 6, he immediately claims he fears feeling shame in front of the Trojans and predicts, using language that recalls this speech, that some day someone will see Andromache enslaved and crying and that her pain will rise anew from the loss of a husband who can no longer save her.

The projections of objects into the future that attest to Hektor’s absence, his success in gaining fame, and his failure to protect his wife, must in some way hang together in the mind of the audience. While we often take Hektor’s comments in book 7 as signal words on Homeric fame, they are words shaped by the public context that is in and of itself about the shame of people witnessing your excellence or commemorating one’s fall. When Hektor speaks to Andromache a book earlier, he projects her into the future as a different sêma (marker) of his absence, but one that correlates to his failure. The personal, intimate nature of this and Hektor’s expression of pain—that he would rather the earth cover over him than have to hear her crying (6.459-465) both underscores Hektor’s conflicted feelings and also undermines the significance of his later claims.

Yet, perhaps this too is an overstatement. Hektor’s bluster in public is a function of his refusal to reject shame, to stand down or seem less-than in front of his people and his enemies. In the intimate wish to his wife, he doesn’t mention glory or a grave, but instead wishes for oblivion, to be covered by the earth and to have no news of the horrors that continue after his death. If anything, rather than being an indication of an inconsistent character, these two vignettes point to an emotional coherence and a deep complexity to Hektor’s character.

And I am so bold as to imagine that the structure of books 6 into 7 reflect this. Why does the Iliad need a second duel between heroes in its first half? Why, 10 years into the war, should Ajax and Hektor face each other in a single combat that is ultimately meaningless? And why, of all possible moments, have this be the one when Hektor points to the sema of his own grave as the guarantee of the continuity of memory for his own kleos? I may be as yet and as ever too modern in saying this, but I suspect the futility and the mundanity of the scene is the point. Hektor’s duel—and his fame to come—impact nothing of the world he cares about and may, at best, preserve a kleos that is as much a record of this as of all he could not protect.

The incoherence of the events that follow may support the coherence of this characterization. Hektor’s challenge inspires fear—and the response reported by the narrator echoes Hektor’s own concern with shame (αἴδεσθεν μὲν ἀνήνασθαι, δεῖσαν δ’ ὑποδέχθαι, 93). Nestor follows with the language shame reminds the Achaeans of their own boasts, Menelaos gets frustrated and is said by the narrator to be about to die (7.104) if he faces Hektor, only for Ajax to win a random drawing to face Hektor. Despite their fear of Hekor, Ajax seems to acquit himself quite well, save for an intervention by Apollo (7.272-273). The ‘draw’ is a stepping back from the conflict that has the Trojans relieved that Hektor survived and Agamemnon delighted at Ajax’s “victory” (7.312).

Throughout Hektor’s characterization in the Iliad we find a tension between the man we are told he should be and the figure we actually see in action. After returning to this speech again, I think that such tension is a direct function of Hektor’s relationship to kleos as clarified by his contrast with Achilles: he does not fight by choice, like Achilles; but he fights by obligation. His imagined futures change depending on whether they are public or private as he tries to play the part of a warrior prince who has learned to fight and die for his people while still struggling with the human part of knowing what his failure means for his city, spouse and child. Together, Achilles and Hektor can provide reflections on the limits of epic kleos and the conditions under which it matters and cannot. We just need to hear them as speaking in dialogue with each other, and us.

File:Hector comb MNA Taranto.jpg
Achilles dragging Hector’s corpse through the Greek camp. Bone comb from tomb 5, via Frascati in Oria.

Short bibliography on Hektor

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know. Follow-up posts will address kleos and Trojan politics

Clark, Matthew. “Poulydamas and Hektor.” College Literature 34, no. 2 (2007): 85–106. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25115422.

Combellack, Frederick M. “Homer and Hector.” The American Journal of Philology 65, no. 3 (1944): 209–43. https://doi.org/10.2307/291490.

Farron, S. “THE CHARACTER OF HECTOR IN THE ‘ILIAD.’” Acta Classica 21 (1978): 39–57. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24591547.

Horn, Fabian. “The psychology of aggression: Achilles’ wrath and Hector’s flight in Iliad 22.131-7.” Hermes, vol. 146, no. 3, 2018, pp. 277-289. Doi: 10.25162/hermes-2018-0023

Irene J. F. de Jong. “The Voice of Anonymity. Tis-Speeches in the Iliad.” Eranos 85 (1987) 5-22.

Lynn Kozak, Experiencing Hektor: Character in the Iliad. Bloomsbury Classical Studies Monographs. London; New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2016. xiv, 307. 

Hillary Mackie. Talking Trojan: Speech and Community in the Iliad . Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1996.

Van der Mije, Sebastiaan Reinier. “Bad herbs: the snake simile in Iliad 22.” Mnemosyne, Ser. 4, vol. 64, no. 3, 2011, pp. 359-382. Doi: 10.1163/156852511X505079

W. R. Nethercut. “Hektor at the Abyss.” Classical Bulletin 49 (1972) 7-9.

Oele, Marjolein. “Priam’s despair and courage: an Aristotelian reading of fear, hope, and suffering in Homer’s « Iliad ».” Logoi and muthoi : further essays in Greek philosophy and literature. Ed. Wians, William. SUNY Series in Ancient Greek Philosophy. Albany (N. Y.): State University of New York Pr., 2019. 297-317.

Pantelia, Maria C. “Helen and the Last Song for Hector.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-) 132, no. 1/2 (2002): 21–27. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20054056.

Pucci, Pietro. “Divine protagonists in the « Iliad »: Hector’s death in book 22.” Yearbook of Ancient Greek Epic, vol. 1, 2017, pp. 175-205.

Ready, Jonathan L.. “Iliad 22.123-128 and the erotics of supplication.” The Classical Bulletin, vol. 81, no. 2, 2005, pp. 145-164.

James Redfield. Nature and Culture in the Iliad: The Tragedy of Hektor. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975.

Scott, John A. “The Parting of Hector and Andromache.” The Classical Journal 9, no. 6 (1914): 274–77. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3287165.

Scott, John A. “Paris and Hector in Tradition and in Homer.” Classical Philology 8, no. 2 (1913): 160–71. http://www.jstor.org/stable/262449.

Traill, David A. “Unfair to Hector?” Classical Philology 85, no. 4 (1990): 299–303. http://www.jstor.org/stable/269583.

Give Helen Back! Trojan Politics in Iliad 7

Book 7, as discussed in the introductory post, can be split into the following subsections: the divine orchestration of the duel, the duel between Hektor and Ajax, assemblies of the Trojans and the Greeks, and the building of the Achaean wall and the divine response. These events are part of an “analeptic” {retrospective or flashback)  movement in the epic’s first third, as the Iliad attempts to evoke the themes of the first nine years of the Trojan War. The assemblies in the latter half of the book provide a unique opportunity to compare Greek and Trojan political organizations.

As others have written, the political institutions in the Iliad reflect the basic organization of many Greek city-states: a small, mostly aristocratic/oligarchic council for governing and decision-making, and a larger public assembly for the adjudication of disputes and the performance of political relationships. The three distinct political groups in epic–the Achaeans, Trojans, and the Gods–all provide various versions of these institutions and the ‘success’ of each polity partly hinges on how they work.

Elsewhere, I have outlined the major ‘political’ activities in the Iliad. Apart from the repeated engagement between Poulydamas and Hektor, Antenor’s speech in book 7 is one of the few times the Trojans encounter dissent. The significance of these scenes is often missed between the more famous dual and the divine response to the construction of the Achaean walls.

Antenor is an interesting figure: in a way, he is positioned as something of an equivalent to Nestor. The larger poetic tradition, however, notes that he was known as being friendly to the Greeks and provides some ground for suspicion. 

Schol bT Il. 3.205a ex. 1-5

When they were coming out of Tenedos as ambassadors with Menelaos, Antênôr, the son of Hiketaos received them and saved them when they were almost killed through deceit. For this reason, during the sack of Troy, Agamemnon ordered that the household of Antênor be spared, and he signalled this by hanging a leopard’s skin in front of his home. 

ὅτε ἐκ Τενέδου ἐπρεσβεύοντο οἱ περὶ Μενέλαον, τότε ᾿Αντήνωρ ὁ ῾Ικετάονος ὑπεδέξατο αὐτούς, καὶ δολοφονεῖσθαι μέλλοντας ἔσωσεν· ὅθεν μετὰ τὴν ἅλωσιν τῆς Τροίας ἐκέλευσεν ᾿Αγαμέμνων φείσασθαι τῶν οἰκείων ᾿Αντήνορος, παρδάλεως δορὰν ἐξάψας πρὸ τῶν οἴκων αὐτοῦ.

 Schol. in Il. bT 7.335a ex. 1-4

Another Trojan assembly: for it was necessary to look at what should be done since the sons of the king were being beaten, the city was imperiled by Diomedes and, because of the transgression, they were in dire straits. [as] There was Nestor among the Greeks, the Trojans had Antênor.

Τρώων αὖτ’ ἀγορή: ἔδει γὰρ τῶν τοῦ βασιλέως υἱῶν ἡττωμένων καὶ κινδυνευσάσης τῆς πόλεως ὑπὸ Διομήδους, δυσελπίδων ὄντων διὰ τὴν παράβασιν, σκοπεῖν τι τῶν ἀναγκαίων. ἔστι δὲ ἐν τοῖς ῞Ελλησι Νέστωρ, ἐν δὲ Τρωσὶν ᾿Αντήνωρ.

Schol. in Il. bT 7.347a ex. 1-3

Antênor stands among them because he is was a patron of the Greeks, a public speaker, and a god-fearing man. And Hektor was silent because he is ashamed to end the war, lest he appear to be afraid because he was just defeated.

ex. τοῖσιν δ’ ᾿Αντήνωρ: ὡς πρόξενος ῾Ελλήνων καὶ δημηγορῶν καὶ θεοσεβής. ῞Εκτωρ δὲ σιωπᾷ αἰσχυνόμενος διαλύειν τὴν μάχην, ἵνα μὴ δοκῇ δεδοικέναι διὰ τὸ νεωστὶ ἡττῆσθαι.

What I find most interesting in the scenes that follow is how Priam is forced to accommodate Antenor’s dissent alongside Paris’ recalcitrance. Of course, Antenor’s suggestion to return Helen is against the poetic tradition and ultimately possible. At some level, there’s no reason for this scene to exist at all, unless it reflects in some way on the themes of this particular version of Achilles’ rage. As I argue in an article from a few years back, the exchanges in book 7 function as an index of the “limits on advice and deliberation” in the Trojan polity.

In the sequences of speeches below, note how Priam attempts to acknowledge the ‘plans’ of both speakers and then directs the herald Idaios to take the complex messages to the Achaeans. Rather than delivering Priam’s speech verbatim, Idaios modifies it, especially in the delivery of Paris’ proposals.

Opening of the Trojan Assembly, 7.345-353

Then the Trojan assembly was held on the city peak of Ilium,
terribly disordered, alongside the doorways of Priam’s home.
Among them prudent Antenor began to speak publicly:
‘Hear me Trojans, Dardanians, and allies
so that I may speak what the heart in my chest bids.
Come now, let us give Argive Helen and her possessions too,
to the sons of Atreus to take away; now we fight
even though we made false the sacred oaths; thus I do not expect
that anything advantageous for us will happen unless we do this.’

Paris’ Response, 7.354-64

‘Antenor, no longer do you speak these things dear to me—
you know how to think up yet another mûthos better than this.
If you say this truthfully in public and earnestly indeed,
then the gods themselves have surely already obliterated your wits.
But I will speak out publicly among the horse-taming Trojans:
I refuse this straight-out; I will not hand over the woman;
but, however many things I took from Argos to our home
I am willing to give them back and to add other things from my household.’

Priam’s Intervention, 7.365-79

And saying this he [Paris] sat down and among them rose
Dardanian Priam, a counselor equal to the gods—
well-intentioned towards them he spoke publicly and spoke among them:
‘Hear me Trojans and Dardanians and allies
so that I may say those things the heart in my chest bids.
Now, take your dinner throughout the city as you have before
and be mindful of the watch and keep each other awake.
At dawn let Idaios go to the curved ships
to repeat the plan of Alexandros, on whose account this conflict has arisen,
to Atreus’ sons, Agamemnon and Menelaos—
and also to propose this wise plan, if they wish
to stop the ill-sounding war until we have burned the corpses;
we will fight again later until the god separates us
and grants victory to one side at least.’
So he spoke and they all heard him and obeyed.

Idaios’ Report to the Achaians, 7.382-398

[Idaios] found the Danaans, Ares’ followers, in assembly
by the prow of Agamemnon’s ship. Then standing among them
in the middle the loud-voiced herald spoke:

‘Sons of Atreus and the rest of the best of all the Achaians,
Priam and the rest of the illustrious Trojans bid me
to speak, in the hope that it might be dear and sweet to you,
the múthos of Alexandros, on whose account this conflict has arisen:
However many possessions he took in the hollow ships
to Troy—I wish he had perished before that—
all those things he is willing to return and to add others from his household.
But the wedded-wife of glorious Menelaos
he says he will not give back—although the Trojans ask him to.
And they also ordered me to speak a speech—if you wish
to stop the ill-sounding war until we have cremated the corpses;
we will fight again later until the god separates us
and grants victory to one side at least.’

In a blend of original message and framing for his audience that is similar to Iris’ speeches to Poseidon in book 15 of the epic, Idaios reveals internal dissent about Paris’ stance. Such subtlety rings of a political realism, despite the heroic nature of epic. The suffering of the city and its people is laid at the feet of a selfish prince and a political organization incapable of restraining him.

Paris holding a lance and wearing a Phrygian cap. Detail of the side A from an Apulian (Tarentum?) red-figure bell-krater, ca. 380-370 BC
Louvre: Apulian (Tarentum?) red-figure bell-krater, ca. 380-370 BC

On Homeric (and Trojan) politics

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know. Follow-up posts will address kleos and Trojan politics

Barker, Elton T. E. “Achilles’ Last Stand: Institutionalising Dissent in Homer’s Iliad.” PCPS 50 (2004) 92-120.

—,—. Entering the Agôn: Dissent and Authority in Homer, Historiography and Tragedy. Oxford, 2009.

Christensen, Joel P.. “Trojan politics and the assemblies of Iliad 7.” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, vol. 55, no. 1, 2015, pp. 25-51.

Clay, J. S.  Homer’s Trojan Theater: Space, Vision and Memory in the Iliad (Cambridge, 2011)

Donlan, Walter. “The Structure of Authority in the Iliad.” Arethusa 12 (1979) 51-70.

—,—. “The Relations of Power in the Pre-State and Early State Polities.” In The Development of the Polis in Archaic Greece. Lynette Mitchell and P. J. Rhodes (eds.). London, 1997, 39-48.

Elmer, David. The Poetics of Consent: Collective Decision Making and the Iliad. Baltimore, 2013.

Esperman, L. 1980. Antenor, Theano, Antenoriden: Ihre Person und Bedeutung in der Ilias. Meisen Heim am Glam.

Hall, Jonathan M.  “Polis, Community, and Ethnic Identity.” In H. A. Shapiro (ed.). The Cambridge Companion to Archaic Greece. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2007: 40-60.

Hammer, Dean. “‘Who Shall Readily Obey?” Authority and Politics in the Iliad.” Phoenix 51 (1997) 1-24.

—,—. “The Politics of the Iliad.” CJ (1998a) 1-30.

—,—. “Homer, Tyranny, and Democracy.” GRBS 39 (1998b) 331-360.

—,—. The Iliad as Politics: The Performance of Political Thought. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2002.

Létoublon, Françoise. “Le bon orateur et le génie selon Anténor dans l’ Iliade : Ménélas et Ulysse.” in Jean-Michel Galy and Antoine Thivel (eds.). La Rhétorique Grecque. Actes du colloque «Octave Navarre»: troisième colloque international sur la pensée antique organisé par le CRHI (Centre de recherches sur l’histoire des idées) les 17, 18 et 19 décembre 1992. Nice: Publications de la Faculté des Lettres, Arts et Sciences Humaines de Nice, 1994, 29-40.

Lohmann, Dieter. Die Komposition der Reden in der Ilias. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1970

Mackie, Hillary. Talking Trojan: Speech and Community in the Iliad . Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1996.

Raaflaub, Kurt A., Josiah Ober, and Robert W. Wallace. Origins of Democracy in Ancient Greece. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007.

—,—. “Homer and the Beginning of Political Thought in Greece.” Proceedings in the Boston Area Colloquium Series in Ancient Philosophy 4 (1988) 1-25.

Redfield, James. Nature and Culture in the Iliad: The Tragedy of Hektor. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975.

Sale, William M. “The Government of Troy: Politics in the Iliad. GRBS 35 (1994) 5-102.

Schulz, Fabian. Die homerischen Räte und die spartanische Gerusie. Berlin: Wellem, 2011.

Scodel, Ruth.  Listening to Homer: Tradition, Narrative and Audience. Ann Arbor: University of 

Sealey, R. “Probouleusis and the Sovereign Assembly.” CSCA 2 (1969) 247-69.

Erasing the Past: The Achaean Wall and Homeric Fame

At the end of book 7, Poseidon complains to Zeus about the building of the Achaean Wall. In the broader mythical tradition, the walls of Troy were build by Apollo and Poseidon, who were forced to work for pay for Laomedon as punishment for rebellion against Zeus. Laomedon reneged on their pay and that led to a sea monster attacking the city and eventually Herakles’ attack. At this moment in the epic, however, Poseidon’s primary concern seems to be his own fame:

Iliad 6. 442-463

“So the long-haired Achaeans were toiling,
But the gods were seated next to Zeus the lighting-lord
Watching the great effort of the bronze-girded Achaeans.
Poseidon the earth-shaker began the speeches among them.
“Father Zeus, is there really any mortal on the boundless earth
Who would still tell his idea or plans to the immortals?
Don’t you see that the long-haired Achaeans now
Have built a wall around their ships and have hollowed
Out a trench around it but they did not make sacrifices to the gods?
The fame of this wall will reach as far as the dawn’s rise
And they will forget the wall that Phoebos Apollo and I built
Wearing ourselves out in toil for the hero Laomedon.”

῝Ως οἳ μὲν πονέοντο κάρη κομόωντες ᾿Αχαιοί·
οἳ δὲ θεοὶ πὰρ Ζηνὶ καθήμενοι ἀστεροπητῇ
θηεῦντο μέγα ἔργον ᾿Αχαιῶν χαλκοχιτώνων.
τοῖσι δὲ μύθων ἦρχε Ποσειδάων ἐνοσίχθων·
Ζεῦ πάτερ, ἦ ῥά τίς ἐστι βροτῶν ἐπ’ ἀπείρονα γαῖαν
ὅς τις ἔτ’ ἀθανάτοισι νόον καὶ μῆτιν ἐνίψει;
οὐχ ὁράᾳς ὅτι δ’ αὖτε κάρη κομόωντες ᾿Αχαιοὶ
τεῖχος ἐτειχίσσαντο νεῶν ὕπερ, ἀμφὶ δὲ τάφρον
ἤλασαν, οὐδὲ θεοῖσι δόσαν κλειτὰς ἑκατόμβας;
τοῦ δ’ ἤτοι κλέος ἔσται ὅσον τ’ ἐπικίδναται ἠώς·
τοῦ δ’ ἐπιλήσονται τὸ ἐγὼ καὶ Φοῖβος ᾿Απόλλων
ἥρῳ Λαομέδοντι πολίσσαμεν ἀθλήσαντε.

Poseidon makes something of a procedural objection: The Greeks did not sacrifice before building the wall. Such neglect undermines the basic assumption of the Iliad, that sacrifices to the gods observe and in a way instantiate their honors and divine position. At some level, Poseidon’s concern is about the stability of honors drawn up in Hesiod’s Theogony> But he is also concerned about his own personal fame: he seems to articulate a zero-sum game of kleos, the fame of this wall will spread across the world and the wall he built will be forgotten. A scholiast makes a metapoetic inference here;

Schol. bT ad Hom. Il. 7.7.451

“perhaps this is because of the poetry. For the wall is a subject of song thanks to it, not because it was built by the Greeks, but because it appears in Homer because of the battle around it.”

ex. τοῦ δ’ ἤτοι κλέος ἔσται, <ὅσην τ’ ἐπικίδναται ἠώς>: ἴσως διὰ τὴν ποίησιν αὐτοῦ· διὰ γὰρ ταύτην τὸ τεῖχος ἀοίδιμόν ἐστιν, οὐ δομηθὲν τοῖς ῞Ελλησιν, ἀλλ’ ῾Ομήρῳ γενόμενον ἕνεκεν τῆς ἐπ’ αὐτῷ μάχης.

Zeus responds to this complaint somewhat dismissively, but with a prediction for the future

Then cloud gathering Zeus addressed him,
“Come on, broad-strength, earthshaker what a thing to say!
Any other one of the gods would fear this thought,
One whose hands and drive are much weaker than yours.
Your fame will certainly reach as far as dawn’s rise.
Go when the long-haired Achaeans turn back
To go home to their dear land with their ships
And break the walls, pouring it all into the sea
And covering the broad beach with sand once again
So then you will erase the great wall of the Achaeans.”

Τὸν δὲ μέγ’ ὀχθήσας προσέφη νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς·
ὢ πόποι ἐννοσίγαι’ εὐρυσθενές, οἷον ἔειπες.
ἄλλός κέν τις τοῦτο θεῶν δείσειε νόημα,
ὃς σέο πολλὸν ἀφαυρότερος χεῖράς τε μένος τε·
σὸν δ’ ἤτοι κλέος ἔσται ὅσον τ’ ἐπικίδναται ἠώς.
ἄγρει μὰν ὅτ’ ἂν αὖτε κάρη κομόωντες ᾿Αχαιοὶ
οἴχωνται σὺν νηυσὶ φίλην ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν
τεῖχος ἀναρρήξας τὸ μὲν εἰς ἅλα πᾶν καταχεῦαι,
αὖτις δ’ ἠϊόνα μεγάλην ψαμάθοισι καλύψαι,
ὥς κέν τοι μέγα τεῖχος ἀμαλδύνηται ᾿Αχαιῶν.

Notice how Zeus repeats Poseidon’s chief concern about his fame spreading as far as the dawn spreads (σὸν δ’ ἤτοι κλέος ἔσται ὅσον τ’ ἐπικίδναται ἠώς) and authorizes him to destroy the Achaean wall once the war is over. He confirms, in a way, Poseidon’s concerns about the zero-sum game of the walls, but does not really reflect on that metapoetic potential of the destruction of the walls to create a memory that exceeds that of the objects themselves. In a book like Iliad 7, where Hektor has made so much of the potential of a tomb on the Hellespont to ensure the kleos of himself and the man he kills, Poseidon’s promise to obliterate the structures on the shore threatens to undermine such faith in the physical monument in preference, perhaps, to the story being told.

This passage has some interesting political implications: in a way, Poseidon’s concern about the loss of his fame is not dissimilar to Achilles’ or Agamemnon’s worry about their loss of gerai and timai (prizes and honor), but there are also some metaphysical turns too: the gods evince a lack of knowledge about the future and a deep concern for human recognition.

But for Homeric scholars, one of the most troubling aspects of this passage is that some of it comes up again. According to the scholia, editors at the time of Zenodotus and Aristophanes of Byzantium, as well as Aristarchus, Athetized this entire section “about the destruction of the wall [because the poet] talks about it during the battle around the walls (12.3-35)” (ὅτι περὶ τῆς ἀναιρέσεως τοῦ τείχους λέγει πρὸ τῆς τειχομαχίας, Schol A. ad Hom. Il. 7.443). The ancient scholar Porphyry adds that it seems somewhat improper that heroes would build this wall and in addition illogical that it would take the gods nine days to erase what the Greeks built in a single day (Homeric Questions ad Il. 12)

Thucydides even gets in on this game when he says that the Achaeans constructed fortifications at the beginning of the war (1.9-11, leading some scholars like D. L. Page to surmise that Thucydides’ Iliad did not have an Achaean wall built in book 7). Such differences in detail have led some to see interpolation in book 7 or evidence for multiple authorship. I think that’s mostly nonsense and that there are good structural reasons for the repetition and the difference.

The description that comes in book 12 is much more elaborate:

Iliad 12.1-33

“So, while the valiant son of Menoitios was tending
To wounded Eurupulos in the tents, the Argives and Trojans
Were fighting in clusters. The ditch and the broad wall beyond
Were not going to hold, the defense they built for the ships
And the trench they made around it. They did not sacrifice to the gods
So that it would safeguard the fast ships and the piled up spoils
Held within it. It was built without the gods’ assent,
And so it would not remain steadfast for too much.
As long as Hektor was alive and Achilles was raging,
And as long as the city of lord Priam remained unsacked,
That’s how long the great wall of the Achaeans would be steadfast.

But once however so many of the Trojans who were the best died
Along with many of the Argives who killed them, and the rest left,
And Priam’s city was sacked in the tenth year,
And the Argives went back to their dear homeland in their ships,
That’s when Poseidon and Apollo were planning
To erase the wall by turning the force of rivers against it.
All the number of the rivers that flow from the Idaian mountains to the sea,
Rhêsos, and Heptaporos, and Karêsos, and Rhodios,
And the Grênikos, and Aisêpos, and divine Skamandros
Along with Simoeis, where many ox-hide shields and helmets
Fell in the dust along with the race of demigod men.
Phoibos Apollo turned all of their mouths together
And sent them flowing against the wall for nine days.
And Zeus sent rain constantly, to send the walls faster to the sea.
The earthshaker himself took his trident in his hands
And led them, and he sent all the pieces of wood and stone
Out into the waves, those works the Achaeans toiled to make
And he smoothed out the bright-flowing Hellespont,
And covered the broad beach again with sands,
Erasing the wall, and then he turned the rivers back again,
He sent their beautiful flowing water back to where it was before.”

῝Ως ὃ μὲν ἐν κλισίῃσι Μενοιτίου ἄλκιμος υἱὸς
ἰᾶτ’ Εὐρύπυλον βεβλημένον· οἳ δὲ μάχοντο
᾿Αργεῖοι καὶ Τρῶες ὁμιλαδόν· οὐδ’ ἄρ’ ἔμελλε
τάφρος ἔτι σχήσειν Δαναῶν καὶ τεῖχος ὕπερθεν
εὐρύ, τὸ ποιήσαντο νεῶν ὕπερ, ἀμφὶ δὲ τάφρον
ἤλασαν· οὐδὲ θεοῖσι δόσαν κλειτὰς ἑκατόμβας·
ὄφρά σφιν νῆάς τε θοὰς καὶ ληΐδα πολλὴν
ἐντὸς ἔχον ῥύοιτο· θεῶν δ’ ἀέκητι τέτυκτο
ἀθανάτων· τὸ καὶ οὔ τι πολὺν χρόνον ἔμπεδον ἦεν.
ὄφρα μὲν ῞Εκτωρ ζωὸς ἔην καὶ μήνι’ ᾿Αχιλλεὺς
καὶ Πριάμοιο ἄνακτος ἀπόρθητος πόλις ἔπλεν,
τόφρα δὲ καὶ μέγα τεῖχος ᾿Αχαιῶν ἔμπεδον ἦεν.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ κατὰ μὲν Τρώων θάνον ὅσσοι ἄριστοι,
πολλοὶ δ’ ᾿Αργείων οἳ μὲν δάμεν, οἳ δὲ λίποντο,
πέρθετο δὲ Πριάμοιο πόλις δεκάτῳ ἐνιαυτῷ,
᾿Αργεῖοι δ’ ἐν νηυσὶ φίλην ἐς πατρίδ’ ἔβησαν,
δὴ τότε μητιόωντο Ποσειδάων καὶ ᾿Απόλλων
τεῖχος ἀμαλδῦναι ποταμῶν μένος εἰσαγαγόντες.
ὅσσοι ἀπ’ ᾿Ιδαίων ὀρέων ἅλα δὲ προρέουσι,
῾Ρῆσός θ’ ῾Επτάπορός τε Κάρησός τε ῾Ροδίος τε
Γρήνικός τε καὶ Αἴσηπος δῖός τε Σκάμανδρος
καὶ Σιμόεις, ὅθι πολλὰ βοάγρια καὶ τρυφάλειαι
κάππεσον ἐν κονίῃσι καὶ ἡμιθέων γένος ἀνδρῶν·
τῶν πάντων ὁμόσε στόματ’ ἔτραπε Φοῖβος ᾿Απόλλων,
ἐννῆμαρ δ’ ἐς τεῖχος ἵει ῥόον· ὗε δ’ ἄρα Ζεὺς
συνεχές, ὄφρά κε θᾶσσον ἁλίπλοα τείχεα θείη.
αὐτὸς δ’ ἐννοσίγαιος ἔχων χείρεσσι τρίαιναν
ἡγεῖτ’, ἐκ δ’ ἄρα πάντα θεμείλια κύμασι πέμπε
φιτρῶν καὶ λάων, τὰ θέσαν μογέοντες ᾿Αχαιοί,
λεῖα δ’ ἐποίησεν παρ’ ἀγάρροον ᾿Ελλήσποντον,
αὖτις δ’ ἠϊόνα μεγάλην ψαμάθοισι κάλυψε
τεῖχος ἀμαλδύνας· ποταμοὺς δ’ ἔτρεψε νέεσθαι
κὰρ ῥόον, ᾗ περ πρόσθεν ἵεν καλλίρροον ὕδωρ.

I don’t think that the ancient editors had much reason to athetize the passage from book 7. The two passages do very different things and where they fall in the epic matters. The first comes during a place in the plot where it makes sense for the wall to be built and Poseidon complains appropriately. The themes emphasized in the first section echo Hektor’s emphasis on kleos in book 5 and help to situate the Achaean Wall generally in time.

The wall’s second showing takes us into the future, just as the epic battle is about to increase in intensity and confusion. There no mention of kleos in the proleptic destruction of the wall. But there are several markers of the passage of time: the wall is related to the action of the story being told (it will last as long as Hektor lives and Achilles rages), it is situated within the Trojan War tradition (it will last through the sack of Troy), and it is marked as part of the destruction of the race of heroes, placing it in a cosmic outlook.

Red figure vase: Poseidon with a trident and a fish. Tondo of an Attic red-figured kylix. From Etruria.
Poseidon with fish; c. 520-510; National Museum of Denmark; Beazley ARV2 (1963) 59.57,

Lorenzo Garcia notes that the wall is in a way a metonym: “The wall—itself a stand-in for Achilles, as I argued above—here functions as an image of the tradition itself and its view of its own temporal durability” (2013, 191). Then he draws on Ruth Scodel’s work (1982) to note that this narrative necessarily positions the wall and the actions around it in a larger cosmic framework:

“ Scodel notes the general character of these narratives as marking a greater separation between gods and men; the former race of demigods (ἡμιθέων γένος ἀνδρῶν, XII 23) [20] is wiped out in a massive destructive event that brings the entire age to a decisive end. [21] What I wish to emphasize is the implication that in Iliad XII the Achaean wall is linked not merely with the figure of Achilles, for whom it functions as substitute, but with the entire heroic age which is to come to an end.”

I would like to add to this that the position of this temporal reminder at the middle of the epic, in the very book in which the wall is breached, is of structural significance. If we follow models of performance that split the Iliad into three movements, then the first mention of the Achaean walls’ destruction comes during a different performance. The secondary mention, then, is both a reminder and an expansion. It emphasizes different themes (extinction, destruction, erasure) in contrast to the former. And, in line with Homeric composition in general, it amplifies the discussion, taking the audience outside of the timeline of the Iliad temporarily before plunging us back into the chaos of war.

One final note on these passages: the balance of memory and forgetting, so clearly set out by Poseidon, appears to be tilted by divine agency. The verb that repeatedly marks Poseidon’s actions towards the Greek walls, amalduno, appears only in these particular passages in Homer. A scholion glosses it as coming from plunging into the sea (<ἀμαλδῦναι:> καθ’ ἅλμης δῦναι), perhaps responding both to Poseidon’s activity as a sea god and the cultural fear of the oblivion that comes from a death by shipwreck. Another place where this verb shows up in early Greek poetry is Bacchylides (14.1-6)

“Having good luck from god
Is the best thing for mortals.
But heavy-suffering accident
Can wipe out a good person
Even as it can raise a bad person on high
If it straightens them out.”

Εὖ μὲν εἱμάρθαι παρὰ δαίμ[ονος ἀν]θρώ-
ποις ἄριστον·
[σ]υμφορὰ δ’ ἐσθλόν <τ’> ἀμαλδύ-
[νει β]αρύτλ[α]τος μολοῦσα
[καὶ τ]ὸν κακ[ὸν] ὑψιφανῆ
τεύ[χει κ]ατορθωθεῖσα·…

Here, instead of Poseidon or some other god, the force that “obliterates” is chance. Yet, this force seems to be one that implies layers of judgment, perhaps allowing for the fact that what survives for memory isn’t always the worthiest, just the luckiest. In this way, we can read Poseidon’s destruction of the Achaean walls as an act that attempts to erase one thing in favor of another, leaving open the possibility that narrative can outlast the erasure even as memory is no guarantee of virtue.

A Short bibliography on the Achaean Wall

Garcia, Lorenzo F., Jr. 2013. Homeric Durability: Telling Time in the Iliad. Hellenic Studies Series 58. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

Heiden, B. (1996). The three movements of the iliad. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, 37(1), 5-22. Retrieved from https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/three-movements-iliad/docview/229178418/se-2

Maitland, Judith. “Poseidon, Walls, and Narrative Complexity in the Homeric Iliad.” The Classical Quarterly 49, no. 1 (1999): 1–13. http://www.jstor.org/stable/639485.

PORTER, JAMES I. “Making and Unmaking: The Achaean Wall and the Limits of Fictionality in Homeric Criticism.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-) 141, no. 1 (2011): 1–36. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41289734.

Purves, Alex.  2006a. “Falling into Time in Homer’s Iliad.” Classical Antiquity 25:179–209.

Scodel, Ruth. “The Achaean Wall and the Myth of Destruction.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 86 (1982): 33–50. https://doi.org/10.2307/311182.

H. W. Singor. “The Achaean Wall and the Seven Gates of Thebes.” Hermes 120, no. 4 (1992): 401–11. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4476919.

Tsagarakis, Odysseus. “The Achaean Wall and the Homeric Question.” Hermes 97, no. 2 (1969): 129–35. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4475580.

West, M. L. “The Achaean Wall.” The Classical Review 19, no. 3 (1969): 255–60. http://www.jstor.org/stable/707716.

Divine Plots and Human Plans: Reading Iliad 7

Book 7 can be split into three basic parts: an initial scene where the gods Apollo and Athena decide to orchestrate a duel; the centerpiece of the book which is duel between Hektor and Ajax; and the final third of the book which includes political assemblies among the Trojans and the Greeks that result in a brief armistice for the burial of the dead. The Achaeans, following Nestor’s guidance, use this moment as an opportunity to construct defensive barriers in front of their ships, since this is the first time in the conflict that the Trojans have pushed close enough to threaten them. The book ends with Poseidon grumbling that these new walls may become more famous and lasting than the walls he and Apollo built around the city of Troy.

Each of the major scenes in book 7 contributes critically to some of the major themes I have noted to follow in reading the Iliad: (1) Politics, (2) Heroism; (3) Gods and Humans; (4) Family & Friends; (5) Narrative Traditions. But the central themes I emphasize in reading and teaching book 5 are gods and humans, heroism,  and politics. The opening conceit where the gods arrange the action of the book calls into question human decision making, agency, and free will; Hektor’s speech to challenge the Achaeans to a duel frames his few of heroic fame (kleos); and the Trojan assembly, followed by the delivery of a proposal to the Achaean assembly, provides a unique opportunity to compare Trojan and Achaean politics.

Homeric Heroes and Their Decisions

Classic debates from the 20th century about Homeric poetry from the secondary through the post-graduate level involve some variation on the relationship between fate and free will. When it comes to heroic behavior and divine intervention, this can get a bit involved: there are situations that seem somewhat clear (as when Athena pulls Achilles back by the hair in book 1 to keep him from drawing his sword and killing Agamemnon) and those that are less clear (in the same book, the narrative assertion that Hera inspired Achilles to call the assembly is not supported by any other evidence). 

Evaluating these situations can be difficult for the audience external to the poem because we have nearly synoptic knowledge on what is going on. At times, we see the gods directly intervening and telling characters to do this and then the humans eventually realize they have been duped (see Athena as Deiphobos with Hektor in book 22); while in others, there are levels of obfuscation as when Zeus sends a ‘false’ dream to Agamemnon that promises him the Achaeans will be victorious on the following day, to which Agamemnon responds by ‘testing’ his army (in book 2).

Distinguishing between what the narrator reveals to us, what is revealed to internal audiences (including Homeric mortals), and what is held back helps us see that there is a lot of complexity in how and why decisions are made. Human beings are not without some agency: While everything in the Iliad may be part of Zeus’ plan, no divinity seems to cause Agamemnon to reject Chryses’ ransom and insult Achilles in book 1, even though he seems to make some claim to that effect in book 19; nor does any god inspire Achilles to ask Zeus to honor him by making the Achaeans suffer.

Red figure vase showing Cassandra (on the left) offering a libation while her brother Hector (on the right) prepares to go to battle.
Attic red-figure kantharos by the Eretria Painter, ca. 425–420 BC.

At a broader thematic level, then, Homeric heroes make important choices. Within the action of the epic and its interwoven plot, however, there are moments in which the gods seem more in control than others.  Where Homeric characters seem ignorant of that fact, we see what scholars have called “double motivation” (or determination, or causality), following Albin Lesky. These moments offer interesting insights into Homeric views on human psychology, on theology, and on the limits of human knowledge about their own actions and motivations. On one level, we can see how human characters in the Iliad can use divine action as an excuse or explanation for their own behavior, without any clear reason for doing so. On another level, Homeric epic leaves ample room for reading different deterministic world views into the epic narrative.

I think the clearest guide for thinking about this comes from epic itself, this time the Odyssey. Near the beginning of the epic as he looks down on the mortal Aigisthus, who, despite divine advice to the contrary, has shacked up with Klytemnestra and helped murder Agamemnon, Zeus opines (Od. 1.32-34):

“Mortals! They are always blaming the gods and saying that evil comes from us when they themselves suffer pain beyond their lot because of their own recklessness.”

ὢ πόποι, οἷον δή νυ θεοὺς βροτοὶ αἰτιόωνται.
ἐξ ἡμέων γάρ φασι κάκ’ ἔμμεναι• οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ
σφῇσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγε’ ἔχουσιν

As I argue in my book on the Odyssey, I think this is a programmatic statement for the epic, inviting audiences to think about to what extent mortal decisions do impact their fate. And I don’t think this is all negative: if we can make our lives worse through our foolishness, certainly the opposite should be true, that we can ameliorate our fates through prudence.

Athena tells Apollo they should rouse Hektor to challenge one of the Achaeans to a one on one battle. The narrative information we get makes the causality somewhat clear, but not without some challenge (Il. 7.43-45).

 “So he spoke, and gray-eyed Athena did not disobey.

Then the dear child of Priam, Helenos, understood in his heart

Their plan, which was really pleasing to the gods as they planned.”

 

A scholion explains that this means he “thought of it through his prophetic power, not because he heard their voices. (Schol, D ad Il. σύνθετο θυμῷ: ὅτι μαντικῶς συνῆκεν οὐκ ἀκούσας αὐτῶν τῆς φωνῆς. As an audience, we know that the gods thought of this, but here we see that Hektor does not know where the plan comes from and we could interpret Helenos as independently coming up with an idea that the gods considered too.

Some guiding questions for Book 7

What is the impact of the different assembly scenes (Greek vs. Trojan)?

What purpose does the duel between Ajaz and Hektor serve?

How does this book help to characterize Agamemnon and Menelaus?

A short bibliography on Homeric decision making and ‘double motivation’

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Allan, William. “Divine Justice and Cosmic Order in Early Greek Epic.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 126 (2006): 1–35. http://www.jstor.org/stable/30033397.

Finkelberg, Margalit (1995) “Patterns of Human Error in Homer.” JHS 115: 15-28. 

Gaskin, Richard. “Do Homeric Heroes Make Real Decisions?” The Classical Quarterly 40, no. 1 (1990): 1–15. http://www.jstor.org/stable/639307.

Lesky, Albin (1961) Gottliche und Menschliche Motivation im Homerischen Epos. Winter, Universitätsverlag: Heidelberg

Andrew Porter. “Human Fault and ‘[Harmful] Delusion’ (Ἄτη) in Homer.” Phoenix 71, no. 1/2 (2017): 1–20. https://doi.org/10.7834/phoenix.71.1-2.0001.

Scodel, Ruth. “Homeric Attribution of Outcomes and Divine Causation.” Syllecta Classica 29 (2018): 1-27. https://doi.org/10.1353/syl.2018.0001.

Segal, Charles. 1994. Singers, Heroes and Gods in the “Odyssey.” Ithaca.

Sharples, R. W. “‘But Why Has My Spirit Spoken with Me Thus?’: Homeric Decision-Making.” Greece & Rome 30, no. 1 (1983): 1–7. http://www.jstor.org/stable/642739.

Teffeteller, Annette. “Homeric Excuses.” The Classical Quarterly 53, no. 1 (2003): 15–31. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3556479.

Additional bibliography for book 7

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know. Follow-up posts will address kleos and Trojan politics

Castiglioni, Barbara. “Menelaus in the « Iliad » and in the « Odyssey »: the anti-hero of πένθος.” Commentaria Classica, vol. 7, 2020, pp. 219-232.

Christensen, Joel P.. “Trojan politics and the assemblies of Iliad 7.” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, vol. 55, no. 1, 2015, pp. 25-51.

Davies, M.. “Nestor’s advice in Iliad 7.” Eranos, vol. LXXXIV, 1986, pp. 69-75.

Duban, J. M.. “Les duels majeurs de l’Iliade et le langage d’Hector.” Les Études Classiques, vol. XLIX, 1981, pp. 97-124.

Finglass, Patrick J.. “The ending of Iliad 7.” Philologus, vol. 150, no. 2, 2006, pp. 187-197.

Finkelberg, Margalit. “The sources of Iliad 7.” Colby Quarterly, vol. 38, no. 2, 2002, pp. 151-161.

Kullmann, Wolfgang. “Gods and Men in the Iliad and the Odyssey.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 89 (1985): 1–23. https://doi.org/10.2307/311265.

Maitland, Judith. “Poseidon, Walls, and Narrative Complexity in the Homeric Iliad.” The Classical Quarterly, vol. 49, no. 1, 1999, pp. 1–13. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/639485. Accessed 17 Nov. 2023.

Roisman, Hanna M. “Nestor the Good Counsellor.” The Classical Quarterly 55, no. 1 (2005): 17–38. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3556237.

Strauss Clay, Jenny. “Homer’s epigraph: Iliad 7. 87-91.” Philologus, vol. 160, no. 2, 2016, pp. 185-196.

Trapp, Richard L. “Ajax in the ‘Iliad.’” The Classical Journal 56, no. 6 (1961): 271–75. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3294852.

No Space for Dionysus: Story and Meaning in Iliad 6

When I teach and write about Iliad 6 I usually find myself spending too much time thinking about Diomedes’ exchange with Glaukos and then breaking hearts with discussions of Hektor, Andromache, and Astyanax at the book’s end. In talking about the former, I typically spend most of my time going through Glaukos’ remarkable story, both for its content (Bellerophon!) and its impact (Diomedes declares them guest-friends). But before Diomedes delights in Glaukos’ ancestry, he tells his own story from myth.

Homer, Iliad 6. 130-140

For not even the son of Dryas, mighty Lykourgos,
Lasted long once he began to strive with the heavenly gods.
He;’ the one who chased the nurses of maddening Dionysus
Down the Nysian hill–all of them were dropping
Their wands to the ground because they were beaten
By man-slaying Lykourgos with a cattle-goad.
And Dionysus was frightened, so he immersed himself
In the salty waves where Thetis rescued the frightened child.
A powerful tremor had overcome him from the man’s shouting.
After that, the gods who live easily hated him
And Kronos’ son left him blind. And he didn’t last very long
After that, once he became hateful to all the immortal gods.”

οὐδὲ γὰρ οὐδὲ Δρύαντος υἱός, κρατερὸς Λυκόοργος,
δὴν ἦν, ὅς ῥα θεοῖσιν ἐπουρανίοισιν ἔριζεν·
ὅς ποτε μαινομένοιο Διωνύσοιο τιθήνας
σεῦε κατ᾿ ἠγάθεον Νυσήϊον, αἳ δ᾿ ἅμα πᾶσαι
θύσθλα χαμαὶ κατέχευαν, ὑπ᾿ ἀνδροφόνοιο Λυκούργου
θεινόμεναι βουπλῆγι. Διώνυσος δὲ φοβηθείς
δύσεθ᾿ ἁλὸς κατὰ κῦμα, Θέτις δ᾿ ὑπεδέξατο κόλπῳ
δειδιότα· κρατερὸς γὰρ ἔχε τρόμος ἀνδρὸς ὀμοκλῇ.
τῷ μὲν ἔπειτ᾿ ὀδύσαντο θεοὶ ῥεῖα ζώοντες,
καί μιν τυφλὸν ἔθηκε Κρόνου πάϊς· οὐδ᾿ ἄρ᾿ ἔτι δήν
ἦν, ἐπεὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἀπήχθετο πᾶσι θεοῖσιν.

This is one of the few times in the Iliad where we find Dionysus mentioned at all. Indeed, the absence of Dionysus in our extant epic poetry is so marked that it led earlier generations of scholars to buy in to the Dionysian narrative of “a new god from the east”. (This argument was largely dispelled by the decipherment of Linear B which, surprise, shows ample evidence of Dionysus). One explanation for this absence has been generic: according to some, epic is properly the province of more rational gods like Athena and Apollo and Dionysus is more proper to lyric and tragedy. I am uncertain about this for two reasons: Apollo is not necessarily rational and we do have epic fragments (e.g. Panyasis) that shows wine and the forces of Dionysus as alive and well in epic verse.

If I were forced to give an answer on the spot about Dionysus’ absence from epic, I would suggest two thematic answers. First, as Elton Barker and I explore in Homer’s Thebes, the Iliad is interested in establishing the metaphysical boundaries of mortal human life. Even Herakles, as Achilles opines, is subject to death in its world view. Dionysus, as a child of a mortal mother and Zeus who becomes a god, challenges this fundamental feature of epic poetry. If mortals can become immortal, what’s the point of fighting, dying, and earning kleos. My second ‘idea’, which is much less well formed and perhaps just nonsense, is that our notion of Dionysus’ importance to the Greek pantheon might be skewed by the Athenocentric nature of our evidence for ancient Greece. Dionysus was extremely significant in Athenian cult and ritual (especially around Tragedy). I have a suspicion that the gods present in Homeric epic are there as much for their Panhellenic appeal as their generic importance.

File:Birth of Dionysos - House of Aion - Paphos Archaeological Park.jpg
The mosaics of the House of Aion date back to the fourth century A.D and lie close to the mosaics of Dionysus and Theseus. Five mythological scenes worth seeing are: “The bath of Dionysus”, “Leda and the Swan”, “Beauty contest between Cassiopeia and the Nereids”, “Apollo and Marsyas”, and the “Triumphant procession of Dionysus”.

In her Homeric Encyclopedia (2011) article on the topic, Renate Schlesier notes that Dionysus appears only four times in the Homeric epics, typically in situations “loosely associated with love and/or violent death” (210; to be fair, most situations in Homer could fall under this category).She adds that Dionysus does not seem to be a wine go in Homer, but that the language and motifs around him does seem to imply a knowledge of Maenadism.

The passage in the Iliad is explained as part of Dionysus’ conventional exile from Thebes and journeys through the east. A scholion summarizes it. 

Schol. D ad, Hom. Il. 6.130

“Dionysus, the child of Zeus and Semele, happened to be receiving purification under the guidance of Rheat among the Kybeloi of Phrydia. Once he completed the rites and received his acoutrement from the goddess, he traveled all over the world. He obtained his choruses and honors, while people were leading him everywhere. When he was present in Tharce, Lykourgos, son of Dryas, caused him pain, Hera was despising him, and drove him from the land with a gadfly. She attacked him and his caregivers. They happened to be engaging in sacred rites along with him. Driven by a god-made whip, he was rushing to punish the god. But [Dionysus] leapt into the sea beccause of fear where Thetis and Eurynome accepted him. Lykourgos did not commit irreverance without punishment. He paid a penalty mortals do.–for Zeus took his eyes from him. Many record this story, but Eumelos told the story first in his Europia.”

Διόνυσος, ὁ Διὸς καὶ Σεμέλης παῖς, ἐν Κυβέλοις τῆς Φρυγίας ὑπὸ τῆς ῾Ρέας τυχὼν καθαρμῶν, καὶ διαθεὶς τὰς τελετὰς, καὶ λαβὼν παρὰ τῆς θεᾶς τὴν διασκευὴν, ἀνὰ πᾶσαν ἐφέρετο τὴν γῆν, χορειῶν τε καὶ τιμῶν ἐτύγχανε, προηγουμένων τῶν ἀνθρώπων. Παραγενόμενον δὲ αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν Θρᾴκην, Λυκοῦργος ὁ Δρύαντος λυπήσας, ῞Ηρας μίσει, μύωπι ἀπελαύνει τῆς γῆς. καὶ καθάπτεται αὐτοῦ καὶ τῶν τούτου τιθηνῶν. ἐτύγχανον γὰρ αὐτῷ συνοργιάζουσαι. Θεηλάτῳ δ’ ἐπελαυνόμενος μάστιγι, τὸν θεὸν ἔσπευδε τιμωρήσασθαι. ῾Ο δὲ ὑπὸ δέους εἰς τὴν θάλασσαν καταδύνει, καὶ ὑπὸ Θέτιδος καὶ Εὐρυνόμης ὑπολαμβάνεται. ῾Ο οὖν Λυκοῦργος οὐκ ἀμισθὶ δυσσεβήσας, ἔδωκε τὴν ἐξ ἀνθρώπων δίκην. ἀφῃρέθη γὰρ πρὸς τοῦ Διὸς τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς. Τῆς ἱστορίας πολλοὶ ἐμνήσθησαν, προηγουμένως δὲ ὁ τὴν Εὐρωπίαν πεποιη κὼς Εὔμηλος. 

Christos Tsagalis provides the most in-depth discussion of this passage (that I know of). In The Oral Palimpsest, Tsagalis treats this passage first as a mythological paradeigma but then charts the language, especially the participle μαινομένοιο. Christos combs through similar language in the iIliad  to identify a thematic pattern that shows “interplay between the Dionysias metaphor in the myth of Lycurgus…and the meeting between Andromache and Hektor” (37). He draws attention to both Lykourgos and Hektor sharing the epithet “man=slaying”, Andromache being compared to a maenad, the fear felt by baby Dionysus and Astyanax, and the liminal dramatic space where the action of the myth and the meeting of Hektor and Andromache take place. Tsagalis uses this analysis–and more that probes the couple’s connection to Thebes–to suggest both the Dionysus does in fact belong to other poems and non Ionian traditions. In addition, the association of Andromache with a maenad engages with a larger mythical tapestry, “ changing (as far as Andromache is concerned) an Amazon with maenadic and warlike origins into a suffering wife and mother” (64).

Tsagalis was not the first to treat this scene, of course. M.B. Arthur sees the comparison as indicated that Andromache is moved out of her normal state of mind by anxiety and grief. Charles Segal demonstrates how Homeric language has been shifted to accommodate this image. I think we also need to consider the valence of the image of audiences who would have been more familiar with the range of meaning associated with Maenads. Imagine an audience familiar with stories like the Bacchae. Andromache as a maenad may be out of her mind from an authoritative male perspective, but she may also be considered rightfully so from a cosmic perspective. Her out-of-mindness stands both to mark her straining to break from the limited agency the siege of Troy (and her marriage to Hektor) imposes while also anticipating her ultimate marginalization by grief and his loss.

If we treat the internal references as a kind of simile where Hektor=Lykourgos and Astyanax=Dionysus, there may be additional pathos to consider. Hektor is clearly not god-hated, but he is a king who cannot stay within limits. The difference here is that Hektor commits no sacrilege and the infant child does not go on to be rescued by a goddess of the sea.

Regardless of the precise interpretation we offer, this is a good example of how fluidly integrated the motifs and themes of epic poetry are on both large and small scales. The story of Lykourgos in Diomedes’ speech is a lesson about angering the gods that Glaukos picks up on and responds to in his own narrative where his Bellerophon becomes hateful to the gods despite performing heroic deeds. So, the story Diomedes offers Glaukos is not a simple message to his addressee, but it is a dynamic narrative Glaukos ‘reads’ and uses to ‘decode’ the challenge Diomedes presents in the text. The correspondence between this scene in the middle of book 6 and the later presentation of Hektor, Andromache, and Astyanax relies on audience memory and interpretation, triangulating a level of understanding that requires both a knowledge of poetic convention and a sensitivity to the stories at play.

A short bibliography

Arthur, M.B.  “The Divided World of Iliad VI.”  In Reflections of Women in Antiquity, Helene Foley ed.  New York: Gordon and Breach Science Publishers, 1981, 19-44.    

Lightfoot, Jessica. “Something to do with Dionysus ? : dolphins and dithyramb in Pindar fragment 236 SM.” Classical Philology, vol. 114, no. 3, 2019, pp. 481-492. Doi: 10.1086/703823

Davies, Malcolm. “Homer and Dionysus.” Eikasmos, vol. 11, 2000, pp. 15-28.

Segal, C. “Andromache’s Anagnorisis: Formulaic Artistry in Iliad 75 (1971): 33-57. 

Suter, Ann. “Paris and Dionysos: iambos in the Iliad.” Arethusa, vol. 26, 1993, pp. 1-18.

Tsagalis, Christos. 2008. The Oral Palimpsest: Exploring Intertextuality in the Homeric Epics. Hellenic Studies Series 29. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_TsagalisC.The_Oral_Palimpsest.2008.

Mind Reading and Stolen Wits: The Encounter of Diomedes and Glaukos in Iliad 6

One of the most iconic scenes of the Iliad is the exchange between Glaucus and Diomedes in book 6. This scene comes in the middle of book 6, in part as a delaying technique while Hektor travels into the city. But it also continues part of the plot in book 6, where Diomedes wounded Athena and was warned not to attack any of the other gods.

Diomedes: Il. 6.123-129

“Bestie, who are you of mortal humans?
For I have never seen you before in this ennobling battle.
But now you stride out far ahead of everyone
In your daring—where you await my ash-wood spear.
Those who oppose my might are children of miserable parents!
But, if you are one of the immortals come down from the sky,
I don’t wish to fight with the sky-dwelling gods!”

τίς δὲ σύ ἐσσι φέριστε καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων;
οὐ μὲν γάρ ποτ’ ὄπωπα μάχῃ ἔνι κυδιανείρῃ
τὸ πρίν· ἀτὰρ μὲν νῦν γε πολὺ προβέβηκας ἁπάντων
σῷ θάρσει, ὅ τ’ ἐμὸν δολιχόσκιον ἔγχος ἔμεινας·
δυστήνων δέ τε παῖδες ἐμῷ μένει ἀντιόωσιν.
εἰ δέ τις ἀθανάτων γε κατ’ οὐρανοῦ εἰλήλουθας,
οὐκ ἂν ἔγωγε θεοῖσιν ἐπουρανίοισι μαχοίμην.

Glaukos, 6.145-151

“Oh, you great-hearted son of Tydeus, why are you asking about pedigree?
The generations of men are just like leaves on a tree:
The wind blows some to the ground and then the forest
Grows lush with others when spring comes again.
In this way, the race of men grows and then dies in turn.
But if you are willing, learn about these things so you may know
My lineage well—many are the men who know me.”

Τυδεΐδη μεγάθυμε τί ἢ γενεὴν ἐρεείνεις;
οἵη περ φύλλων γενεὴ τοίη δὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν.
φύλλα τὰ μέν τ’ ἄνεμος χαμάδις χέει, ἄλλα δέ θ’ ὕλη
τηλεθόωσα φύει, ἔαρος δ’ ἐπιγίγνεται ὥρη·
ὣς ἀνδρῶν γενεὴ ἣ μὲν φύει ἣ δ’ ἀπολήγει.
εἰ δ’ ἐθέλεις καὶ ταῦτα δαήμεναι ὄφρ’ ἐὺ εἰδῇς
ἡμετέρην γενεήν, πολλοὶ δέ μιν ἄνδρες ἴσασιν

This scene certainly leaves an impression on people. One of my best friends spent years scheming to re-stage this scene on a paintball field. After may abortive events, some of us laid down covering fire so he and another could meet an exchange their equipment midfield. It was hilarious. And unsafe. But hilarious.

The exchange between these two heroes is marked by three things (among others!): (1) the establishment of xenia–the reciprocal exchange of hospitality–as an inheritable principle; (2) Glaukos’ telling of the story of Bellerophon (which establishes the aforementioned xenia status); and (3) the exchange of armor to signal their continuing friendship.

The exchange is marked with a strong note of judgment by the Homeric narrator.

Homer, Iliad 6.230-236

“Let’s exchange armor with one another so that even these people
May know that we claim to be guest-friends from our fathers’ lines.”

So they spoke and leapt down from their horses,
Took one another’s hands and made their pledge.
Then Kronos’s son Zeus stole away Glaukos’ wits,
For he traded to Diomedes golden arms in exchange for bronze,
weapons worth one hundred oxen traded for those worth nine.”

τεύχεα δ’ ἀλλήλοις ἐπαμείψομεν, ὄφρα καὶ οἷδε
γνῶσιν ὅτι ξεῖνοι πατρώϊοι εὐχόμεθ’ εἶναι.
῝Ως ἄρα φωνήσαντε καθ’ ἵππων ἀΐξαντε
χεῖράς τ’ ἀλλήλων λαβέτην καὶ πιστώσαντο·
ἔνθ’ αὖτε Γλαύκῳ Κρονίδης φρένας ἐξέλετο Ζεύς,
ὃς πρὸς Τυδεΐδην Διομήδεα τεύχε’ ἄμειβε
χρύσεα χαλκείων, ἑκατόμβοι’ ἐννεαβοίων.

Ancient commentators were intrigued by this judgment.

Schol. ad. Il. 6.234b ex.

“Kronos’ son Zeus took Glaukos’ wits away”. Because he was adorning him among his allies with more conspicuous weapons. Or, because they were made by Hephaistos. Or, as Pios claims, so that [the poet?] might amplify the Greek since they do not make an equal exchange—a thing which would be sweet to the audience.

Or, perhaps he credits him more, that he was adorned with conspicuous arms among his own and his allies. For, wherever these arms are, it is a likely place for an enemy attack.”

ex. ἔνθ’ αὖτε Γλαύκῳ <Κρονίδης> φρένας ἐξέλετο: ὅτι κατὰ τῶν συμμάχων ἐκόσμει λαμπροτέροις αὐτὸν ὅπλοις. ἢ ὡς ῾Ηφαιστότευκτα. ἢ, ὡς Πῖος (fr. 2 H.), ἵνα κἀν τούτῳ αὐξήσῃ τὸν ῞Ελληνα μὴ ἐξ ἴσου ἀπηλ<λ>αγμένον, ὅπερ ἡδὺ τοῖς ἀκούουσιν. 
ἢ μᾶλλον αἰτιᾶται αὐτόν, ὅτι λαμπροῖς ὅπλοις ἐκοσμεῖτο κατὰ ἑαυτοῦ καὶ τῶν συμμάχων· ὅπου γὰρ ταῦτα, εὔκαιρος ἡ τῶν πολεμίων ὁρμή. b(BE3E4)

I always thought that Glaukos got a raw deal from interpreters here. Prior to the stories Diomedes and Glaukos tell each other, Diomedes was just murdering everyone in his path. Glaukos—who already knew who Diomedes was before he addressed him—tells a great tale, gives Diomedes his golden weapons, and actually lives to the end of the poem. I think this is far from a witless move. And, if the armor is especially conspicuous, maybe the plan-within-a-plan is to put a golden target on Diomedes’ back.

But let’s back up a bit to make a few points:

  1. Diomedes does not know who Glaukos is; Glaukos definitely knows who Diomedes is.

  2. Everyone among the Trojans knows that Diomedes has been tearing it up in the field and that few can meet him.

  3. Diomedes prefaces his question of Glaukos’ identity by telling him a story of how Lykourgos messed with the gods and regretted it, providing a bit of a proverbial lesson by concluding that no one lasts long “once they have become hateful to the gods” (ἦν, ἐπεὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἀπήχθετο πᾶσι θεοῖσιν, 6.140).

  4. Then, Glaukos tells an elaborate tale about his ancestry that links up with Diomedes’ grandfather, concluding that Bellerophon “became hateful to the gods” (using the same language as Diomedes at line 200)

  5. This narrative confirms Diomedes’ sentiment that anyone can fall out of favor, while also bulking up Glaukos’ heroic profile and providing him an out clause (xenia)

  6. Just as everyone knows who Diomedes is, they also seem to know his famous father as one of the failed Seven against Thebes

  7. So, when Diomedes says that he doesn’t remember his father (222), we might be able to argue that Glaukos is counting on this: Diomedes knows some object left behind in his family’s home, but cannot confirm or deny the story Bellerophon says.

In my work on the Odyssey (The Many Minded Man: the Odyssey, Psychology and The Therapy of Epic) I argue, following authors like Lisa Zunshine and Palmer, that good storytellers exhibit mind-reading, by which they mean the ability to “ascribe states of minds to others and [themselves]”. While this is seen by modern authors as a sign of sophistication in novels, I think it is something we can see in the case of effective liars and persuaders like Odysseus. I summarize (2020, 150):

For Lisa Zunshine, the ability to ascribe to someone else “a certain mental state on the basis of her observable action” (2006:6)—what she calls “mind-reading”—is both an essential skill for “construct[ing] and navigat[ing] our social environment” and a foundational quality for the creation of fiction and literature.2 Such an ability is in part what makes Odysseus a great story-teller and a narrative agent; but it also allows him to subjugate and use others.

In short, I think there is a reading of Glaukos’ use of Bellerophon’s narrative that shows it works similarly to Odysseus’ lies: he weaponizes a story to achieve a complex outcome. In Glaukos’ case, he establishes a hereditary relationship with Diomedes that allows him to avoid fighting the most dangerous person on the battlefield.

Some things to read on book 6

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Alden, M. J. “Genealogy as Paradigm: The Example of Bellerophon.” Hermes, vol. 124, no. 3, 1996, pp. 257–63. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/4477146

Donlan, Walter. “The Unequal Exchange between Glaucus and Diomedes in Light of the Homeric Gift-Economy.” Phoenix, vol. 43, no. 1, 1989, pp. 1–15. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/1088537. Accessed 2 Oct. 2023.

Fineberg, Stephen. “Blind Rage and Eccentric Vision in Iliad 6.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-), vol. 129, 1999, pp. 13–41. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/284423.

Gaisser, Julia Haig. “Adaptation of Traditional Material in the Glaucus-Diomedes Episode.” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association, vol. 100, 1969, pp. 165–76. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2935907.

Harries, Byron. “‘Strange Meeting’: Diomedes and Glaucus in ‘Iliad’ 6.Greece & Rome, vol. 40, no. 2, 1993, pp. 133–46. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/643154. 

Lowry, Eddie R.. “Glaucus, the leaves, and the heroic boast of Iliad 6.146-211.” The ages of Homer: a tribute to Emily Townsend Vermeule. Eds. Carter, Jane P. and Morris, Sarah P.. Austin (Tex.): University of Texas Pr., 1995. 193-203.

Palmer, Alan. 2010. Social Minds in the Novel. Columbus.

Scodel, Ruth. “The Wits of Glaucus.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-), vol. 122, 1992, pp. 73–84. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/284365.

Tracy, Catherine. “The Host’s Dilemma: Game Theory and Homeric Hospitality.” Illinois Classical Studies, no. 39 (2014): 1–16. https://doi.org/10.5406/illiclasstud.39.0001.

Traill, David A. “Gold Armor for Bronze and Homer’s Use of Compensatory TIMH.” Classical Philology, vol. 84, no. 4, 1989, pp. 301–05. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/4620748

Walcot, Peter. “Χρύσεα χαλκείων. A further comment.” Classical Review, vol. XIX, 1969, pp. 12-13. Doi: 10.1017/S0009840X00328311

Zunshine, Lisa. 2006. Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel. Columbus.

War Crimes: Iliad 6, Infanticide, and the Mykonos Vase

CW: Infanticide, Sexual Violence. Reference to current events.

Iliad 6 picks up at the end of book 5, where Diomedes enjoyed his aristeia. The audience witnesses a series of Achaean kills, before focusing on an exchange between Menelaos and Agamemnon. Menelaos has captured the Trojan Adrastus alive and was about to send him to the ships to be ransomed later. Agamemnon intervenes:

Homer, Iliad 6.53-62

“And then [Menelaos] was intending to give Adrastus
To an attendant to take back to the Achaeans’ swift ships
But Agamemnon came rushing in front of him and spoke commandingly
“Oh my fool Menelaos, why do you care so much about people?
Did your house suffer the best treatment by the Trojans?
Let none of them flee dread death at our hands,
Not even  a mother who carries in her womb
a child that will be a boy, let not one flee, but instead
Let everyone at Troy perish, unwept and unseen.”

The hero spoke like this and changed his brother’s mind,

καὶ δή μιν τάχ᾽ ἔμελλε θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας Ἀχαιῶν
δώσειν ᾧ θεράποντι καταξέμεν: ἀλλ᾽ Ἀγαμέμνων
ἀντίος ἦλθε θέων, καὶ ὁμοκλήσας ἔπος ηὔδα:
‘ὦ πέπον ὦ Μενέλαε, τί ἢ δὲ σὺ κήδεαι οὕτως
ἀνδρῶν; ἦ σοὶ ἄριστα πεποίηται κατὰ οἶκον
πρὸς Τρώων; τῶν μή τις ὑπεκφύγοι αἰπὺν ὄλεθρον
χεῖράς θ᾽ ἡμετέρας, μηδ᾽ ὅν τινα γαστέρι μήτηρ
κοῦρον ἐόντα φέροι, μηδ᾽ ὃς φύγοι, ἀλλ᾽ ἅμα πάντες
Ἰλίου ἐξαπολοίατ᾽ ἀκήδεστοι καὶ ἄφαντοι.

ὣς εἰπὼν ἔτρεψεν ἀδελφειοῦ φρένας ἥρως

I have always struggled with how to understand the rally for widespread infanticide in this scene. On one level, we can see it as typical of Agamemnon: he refused the convention of supplication and ransom in book 1 and refuses to honor a similar supplication by twins in book 11 (122-147). Or, we could imagine that the extremity of the war and Achilles’ rage has upended convention. According to the latter argument, these kinds of violence may be seen as exceptional consequences of enmity and anger. In support of this, consider how Achilles also refuses to honor a suppliant in book 21 (Lykaon) and proceeds to capture 12 Trojan youths alive in order to sacrifice them at Patroklos’ pyre. One of the main thematic arcs of the Iliad is the reaffirmation of social conventions of exchange (ransom/xenia) and the rites of the dead, resolved powerfully in book 24.

But there’s something else going on throughout the Iliad too: an exploration of the limits of violence. Agamemnon does not just advocate for the killing of an armed combatant, he announces a strategy that we might call genocidal today. Indeed, if we look at it carefully, the Iliad is rather clear about what the Trojans can expect at the end of the war. Earlier, Nestor makes it clear that sexual assault is an incentive for his soldiers and a punishment for the Trojan women:

Homer, Iliad 2.354–356

“So let no one be compelled to return home,
Before each one has taken a Trojan wife to bed
As payback for the struggles and moans of Helen”

τὼ μή τις πρὶν ἐπειγέσθω οἶκον δὲ νέεσθαι
πρίν τινα πὰρ Τρώων ἀλόχῳ κατακοιμηθῆναι,
τίσασθαι δ’ ῾Ελένης ὁρμήματά τε στοναχάς τε.

Much later in the epic, Priam lets Hektor know what he expects to see when the city falls:

Homer, Iliad 22.59-65

“Pity your unlucky father as he still ponders his
Misfortune., a man father Zeus ruins with harsh fate
Just on the threshold of old age, watching so many evils:
Sons murdered and daughters dragged off,
Bedrooms plundered, and infant children
Hurled to the ground in the awful violence,
While their mothers are hauled away in the Achaeans’ ruinous hands.”

πρὸς δ’ ἐμὲ τὸν δύστηνον ἔτι φρονέοντ’ ἐλέησον
δύσμορον, ὅν ῥα πατὴρ Κρονίδης ἐπὶ γήραος οὐδῷ
αἴσῃ ἐν ἀργαλέῃ φθίσει κακὰ πόλλ’ ἐπιδόντα
υἷάς τ’ ὀλλυμένους ἑλκηθείσας τε θύγατρας, 
καὶ θαλάμους κεραϊζομένους, καὶ νήπια τέκνα
βαλλόμενα προτὶ γαίῃ ἐν αἰνῇ δηϊοτῆτι,
ἑλκομένας τε νυοὺς ὀλοῇς ὑπὸ χερσὶν ᾿Αχαιῶν. 

Agamemnon’s words in book 6 are especially powerful because the invocation of killing infants sets the audience up, in a way, for seeing Astyanax at the end of the book. Hektor’s young son, who had to be conceived and born during the siege and who has likely never left the confinements of his city, is famously killed by either Neoptolemus or Odysseus, dashed to the ground or hurled from the city walls.

A scholiast sees Priam’s words as directly evoking the scenes of the end of Troy:

Schol bT ad Il. 22.61-5a ex.

“And even though he does not describe the sack of Troy, he still makes its suffering clear by summarizing what an entire generation experiences in war.

The outrage against women’s bodies is greater. The poet sublimely offers these things to see only briefly, using the words together and simply. For he doesn’t call the bedrooms “high roofed” or “well-made” or call the daughters “fine-haired” or “nice-ankled”. Instead he [communicates their] misfortune by refraining from the epithets.”

καὶ μὴ γράψας δὲ τὴν ᾿Ιλίου πόρθησιν ὅμως ἐδήλωσεν αὐτῆς τὰ παθήματα, πᾶσανἡλικίαν τὴν ἐν πολέμῳ τι πάσχουσαν παραλαβών·  ταῖς δὲ γυναιξὶν ἡ εἰς τὸ σῶμα ὕβρις μείζων. δαιμονίως δὲ ταῦτα ὑπ’ὄψιν ἤγαγεν ἐν βραχεῖ, χρησάμενος ἅμα καὶ ἀπεριέργως ταῖς λέξεσιν·οὐ γὰρ ὑψορόφους ἢ δαιδαλέους θαλάμους λέγει (cf. 63) οὐδὲ θύγατραςκαλλικόμους ἢ καλλισφύρους ἀλλ’ ἀπήλλακται τῶν ἐπιθέτων αὐτῷ τὰ δυστυχοῦντα τῶν σωμάτων. 

The knowledge of the end of the city and Astyanax’s fate shapes our reception of book 6 and makes the pathos of Hektor’s prayer for his future even harder to handle. How should feel about Agamemnon is contained in the structure of Iliad 6:. his desire to kill all the babies is individualized in one we can understand, similar to the catalogs of obituaries but different: Astyanax is a metonym for all the babies who die at the fall of Troy. Our pity for him should help us to frame and reject Agamemnon’s bloodlust.  But my concern here is less the narrative structures than on the reflection on the realities of violence. The Iliad is often hard to read when it comes to its violence: the death scenes in particular are vivid and at times even amusingly over-the-top, to my taste more akin to the excess of a Quentin Tarantino movie than the brutal realism of the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan.

But my thinking about the relationship between the way we talk about Homeric heroes without fully acknowledge the damage they do has changed after spending the last two decades watching bloody conflicts unfold on television and social media.

The End of Troy on the Mykonos Vase

As I was reading through book 6, I went to do an image search for the death of Astyanax.  In the worst version of this motif, the infant child is used to beat his grandfather Priam to death.

BM 1842,0314.3 c. 550BC-540BC

I then was wondering about the iconography of this scene and googled infanticide and found this on Wikimedia commons:

I was somewhat shocked that I had never seen this image from a Greek vase before. I then realized that it was part of a series of panels that tell the story of this child, a warrior, and his mother. It may be different scenes of an attack, or a sequence telling a story.

Photograph of a figured panel from a clay vase showing a warrior swinging an infant in a sequence

What seems to happen in this sequence is that  the small child tries to intervene when the soldier approaches his mother:

Then the soldier sees the child and grabs him.

And runs him through with his sword.

Due in part to the news of the past few years and being a parent, I found this series really upsetting. But what upset me more was when I looked at the whole vase. I have shown pictures of the top portion of this vessel dozens of times in my career because it is the oldest known image of the Trojan horse. I always used to make jokes about the soldiers looking out the windows. How could the Trojans be so dumb as to let them in?!

The terrible violence on the lower part of the vase seems a consequence of the actions of the warriors inside the horse. But the relationship between how we treat that amusing image and the violence below is a close analogy for what we do with the Iliad by focusing on its heroic veneer without really dwelling enough on the horrors of the world it depicts.

Michael Anderson (1997, 183-191) discusses the pithos in detail as an example of the plot of the lost poem the Iliou Persis. According to Anderson (see also Ervin 1963), the panels follow the action of a single warrior and woman with a male child in different poses, indicating a narrative. He summarizes “This conglomeration of panels exposes an operation of mass enslavement and extermination.” He compares the panels to Priam imagining the future death of his sons and enslavement of daughters in book 22 (62-65). He adds “But the massacre on the pithos need not be limited to a single family, and the multiplication of scenes may be read as an attempt to represent all the women and children of the city” (186) and adds “… the warriors on the pithos are determined to eradicate the entire race of Trojans, and all the male children must die, even the sons still in the womb, as Agamemnon coldly threatens in Iliad 6” (187).

But I fear that the relegation of these images to a particular story tradition does not help us understanding what audiences did with them. As Kathy Gaca shows in her article “The Andrapodizing of War Captives in Greek Historical Memory,” the act of killing those who know how to fight and enslaving/taking those who do not (women and children) was a practice observed in many different ways in Ancient Greece. Agamemnon’s words and the Mykonos vase must surely reflect these practices. I don’t think they are celebrating them, but the tone is far too unclear.

A coda

The Iliad is in part the story of ‘civilizing’ conventions of wars dismissed. What we learn from the beginning is that political institutions are not strong enough to enforce the maintenance of normative behaviors. The personal decisions of individuals–Paris before the war, Agamemnon at the beginning of the Iliad–run roughshod across principles of ransom in exchange for life that the assembled Greeks cheer for in book 1.

The story of excessive violence in the Iliad is that of the rejection of conventions meant to make war in some way predictable and ‘acceptable’ to the combatants. The planned sexual violence of the Achaeans, the rejection of ransom-exchange, and the promotion of infanticide all come within the frame of the breakdown of political control over individual behavior. ‘Rage’ is the break from limitations enforced by social conventions; it unleashes the true hell of war and unveils the brutal, dehumanizing violence pulsating beneath the service of ‘civilization’.

Even the epic’s conclusion is compromised: the cessation of Achilles’ rage only comes through monstrous behavior (corpse-disfigurement and human sacrifice) and occurs at the personal level between a bereft father and a surrogate son whose potential for violence has ebbed through exhaustion and divine intervention. It thematically seals the epic’s arc: book 1 saw the breakdown in social convention thanks to the whims of an angry king; book 24 sees the conventions briefly reinforced, thanks to the needs of two kings in despair. Yet their attitude is not one of rejection violence or rehabilitation, but resignation to the continuing war that will take both of their lives.

For a marginally more explicit take on current events, see here.

Some things to read

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Anderson, Michael J. 1997 The Fall of troy in Early Greek Poetry and Art Oxford

Ebbinghaus, Susanne. “Protector of the City, or the Art of Storage in Early Greece.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 125 (2005): 51–72. http://www.jstor.org/stable/30033345.

M. Ervin, “A relief pithos from Mykonos”, Archaiologikon Deltion 18 (1963), pp. 37-75.

Gaca, Kathy L. “Reinterpreting the Homeric Simile of ‘Iliad’ 16.7-11: The Girl and Her Mother in Ancient Greek Warfare.” The American Journal of Philology 129, no. 2 (2008): 145–71. http://www.jstor.org/stable/27566700.

GACA, KATHY L. “The Andrapodizing of War Captives in Greek Historical Memory.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-) 140, no. 1 (2010): 117–61. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40652052.

Gaca, Kathy L. “MARTIAL RAPE, PULSATING FEAR, AND THE SEXUAL MALTREATMENT OF GIRLS (Παῖδες), VIRGINS (Παρθένοι), AND WOMEN (Γνναῖκες) IN ANTIQUITY.” The American Journal of Philology 135, no. 3 (2014): 303–57. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24560257.

Sparkes, B. A. “The Trojan Horse in Classical Art.” Greece & Rome 18, no. 1 (1971): 54–70. http://www.jstor.org/stable/642388.