Characterizing Hektor in Iliad 17

One of the things I emphasized in my first post on Iliad 17 is the book’s overlapping functions. On the one hand, it creates narrative suspense by forestalling the news of Patroklos getting to Achilles for one more book (therefore delaying the transfer of Achilles’ rage from the Achaeans to Hektor). On the other hand, it still carries out some essential characterization to help to frame the actions that follow. In a way, I think books 16 and 17 are really part of the same narrative unit: together they are something like an extended director’s cut.

The latter quarter of book 16 and the first half of book 17 center around the characterization of Hektor. There is something of an interlocking structure too: following the death of Sarpedon, Hektor moves closer to Patroklos, only to have Euphorbus appear to wound him, and then once Patroklos dies, Menelaos swiftly dispenses with Euphorbus and the focus falls again on Hektor. Glaukos, the second best of the Lykians, tears into Hektor:

Homer, Iliad 17.141-168

“Then Glaukos, the child of Hippolochus and leader of the Lykian men
Tore into Hektor in speech as he glared at him:
‘Hektor, best in form, you really have lacked much when it comes to war.
Truly, a fine fame holds you thus as a coward.
Consider now how you will save the city and the town
alone with only the host born in Troy at your side,
for none of the Lykians at least will go around the city
to battle the Danaans, since there really is no thanks
for men to struggle endlessly forever against the enemy.’
How could you save a lesser man in the roiling battle,
Fool, when you abandoned your friend and companion Sarpedon
As spoil and a trophy for the Argives?
We was a great boon to you and your city when he was alive!
But now you don’t even dare to protect him from the dogs.
So now if any of the Lykians will obey me to go home,
It will mean an awful destruction for Troy.
But if there were a real boldness in Trojan hearts,
An unwavering force, the kind that enters men when
They face toil and strife against the enemy for their homeland,
Then we could quickly take Patroklos into Troy.
If that man arrives dead in the great city of lord Priam,
And we safeguard him from battle rage,
Then the Argives will release the fine weapons of Sarpedon
And we can take him back to Troy.
For the attendant who died belongs to the kind of man who is
The best of the Argives among the ships, along with those close-fighting henchmen.
But you don’t dare to face great-hearted Ajax,
To look him in the eyes in the roar of the battle,
Nor to go straight to fight him, since he is better then you.”

A student recently asked me to try to make sense of who the best fighters are in the Iliad. Among the Trojans and their allies, there are three of pedigree and reputation to be reckoned with: Hektor, Aeneas, and Sarpedon. One of the interesting things about the primary Trojan warriors, however, is how their performance doesn’t quite seem to match up to expectations. Aeneas has to be rescued twice in battle. Sarpedon struggles against Tlepolemus, a minor son of Herakles, and then falls before Patroklos. Hektor can generously be said to match up with Ajax in the duel of Iliad 7, but seems to repeatedly fail to live up to his billing as “man-slaying Hektor” in major battles. Note the use of the word “seems” here: according to Peter Gainsford’s chart on named kills in the Iliad, Hektor is the epic leader in slaughter.

(Note, Aeneas is the next highest ranked Trojan and Sarpedon isn’t even on the list)

But I fear that we need to view this as a ‘regular’ season award with an asterix. What would Hektor’s kill rate look like without Achilles sitting out more than half the epic? What do gaudy statistics mean if you end up losing in the long run? Is Hektor more or less than a Homeric Dan Marino?

By book 17 in the epic, Hektor has led the Trojans through 10 books of steady advance, stymied by divine intervention in book 14 and Patroklos’ return in book 16. But any careful reading of the epic will note that despite all of Hektor’s prowess, the Trojan success is due to Zeus’ interference: hurling lightning bolts in book 8, pulling other gods out of the fray in book 15, and foretelling Patroklos’ death as well. Book 17 is one of those ‘evenly matched’ battle scenes where the drama comes less from the blood spilled than from the words spoken. And these words can take us back to some of Trojan problems.

Glaukos criticizes Hektor the way Hektor insults his brother Paris in book 7: he maligns him for being handsome and equates that beauty with uselessness in war (sorry, Achilles). His language and overall tone reflect his earlier speech after Sarpedon falls (16.538-47) and Sarpedon’s speech in book 5 where the Lykian leader criticizes Hektor’s martial prowess and his ability to lead (5.472-492). Where Sarpedon reminds Hektor of the military importance of the allies, Glaukos threatens to withdraw altogether. After suggesting that they win Patroklos’ body in order to exchange it for Sarpedon’s, Glaukos ends by insulting Hektor again, implying that he is not bold enough to face Ajax (167-8).

As I have written about before, speeches like this echo and reinforce a generally critical view of Trojan politics as being self-interested (to the royal family) and unresponsive (to everyone else). Hektor’s interest in book 8 takes him running after new horses, here he is led to grab new armor. In a way, Glaukos’ remonstration should be seen as a desperate attempt to get Hektor to engage and pay attention. Hektor responds by dismissing Glaukos’ ability to think and then repeats the motif of uncertainty in war, noting that “Zeus’ mind can rout even a brave man”. And yet, despite his objections, Zeus seems to take Glaukos’ criticism to heart: he enjoins him (17.179-82):

‘Come here, friend, stand next to me and watch my work,
whether I will really be an all-day coward, as you publicly announce,
or whether I will hold back some one of the Danaans
even one rushing full of valor to defend dead Patroklos.’

Hektor doesn’t really engage with Glaukos’ plan, just as he ignores advice from Polydamas earlier and Andormache in book 17. Hektor here is more like a school yard bully responding to a dare. In his response, he says nothing about Sarpedon’s body. I think that Hektor hears what he wants to in Glaukos’ speech and then rejects or ignores everything that doesn’t adhere to his current worldview. Hektor leaves from this exchange and is depicted trying to  rally his allies (17.215-19). He promises to share the spoils and fame with whoever aids him in seizing Patroklos’ body, but the narrator apostrophizes them as fools. And this narrative dismissal comes after one of the more memorable scenes in the book. As Hektor picks up Achilles’ weapons and dons them, Zeus shakes his head in pity (201-208):

“Ah, wretched one, you’re not thinking of death at all,
And it is certainly near you. You’re putting on the weapons
Of the best man, one everyone else is afraid of!
You killed his noble and strong friend,
But you’ve pulled the arms off his shoulders and head
Against good order. Well, I’ll give you great strength now
But the payback for this is that there’s no way that Andromache
Will take Achilles’ weapons from you when you have returned from war”

Zeus’ pity for Hektor and his judgment here are likely internal guides for how the audience should be reading Hektor. Hektor is by far the best the Trojans have to offer but he is without a doubt not enough to save the city and never was going to be. The word used in this speech poinê (payback) is used in expressing payback or exchange, generally for offenses, the crime of abducting Helen or things like murdered children. Zeus’ language implies that Hektor has committed some kind of a transgression, but to whom is the debt owed?

The Iliad explores thematic explanations for why this might be the case. Since leaving the city and enjoying temporary success, Hektor has reached beyond any other point in the conflict and, as most ‘heroes’ do, he goes too far. His exchange with Glaukos helps to indicate how desperately he hears only what he wants to hear and Zeus’ speech puts a cap on the whole affair. By mentioning Andromache, Zeus puts the cost of Hektor’s loss in perspective.

And, yet, the epic’s rhetoric here seems a little uncertain, if not unfair. Hektor was always going to lose. Nothing he could do would accomplish much more than postponing the city’s eventual destruction. What is the impact of characterizing him as a wretch and those who follow him as fools? In a way, Hektor’s overreaching is paired with Patroklos’ in book 16 and is also an instantiation of the ‘double motivation’ I have mentioned earlier. The Iliad wants to combine human agency and divine will. It is not enough for human beings to suffer because of divine vacillation: for human life to have meaning, it must come with some choice. The question isn’t what happens to you in the end, it is how you comport yourself along the way.

Hektor’s actions in book 17 help to prepare us for further extremes: when he refuses to retreat again in book 18 and then, finally, when he stands alone to face Achilles in book 22 and runs away. The tension between what we expect from Hektor and what he accomplishes forces us as an audience to come up with explanations, causes. Ass I will write about in talking about book 22, I think Hektor’s characterization evokes the long term effect of trauma. But that’s my take: Hektor develops through the Iliad as an enigma. He may be less mysterious or infuriating than Achilles, but he remains a question audiences labor to answer.

In the end, we are probably like Zeus, shaking our heads and murmuring a lament for Hektor, the star warrior who never wins the big one.

A short Bibliography on book 17

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

Barker, Elton T. E., and Joel P. Christensen. 2019. Homer’s Thebes: Epic Rivalries and the Appropriation of Mythical Pasts. Hellenic Studies Series 84. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

Degener, Michael. “Euphorbus’ plaint and plaits: the unsung valor of a foot soldier in Homer’s « Iliad ».” Phoenix, vol. 74, no. 3-4, 2020, pp. 220-243. Doi: 10.1353/phx.2020.0037

Fenno, Jonathan Brian. “The mist shed by Zeus in Iliad XVII.” The Classical Journal, vol. 104, no. 1, 2008-2009, pp. 1-9.

Harrison, E. L. “Homeric Wonder-Horses.” Hermes 119, no. 2 (1991): 252–54. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4476820.

Kozak, Lynn. “Character and context in the rebuke exchange of Iliad 17.142-184.” Classical World, vol. 106, no. 1, 2012-2013, pp. 1-14.

Moulton, C.. “The speech of Glaukos in Iliad 17.” Hermes, vol. CIX, 1981, pp. 1-8.

Neal, Tamara. “Blood and hunger in the « Iliad ».” Classical Philology, vol. 101, no. 1, 2006, pp. 15-33. Doi: 10.1086/505669

Schein, Seth L.. “The horses of Achilles in Book 17 of the « Iliad ».” « Epea pteroenta »: Beiträge zur Homerforschung : Festschrift für Wolfgang Kullmann zum 75. Geburtstag. Eds. Reichel, Michael and Rengakos, Antonios. Stuttgart: Steiner, 2002. 193-205.

West, M. L. “‘Iliad’ and ‘Aethiopis.’” The Classical Quarterly 53, no. 1 (2003): 1–14. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3556478.

Time Travel Paradoxes and the Death of Euphorbus

At the end of book 16, Patroklos dies and prophesies the death of Hektor. Book 17 opens with Menelaos ‘noticing’ Patroklos fall and then turning to attack one of his killers, the Trojan Euphorbus. This character seems to be created for the moment, although he has something of a life outside of Homer. In the Iliad, he is described as someone with gold and silver in his hair and understood by some as a doublet for Paris, in the reading that makes the killing of Patroklos an echo of the killing of Achilles. Outside of Homer, the story goes that Pythagoras claimed he was Euphorbus reincarnated (according to Diogenes Laertius).

In the Iliad, Euphorbus has a brief narrative: he appears for the first time to kill Patroklos (at 16.808) and dies under 200 lines later. His death is marked by a quick exchange with Menelaos and then a remarkable pair of similes.

Homer, Iliad 17.43-60

“So he spoke and struck his evenly balanced shield,
But the bronze did not pierce, instead the tip bent back
On the strong shield. Then Atreus’ son, Menelaos, attacked
Again with his bronze, following a prayer to father Zeus.
He struck Euphorbus near the bottom of his throat
As he backed away, and he pressed forward, trusting his heavy hand.
The point travelled straight through his tender neck.
The man made a sound as he fell and his armor clattered around him.
His hair was dyed with blood something like the locks of the Graces,
Hair interwoven with silver and gold.
It’s like when a man nourishes an olive shoot
In some isolated place, where there’s plenty of water,
A good, healthy sapling. But then even as gusts of wind
Make it shake, it still blooms in white flower.
But a sudden storm overcomes it with a fierce wind
Rips it up from the furrow and lays it flat on the earth.
That’s how Menelaos, Atreus son killed Euphorbus
The son of Panthous, And then he stripped him of his arms.”

῝Ως εἰπὼν οὔτησε κατ’ ἀσπίδα πάντοσ’ ἐΐσην·
οὐδ’ ἔρρηξεν χαλκός, ἀνεγνάμφθη δέ οἱ αἰχμὴ
ἀσπίδ’ ἐνὶ κρατερῇ· ὃ δὲ δεύτερος ὄρνυτο χαλκῷ
᾿Ατρεΐδης Μενέλαος ἐπευξάμενος Διὶ πατρί·
ἂψ δ’ ἀναχαζομένοιο κατὰ στομάχοιο θέμεθλα
νύξ’, ἐπὶ δ’ αὐτὸς ἔρεισε βαρείῃ χειρὶ πιθήσας·
ἀντικρὺ δ’ ἁπαλοῖο δι’ αὐχένος ἤλυθ’ ἀκωκή,
δούπησεν δὲ πεσών, ἀράβησε δὲ τεύχε’ ἐπ’ αὐτῷ.
αἵματί οἱ δεύοντο κόμαι Χαρίτεσσιν ὁμοῖαι
πλοχμοί θ’, οἳ χρυσῷ τε καὶ ἀργύρῳ ἐσφήκωντο.
οἷον δὲ τρέφει ἔρνος ἀνὴρ ἐριθηλὲς ἐλαίης
χώρῳ ἐν οἰοπόλῳ, ὅθ’ ἅλις ἀναβέβροχεν ὕδωρ,
καλὸν τηλεθάον· τὸ δέ τε πνοιαὶ δονέουσι
παντοίων ἀνέμων, καί τε βρύει ἄνθεϊ λευκῷ·
ἐλθὼν δ’ ἐξαπίνης ἄνεμος σὺν λαίλαπι πολλῇ
βόθρου τ’ ἐξέστρεψε καὶ ἐξετάνυσσ’ ἐπὶ γαίῃ·
τοῖον Πάνθου υἱὸν ἐϋμμελίην Εὔφορβον
᾿Ατρεΐδης Μενέλαος ἐπεὶ κτάνε τεύχε’ ἐσύλα.

When I was discussing book 17 with Mimi Kramer, a friend and author of the great substack Unrelatable, the first thing she mentioned was the hair simile. It is remarkable, among many reasons, for the comparison to the graces and the sense that the dyeing of the hair darkened it to match that of the Graces. The comparison itself may stand to mark Euphorbus as effeminate, or at least falling short of martial exemplarity, like Paris. Yet, when he is introduced, Euphorbus surpassed the men of his age “at the spear, horse-riding, and with his swift feet” (ἔγχεΐ θ’ ἱπποσύνῃ τε πόδεσσί τε καρπαλίμοισι).

With respect to Mimi, I actually find the subsequent simile fascinating. The basic image is of an olive shoot planted in an extreme place, cared for but cut off young by an extreme blast of wind. Menelaos ends up compared to the wind while Euphorbus is the shoot. One really straightforward way to understand the simile, then, is to see it as marking Euphorbus’ youth, his growth despite hostile circumstances, and his death in response to larger forces.

As I have written about before, I am pretty interested in the way Homeric similes engage with contextual themes and advance the plot as well. In earlier posts, I have placed similes in the same categories as other devices and narrative itself, as providing blended spaces between the story and the world of the audience (leaning on cognitive ideas about narrative outlined by authors like Mark Turner in The Literary Mind). I think this simile creates the potential for audience members to think about the tension between the overall narrative of the Trojan War and the particular details of the Iliad.

Let me try to sketch this out in a way that makes sense. The Homeric epics work within the framework of a larger narrative system that restricts how much they can change the details or ‘innovate’. So, Achilles and Hektor always die and they always die in particular ways, but the journey between the points on the narrative archipelago can differ each time we take it. What needs to happen when the story being told goes too far, however, is a course-correction. So, if a detail is introduced that may in some way complicate or undermine the immutable feature of the Trojan War narrative, then the Homeric narrative has to resolve or at least reduce the tension.

When Euphorbus is involved in killing Patroklos, he may increase the echoes between Patroklos’ death and Achilles’ and he may also serve to soften or alter Hektor’s reputation, but he also introduces the threat that Achilles’ rage may go the wrong way. Euphorbus is immediately a loose end and the tradition abhors loose ends. And, so, the narrative introduces a rapid way to ‘snip’ a wild strand out of existence. Menelaos, compared to the wind, is an extension of fate or the sky-god Zeus’ ultimate responsibility for maintaining cosmic order.

In writing this way, I am thinking a little bit about causal sequences and time travel paradoxes. I recently watched the show Bodies and was intrigued by its time travel loop and the nearly divine power granted to the universe to erase paradoxes. In a way, it reminded me of “All You Zombies” by Robert Heinlein. In both stories, the supreme agent who can control time is someone who somehow gets outside of time, to establish a causal loop that centers around them. Reestablishing a ‘proper’ or ‘natural’ narrative sequence requires the dissolution of that loop, the erasure of that agency. Homeric poetry, for all of his agentive power, is still beholden to a temporal sequence with specific causes and outcomes and can only work within those limits in telling its story. (And, indeed, often becomes the most interesting when pressing against or expanding those limits.)

So, I have begun to think of moments like the brief life and death of Euphorbus as akin to resolving a temporal paradox. Instead, we find Homeric poetry working in the creases of narrative traditions, adapting as much as possible, and deviating to the point that some people notice. And then, in a truly performative fashion, marking the moment of return with something surprising. To lay on even more to this: there is a metapoetic motif in Homeric poetry that may link trees and plants to narrative traditions.

Elton Barker and I have followed scholars like John Henderson and Alex Purves in seeing trees as a potential metaphor for poetic creation, if not for actual traditions of narratives and poetic traditions. From the leaves of trees for generations of heroes to the orchard of Laertes where Odysseus and his father recount their shared past, trees and their substance can be stand ins for sequences, for identity, and for the stories that put these things in context. When Euphorbus is compared to a shoot of an olive tree, flourishing and isolated, plucked and laid to rest before it is grown, the Iliad is really marking him as an abortive narrative tradition, snuffed out by the force of a storyworld that has no space its growth and expansion.

A Starter Bibliography on Similes in Homer

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

Bassett, Samuel E. “The Function of the Homeric Simile.” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 52 (1921): 132–47. https://doi.org/10.2307/282957.

Ben-Porat, Ziva. “Poetics of the Homeric Simile and the Theory of (Poetic) Simile.” Poetics Today 13, no. 4 (1992): 737–69. https://doi.org/10.2307/1773297.

Mandel, Oscar. “Homeric Simile.” Prairie Schooner 69, no. 2 (1995): 124–124. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40633938.

Minchin, Elizabeth. “Similes in Homer: image, mind’s eye, and memory.” Speaking volumes: orality and literacy in the Greek and Roman world. Ed. Watson, Janet. Mnemosyne. Supplements; 218. Leiden ; Boston (Mass.): Brill, 2001. 25-52.

Moulton, Carroll. “Similes in the Iliad.” Hermes 102, no. 3 (1974): 381–97. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4475864.

Muellner, Leonard. “The Simile of the Cranes and Pygmies a Study of Homeric Metaphor.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. 93, 1990, pp. 59–101. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/311283. Accessed 6 Jan. 2024.

Naiden, Fred S.. “Homer’s leopard simile.” Nine essays on Homer. Eds. Carlisle, Miriam and Levaniouk, Olga Arkadievna. Greek Studies. Lanham (Md.): Rowman and Littlefield, 1999. 177-203.

Notopoulos, James A. “Homeric Similes in the Light of Oral Poetry.” The Classical Journal 52, no. 7 (1957): 323–28. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3294076.

Pache, Corinne. “Mourning lions and Penelope’s revenge.” Arethusa, vol. 49, no. 1, 2016, pp. 1-24.

Porter, David H. “Violent Juxtaposition in the Similes of the ‘Iliad.’” The Classical Journal 68, no. 1 (1972): 11–21. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3296022.

Ready, Jonathan. 2011. Character, Narrator and Simile in the Iliad. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Ready, Jonathan L. “The Comparative Spectrum in Homer.” The American Journal of Philology 129, no. 4 (2008): 453–96. http://www.jstor.org/stable/27566727.

Scott, William C. 2009. The Artistry of the Homeric Simile. Hanover, NH: Dartmouth College Press.

Andreas Thomas Zanker, Metaphor in Homer: time, speech, and thought. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2019. x, 263 p.. ISBN 9781108491884 $99.99.

Hektor, Patroklos, and the End of Iliad 16

Patroklos’ death is one of the most important moments in the Iliad: it advances the plot by redirecting Achilles’ rage toward Hektor and it also engages in some critical themes. The details of how he dies have caused consternation over the years: Apollo strips him of his armor, Euphorbus wounds him, and then Hektor moves in for the kill. All of this happens after Patroklos has pushed too far, ignoring Achilles’ advice from the beginning of the book and dismissing repeated warnings from Apollo. In doing so, Patroklos engages in what later authors might call hubris in two ways: he oversteps his bounds, arrogating to himself honor and glory destined for Achilles, and he does so despite somewhat direct intervention from the gods. 

One of the more important questions in thinking through the end of book 16 is how this depiction of Patroklos’ death informs our reading of Hektor and Achilles. In addition, Patroklos’ demise furnishes further material for thinking through determination and agency in epic: Zeus has previously prophesied Patroklos’ death, thereby making it fated; and, yet, the epic also takes pains to show that Patroklos is in part liable for his own suffering. This is all part of the famous ‘double determination’ that characterizes the pairing of human decisions and behavior within the larger arc of the narrative tradition and divine fate.

Three more topics jump out at me when I look at the final exchange of Patroklos’ life: (1) the Homeric narrator’s direct address to the hero; (2) the ensuing controversies about his actual death; and (3) his brief prophetic power and Hektor’s response.

Homer, Iliad 16. 843-863

“O Patroklos you horseman, then you addressed him, succumbing to weakness:
Now already you are boasting a lot—for Zeus, the son of Kronos
Gave victory to you along with Apollo, and they overcame me
With ease. They are the ones who stripped the armor from my shoulders.
If twenty who are the likes of you had opposed me
They all would have died here, overcome by my spear.
But ruinous fate killed me a long with Leto’s son
And, from men, Euphorbus. You are the third to kill me.
I will tell you something else and keep it in your thoughts.
You’re not going to be here very long yourself, but death
And its overwhelming fate already are standing near you:
To die at the hands of Achilles, Aeacus’ blameless grandson.’
So he spoke and death’s end covered him as he spoke.

His soul went flying from his limbs and went to Hades
Lamenting their fate, because they left behind manliness and youth.
As he died, glorious Hektor addressed him:
“Patroklos, why are you prophesying my death to me?
Who knows if Achilles, the child of nice-haired Thetis
May die, struck first by my spear?”
So Hektor spoke and he drew his bronze spear from the wound
Pressing down with his foot as he pushed him away.”

Τὸν δ’ ὀλιγοδρανέων προσέφης Πατρόκλεες ἱππεῦ·
ἤδη νῦν ῞Εκτορ μεγάλ’ εὔχεο· σοὶ γὰρ ἔδωκε
νίκην Ζεὺς Κρονίδης καὶ ᾿Απόλλων, οἵ με δάμασσαν
ῥηιδίως· αὐτοὶ γὰρ ἀπ’ ὤμων τεύχε’ ἕλοντο.
τοιοῦτοι δ’ εἴ πέρ μοι ἐείκοσιν ἀντεβόλησαν,
πάντές κ’ αὐτόθ’ ὄλοντο ἐμῷ ὑπὸ δουρὶ δαμέντες.
ἀλλά με μοῖρ’ ὀλοὴ καὶ Λητοῦς ἔκτανεν υἱός,
ἀνδρῶν δ’ Εὔφορβος· σὺ δέ με τρίτος ἐξεναρίζεις.
ἄλλο δέ τοι ἐρέω, σὺ δ’ ἐνὶ φρεσὶ βάλλεο σῇσιν·
οὔ θην οὐδ’ αὐτὸς δηρὸν βέῃ, ἀλλά τοι ἤδη
ἄγχι παρέστηκεν θάνατος καὶ μοῖρα κραταιὴ
χερσὶ δαμέντ’ ᾿Αχιλῆος ἀμύμονος Αἰακίδαο.
῝Ως ἄρα μιν εἰπόντα τέλος θανάτοιο κάλυψε·
ψυχὴ δ’ ἐκ ῥεθέων πταμένη ῎Αϊδος δὲ βεβήκει
ὃν πότμον γοόωσα λιποῦσ’ ἀνδροτῆτα καὶ ἥβην.
τὸν καὶ τεθνηῶτα προσηύδα φαίδιμος ῞Εκτωρ·
Πατρόκλεις τί νύ μοι μαντεύεαι αἰπὺν ὄλεθρον;
τίς δ’ οἶδ’ εἴ κ’ ᾿Αχιλεὺς Θέτιδος πάϊς ἠϋκόμοιο
φθήῃ ἐμῷ ὑπὸ δουρὶ τυπεὶς ἀπὸ θυμὸν ὀλέσσαι;
῝Ως ἄρα φωνήσας δόρυ χάλκεον ἐξ ὠτειλῆς
εἴρυσε λὰξ προσβάς, τὸν δ’ ὕπτιον ὦσ’ ἀπὸ δουρός.

Apostrophe in Homer

Whenever I read Homer with people, they will invariably ask why the Homeric narrator uses direct address to a few select characters. The appeal to Patroklos as if in conversation is not a result of a translator’s choice: in the Greek, epic uses the vocative form for Patroklos’ name (i.e., the case ending for a direct address) and 2nd person verbs for the action (the singular “you” forms). Among literary devices, direct-address to a character/person not present  is called apostrophe. (It shares the name with the punctuation mark because both the sign and the action are “turning away”, which is the meaning of the Greek word.) As early as Ps. Plutarch’s On Homer, we have the identification of the trope as apostrophe and the idea articulated that it “moves with pathos and  makes an impact on the audience.” (ὅπερ ἰδίως ἀποστροφὴ καλεῖται. τῷ δὲ παθητικῷ  κινεῖ καὶ ἄγει τὸν ἀκροώμενον, 620-621 ) 

Several characters in Homer receive this treatment, but only two receive it repeatedly: Patroklos in the Iliad and Eumaios in the Odyssey. The general argument I have always shared for this is that the act creates a sense of identification or sympathy with the the character addressed in Homer, setting them and their experiences aside from the rest of the narrative as something special. From a narratological perspective, Irene J. F. De Jong has classed apostrophe as a kind of metalepsis, that is a device that breaks down the narrative, that draws the audience and narrator together to see the actions in a different way. The effect is both to single the apostrophized character out for special attention and to bring the audiences closer to the experience, to immerse them in it, as Rutger Allan suggests.

The repeated effect in book 16 may draw the audience closer to Patroklos and his decision making, while also increasing the emotional effect of his death and preparing us for Achilles’ extreme response. In addition, I think it contrasts with the treatment of Hektor who seems to inspire so much sympathy among modern audiences. What is the impact of the expressed narrative sympathy for Patroklos on our response to Hektor’s characterization?

He is not even third! Hektor’s Contribution to Patroklos’ Death

I think that one of the under-emphasized themes of books 16 and on is the diminishment of Hektor. While he is posed as late as book 9 as a man-slaying menace, threatening the whole of the Achaean fleet, he is wounded in book 14, resuscitated in book 15, and only allowed to make his critical contribution to the plot after his ally Sarpedon has died, and after Patroklos has pushed the Trojans almost back into the city itself.

Patroklos notes that Hektor was only third in line to kill him. The D scholia preserve some additional commentary on Hektor’s achievement:

“We need to look at how the count isn’t four including Fate, Apollo, Euphorbos, and Hektor, when Patroklos says “you are killing me third!”. People are saying that he is not counting Fate because she is common for all mortals. Some claim that Patroklos just indicated this when he listed it as he does….these really means he’s last [πολλοστός]”

Hektor’s killing of Patroklos triggers the plot sequence that ends Hektor’s life but it also reshapes our view of his character Steven Lowenstam argues that Patroclus’ death can be shown to reveal ambivalence about excellence in warfare. I think the scene definitely undermines conventional notions of heroism and that it does so by showing Patroklos’ excess and emphasizing Hektor’s limitations.

As William Allan shows, Patroklos’ death anticipates Hektor’s fall in important ways, but it also apparently informs our understanding of the relationship between the Iliad and the lost Aithiopis.  Achilles’ eventual death thanks to Paris and Apollo is predicted later in the Iliad. Some authors have argued that it is prefigured in Euphorbus as a doublet for Paris. According to our ancient sources, Achilles’ death actually occurred in the lost Aithiopis. Allan’s discussion about the correlations between these death scenes is nuanced: He suggests that we don’t need to imagine the Iliad or the Aithiopis copying each other: the scenes could be based on conventional patterns, or (and this is my take) they could both be echoing earlier versions of their own narrative traditions (see Jonathan Burgess’ article on this too.)

One of the important motifs Allan focuses on is Euphorbus’ role in the death: while some have seen him as a doublet of other figures, Allan argues that the Homeric narrative gives him an actual backstory: Menelaos killed his brother Hyperenor in book 14 and Hektor is often paired with Polydamas, whose relationship with Hektor I have suggested is a good index for Homeric politics. Hektor’s killing of Patroklos is in a way diminished by his ranking as third in the killers (after Apollo and Euphorbus). The cumulative effect of book 16, one might say, is to emphasize human folly and overreaching. Both Patroklos and Hektor go farther than they are supposed to.

The Prophecy

A traditional motif from early Greek culture is the idea that souls about to die gain some power of prophecy because o their proximity to the divide between mortal and immortal realms

Schol. T in Hom. Il. 16.851

“This is the belief expressed by the poet: souls that are about to make a transition have something of prophetic power. For once they have come closer to divine nature, they get some foreknowledge of what is to come.”

δόγμα ἐστὶ τοῦτο τῷ ποιητῇ ὥστε ἀπαλλασσομένας τὰς ψυχὰς ἔχειν τι μαντικώτερον· πλησίον γὰρ ἤδη τῆς θείας φύσεως γινομένη ἡ ψυχὴ προγινώσκει τι τῶν μελλόντων.

When Hektor dies, he too will provide a prophecy to his killer and will be rejected in a similar way. Hektor’s response here repeats the Trojan refrain that who knows whether they will live or die. Hektor very well suspects what his fate is, as he makes clear in book 6. His articulation of the idea that he may have a puncher’s chance of beating Achilles is different at this moment than when he dismisses his advisors or rallies the Trojans earlier. Here, Hektor is talking to a man as he dies and we have no evidence that anyone else is listening. Hektor’s denial here can be seen either as a taunt for the departing Telemachus or a desperate continuation of his previous attempts to persuade others that their cause is not doomed.

While I think the context is ambiguous–Hektor can be seen as cruelly boastful or in desperate denial–I do think that the characterization is disambiguated by subsequent actions: Hektor foolishly takes up Patroklos’ armor in book 17; he fails to rescue Sarpedon’s body for Glaukos; he refuses to tale his army back to the city as Polydamas advises in book 18; and he is hemmed in by Achilles until he is forced to face him in book 22. At that moment, Hektor expresses his regret. In a way, his narrative arc is a shadow cast by Patroklos’ death: they both fight beyond their fate and die by divine fiat outside the walls of Troy.

Patroklos’ dying taunt of Hektor and Hektor’s subsequent dismissal of his prophecy unite them in a kind of pathos that relativizes and undermines any claims of glory. Patroklos’ ‘great deeds’ transgress and surpass his friends advice and he dies with only the promise of glory to come. Hektor is denied the accomplishment himself. And all that is left in this wake is a heroic rage that does little to elevate the human condition.

A short Bibliography on the end of Iliad 16

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

Allan, Rutger. “Metaleptic apostrophe in Homer: emotion and immersion.” Emotions and narrative in ancient literature and beyond: studies in honour of Irene de Jong. Eds. De Bakker, Mathieu, Van den Berg, Baukje and Klooster, Jacqueline. Mnemosyne. Supplements; 451. Leiden ; Boston (Mass.): Brill, 2022. 78-93. Doi: 10.1163/9789004506053_006

Allan, William. “Arms and the man: Euphorbus, Hector, and the death of Patroclus.” Classical Quarterly, N. S., vol. 55, no. 1, 2005, pp. 1-16. Doi: 10.1093/cq/bmi001

Block, E.. “The narrator speaks. Apostrophe in Homer and Vergil.” TAPA, vol. CXII, 1982, pp. 7-22.

Burgess, Jonathan Seth. “Beyond neo-analysis: problems with the vengeance theory.” American Journal of Philology, vol. 118, no. 1, 1997, pp. 1-19. Doi: 10.1353/ajp.1997.0011

Christopoulos, Menelaos. “Patroclus and Elpenor: dead and unburied.” Ο επάνω και ο κάτω κόσμος στο ομηρικό και αρχαϊκό έπος: από τα πρακτικά του ΙΓ’ Διεθνούς Συνεδρίου για την « Οδύσσεια » : Ιθάκη, 25-29 Αυγούστου 2017. Eds. Christopoulos, Menelaos and Païzi-Apostolopoulou, Machi. Ithaki: Kentro Odysseiakon Spoudon, 2020. 163-174.

De Jong, Irene J. F.. “Metalepsis in ancient Greek literature.” Narratology and interpretation: the content of narrative form in ancient literature. Eds. Grethlein, Jonas and Rengakos, Antonios. Trends in Classics. Supplementary Volumes; 4. Berlin ; New York: De Gruyter, 2009. 87-115.

Karakantza, Efimia D.. “Who is liable for blame ? : Patroclus’ death in book 16 of the « Iliad ».” Έγκλημα και τιμωρία στην ομηρική και αρχαϊκή ποίηση : από τα πρακτικά του ΙΒ’ διεθνούς συνεδρίου για την Οδύσσεια, Ιθάκη, 3-7 Σεπτεμβρίου 2013. Eds. Christopoulos, Menelaos and Païzi-Apostolopoulou, Machi. Ithaki: Kentro Odysseiakon Spoudon, 2014. 117-136.

Lowenstam, Steven. “Patroclus’ death in the Iliad and the inheritance of an Indo-European myth.” Archaeological News, vol. VI, 1977, pp. 72-76.

Parry, A.. “Language and characterization in Homer.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. LXXVI, 1972, pp. 1-22.

The Death of Sarpedon and the Beginning of Universal Human Rights

One of the most memorable scenes in the Iliad is when Zeus cries tears of blood once he accepts that his son Sarpedon is going to die. Sarpedon’s death is not necessarily crucial to the plot: Hektor could very easily kill Patroklos and thus redirect Achilles’ rage without Sarpedon’s presence at all. But this scene retains important thematic connections to the epic’s concern for heroism, human mortality, and widening the space between the worlds of gods and human beings.

Readers have identified internal and external tensions to this scene. Internally, Zeus predicted just in the last book that Sarpedon would die. Externally, there are scholarly traditions that see different kinds of inconsistency. One scholion suggests that “the poet” includes this passage to raise the profile of Sarpedon’s death (Schol. bT ad Il. 16.431-461) while another reports that Zenodotus questioned the entire conversation of Zeus and Hera (Schol. A) because it isn’t clear where or how this conversation is happening. A close reading of the scene can help us see its connections to larger epic and cosmic themes.

Iliad 16.431-438

“As the son of crooked-minded Kronos was watching them, he felt pity
And he addressed Hera, his sister and wife:
“Shit. Look, it is fate for the man most dear to me, Sarpedon,
To be overcome by Patroklos, son of Menoitios.
My hearts is split in two as I rush through my thoughts:
Either I will snatch him up still alive from the lamentable battle
And set him down in the rich deme of Lykia,
Or I will overcome him already at the hands of Patroklos.”

Note the movement from the statement of fate that seems impersonal (in Greek, μοῖρ’ ὑπὸ Πατρόκλοιο Μενοιτιάδαο δαμῆναι) to the active statement I will with the somewhat interesting use of a temporal adverb pointing to now with a future verb (ἦ ἤδη ὑπὸ χερσὶ Μενοιτιάδαο δαμάσσω). Zeus expresses the very confusing overlap between his submission to fate and his status as an agency of it.

But any sensed contradiction here is understandable if we look at the metaphysical world the Iliad constructs itself: as Zeus says to Thetis in book 1, once he consents to a proposition, once he ‘nods’ to it, it moves from the unreal to a future fact. Part of Zeus’ power resides in the belief that his word in some way makes the cosmos what it is by guaranteeing its boundaries. Yet, here, as with Achilles in the epic, Zeus finds that the decisions he made to serve some larger plot have painful implications. There is a correlation of kinds between Zeus’ loss of Sarpedon and Achilles’ loss of Patroklos. The difference is that Zeus understands the promise he has made.

Schol. T ad Hom. Il. 16.433-8a1

“Don’t criticize the poet for this: for it is right to show the gods’ sympathy for men and that he speaks the following to her. In addition, Zeus’ mourning is didactic: the poet shows that even the gods submit to what is fated. It is therefore correct for human beings to bear fate nobly”

οὐ μεμπτέον τὸν ποιητήν· ἢ γὰρ ἀφιέναι δεῖ τὴν συγγένειαν τῶν θεῶν τὴν πρὸς ἀνθρώπους ἢ τὰ ἑπόμενα αὐτῇ λέγειν. ἅμα δὲ καὶ παιδευτικὴ ἡ τοῦ Διὸς ὀλόφυρσις, διδάσκοντος τοῦ ποιητοῦ ὅτι καὶ θεοὶ τῇ εἱμαρμένῃ ἐμμένουσι· δεῖ οὖν καὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους τὰς εἱμαρμένας φέρειν γενναίως. 

This exchange in the middle of book 16 has two additional ‘metaphysical’ or cosmic concerns. First, it establishes that mortality is an immutable fact of human life. Sarpedon is a good figure to explore this because he is in a way a refraction of Achilles as the hero son of a god who likely received cult worship. Indeed, his death scene is an important piece of repeated iconography in early Greek art and within the Iliad he is a figure who has spoken directly to the connection between being a noble/heroic figure and risking one’s life as a matter of obligation. In addition, Sarpedon’s death comes at a time when the death of Patroklos is anticipated, a death that in multiple ways serves within the Iliad as a surrogate death for Achilles.

The second cosmic effect of Zeus in this book is to emphasize the honors of the dead. As I discuss in an earlier post, the Theogony and the broader epic tradition positions Zeus’ stability in the universe as a feature of his ability to guarantee the social/religious positions of the gods. In a similar way, the Iliad may be seen to offer not just an etiology for human death, but also an explanation for how the dead should be honored and what kind of extra-mortality is available to the best. This is no minor issue for the Iliad which has offered and complicated kleos (immortal glory/fame) as compensation for an early death and which later shows how important it is to bury the dead and present them with the rituals that are necessary for the creation and perpetuation of kleos: funerary lament and, to get meta-poetic with it, perhaps epic itself.

Iliad 16. 439-461

“Then queen, ox-eyed Hera answered him
Most shameful son of Kronos, what kind of a thing have you said.
Do you really want to rescue from discordant death
When it was long ago fated for this man because he is mortal?
Do it. But the rest of the gods will not praise you for it.
I’ll tell you something else, and keep this in your thoughts:
If you send Sarpedon alive to his own home,
Think about how one of the other gods won’t want
To send their dear son free of the oppressive conflict.
For around the great city of Priam there are many sons
Of the immortals fighting, and you will incite rage in those gods.
But if this is ear to you, and your heart does mourn,
Let him stay in the oppressive battle indeed
To be overcome by the hands of Patroklos, Menoitios’ son.
Then when his soul and and his life leaves him,
Have death and sweet sleep take him until
They arrive at the land of broad Lykia.
There, his relatives and friends will bury him
With a tomb and a marker. This is the honor due to the dead.

“So she spoke, and the father of men and gods did not disobey her.
He was shedding bloody teardrops to the ground,
Honoring his dear son, the one Patroklos was about to destroy
Far off from his fatherland in fertile Troy.”

In this speech, Hera occupies something of a gendered position: in archaic Greek culture, women are represented as having special associations with death and burials, both in the act of caring for bodies and in the performance of laments (as we see at the end of the Iliad). There is a symbolic/thematic connection between a gendered ability to give life and knowledge about life’s end that is likely connected to Greek mythology. Here, in one of the rare places that Hera provides advice Zeus heeds, it is directly related to clarifying human mortality and establishing ritual practices to honor it.

Later on in the same book, Zeus repeats part of Hera’s speech to confirm what Sarpedon will receive the rites due to the dead:

Iliad 16.666-676

“And then cloud-gathering Zeus addressed Apollo:
‘Come now, dear Phoebus, cleanse the dark blood
From the wounds, once you get to Sarpedon, and then
Bring him out and wash him much in the river’s flows
And anoint him with ambrosia and put ambrosial clothes around him.
Send him to be carried by those quick heralds,
The twins sleep and death, and have them swiftly
Place him in the rich land of wide Lykia.
There, his relatives and friends will bury him
With a tomb and a marker. This is the honor due to the dead.”

The final phrase in Zeus’ speech “This is the honor due to the dead” (τὸ γὰρ γέρας ἐστὶ θανόντων) occurs again at line 23.9 when Achilles inaugurates Patroklos’ burial before the games in his honor and its substance is central to the debate at the beginning of book 24 about returning Hektor’s body to his family.

Zeus’ suffering for his son creates common ground between gods and mortals over the death’s inevitability for human beings. It foreshadows, or echoes, Thetis’ sorrow for Achilles’ death even as it brings humans and gods together into a cosmos ordered by the fact that Zeus keeps his word. All humans die, but in the universe stabilized by Zeus some rights remain untouchable even in death.

The death of Sarpedon both anticipates future deaths (Patroklos, Hektor and Achilles outside the epic) and also affirms the importance of burial rites for human beings and inscribes them as part of the same system of honors that stabilize the cosmic order. Implicit in this is burial as a universal human right: the Iliad both provides a framework for establishing such an extra-political belief and also anticipates the sense of umbrage that attends other mythical traditions like the failure to bury the dead of the Seven Against Thebes.

A short Bibliography on Sarpedon book 16

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

Allen, Nick J.. “Dyaus and Bhīṣma, Zeus and Sarpedon: towards a history of the Indo-European sky god.” Gaia, vol. 8, 2004, pp. 29-36.

Barker, Elton T. E.. “The « Iliad »’s big swoon: a case of innovation within the epic tradition ?.” Trends in Classics, vol. 3, no. 1, 2011, pp. 1-17.

Barker, Elton T. E., and Joel P. Christensen. 2019. Homer’s Thebes: Epic Rivalries and the Appropriation of Mythical Pasts. Hellenic Studies Series 84. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

Delattre, Charles. “Entre mortalité et immortalité: l’exemple de Sarpédon dans l’« Iliade ».” Revue de Philologie, de Littérature et d’Histoire Anciennes, 3e sér., vol. 80, no. 2, 2006, pp. 259-271.

Gartziou-Tatti, Ariadni. 2023. “Boreas, Hypnos, Thanatos, and the deaths of Sarpedon in the Iliad.” In “Γέρα: Studies in honor of Professor Menelaos Christopoulos,” ed. Athina Papachrysostomou, Andreas P. Antonopoulos, Alexandros-Fotios Mitsis, Fay Papadimitriou, and Panagiota Taktikou, special issue, Classics@ 25. https://nrs.harvard.edu/URN-3:HLNC.ESSAY:103900170.

Higbie, Carolyn. “Greeks and the forging of Homeric pasts.” Attitudes towards the past in antiquity : creating identities: proceedings of an international conference held at Stockholm University, 15-17 May 2009. Eds. Alroth, Brita and Scheffer, Charlotte. Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis. Stockholm Studies in Classical Archaeology; 14. Stockholm: Stockholm University, 2014. 9-19.

Lateiner, Donald. “Pouring bloody drops (Iliad 16.459): the grief of Zeus.” Colby Quarterly, vol. 38, no. 1, 2002, pp. 42-61.

Marks, J. 2016. “Herding Cats: Zeus, the Other Gods, and the Plot of the Iliad.” In The Gods of Greek hexameter poetry: from the archaic age to late antiquity and beyond, ed. J. J. Clauss, M. Cuypers and A. Kahane, 60–75. Stuttgart.

Nagy, Gregory. “On the death of Sarpedon.” Approaches to Homer. Eds. Rubino, C. A. and Shelmerdine, Cynthia W.. Austin, TX: Univ. of Texas Pr., 1983. 189-217.

Pucci, Pietro. “Banter and banquets for heroic death.” Post-structuralist classics. Ed. Benjamin, Andrew. Warwick stud. in philos. & liter. – . London: Routledge, 1988; New York: 1988. 132-159.

Spivey, Nigel. The Sarpedon krater: the life and afterlife of a Greek vase. Landmark Library. London: Head of Zeus, 2018.

Tsingarida, Athéna. “The death of Sarpedon: workshops and pictorial experiments.” Hermeneutik der Bilder: Beiträge zur Ikonographie und Interpretation griechischer Vasenmalerei. Eds. Schmidt, Stefan and Oakley, John Howard. Beihefte zum Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum; 4. München: Beck, 2009. 135-142.

I always dislike when people ask which books of the Iliad are must-reads. Unsurprisingly, I think they all are pretty necessary. But I do have to concede that there are some that can be skipped without losing too much of the sense of the whole, and there are others that are absolutely crucial. Iliad 16 is pretty near indispensable to the plot of the poem (as anticipated in Zeus’ speech in book 15), but it also has critical engagements with the epic’s themes and connections with larger narrative traditions. It just may be one of the top 4 books of the Iliad, depending on your interests.

Book 16 has three major components, but splits more easily into two parts. The first part is the meeting between Patroklos and Achilles and the preparation for the latter to lead the Myrmidons into war in the former’s place; the second part is the aristeia of Patroklos that includes some wholesale slaughter along with the death of Sarpedon, and ends with Patroklos’ own fall. I think the book could also be seen in three movements: the preparation, the rallying of the Greeks and death of Sarpedon, and the excess, ending in Patroklos death at Hektor’s hands. 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 13 are heroism, Family & Friends, Gods and Humans and Narrative Traditions.

Book 16 is also the second longest book of the Iliad (book 5 is slightly longer at 909 lines): given its detail and how important it is not just to this epic but to other narrative traditions, there’s no way to talk about everything. In my posts on book 16, I think I will stick to a simple scheme: the beginning (Patroklos speaks to Achilles), the middle (Patroklos kills Sarpedon) and the end (Hektor kills Patroklos). Book 16 is remarkable for many reasons, but one of them is how it picks up the action from book 11, when Nestor spoke to Patroklos and encouraged him to convince Achilles to return to war or take his place in turn. As I wrote about in discussing book 13, the narrative is still in the epic’s longest day and for all we know Achilles has been watching the action since he sent Patroklos to investigate.

When Patroklos arrives, Achilles addresses him with a simile that has caught some attention over time.

Homer, Iliad 16.2-19

“So they were fighting about the well-benched ship,
Then Patroklos stood next to Achilles, the shepherd of the host,
Pouring out warm tears like some dark-watered spring
That drains its murky water down a steep cliff.
When swift-footed Achilles saw him, he pitied him,
And addressed him, speaking out winged words:
“Why do you weep, Patroklos, like some little girl
Who is racing alongside her mother asking her to carry her
As she pulls on her clothing and holds her back as she hurries—
She looks at her with tears until she picks her up.
You look like her, Patroklos, as you shed your tears.
Is there something you need to tell the Myrmidons or me?
Have you alone heard some message from Phthia?
People say Menoitios, Actor’s son, lives still and
Peleus, the son of Aeacus, lives among the Myrmidons.
We would truly grieve together if these two were dead.
Or are you upset over the Argives, that they are perishing
Among the ships, because of their own arrogance?
Tell me, don’t keep it secret, so we can both know.”

Πάτροκλος δ’ ᾿Αχιλῆϊ παρίστατο ποιμένι λαῶν
δάκρυα θερμὰ χέων ὥς τε κρήνη μελάνυδρος,
ἥ τε κατ’ αἰγίλιπος πέτρης δνοφερὸν χέει ὕδωρ.
τὸν δὲ ἰδὼν ᾤκτιρε ποδάρκης δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεύς,
καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
τίπτε δεδάκρυσαι Πατρόκλεες, ἠΰτε κούρη
νηπίη, ἥ θ’ ἅμα μητρὶ θέουσ’ ἀνελέσθαι ἀνώγει
εἱανοῦ ἁπτομένη, καί τ’ ἐσσυμένην κατερύκει,
δακρυόεσσα δέ μιν ποτιδέρκεται, ὄφρ’ ἀνέληται·
τῇ ἴκελος Πάτροκλε τέρεν κατὰ δάκρυον εἴβεις.
ἠέ τι Μυρμιδόνεσσι πιφαύσκεαι, ἢ ἐμοὶ αὐτῷ,
ἦέ τιν’ ἀγγελίην Φθίης ἐξέκλυες οἶος;
ζώειν μὰν ἔτι φασὶ Μενοίτιον ῎Ακτορος υἱόν,
ζώει δ’ Αἰακίδης Πηλεὺς μετὰ Μυρμιδόνεσσι;
τῶν κε μάλ’ ἀμφοτέρων ἀκαχοίμεθα τεθνηώτων.
ἦε σύ γ’ ᾿Αργείων ὀλοφύρεαι, ὡς ὀλέκονται
νηυσὶν ἔπι γλαφυρῇσιν ὑπερβασίης ἕνεκα σφῆς;

ἐξαύδα, μὴ κεῦθε νόῳ, ἵνα εἴδομεν ἄμφω.

This sequence provides multiple perspectives on Patroklos’ crying. As Rachel Lesser suggests, the repetition of similes for crying from book 9 to 16 emphasizes Patroklos’ empathy for the suffering of the Achaeans and puts him in the place of translator between them and Achilles (2022, 174). But this is not the only comparison: Achilles himself enters the discussion and compares Patroklos to a little girl, chasing after her mother until she picks her up. From the perspective of modern misogyny, this simile seems dismissive if not insulting. The context of the relationship and the conversation changes this a little, I think. First, this is a private conversation between just two people; second, the pair are intimates and Achilles is offering a take on their relationship that echoes his own statement in book 9 where he compares himself to a mother bird.

There have been multiple interpretations of this simile. Kathy L. Gaca argued in a 2008 article that this evokes the experience of a mother and daughter pair in war, fleeing capture and abuse at the hands of enemy warriors. Others, like David Porter, have been cautious about how much the image should be particularized to such a moment: suggesting that the simile may also look ahead and back to other conflicts and parts of this poem. Like Gaca, I can’t help but hear the echoes of a city under siege and Agamemnon’s earlier threats; yet, I think we can’t be sure what audiences would have thought about.

Here, too, we can think of the tension in the relationship imagined. Achilles frames Patroklos as someone who desperately needs him just as he also implicitly acknowledges that he needs Patroklos too. There’s something thematically crucial in the mother’s headlong rush, in her interest to get something done, regardless of the child’s needs at that moment. This is something Celsiana Warwick highlights well in her discussion where she argues that “ the Iliad uses maternal imagery in martial contexts to highlight the conflict between the Homeric hero’s obligation to protect his comrades and his imperative to win timē and kleos, “honor and glory.” Maternity in Homeric poetry is strongly associated with protection, and maternal imagery is primarily applied to warriors engaging in the defense of their comrades” (2019, 1). This reading resists modern gender distinctions and instead looks at a pattern in epic that is charged at this particular moment where Achilles’ own concern for his honor results in the failure of his role as a protector. As Warwick writes, “The image of the mother ignoring the needs of her child represents the way in which Achilles at this point in the poem is ignoring the needs of the Achaeans, whom he described as his children at 9.323–7” (9).

As Rachel Lesser summarizes (174-176), this simile also demonstrates that Achilles is actually concerned by Patroklos. As anyone who has lived with a toddler knows, you can put off the tugging and the crying, but ultimately a child needs care. A good parent, while focused elsewhere, learns to balance self and other and responds as they can. The problem is that sometimes there’s no balance of response that will serve all needs. Achilles answers Patroklos’ call and sends him to war with the Myrmidons, but not without a warning not to overstep and take the honor that is truly owed to Achilles.

Addendum: ‘Patrochilles’

One thing to address here is the status of the relationship between Achilles and Patroklos. My standard answer in teaching the Iliad is to acknowledge that some early audiences received their relationship as romantic/sexual, clear from references in fragments of Aeschylus and later authors like Plato and Aeschines. The epic, however, is not explicit about the status of their relationship and this can be understood in two ways. First, the genre of heroic epic is generally reticent about sexual activity apart from the fact of its occurrence. When sexuality is detailed, it is usually a problem. Second, I suspect that Homeric epic was in part responding to differing sexual customs among their audiences. While pederastic relationships (that is, between an older male and an adolescent) seem to be acceptable in certain contexts in ancient Greece, there were variable sexual customs in different places and times and Homeric poetry endeavors to represent a composite picture of a heroic past that most Greek city-states could see themselves in.

So, I think the core message is, yes, the relationship between Achilles and Patroklos was meant to be profound and significant, but how to ‘code’ it was left to audience interpretation as a feature of Homeric caginess. In recent years, there has been both a scholarly reappraisal of their relationship and a greater interest in modern audiences to frame their relationship as sexual. Recent discussions framing their relationship as on the spectrum from “homosocial” to “homosexual” brings nuance to the discussions and important background material to considering their relationship (see especially the work of Celsiana Warwick and Rachel Lesser). Scholarly frameworks, however, say little about the reception of Patroklos and Achilles as a couple (e.g. ‘Patrochilles’) by modern audiences. Such a reception, which seems largely positive and affirming, is to me a testament of the protean power of Homeric poetry. The echoes of a conjugal relationship between the pair are undeniable, as Celsiana Warwick demonstrates in her article. But the subtlety and the nuance of the relationship is such that it is affective for audiences invested in a broad spectrum of sexual mores.

A short Bibliography on Patroklos and Achilles in book 16

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

Allan, William. “Arms and the man: Euphorbus, Hector, and the death of Patroclus.” Classical Quarterly, N. S., vol. 55, no. 1, 2005, pp. 1-16. Doi: 10.1093/cq/bmi00

Anderson, Warren D. “Achilles and the Dark Night of the Soul.” The Classical Journal 51, no. 6 (1956): 265–68. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3292885.

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.

Clark, Mark Edward, and William D. E. Coulson. “Memnon and Sarpedon.” Museum Helveticum 35, no. 2 (1978): 65–73. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24815318.

Fantuzzi, M. 2012. Achilles in Love. Oxford.

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.

Karakantza, Efimia D.. “Who is liable for blame ? : Patroclus’ death in book 16 of the « Iliad ».” Έγκλημα και τιμωρία στην ομηρική και αρχαϊκή ποίηση : από τα πρακτικά του ΙΒ’ διεθνούς συνεδρίου για την Οδύσσεια, Ιθάκη, 3-7 Σεπτεμβρίου 2013. Eds. Christopoulos, Menelaos and Païzi-Apostolopoulou, Machi. Ithaki: Kentro Odysseiakon Spoudon, 2014. 117-136.

Kesteren, Morgan van. “ERASTES-EROMENOS RELATIONSHIPS IN TWO ANCIENT EPICS.” CrossCurrents 69, no. 4 (2019): 351–64. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26851797.

Ledbetter, Grace M. “Achilles’ Self-Address: Iliad 16.7-19.” The American Journal of Philology 114, no. 4 (1993): 481–91. https://doi.org/10.2307/295421.

Lesser, Rachel. 2022. Desire in the Iliad. Oxford.

Paton, W. R. “The Armour of Achilles.” The Classical Review 26, no. 1 (1912): 1–4. http://www.jstor.org/stable/694771.

Porter, D. (2010). The Simile at Iliad 16.7–11 Once Again: Multiple Meanings. Classical World 103(4), 447-454. https://doi.org/10.1353/clw.2010.0016.

Ready, Jonathan. 2011. Character, Narrator, and Simile in the Iliad. Cambridge.

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.

Scodel, Ruth. “The Word of Achilles.” Classical Philology 84, no. 2 (1989): 91–99. http://www.jstor.org/stable/270264.

Sears, M. (2010). Warrior Ants: Elite Troops in the Iliad. Classical World 103(2), 139-155. https://doi.org/10.1353/clw.0.0182.

Warwick, C. (2019). The Maternal Warrior: Gender and Kleos in the Iliad. American Journal of Philology 140(1), 1-28. https://doi.org/10.1353/ajp.2019.0001.

Warwick, C. (2019). We Two Alone: Conjugal Bonds and Homoerotic Subtext in the Iliad. Helios 46(2), 115-139. https://doi.org/10.1353/hel.2019.0007.

Revitalizing Hektor and the Iliad’s Plot

“It is not possible to find medicine to bring life to the dead.”

 οὐκ ἔστιν ἀποφθιμένοις ζωᾶς ἔτι φάρμακον εὑρεῖν -Ibycos

“Only Zeus has medicine for everything”

Ζεὺς πάντων αὐτὸς φάρμακα μοῦνος ἔχει -Anonymous Elegy

After Zeus wakes up from his post-coital nap at the beginning of 15, he sees right away that his plans have been subverted, and focuses in particular on Hektor. The narrator notes that he saw “Hektor lying there and his companions were /seated around him, as he struggled with a ragged breath / losing his mind a bit while he puked up blood” (15.9-12). Hektor’s health and survival is directly connected to the survival of the city and Zeus’ plans, So his wounding during book 14 and his declining situation is a clear reason for concern.

Yet, Hektor’s revival is not narrated in the same way as other. In other divine interventions (Paris rescued by Aphrodite or Aeneas rescued), the audience witnesses how a god’s agency changes the natural course of events. Even when Sarpedon nearly dies in book 5, the language of the scene is marked in such a way as to show it is remarkable. Yet, in this scene, we hear Zeus talking repeatedly about Hektor needed to be healed, only to have the action in some way skipped over. 

When we next see Hektor in the middle of the book, it is alongside Apollo who “found Hektor, the glorious son of god-fearing Priam / seated–he was no longer stretched out, but he was regaining his spirit again / he recognized the companions around him, and his gasping and sweating / was relenting, since the mind of aegis-bearing Zeus was awakening him” (15.239-242).

The phrase “the mind [noos] of Zeus” does not occur frequently in Homer, but it seems to indicate either a part of Zeus’ general plan or his intention in the moment. Consider 16.103 where the narrative says that Ajax did not remain because “the mind of Zeus and the proud Trojans hurling [weapons] over came him” (16.103) or later in book 16 when the narrator laments Patroklos ignoring Achilles’ warnings and provides the proverbial sounding judgment “the mind of Zeus is always stronger than men” (688), a phrase repeated by Hektor when speaking to Glaukos in book 17 (176). Indeed, it appears that these references do seem to correlate to moments where the overall plan of Zeus is being enforced.

One of the most important parts of book 15 comes after Zeus awakens and summons Hera. As he upbraids her, he outlines the plot for the rest of the epic.

Homer, Iliad 15. 63-68

“[The Greeks] will fall among the many-benched ships of
Peleian Achilles, after they flee there. He will send out his friend
Patroklos. Shining Hektor will kill him with a spear
In ground of Troy after he has killed many other strong men
Among them will be my own son, glorious Sarpedon.
In a rage over him, glorious Achilles will kill Hektor.”

φεύγοντες δ’ ἐν νηυσὶ πολυκλήϊσι πέσωσι
Πηλεΐδεω ᾿Αχιλῆος· ὃ δ’ ἀνστήσει ὃν ἑταῖρον
Πάτροκλον· τὸν δὲ κτενεῖ ἔγχεϊ φαίδιμος ῞Εκτωρ
᾿Ιλίου προπάροιθε πολέας ὀλέσαντ’ αἰζηοὺς
τοὺς ἄλλους, μετὰ δ’ υἱὸν ἐμὸν Σαρπηδόνα δῖον.
τοῦ δὲ χολωσάμενος κτενεῖ ῞Εκτορα δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεύς.

Some Alexandrian editors marked this passage as questionable (athetizing up to 20 lines of this speech). “because [the poet] needlessly repeats about the events that will immediately proceed and the verses inside are simplistic in their composition” (Schol. A ad 15.56a). Within the scholia as well, however, is the proposal that this device is “foreshadowing” (προανακεφαλαίωσις) as when “Odysseus outlines to Telemachus the murder of the suitors”.

The primary point here is that there is an overlap between Zeus’ function as a divine figure and his control over narrative devices. In the Iliad his plan is one of the most important ‘maps’ for the epic’s plot. One way to think of his speech in book 15 is as a corrective measure, pulling things back into line and pointing them back on course. From a similar perspective, if we return to the idea of the Iliad being performed in three parts, this speech is prolepsis (foreshadowing) of the type that we might see at the end of a weekly television drama: NEXT TIME, ON the Iliad….

But we also can’t lose sight of the numinous impact of his speech. Zeus’ noos–his thought about the plot–is so potent that merely be articulating the future, he sets it into action. Hektor does not need healing because as soon as Zeus has articulated what will happen next, Hektor becomes what he needs to be to serve Zeus’ plan. It is almost as if the world itself at this moment of the Iliad is a story unfolding in Zeus’ mind, a dream corrected or altered upon waking.

A short Bibliography on Zeus and Hektor in book 15

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

Barker, Elton. (2022). Die Another Day: Sarpedon, Aristodemos, and Homeric Intertextuality in Herodotus. 

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

Hunter, Richard. “39 Some Problems in the ‘Deception of Zeus’”. The Layers of the Text: Collected Papers on Classical Literature 2008–2021, edited by Antonios Rengakos and Evangelos Karakasis, Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter, 2021, pp. 787-808. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110747577-039

De Jong, Irene. 2004. Narrators and Focalizers: The Presentation of the Story in the Iliad.

Setting things Straight in Iliad 15

Book 15 revisits themes of theomachy (“divine war”) without actually showing the gods at war. The two primary conflicts are between Zeus and Hera and then Zeus and Poseidon. In a way, the first pairing echoes conflicts between gendered gods in the Theogony while the latter resonates with intergenerational strife or, perhaps, different models for authority among the gods. I outline some of how this engages with the themes of politics in the Iliad in the first post on book 15, but there are more connections here with other narrative traditions as well. In this post I will focus on Zeus’ responses to Hera and Poseidon.

Zeus and Hera

Hera’s rage and behavior, as Joan O’Brien (1990) argues, anticipates the disorder and chaos of the following books of the Iliad. (And accordingly, the forced resolution of her rage in book 24 is an echo of the force ending of Achilles’ rage.) O’Brien emphasizes how Hera becomes a “tutelary god” for Achilles and notes that they both have associations in this poem with kholos, anger that is socially motivated. (See Walsh’s 2005 book for more on anger words in the Homeric poems.)

The transferal of irrational violence from an elemental male god in the Theogony to the Queen of the Olympians in the Iliad may be another reflex of the resolution of tensions in Hesiod’s poem: Zeus balances out and overrules Hera in a manner that relies on the threat of force but not its activation and it is in Zeus’ role as an arbiter that Hera’s rage against the Trojans is put to rest. (Or, at least forestalled: Any reader of the Aeneid knows that wrathful Juno will be there after the city falls.)

One of the important features of Hera’s anger and her conflicts with Zeus is that they help to bring a clarification to his ‘plan’ for the poem. The moments in books 4, 8, and 14/15 when Hera opposes Zeus result in clearer articulations of his plan. At the beginning of 15, after he awakens and threatens Hera, Zeus offers a clear foreshadowing of events to come including the deaths of Sarpedon, Patroklos, and Hektor (15.63-71). And as James Morrison shows (1997), this is also connected to the larger arc of the Trojan War. Zeus, in his response to Hera and the conflict of the war, outlines where the events of the Iliad fit in the larger picture: the death of Hektor will be followed by the Greeks surging from the Greek ships until they capture the city.

Zeus’ speech to Hera is interesting for its forcefulness and the details it claims:

Homer, Iliad 15.11-35

When he saw Hektor, the father of men and gods pitied him;
then, glaring terribly, he spoke his speech to Hera:
‘Impossible Hera, your trick really was so wily—
it kept shining Hektor from battle and routed his troops.
I truly do not know whether you will take part in
this harsh defiance again and I will flog you with blows.
Do you really not remember when I hung you from on high
and attached two anvils from your feet and bound around your hands
a golden chain, unbreakable? Then you hung in the sky and the clouds
and the gods raged over great Olympos at your side
but they could not free you—whomever I caught
afterwards I would seize and throw from the threshold so he would fall
to the earth powerless. So, then the ceaseless grief
over godlike Herakles did not leave my heart,
the one you, by persuading the breezes, sent with the wind Boreas
over the barren sea as you devised evils for him,
then you even sent him to well-inhabited Kos.
I saved him from there and led him back again
to horse-nourishing Argos even though he had suffered so many things.
I will remind you again so that you will stop your deceiving,
so you know whether sex and the bed will be of any use to you,
the sex you had when you departed from the gods and deceived me.’
So he spoke, and ox-eyed queen Hera shivered.

This is not the only time in the Iliad that Zeus claims the physical power to counter all the other gods together, but the scene he describes here is so specific that it seems bizarre. The D Scholia to the Iliad suggest that Zeus’ description of his punishment of Hera is some kind of a coded philosophical message about the relationship between the air, the aether, and the earth and that the anvils are water and land that depend on the sky and the golden bonds are the ethereal fire that sky (here, really Zeus) uses to bind the elements together.

I don’t know much about that! But the specificity of the image seems conducive to some kind of an allusion to another tradition. The second important comment here is the echo of conflict over Herakles. For Zeus, who is helping Achilles, the whole dynamic is a replay of the trials of Herakles and in this instance he is intervening to keep Hera at bay. Note that Hera does not respond in any significant way. She retreats and is more or less compliant for the rest of the epic.

As part of the dynamic of their marital relationship, Zeus’ repeated threats to Hera (here, in book 1 and book 4) are somewhat unsettling. As Katerina Synidinou shows, however, these threats are not actualized in the epic and they don’t seem to move Hera completely, since she ignores him right up through the seduction in book 14 which prompts his strongest language. Some authors have seen the back-and-forth between Zeus and Hera as a representation of a conflict between diverging religious systems (a patriarchal sky father winning over an ancient earth-mother) but this simplistic model has been successfully challenged. Hera definitely appears to lose status in the Iliad, as Walter Burkert observes, but this movement may also convey echoes of sacred marriage rituals (the so-called hieros gamos), emphasizing the power of seduction and in many cases the importance of fertility.

Zeus and Poseidon

In the first post for book 15, I mentioned the divine theme of the division of honors and the stability of the divine universe. Divine anger over threats to such stability is an important theme of early Greek poetry–the Homeric Hymn to Demeter is in part a rumination on how to maintain cosmic balance. (For some of these echoes see Erwin Cooks essays below). The language of division, conflict, and judgment emerge clear in Poseidon’s response to Iris.

The ancient story that Poseidon alludes to fills in some of the details from the Theogony. We know from the Homeric Hymn to Demeter that the story of Poseidon, Hades, and Zeus splitting control of the cosmos is not peculiar to the Iliad. There is of course some awkwardness in Zeus’ relationship to his brother. As G. M. Calhoun (and others) argues, Zeus is positioned as both father and king in the Iliad. The problem is that he is technically younger than Poseidon and Hades but qualifies as older on the technicality that Kronos ate Poseidon and Hades when they were born and Zeus later forced them to be vomited up in a kind of twisted second birth. The father role is complicated: Benveniste (1969, 210-1) argues that the IE term *pəter does not carry with it the notion of reproductive paternity but contains a semantic notion of rulership and cosmic order connected to the supreme IE god. It is combined with an interesting position for Zeus in the Iliad: he is never called a king, even though gets that title in Hesiod’s Theogony (886).

One of the chief features of the exchange in book 15 is that Zeus does not deign to engage with Poseidon directly. Instead he sends Iris to tell him to stop messing around.

Homer, Iliad 15.162-6

‘And if he will not obey my words, but disregards them,
let him consider, indeed, in his heart and mind
that he does not dare to face me coming on even though he is strong;
since I say well that I am far better in strength
and older by birth; and his dear heart does not shirk from saying
he is equal to me whom even the other gods fear.’

Zeus characterizes his power as residing in his superior strength and his greater age. Implicit in this combination is the ability to punish Poseidon along with the right to do so. When Poseidon responds to Iris’ message, he addresses force first:

Homer, Iliad 15.185-99

‘Alas, even though he is noble he has spoken presumptuously,
if he will restrain me, unwilling, with force, when I have equal timê.
For there are three of us, brothers, whom Rhea bore to Kronos,
Zeus and I, and the third, Hades, rules over the underworld.
But everything was divided in three parts, each was allotted his timê.
I drew my lot to inhabit the gray sea always,
when we drew lots Hades drew the misty gloom
and Zeus took the wide sky in the heaven and the clouds.
But the earth is still common to all and so is great Olympos.
So I will in no way walk in step with Zeus’ thoughts,
let him, even though he’s stronger, remain in his allotment at peace.
Let him not at all try to abuse me shamefully with his hands,
for it is better for him to chastise his daughters and sons
with terrible words, those children he fathered himself,
they will listen to him urging them on and by compulsion too.’

Poseidon’s dismissal indicates that he conceives of Zeus’ authority in two independent systems. First, as he states, Zeus drew lots in the division of the world with his brothers and maintains control over one realm of three (four if you count the “neutral” zone of earth). Second, as patêr, Zeus is the head of his family, the children he fathered (and his wife). From Poseidon’s point of view, he is subordinate to Zeus in neither system. He rejects the notion that Zeus can and should abuse him and attempts to reduce his authority to his own household.

The story of the three-fold division of the world among a group of gods may be one that is consciously (or less so) shared with Ancient Near Eastern myth, as Bruce Louden, Walter Burkert, and Andre Lardinois have argued (among others). Here, I think, Poseidon is allowed to voice this world-view even as the perspective is subordinated to a single-god in authority model.

The resolution of this conflict points to the very impossibility of anything but a patriarchal order on Olympos: Poseidon attempts to lay claim to some sort of oligarchic power structure, a claim that he bases on a denial of Zeus’ paternity. Iris seems to respond to this by emphasizing both Zeus’ imminent threat and his age. She also appeals to his sensibility, his desire to keep things from falling into a greater state of disorder.

‘Dark-haired earth-shaker, should I really report in this way

this harsh and forceful language to Zeus,

or will you change your mind a bit? The thoughts of the noble are flexible.

You know that the Furies always follow the elders.’ 

Iris, by emphasizing Zeus’ age, reasserts paternity within the frame of the threat of Poseidon’s rebellion which, in essence, pales in comparison with the threat of Zeus’ force. Like Milton’s Satan, Poseidon attempts to claim a share in the control of the universe. Unlike Lucifer, Poseidon relents because he knows he will fail. Nevertheless, his threatened future rebellion bears an intriguing resemblance to Satan’s: it is a coalition aimed at obliterating the supreme god’s powers. Poseidon’s response confirms that what is really going on here are hurt feelings:

Poseidon’s Response 15.209-17

‘Iris, goddess, you especially speak this word according to fate;
good also comes whenever a messenger knows proper things.
But this grief overcomes my heart and chest
whenever he wishes to taunt me with wrathful words,
since I am of equal lot and assigned to the same fate.
But now surely, even though I am angry, I will yield.
However, I will tell you another thing, and I threaten this in my heart:
if without me and Athena the forager,
and without Hera, and Hermes, and lord Hephaistos,
he spares lofty Troy, if he does not wish
to sack it and give great strength to the Argives,
then let him know this, that our anger will be incurable.’

Poseidon occupies a strange place in early Greek poetry: we know that he is a god of some importance, but his significance seems to be waning in comparison to gods like Zeus, Apollo, and Athena. Some of the meaning of this exchange is tied up in the earlier conversation between Zeus and Poseidon in book 7 where the latter expresses his anxiety about the destruction of the walls of Troy and the eradication of his fame. Poseidon is, at some basic level, a deity worried about his place in the pantheon. In book 7 he looks to Zeus to confirm his importance, his place of honor.  We could imagine that he turns against Zeus, even if briefly, because he has lost faith. At the same time, it is not beyond the imagination to speculate that the Iliad is also trying to figure out how a god like Poseidon fits into the world of its audience.

Poseidon speaks to confirm a certain status quo. His retreat here anticipates Achilles’ reconciliation with Agamemnon for the sake of a larger goal. His language throughout echoes the conflict between the two Greeks but models a capitulation to a shared goal, namely the destruction of Troy. The audience knows that this has always been Zeus’ plan and the impact of this should not be understated. Regardless of how overwhelming Zeus’ power is, the events of the Iliad have demonstrated that he can be overcome through certain means. But the poem has also shown that his reign does not rely only on his authority through age and his overwhelming force. Zeus’ ability to plan, to manipulate the plot, and see further than the other gods is an attribute of his intelligence and, in a way, a confirmation of the resolution of the conflict in the Theogony.

A short Bibliography on Zeus, Poseidon, and Hera

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

Adkins, A. W. H. “Threatening, Abusing and Feeling Angry in the Homeric Poems.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 89 (1969): 7–21. https://doi.org/10.2307/627461.

Burkert, W. 2004. Babylon, Memphis, Persepolis: Eastern Contexts of Greek Culture.

Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Bermejo Barrera, José Carlos. “Zeus, Hera y el matrimonio sagrado.” Quaderni di Storia, vol. XV, no. 30, 1989, pp. 133-156.

Calhoun, G. M.. “Zeus the Father in Homer.” TAPA, 1935, pp. 1-17.

Clark, Isabelle. “The « gamos » of Hera: myth and ritual.” The sacred and the feminine in ancient Greece. Eds. Blundell, Sue and Williamson, Margaret. London: Routledge, 1998. 13-26.

Cook, Erwin F.. “Structure as interpretation in the Homeric « Odyssey ».” Defining Greek narrative. Eds. Cairns, Douglas L. and Scodel, Ruth. Edinburgh Leventis Studies; 7. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Pr., 2014. 75-100.

Cook, Erwin F.. “Epiphany in the « Homeric Hymn to Demeter » and the « Odyssey ».” Papers of the Langford Latin Seminar: Fifteenth volume 2012. Eds. Cairns, Francis, Cairns, Sandra and Williams, Frederick. ARCA; 51. Prenton: Cairns, 2012. 53-111.

Lardinois, André. “Eastern myths for western lies : allusions to Near Eastern mythology in Homer’s « Iliad ».” Mnemosyne, Ser. 4, vol. 71, no. 6, 2018, pp. 895-919. Doi: 10.1163/1568525X-12342384

López-Ruiz, C. 2010. When the Gods Were Born: Greek Cosmogonies and the Near East. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Louden, Bruce. “Iapetus and Japheth: Hesiod’s Theogony, Iliad 15.187-93, and Genesis 9-10.” Illinois Classical Studies, no. 38 (2013): 1–22. https://doi.org/10.5406/illiclasstud.38.0001.

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.

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.

O’Brien, Joan. “Homer’s Savage Hera.” The Classical Journal 86, no. 2 (1990): 105–25. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3297720.

SYNODINOU, KATERINA. “The Threats of Physical Abuse of Hera by Zeus in the Iliad.” Wiener Studien 100 (1987): 13–22. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24747703.

Walsh, Thomas. Feuding Words, Fighting Words: Anger in the Homeric Poems. Washington, D. C.: Center for Hellenic Studies. 2005