An Introduction to Reading Iliad 15

Book 15 is one of those books that makes it hard to imagine the Iliad being constructed entirely out of shorter, more-or-less self-contained songs, insofar as it relies so much on the action of book 14. And yet, one could also imagine the action following the seduction of Zeus following in many different directions. Book 15 offers an opportunity for Zeus to reestablish his authority over the gods and get his ‘plan’ back on track.

The action of the book is split into two basic movements: Zeus’ conversations with the gods to threaten or cajole them and the resulting actions taken to rally the Achaeans. Accordingly, 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 Politics, Gods and Humans and Narrative Traditions.

Divine Politics

As I have discussed in earlier posts, Zeus exercises control over the plot and the pacing of the epic. But scenes on the divine plane also have significant impact on the Iliad’s investigation of politics.  One of my hobby-horses in the Iliad since I wrote my dissertation, has been what I call the three-stages for the investigation of how language and politics help communities face threats to their safety. While many have written about the political situation among the Achaeans, fewer have written on the Trojans and even fewer have seen the gods as a locus for political concerns. 

I think how the gods negotiate their decisions and power struggles helps us to understand the Trojans and Greeks better. In short, the gods have a family-based autocracy that functions in perpetuity because Zeus’ power cannot be contested in any reasonable sense. While there are stories of Zeus’ authority undermined through apostasy or war, all of those stories are projected into the Iliad’s past. What is significant is that Zeus does not actually use his physical power in the Iliad: he makes threats (see books 4, 5, 8 and 16) but he mainly relies upon the idea of his power. Book 15 is a great demonstration of this because rather than harming Hera or engage with Poseidon directly, Zeus sends a messenger to converse with Poseidon and delegates resetting the battlefield to Apollo. In practice, Zeus’ leadership of the gods contrasts most directly with the Trojans who have a similar political structure but lack both the actual immutable power to maintain it and the linguistic dexterity that would channel it.

I do not mean to blame the Trojans entirely, however. Instead, I think the Iliad points out that the way the gods govern themselves is an impossible model for human beings for two reasons: first, human power is never unassailable; second, humans are impermanent and mortal, along with all agreements and situations they create.

To understand this contrast with the gods, it is useful to turn to Hesiod’s Theogony to figure out why the gods no longer have succession issues. Hesiod’s Theogony, as Barbara Graziosi and Johannes Haubold describe it, works in partnership with the Homeric poems to describe to ancient audiences how their world came to be. One of the questions that these poems explain together is how the Olympian pantheon became established and why the worlds of gods and men are separate. Indeed, the Theogony states before it moves into its primary narrative that one of its goals is to recite “how the gods divided their wealth and doled our their honors” (112). 

The story of the Theogony moves through three generations of conflict that pit various elemental forces against each other–gender, age and youth, strength and intelligence etc–and most of these tensions are resolved, or at least suspended, in the body of Zeus who eats his first wife Metis and gives birth to Athena, thus appropriating female powers, some portion of intelligence and more. But Zeus also gains power by acting trans-generationally. In Hesiod’s version of the Titanomachy, Zeus allies with the Hundred-Handers and the Kyklopes to overthrow the Titans and solidifies his ‘heroic’ stature by defeating the monster Typhoon.

But the key moment in the poems political establishment comes before Zeus eats Metis (after line 885). Once the battle with Typhoon is completed, the narrator tells us that the gods got down to the real business:

Hesiod, Theogony 881-885

Once the gods had finished their toil
and they had resolved the issues of honors with force,
then in fact at the advice of Gaia
they were urging broad-browed, Olympian Zeus to be king and rule
the immortals and then he made a good distribution of their honors.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥα πόνον μάκαρες θεοὶ ἐξετέλεσσαν,
Τιτήνεσσι δὲ τιμάων κρίναντο βίηφι,
δή ῥα τότ’ ὤτρυνον βασιλευέμεν ἠδὲ ἀνάσσειν
Γαίης φραδμοσύνῃσιν ᾿Ολύμπιον εὐρύοπα Ζῆν
ἀθανάτων· ὁ δὲ τοῖσιν ἐὺ διεδάσσατο τιμάς.

The image of Zeus projected here is one of a king and an anax (cf. the Mycenaean word wanax) whose power resides not just in his ability to distribute honors, but in his power to maintain them and ensure them over time. Much of this is anticipated prior to the series of battles that occupy a good portion of the Theogony

Hesiod, Theogony 391-396

“[Zeus] called the immortal gods to great Olympos
And said that whoever fought with him against the Titans
Would not be deprived of rights (geraîon) but that each
Would possess the honor (timê) they had before among the immortals.
And he added that whoever was dishonored (atimos) and disenfranchised (agerastos)
Under Kronos, would received honor (timê) and rights (geraîon), as is correct [lawful].”

ἀθανάτους ἐκάλεσσε θεοὺς ἐς μακρὸν ῎Ολυμπον,
εἶπε δ’, ὃς ἂν μετὰ εἷο θεῶν Τιτῆσι μάχοιτο,
μή τιν’ ἀπορραίσειν γεράων, τιμὴν δὲ ἕκαστον
ἑξέμεν ἣν τὸ πάρος γε μετ’ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι.
τὸν δ’ ἔφαθ’, ὅστις ἄτιμος ὑπὸ Κρόνου ἠδ’ ἀγέραστος,
τιμῆς καὶ γεράων ἐπιβησέμεν, ἣ θέμις ἐστίν.

The Theogony imagines a Zeus who may be an autocrat but is successful as one because he enjoins his subordinates and guarantees them a place in his realm. For the gods their timai and gerai are the esteem they receive from humans and the place they have in the universe: the sacrifices they receive and the separate spheres of influence they dominate.

This is no minor a guarantee in the world of the Iliad either: the words timê and geras are significant to the beginning conflict of the poem where both Agamemnon and Achilles see the prizes they were awarded as a geras, a physical representation of their timê, the honor that represents their place in the community. In a way, Zeus’ Olympos is a post-revolutionary world where the basic problems of wealth distribution have been solved by freezing everything in place. As I discuss in a different article, the cycle of dasmos (division), eris (conflict), and krisis (judgment) is central to the composition of early Greek epic. (And Elton Barker and I write about it as well, here.)

Book 15 is pretty much the penultimate political scene for the gods. The final one, the beginning of book 24, allows Zeus to take something of a more distant role as judge over the conflict between Hera and Poseidon. But this book shows Zeus resolving the conflict through proxies and threats, avoiding any outward violence and preserving the distribution announced in the Theogony. When reading book 15, pay special attention to his language and to the way the other gods talk about him.

Reading Questions for Book 15

How does Zeus’ language and response to the potential rebellion reflect on Olympian politics?

How do the actions of the gods in book 15 potentially reflect mythological themes of theomachy (“war of the gods”)?

How do the actions from book 15 set the audience up for the resumption of the ‘main’ plot in book 15?

A short Bibliography on Politics in the Iliad

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

Barker E. T. E. 2004. “Achilles’ Last Stand: Institutionalising Dissent in Homer’s Iliad.” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society: 92–120.

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

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.

Chaston, C. 2002. “Three Models of Authority in the Odyssey.” The Classical World 96: 3–19.

Christensen, Joel P. 2015. “Trojan Politics and the Assemblies of Iliad 7.”

Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 55:25–51.

Christensen, Joel P. . 2018a. “Eris and Epos: Composition, Competition and the ‘Domestication’ of Strife.” YAGE.

Clay, J. S. 1989. The Politics of Olympus: Form and Meaning in the Major Homeric Hymns. Princeton.

Cook, Erwin. 1999. “ ‘Active’ and ‘Passive’ Heroics in the Odyssey.” Classical World 93:149–67.

Donlan, W. 1979. “The Structure of Authority in the Iliad.” Arethusa 12:51–70.

———. 2002. “Achilles the Ally.” Arethusa 35:155–172.

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

Hammer, D. 1997. “‘Who Shall Readily Obey?’ Authority and Politics in the Iliad.” Phoenix 51:1–24.

———. 2002. The Iliad as Politics: The Performance of Political Thought. Norman.

Haubold, J. 2000. Homer’s People: Epic Poetry and Social Formation. Cambridge.

Mackie, H. 1996. Talking Trojan: Speech and Community in the Iliad. Lanham.

Postlethwaite, N. 1998. “Thersites in the Iliad.” In Homer: Greek and Roman Studies, ed. I. McAuslan and P. Walcot, 83–95. Oxford.

Roisman, H. 2005. “Nestor the Good Counsellor.” The Classical Quarterly 55: 17–38.

Rose, P.W. 1997. “Ideology in the Iliad: Polis, Basileus, Theoi.” Arethusa 30:151–199.

Thalmann, W. G. 1988. “Thersites: Comedy, Scapegoats and Heroic Ideology in the Iliad.” Transactions of the American Philological Association 118:1–28.

———. 2004. “The Most Divinely Approved and Political Discord.” Classical Antiquity 23:359–399.

Wilson, D. F. 2002a. Ransom, Revenge and Heroic Identity in the Iliad. Cambridge.

The Seduction of Zeus in Iliad 14

One of the most memorable scenes of the Iliad that does not involve murder, mayhem, or lamentation is Hera’s seduction of Zeus, the so-called Dios apatē, in book 14. It is a fascinating episode for reasons that involve not just the themes and plot of the Iliad, but also possible issues of performance, attitudes towards the divine cosmos inside the epics, and engagement with other narrative traditions.

The length and tone of this episode often prompts readers to recall the song of Demodocus in book 8 of the Odyssey. There, a bard sings a somewhat bawdy tale of when Hephaestus caught  Aphrodite and Ares in flagrante. Interpreters have demonstrated how the content of that inset song reflects the singer responding to the action around him (crafting a tale that praises the mysterious guest Odysseus) while also reflecting primary themes of the Odyssey itself. The length and content of the tale, moreover, have led some to see it as, at the very least, a Homeric representation of what epic (or epic-like) singers would do. Like the tale of the tryst of Aphrodite and Ares, the Dios apatē effects a comic tone, providing distraction from ongoing tensions, and exploring the difference between mortal and immortal worlds by showing how frivolous and foolish the gods can appear. We can imagine the Dios apatē as a kind of set piece, a reflection on Zeus’ limitations as a masculine god.

In such a resonance, the scene also engages with the history of the divine cosmos and threats of succession or theomachy. The story of Hesiod’s Theogony is in part about how strong male gods are undone by desire, overcome eventually by a goddess’ guile. These patterns are refracted into the Dios apatē, by which I mean they are represented within it, but not in a one-to-one correspondence. Zeus’ power in the Iliad resides in part in his overwhelming force, but it is made manifest as well in his ability to advance his plan, the Dios boulē. Hera subverts this plan and temporality upends divine political structures by tricking him. She makes it possible for a rival to contest Zeus’ will on the battlefield–as a result, a significant part of the story in book 15 is about Zeus reasserting control and getting his plan back on schedule.

As Lenny Muellner explores in The Anger of Achilles and Laura Slatkin establishes in The Power of Thetis, the cosmic structures and struggles from the Theogony (and similar narrative traditions) shape and inform the structure and reception of the Homeric epics. Zeus’ fallibility, his vulnerability to desire, is a theme from other traditions that is important for the Iliad as well: in just 4 books, Agamemnon will ‘apologize’ to Achilles by claiming that he was blinded (using the word atē, echoed in  Dios apatē) just as Zeus was when he bragged about the birth of Herakles. Such a framework makes Agamemnon guilty for disrupting the political stability of the Achaeans because of the debate over Briseis. In a way, Agamemnon’s fight with Achilles over a girl is an echo of the cause of the whole war, Paris’ conflict with Menelaos, initiated by kidnapping Helen. There may be intratextual commentary supporting this as well. As Ann Bergren suggests, there are also strong echoes between Zeus’ attempt to get Hera to sleep with him and Paris’ entreaties to Helen in book 3 (their closing lines are identical: ὡς σέο νῦν ἔραμαι καί με γλυκὺς ἵμερος αἱρεῖ. ).

The danger of desire and the fallibility of male figures thanks to it connects the  Dios apatē with the overall plot of the Iliad and the larger narrative arc of the Trojan War. Through each case, such longing threatens disorder by upending Zeus’ plans. So, while the  Dios apatē is amusing and provides what some might see as a welcome respite from the battle books, it is thoroughly serious in probing the causes of conflict and the consequences of masculine weakness.

“’Cause I see some ladies tonight that should be havin’ my baby (uh), baby (uh)” from “Big Poppa”, The Notorious B.I.G.

One ‘cause’ of the Trojan War is Zeus’ anxiety about being overthrown by a son. As the story goes, this is the secret knowledge shared with Prometheus: the identity of a sea nymph who would bear a son greater than his father. Zeus’ sex-capades, then, represent a threat to the order of the entire universe and the entire set up for the Trojan War, starting with the marriage of Peleus and Thetis to preserve Zeus or one of his brothers from fathering an unstoppable son. The Iliad is rather tight-lipped about all of this but, again as Laura Slatkin has shown, the themes and implications of such a succession permeate the epic.

Another significant text for understanding this passage is the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite. Let’s review the basic plot of the  Dios apatê first

• Hera comes up with the plan (160) to distract Zeus with sex

• She lies to Aphrodite about it and says she is going to use her charms to get Kronos and Rhea to love each other again, Aphrodite consents, but with the somewhat odd “it would be neither possible nor proper for me to deny your request, since you lay in the embrace of Zeus, the best one”(οὐκ ἔστ’ οὐδὲ ἔοικε τεὸν ἔπος ἀρνήσασθαι·  / Ζηνὸς γὰρ τοῦ ἀρίστου ἐν ἀγκοίνῃσιν ἰαύει, 212-213) [The scholia inform us that Aristophanes and Aristonicus athetized this line)

• Then she goes and bargains with Sleep who recalls another time he made Zeus unconscious and was punished. She ends up offering one of the Graces as a bride

• She appears before Zeus, telling him the same lie she told Aprodite

• Zeus falls for it and they have sex beneath cloud cover on the mountain.

When I teach the Hymn, I joke that it provides an etiology for why men fall asleep after sex; but I can’t imagine that the Iliadic passage doesn’t have a similar impact. Zeus’ speech in the midst of all of these offers somewhat of an odd example for seducing one’s spouse. But the catalogue is worth considering in the larger cosmic context.

Homer Iliad 14.323-328

“Cloud-gathering Zeus answered her
Hera, you can go there at some later time.
For now, let the two of us go to bed and turn to sex.
For never has lust for a goddess or woman
Ever overcome the force in my chest as it does now.
Not when I was lusting after the wife of Ixion
Who bore Peirithoos, a thinker equal to the gods,
Nor when I lusted after fine-ankled Danae Akrisios’ daughter,
Who gave birth to Perseus, the most outstanding of all men,
Nor when I went after the far-famed Phoenician girl,
Who gave me Minos and divine Rhadamanthys
Nor even when I was with Semele or Alkmene in Thebes.
The second one gave birth to my strong-willed son Herakles
And the first gave us Dionysus, that charm for mortals.
Not even when I lusted after the fine-haired lady Demeter
Nor again glorious Leto, or even you yourself!
Never have I longed the way I long for you now, as sweet desire overtakes me.”

Τὴν δ’ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς·
῞Ηρη κεῖσε μὲν ἔστι καὶ ὕστερον ὁρμηθῆναι,
νῶϊ δ’ ἄγ’ ἐν φιλότητι τραπείομεν εὐνηθέντε.
οὐ γάρ πώ ποτέ μ’ ὧδε θεᾶς ἔρος οὐδὲ γυναικὸς
θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσι περιπροχυθεὶς ἐδάμασσεν,
οὐδ’ ὁπότ’ ἠρασάμην ᾿Ιξιονίης ἀλόχοιο,
ἣ τέκε Πειρίθοον θεόφιν μήστωρ’ ἀτάλαντον·
οὐδ’ ὅτε περ Δανάης καλλισφύρου ᾿Ακρισιώνης,
ἣ τέκε Περσῆα πάντων ἀριδείκετον ἀνδρῶν·
οὐδ’ ὅτε Φοίνικος κούρης τηλεκλειτοῖο,
ἣ τέκε μοι Μίνων τε καὶ ἀντίθεον ῾Ραδάμανθυν·
οὐδ’ ὅτε περ Σεμέλης οὐδ’ ᾿Αλκμήνης ἐνὶ Θήβῃ,
ἥ ῥ’ ῾Ηρακλῆα κρατερόφρονα γείνατο παῖδα·
ἣ δὲ Διώνυσον Σεμέλη τέκε χάρμα βροτοῖσιν·
οὐδ’ ὅτε Δήμητρος καλλιπλοκάμοιο ἀνάσσης,
οὐδ’ ὁπότε Λητοῦς ἐρικυδέος, οὐδὲ σεῦ αὐτῆς,
ὡς σέο νῦν ἔραμαι καί με γλυκὺς ἵμερος αἱρεῖ.

This list provides something of a retrospective timeline: Zeus starts with his more mortal children and goes back until he is talking about the birth of divine figures like Apollo and Artemis. The list is a bit of a classic example of the rhetorical practice of saving the best for last, but it pointedly closes off the possibility of new children or at least of children who may threaten the divine order. In part, this list exists in a concretized Pantheon, one where, for whatever pain it causes, Zeus’ dalliances do not disrupt the stability of the universe. And, for this case, it is certainly true: Zeus’ desire only disrupts the plan of the Iliad–a sex act with his own wife/sister cannot produce an heir to challenge him.

In this framework, the Dios Apate seems to also engage with the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite. Even though the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite exists prior to the Trojan War in our conceptual timeline, its narrative and concerns co-exist with the Homeric poems we know. (See Barbara Graziosi’s and Johannes Haubold’s Homer: The Resonance of Epic for a great overview of the relationship between Homer and Hesiod, including the Homeric Hymns.) Foremost among the concerns of that Hymn is the power Aphrodite has to overwhelm Zeus and other gods, to destabilize the Universe by creating new offspring. Rather than being a hymn that increases or explains Aphrodite’s influence (as in the Hymns to Demeter and Hermes), this Hymn curtails it by showing Zeus turning the tables on her and humiliating her by forcing her to lust after a Trojan mortal (Anchises) on the side of Mount Ida (on the reproach and humiliation of this scene, see Bergren 1989).

Here are some motifs shared by the Hymn and the epic scene:

• A goddess readies for a Romantic tryst near Mt. Ida

• The preparations are elaborate given the context

• The goddess demures, offering a plan different from the covert one

• The man begs/cajoles/convinces

• The male figure falls to sleep

• The seduced figure wakes up unhappy/angry/afraid

• A speaker puts their situation in a mythic framework by telling a story of other examples

Peter Walcot (1991) notes that while both Anchises and Zeus are being seduced, they end up playing the role of seducer themselves, convincing their future lovers to have sex now rather than later. A significant difference, however, is that Aphrodite is disappointed and upset after having sex with Anchises; Hera runs off to fight as soon as Zeus falls asleep.

How we should understand the relationship between these scenes is a tough question to answer. A simple reading might see one narrative as building on or responding to the other, creating fixed allusions or intertexts. But given the other scenes at play (from the Odyssey, the Theogony, and even earlier in the Iliad) I think it is more likely that these kinds of stories were common and audiences had to interpret each one at the time of performance with reference to performances they had experienced before. 

Does this sequence make an effort to undermine or otherwise mock the power of desire? It appropriates the form of genealogical catalogues known elsewhere to illustrate the power of this desire. This partly advances other Homeric strategies, making the Homeric story the biggest and the best, but it also undermines Zeus’ authority at a critical time in the text (perhaps leading up to its re-assertion in book 15, offering a potentially favorable comparison for the Achaeans and human behavior in general).

Questions about the relationship between the Iliad and other narrative traditions ultimately cannot be answered because we don’t know what ancient audiences knew and what they would bring to a performance of Homer. What we can surmise, I think, is that humorous examples of divine sex were part of various song traditions and that they were used to different effects. The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite can help us confirm that comic sex scenes can be deadly serious when seen from a cosmic perspective. In a way, the Dios apatê performs and confirms this, refracting, again, desire as a significant theme of the Trojan War narrative that impacts gods as well as men.

A starter bibliography on the deception of Zeus

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

Bergren, Ann L. T. “‘The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite’: Tradition and Rhetoric, Praise and Blame.” Classical Antiquity 8, no. 1 (1989): 1–41. https://doi.org/10.2307/25010894.

Brillet‐Dubois, Pascale, ‘An Erotic Aristeia: The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and its Relation to the Iliadic Tradition’, in Andrew Faulkner (ed.), The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays (Oxford, 2011

Cyrino, Monica Silveira. “‘Shame, Danger and Desire’: Aphrodite’s Power in the Fifth Homeric Hymn.” Rocky Mountain Review of Language and Literature 47, no. 4 (1993): 219–30. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1348308.

Andrew Faulkner, The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Oxford Classical Monographs. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. xv, 342. ISBN 9780199238040

Graziosi, B., and J. Haubold, 2005. Homer: The Resonance of Epic. London.

Muellner, L. 1996. The Anger of Achilles: Mênis in Greek Epic. Cornell

S. Douglas Olson, The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and Related Texts: Text, Translation and Commentary. Texte und Kommentare 39. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2012

Parry, Hugh. “The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: Erotic ‘Ananke.’” Phoenix 40, no. 3 (1986): 253–64. https://doi.org/10.2307/1088842.

Podbielski, Le structure de l’hymne homeriqu a la lumiere de la tradition litteraire Wroclaw 1971

Segal, Charles. “The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: A Structuralist Approach.” The Classical World 67, no. 4 (1974): 205–12. https://doi.org/10.2307/4348003.

Slatkin, Laura. 2011. The Power of Thetis and Selected Essays. Hellenic Studies Series 16. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

C. A. Sowa, Traditional T Homeric Hymns (Chicago 1984)

Walcot, Peter. “The Homeric ‘Hymn’ to Aphrodite’: A Literary Appraisal.” Greece & Rome 38, no. 2 (1991): 137–55. http://www.jstor.org/stable/642954.

Homer, Iliad 14.323-328 [go here, for more on the seduction of Zeus]

“Cloud-gathering Zeus answered her
Hera, you can go there at some later time.
For now, let the two of us go to bed and turn to sex.
For never has lust for a goddess or woman
Ever overcome the force in my chest as it does now.
Not when I was lusting after the wife of Ixion
Who bore Peirithoos, a thinker equal to the gods,
Nor when I lusted after fine-ankled Danae Akrisios’ daughter,
Who gave birth to Perseus, the most outstanding of all men,
Nor when I went after the far-famed Phoenician girl,
Who gave me Minos and divine Rhadamanthys
Nor even when I was with Semele or Alkmene in Thebes.
The second one gave birth to my strong-willed son Herakles
And the first gave us Dionysus, that charm for mortals.
Not even when I lusted after the fine-haired lady Demeter
Nor again glorious Leto, or even you yourself!
Never have I longed the way I long for you now, as sweet desire overtakes me.”

Τὴν δ’ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς·
῞Ηρη κεῖσε μὲν ἔστι καὶ ὕστερον ὁρμηθῆναι,
νῶϊ δ’ ἄγ’ ἐν φιλότητι τραπείομεν εὐνηθέντε.
οὐ γάρ πώ ποτέ μ’ ὧδε θεᾶς ἔρος οὐδὲ γυναικὸς
θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσι περιπροχυθεὶς ἐδάμασσεν,
οὐδ’ ὁπότ’ ἠρασάμην ᾿Ιξιονίης ἀλόχοιο,
ἣ τέκε Πειρίθοον θεόφιν μήστωρ’ ἀτάλαντον·
οὐδ’ ὅτε περ Δανάης καλλισφύρου ᾿Ακρισιώνης,
ἣ τέκε Περσῆα πάντων ἀριδείκετον ἀνδρῶν·
οὐδ’ ὅτε Φοίνικος κούρης τηλεκλειτοῖο,
ἣ τέκε μοι Μίνων τε καὶ ἀντίθεον ῾Ραδάμανθυν·
οὐδ’ ὅτε περ Σεμέλης οὐδ’ ᾿Αλκμήνης ἐνὶ Θήβῃ,
ἥ ῥ’ ῾Ηρακλῆα κρατερόφρονα γείνατο παῖδα·
ἣ δὲ Διώνυσον Σεμέλη τέκε χάρμα βροτοῖσιν·
οὐδ’ ὅτε Δήμητρος καλλιπλοκάμοιο ἀνάσσης,
οὐδ’ ὁπότε Λητοῦς ἐρικυδέος, οὐδὲ σεῦ αὐτῆς,
ὡς σέο νῦν ἔραμαι καί με γλυκὺς ἵμερος αἱρεῖ.

Thinking about the thematic Unity of book 14

As I mention in the first post about Iliad 14, the book provides a structure that is built around three basic movements: the crisis of leadership among the Achaeans, resolved by Diomedes; a rallying of the Greeks on the field, led by Poseidon; the Dios apate, or deduction of Zeus, including Hera’s preparations and their Idaean assignation.

 

 

These scenes are connected both in terms of plot and theme around resistance to Zeus’ plan: the Greek captains rally and correct Agamemnon to maintain some unity; Poseidon intervenes to help the Greeks resist (and even wound) Hektor; and Hera, in coordination with Poseidon, distracts Zeus in order to support their resistance. Altogether, these three movements take us from the very serious human challenges of the opening panic, through a somewhat surreal but still ‘epic’ battle scene mixed with the gods, until it terminates in a comic, other-worldly Romantic tryst. There’s a unity and a wholeness to the book that reminds me of the three-movements in book 6.

Such neatness, if it can be called such, invites questions about design and the relationship between the parts of the Iliad and the whole. Anyone who picks up a translation of either epic today finds them neatly divided into 24 books each (even though the Iliad is 3000 lines longer than the Odyssey. What makes this a little suspicious is that in ancient Greek, the books are named after the 24 available letters of the alphabet. It is highly unlikely, moreover, that the division of books was established in the Archaic and classical period since once the Greeks adopted the 22 letters of the Phoenician alphabet, local dialects often had more than 24 letters (including variations like qoppa, digamma) and would assign received symbols (those we know for psi, ksi, and khi) to different sounds.  Indeed, the standard Ionic alphabet was not adopted in Athens until after the Peloponnesian War (c. 403 BCE).

Pseudo-Plutarch, De Homero 2.4

“Homer has two poems: the Iliad and the Odyssey, each of them is divided into the number of letters in the alphabet, not by the Poet himself, but by the scholars in Aristarchus’ school.”

Εἰσὶ δὲ αὐτοῦ ποιήσεις δύο, ᾿Ιλὰς καὶ ᾿Οδύσσεια, διῃρημένη ἑκατέρα εἰς τὸν ἀριθμὸν τῶν στοιχείων, οὐχ ὑπὸ αὐτοῦ τοῦ ποιητοῦ ἀλλ’ ὑπὸ τῶν γραμματικῶν τῶν περὶ ᾿Αρίσταρχον. 

So just how and where the book divisions of the Homeric epics came from has been something of a hot topic from time to time. The major arguments are:

1. The book divisions were there from the beginning, because the alphabet was adopted to write Homer down

2. The book divisions are features of smaller performance units

3. The book divisions were a product of Hellenistic editing, following the adoption of a regular alphabet and the impetus to present standard, synoptic versions of epic

4. The book divisions were a result of the process of dictating the poems: each one represents a day’s dictation, or something like that.

   

    

    

What people call the ‘books’ of the Iliad often reveal some of their assumptions about their nature. Note, the passage above does not use the word biblion (although it is implied, I think). Other titles such as scrolls or rhapsodies see the performance units as possibly relating to scripts or readily performable episodes. I also worry about to what extent some of these models are divorced from the material reality of (1) the cost of transcription and copying and (2) a reading public accustomed to performance of epic.

There are challenges with each approach: we have no evidence of Alphabetic book distinctions before the Hellenistic period (when earlier authors talk about Homeric passages, they focus on episodes); we don’t have any evidence for book divisions as performance units, since many of the episodes referred to as potential performance pieces occupy parts of books rather than their whole; we have only anecdotal evidence supporting the creation of book divisions by Hellenistic editors, and that evidence is 3-5 centuries after the fact; and we have no direct evidence for the dictation and recording of the poems. Another early testimony about the book-divisions, discussed by Rene Nunlist, shows that early scholars emphasized the unity of the whole poems and saw the book divisions as sometimes artificial interventions.

The details of the arguments are interesting too. But here’s a summary of the issues from Steve Reece (2003):

2) All at once about ten years ago a great amount of attention began to be paid to the book divisions in the Homeric epics; more specifically, to how the twenty-four book divisions in our inherited texts of the Iliad and Odyssey are related to the historical performance units of these songs. The debate remains unresolved. On one end are those who regard the book divisions as reflections of breaks in the historic performance of an eighth- or seventh-century BCE bard. On the other end are those who regard them as Alexandrian—a result of serendipity (the fact that there are 24 letters in the Ionian alphabet) and, to a lesser degree, of the physical features of text-making during the Hellenistic period (the typical length of a papyrus roll). Somewhere in between are those who trace the book divisions to the first writing down of the epics in connection with their performance at one of the Greater Panathenaic Festivals in Athens in the late sixth century. Whenever, and for whatever reason, they occurred, most of the book divisions seem to have been chosen judiciously, coinciding with breaks in the narrative. Yet some clash with scene divisions, cutting right through a narrative segment or even a type-scene (e.g., Il. 5-6, 6-7, 18-19, 20-21; Od. 2-3, 3-4, 6-7, 8-9, 12-13, 13-14, 20-21). Hence there has developed some consensus among Homeric scholars that in performance a division into three or four major “movements” is to be preferred to the twenty-four book units. As a practical matter, I encourage my students to read through the book divisions of Homer, just as I encourage them, in their reading of other oral narratives, to disregard the artificial divisions imposed by textualization (verse, section, chapter, book divisions)—in the New Testament Gospels, for example. Not only does this practice better replicate the original performance units, but it also allows the modern reader to detect patterns and themes in the epic that are obfuscated by overadherence to book divisions. A recent and excellent summary of the debate on book divisions, with full appreciation of its implications for oral poetics, is Jensen 1999.

Scholars like Bruce Heiden (following others) argue with some efficacy for the structure of each book. Heiden argues (1998, 69)

“ The analysis will first consider the placement of the twenty-three ‘book divisions’. It will show that all the scenes that immediately precede a ‘book division’ manifest a common feature, namely that they scarcely affect forthcoming events in the story. All the scenes that follow a book division’ likewise display a common characteristic: these scenes have consequences that are immediately felt and continue to be felt at least 400 lines further into the story. Therefore, all of the twenty-three ‘book divisions’ occur at junctures of low-consequence and high consequence scenes. Moreover, every such juncture in the epic is the site of a ‘book division’.

The second stage of the analysis will examine the textual segments that lie between ‘book divisions’, i.e., the ‘books’ of the Iliad. It will show that in each ‘book’ the last event narrated is caused by the first, as are most of the events narrated in between. But the last event seldom completes  a program implied by the first. Thus the ‘books’ of the Iliad display internal coherence, but only up to a point. They do not furnish a strong sense of closure. Instead their outline is marked by a sense of diversion in the narrative at the beginning of each.”

I think that close readings of many of the books bears out some of Heiden’s argumentation here, but the problem is what the cause of this is, by which I mean is this a feature of our efforts as interpreters and the impact that the Iliad’s contents have had on the history of literature in its wake shaping our expectations or is this a matter of intentional design.

Steve Reece, in a later piece, emphasizes that approaches like this in general double down on ignoring the performance origins of the poems  (2011, 300-301):

“We may acknowledge the orality of Homeric epic, we may refer to it as performance, we may pay obeisance to the study of comparative oral traditions, but we remain addicted to our printed texts, our book divisions and line numbers, our apparatus critici, our concordances and lexica. We rarely try to reconstruct or even imagine a production of an epic performance.”

A combination of the work of Minna Skafte Jensen, Jonathan Ready, and Reece’s own fine essay ventures to imagine the performance context, but the first two tie it to the formation of the texts we have as well. (It is Jensen in her seminal debate from 1999 who suggests the book units are the product of a day’s transcription.) 

Simonides, fr. 6.3

“Simonides said that Hesiod is a gardener while Homer is a garland-weaver—the first planted the legends of the heroes and gods and then the second braided them together into the garland of the Iliad and the Odyssey.”

Σιμωνίδης τὸν ῾Ησίοδον κηπουρὸν ἔλεγε, τὸν δὲ ῞Ομηρον στεφανηπλόκον, τὸν μὲν ὡς φυτεύσαντα τὰς περὶ θεῶν καὶ ἡρώων μυθολογίας, τὸν δὲ ὡς ἐξ αὐτῶν συμπλέξαντα τὸν᾿Ιλιάδος καὶ Οδυσσείας στέφανον.

By take on the major issues presented here is that the final three approaches are reconcilable from an evolutionary perspective. The evolutionary model for the creation of the Homeric epics (on which, see Nagy 2004 and Dué 2018), posits a movement from greater flexibility to greater fixity over time. If we imagine Homeric epic already existing notionally between episodic performances and monumental events involving multiple singers, we can see these episodes more or less coalescing around smaller performance units that could be stitched together in grander performance contexts. Any process of textualization would necessarily include stages of dictation and transcription providing performance units that were largely coherent as a whole and which would present different levels of internal coherency based in the individual performance. As the whole cultural phenomenon was transferred from performance contexts around the Greek speaking world to the libraries of the Hellenistic cities, they would achieve a textual fixity and polish that would harden, where possible, the joins between books.

Just as in my metaphor for the cultivation of crops or trees, Homeric poetry would have been adapted and shaped over time by the performance context, the intervention of transcription and textualization, and the actions of editors imposing regularity and uniformity typical of literary traditions.

Other explanations require a textual culture for the poems at a much earlier period. This model, as well, helps to explain the unified, yet still organic and largely asymmetric shape of a book like Iliad 14.

A starter bibliography on Homeric Book Divisions

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

Bachvarova, Mary R. 2016. From Hittite to Homer: The Anatolian Background of Ancient Greek Epic. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Campbell, Malcolm. “Apollonian and Homeric Book Division.” Mnemosyne 36, no. 1/2 (1983): 154–56. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4431214.

Dué, Casey. 2018. Achilles Unbound: Multiformity and Tradition in the Homeric Epics. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies.

G. P. Goold. “Homer and the Alphabet.” Transactions of the American Philological Association, 91:272-91.

Graziosi, Barbara. 2002. Inventing Homer. Cambridge.

Bruce Heiden. “The Placement of ‘Book Divisions’ in the Iliad.” Journal of Hellenic Studies, 118:68-81.

Minna Skafte Jensen. “Dividing Homer: When and How Were the Iliad and the Odyssey Divided into Songs?” Symbolae Osloenses, 74:5-91.

Nagy, Gregory. 2004. Homer’s Text and Language. Urbana: University of Illinois Press.

Nünlist, René. “A Neglected Testimonium on the Homeric Book-Division.” Zeitschrift Für Papyrologie Und Epigraphik 157 (2006): 47–49. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20191105.

Barry B. Powell. Homer and the Origin of the Greek Alphabet. Cambridge: Cambridge University Presss

Ready, Jonathan. 2019. Orality, Textuality, and the Homeric Epics. 2019.

Reece, Steve. “Homeric Studies.” Oral Tradition, vol. 18 no. 1, 2003, p. 76-78. Project MUSE, https://doi.org/10.1353/ort.2004.0035.

Reece, Steve. 2011. “Toward an Ethnopoetically Grounded Edition of Homer’s Odyssey.” Oral Tradition, 26/2 (2011): 299-326. 

Politics and Absurdity in Iliad 14

Book 14 is right in the middle of the longest day in the Iliad that stretches from the renewal of hostilities at the onset of book 11 and lasts through the struggle over Patroklos’ body in book 17.  Compared to the jam-packed action of books 11-13, book 14 offers a bit of a respite from the slaughter, but no break from Homeric intrigue. The book begins with a despairing Agamemnon proposing a thoroughly disastrous plan to take the wounded captains out to sea until things calm down at night and culminates in the so-called Dios Apate, or the afternoon delight of Hera and Zeus.

While these two events may seem to be radically different in their nature, both feature kings at less than their best and provide an opportunity to reflect on the weaknesses of an autocratic model. At the same time, they pair human and divine folly in a short space, allowing audiences to compare the stakes and consequences of their choices. The big difference is that the Achaeans end up having multiple leaders to make up for their king’s folly while the gods need to wait for Zeus to flex his strength and make more threats to put their world back in order.

Of course, this is not all about failed leaders! The deception/seduction of Zeus is legitimately fascinating and funny to modern readers, interweaving what we see as comic elements with potential ritual and religious allusions. At the same time, the fight keeps flaring up and mortals struggle as the gods engage in some less than clandestine carnal relations. Accordingly, 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 Politics, Gods and Humans and Narrative Traditions.

Anchorman Afternoon Delight

Book 14 continues with the Achaean crisis that became clear in book 11: all of the major leaders were injured resulting in a book 12 that saw Idomeneus and Ajax rallying the troops and a book 13 that centered around the leadership of the Cretan captains Ajax and Meriones. At the beginning of book 14, Agamemnon looks at the unfolding events in despair and suggests that running away might be the best option. His plan is for the captains to pull out to sea in a ship and wait out the danger there until nightfall (14.65-81). Odysseus’ response is, well, memorable.

Iliad 14.82-102

‘Son of Atreus, what kind of plan has escaped the bulwark of your teeth?
Ruinous one, I wish that you would order some other unfit army,
that you didn’t rule us, those for whom Zeus has assigned
work over harsh wars from youth right up
to old age, until each of us perishes.
Do you really desire to abandon in this way
the wide-wayed city of the Trojans, for which we have suffered many evils?
Silence! Lest any one else of the Achaians hear this idea
which no man, at least, would ever lead through his mouth,
a man who knows how to utter fit things in his thoughts,
a scepter-bearing man and one to whom the host assents,
the size of the host you rule over among the Achaians.
Now I question your thoughts altogether, what sort of thing you have spoken,
you who call us, when the war and strife have been joined,
to drag the well-benched ships to the sea, so that more still
to boast over might occur for the Trojans who have already overpowered us,
and harsh ruin might fall over us. For the Achaians will not
withstand the war while the ships are dragged to the sea,
but they will look back at us and forget their battle-lust.
There, then, leader of the host, your plan will destroy us.’

Odysseus, famous bestower of abuse, hits Agamemnon about as hard as Atreus’ son gets struck in the epic. This speech is all the more impactful because it echoes and puts a cap on a pattern we have seen since book 2: Agamemnon expresses–or feigns–defeat and despair, his seconds/captains intervene to come up with a better idea and to rally the troops. In this case, however, Agamemnon is speaking to the council of elders and not the full assembly of the Achaeans as he does in book 2 and book 9. Where book 2 was clearly marked as a ‘test’ and book 9 seemed a bit melodramatic even as it still functioned as an opportunity to recreate Achaean unity despite Achilles’ dissent, book 14 seems more earnest and potentially disastrous.

Odysseus’ words directly address this: he expresses clear frustration with Agamemnon, going so far as to wish he didn’t rule them, and reprimands him for the foolishness of his plans. His closing statement–your plan will destroy us–thematically echoes the repeated concern of Homeric poetry that leaders ruin their people through recklessness.

And yet, Agamemnon does not respond with ire or condemnation. Instead, he allows that Odysseus’ words sting, but that he wasn’t planning on forcing anyone to retreat. In what seems to be a moment of desperation, Agamemnon says he’s ready for anyone to give them a good plan, no matter how old they are. With that cue, Diomedes prepares to speak.

Iliad 14.109-34

Then among them spoke Diomedes, good at the war-cry:
‘The man is near, let us not waste any more time; if you wish
to consent, then may each of you do not entertain anger
because I am indeed the youngest by birth among you.
I also claim to be the offspring of a noble father,
Tydeus, whom the heaped-up earth covers in Thebes.
For, three blameless children were born to Portheus
and in Pleurôn and steep Kalydon lived
Agrios and Melas, and the third child was the horseman Oineus
the father of my father—and he was conspicuous among them for virtue.
Although he remained there, my father lived in Argos,
driven there, for this, I guess, is how Zeus and the other gods wished it.
He married one of Adrêstos’ daughters, and inhabited a house
rich for living—he had sufficient grain-bearing ploughlands
and around these there where many orchards full of fruit,
and he possessed many flocks. He surpassed all the Achaians
with the spear—you all must have heard these things, if they’re true.
Hence, do not, by claming that my birth, at least, is low and cowardly,
disregard the speech that is shown forth, the one I will speak.
Let us go again to the war, even though we are wounded by necessity.
But, when there, let us keep ourselves out of the strife
of the missiles, lest anyone somehow receive a wound on top of a wound.
Let us rally the others and send them into battle, even those who before
gave into their impulse to hang back and not fight.’
So he spoke and they especially heard him and consented;
They got up to go and Agamemnon, lord of men, led them.

I have written on several occasions (see below) about Diomedes as the replacement Achilles in books 2-15. This speech marks his last significant action in the epic, but it brings to culmination a plot arc that others like David Elmer and Elton Barker have seen as the exploration of the limits of dissent and popular consensus. In a few publications (listed below), I have suggested that Diomedes is a stand-in for someone learning how to engage in a political group like the Achaeans following these primary steps:

Diomedes’ Story of Speech (from Christensen 2008 below)

(1) Diomedes (implicitly) witnesses the actions and speeches of Iliad 1-3

(2) Diomedes shows he knows the appropriate parameters for political and martial speech (Il. 4).

(3) Diomedes practices public speech and is acclaimed by all the Achaians in his refusal of Paris’ offer to return the gifts but not Helen (7.400-2). Acclamation (7.403-4).

(4) Diomedes practices public speech in criticizing Agamemnon and is acclaimed by all (9.50-1) but is criticized by Nestor for not reaching the télos múthôn (9.53-62). Acclamation (9.50-1)

(5) Diomedes practices public speech in reaction to Achilles’ rejection of the assembly (9.697-709) and is acclaimed by all the kings. Acclamation (9.710-11).

(6) Diomedes volunteers to go on a nocturnal spying mission during the council of kings and is encouraged by Agamemnon to choose any companion he wants regardless of nobility (10.219-39)

(7) Diomedes executes public speech at a critical moment and offers a plan (14.110-32). He is obeyed by all the kings and departs from the epic as a speaker. Acclamation (14.133).

Book 14 is a moment of crisis that follows upon 13 books of crisis, each one of which could have meant the end of the Achaean coalition against Troy. The Iliad portrays the Greeks succeeding without Achilles–even despite his wish that they perish for not honoring him–because they have a structure that allows multiple people to speak with authority and give good advice. This contrasts with the Trojans but it also shows a different possibility from the world of the gods, the comic absurdity of which is visited at the end of book 14 with the seduction of Zeus.

Book 14

How does Agamemnon’s response to the battle (and his plan) interact with similar themes in books 2 and 9?

What does the plan to seduce Zeus (the so-called Dios apatē) contribute to the plot and our impressions of the gods?

How does Zeus’ use of stories from the past during the Dios apatē shape the way we understand the use of mythological examples in the past?

Bibliography on Politics and Iliad 14

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

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

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

Burrage, Dwight G. “Education in the Homeric Age.” CJ: 147–152.

Christensen, Joel P. 2008. “The End of Speeches and a Speech’s End: Nestor, Diomedes, and the telos muthôn.” in Reading Homer: Film and Text. Kostas Myrsiades (ed.). Farleigh Dickinson University Press. 136–162.

—,—. 2015a. “Trojan Politics and the Assemblies of Iliad 7.” GRBS 55: 25–51.

—,—. 2015b “Reconsidering ‘Good’ Speakers: Speech-Act Theory, Agamemnon and the Diapeira of Iliad 2.” Gaia, 18: 67–81.

—,—. 2018. “Speech Training and the Mastery of Context: Thoas the Aitolian and the Practice of Múthoi” for Homer in Performance: Rhapsodes, Narrators and Characters, Christos Tsagalis and Jonathan Ready (eds.). University of Texas Press, 2018: 255–277.

Dickson, Keith. 1995. Nestor: Poetic Memory in Greek Epic. New York: Garland.

Donlan, Walter.. 2002. “Achilles the Ally.” Arethusa 35: 155–172.

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

Frazer, Richard McIlwaine. “The crisis of leadership among the Greeks and Poseidon’s intervention in Iliad 14.” Hermes, vol. CXIII, 1985, pp. 1-9.

Gottesman, Alex. 2008. “The Pragmatics of Homeric Kertomia,” CQ 58: 1–12.

Haft, Adele J.. “Odysseus’ wrath and grief in the Iliad. Agamemnon, the Ithacan king, and the sack of Troy in Books 2, 4, and 14.” The Classical Journal, vol. LXXXV, 1989-1990, pp. 97-114.

Hammer, Dean. 1997. 2002. The Iliad as Politics: The Performance of Political Thought. Norman.

Haubold, Johannes. 2000. Homer’s People: Epic Poetry and Social Formation. Cambridge.

Knudsen, Rachel Ahern. 2014. Homeric Speech and the Origins of Rhetoric. Baltimore.

Martin, Richard P. 1989. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.

Nagy, Gregory. 1979. The Best of the Achaeans. Baltimore.

Roisman, Hannah. 2005. “Nestor the Good Counsellor.” CQ 55: 17–38.

Roochnik, David. 1990. “Homeric Speech Acts: Word and Deed in the Epics.” CJ 85: 289–299.

Rose, P. W. 1988.  “Thersites and the Plural Voices of Homer.” Arethusa 21: 5–25.

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

Stensgaard, Jakob. 2003. “Peitho in the Iliad: A Matter of Trust or Obedience?” Classicalia et Medievalia 54: 41–80.

van Wees, Hans.  1996. “Growing up in Early Greece: Heroic and Aristocratic Educations.” In Alan H. Sommerstein and Catherine Atherton (eds.). Education in Greek Fiction. Nottingham: 1–20.

Wilson, Donna F. 2002. Ransom, Revenge, and Heroic Identity in the Iliad. Cambridge.

Homeric Digressions and Iliad 13

This feature of Homeric poetry is one of the primary characteristics discussed in literary theory outside of Homer, thanks in part to Erich Auerbach’s use of Odysseus’ scar in the Odyssey in his influential book Mimesis. For Auerbach, Homer’s paratactic style lends itself to the extreme digression of focusing on the story of how Odysseus got his scar at the moment Eurykleia sees it and demonstrates a commitment to the part to the detriment of the whole.  This perspective imagines a poetic narrative not in control of itself, growing in whatever direction works at the time, like twisted branches searching for light.  (see Egbert Bakker’s discussion and adjustment of this here.)

How or why Homer does this has been debated for some time. Prior to rather general acceptance of theories of oral composition and performance, the so-called ‘digressions’ in Homer were sometimes seen as a fault. Modern authors rarely make this claim any more. Instead, there are questions of what the digressions and narrative explorations indicate about the authorship of the poems (and probably too little concern about what they mean for audiences!). For instance, Maureen Alden has argued that the intricacy and interconnectedness of the “paranarratives” indicate a highly sophisticated author, interweaving stories over a process of many years. This argument has been attractive to those who want to struggle against Auerbach’s implicit criticism of Homeric poetry as in some way uncontrolled, unfinished, or imperfect. From this perspective, the problem is on the part of interpreters who are too ill-informed to understand Homeric genius.

Bakker, cited above, and others, provide a different way out: for Bakker, Homeric poetry is more like speech than something directly visualized, and the process of unfolding an experience. Norman Austin suggests that digressions come at moments where “the dramatic and psychological concentration is the most intense” (312). They amplify the emotion or the themes. Elizabeth Minchin suggests that many of these narratives are causal and shouldn’t be seen as digressive (especially in the case of the scar) and others are indeed thematic, but a shared attribute is how they reflect what we now know about how human memory works. For Minchin, and others, there is a cognitive aspect to Homeric narrative: its tendency to explore the part is not to the detriment of the whole but instead serves to support our understanding of the whole. Not only is this kind of paratactic and telescoping narrative more apt for the way human brains work, but it also helps audiences understand the forest through the exploration of the trees.

For me, Auerbach’s description fails to represent Homeric poetry accurately on a very fundamental level: the description of the scar is momentous, thematically critical, dramatic, and engaged with the plot and movement of the Odyssey. But approaches that assume that such complexity is due to the long term effort of a master storyteller also pay short shrift to the complexity available from a poem that develops in performance and in response to human audiences. 

There are a few interesting digressions in book 13. One of them occurs during Idomeneus’ aristeia.

Iliad 13.361–369

“There, though his hair was partly grey, Idomeneus called
Out to the Danaans and drove the Trojans to retreat as he leapt.
For he killed Othryoneus who was there from Kabesos—
He had just arrived in search of the fame of war.
He asked for the most beautiful of Priam’s daughter’s
Kassandra, without a marriage-price, and he promised a great deed,
That he would drive the sons of the Achaians from Troy unwilling.
Old Priam promised this to him and nodded his head
That he would do this. Confident in these promises, he rushed forth.

῎Ενθα μεσαιπόλιός περ ἐὼν Δαναοῖσι κελεύσας
᾿Ιδομενεὺς Τρώεσσι μετάλμενος ἐν φόβον ὦρσε.
πέφνε γὰρ ᾿Οθρυονῆα Καβησόθεν ἔνδον ἐόντα,
ὅς ῥα νέον πολέμοιο μετὰ κλέος εἰληλούθει,
ᾔτεε δὲ Πριάμοιο θυγατρῶν εἶδος ἀρίστην
Κασσάνδρην ἀνάεδνον, ὑπέσχετο δὲ μέγα ἔργον,
ἐκ Τροίης ἀέκοντας ἀπωσέμεν υἷας ᾿Αχαιῶν.
τῷ δ’ ὁ γέρων Πρίαμος ὑπό τ’ ἔσχετο καὶ κατένευσε
δωσέμεναι· ὃ δὲ μάρναθ’ ὑποσχεσίῃσι πιθήσας.

This passage is more than a little enigmatic. The narrative that unfolds tells the story of a hopeful suitor for Kassandra who is killed by Idomeneus. The details seem rather straightforward. Othryoneus has come to fight for the promise of marrying Kassandra. What separates this brief obituary from others are the details. Othryoneus is marked out for his recent arrival, his pursuit of glory, his promise of a “big deed” and his desire to wed Kassandra without a bride gift.

A scholion pays some attention to this last detail.

Schol. bT ad Il. 13 365-6 ex

“He was asking to marry the most beautiful of Priam’s daughters without a bridegift”

This is also foreign. For we can find no place in Greece where they go to war for pay and posit before that they will not be allies without a contract. Also, consider the payment. For he came, asking for the girl, not because she was royal, but because she was the most beautiful. Certainly the most intemperate suitors among the Greeks “strive because of [her] excellence” [Od 2.366] But “without bridegifts” [Il.13.366] is cheap: even the most unjust suitors offer bridegifts to Penelope.”

ex. ᾔτεε δὲ Πριάμοιο <θυγατρῶν εἶδος ἀρίστην / Κασσάνδρην ἀνάεδνον>: βαρβαρικὸν καὶ τοῦτο· οὐδέποτε γὰρ εὑρήσομεν παρ’ ῞Ελλησι τὸ ἐπὶ μισθῷ στρατεύειν καὶ πρότερον αἰτεῖν καὶ χωρὶς ὑποσχέσεως μὴ συμμαχεῖν. ὅρα δὲ καὶ τὸν μισθόν· κόρης γὰρ ἐρῶν ἧκεν, οὐχ ὅτι βασιλική, ἀλλ’ ὅτι εἶδος ἀρίστη. καίτοι παρ’ ῞Ελλησιν οἱ ἀκολαστότατοι μνηστῆρές φασιν „εἵνεκα τῆς ἀρετῆς ἐριδαίνομεν” (β 206). καὶ τὸ ἀνάεδνον (366) γλίσχρον, ὅπου γε οἱ ἀδικώτατοι μνηστῆρες ἕδνα τῇ Πηνελόπῃ προσφέρουσιν.

So the Scholiast marks Othryoneus’ proposal as odd, if not improper. If we could imagine some notional summary of Othryoneus’ character, he would be something like a Dolon, asking for far more than is proper. But, taken altogether, the brief narrative is not wholly different from the heroic setup in general. Did not all the Achaeans come to Troy in search of kleos and a girl? 

In addition to this somewhat strained thematic resonance, the quick resolution of his story (by which, I mean his death) coupled with whose hands deliver it (Idomeneus, the third string QB trying to rally the Achaeans when everyone else is sidelined (Achilles) or wounded (Diomedes, Odysseus, Agamemnon, Menelaos…) renders  Othryoneus’ death even more pathetic. At the same time, it amplifies Idomeneus. Note the strange detail about Idomeneus grey hair, implying advanced age. He seems to re-enter the field, late in the day at a time of great need, a Joe Flacco to the Achaean Browns.

(For those who don’t follow the NFL, Joe Flacco is a quarterback who has had an unlikely resurgence)

The cumulative effect in the middle of a book that rages back and forth with death and confusion is to further relativize war and the promise of glory. It seems foolish if not futile to fight at all.

For me, such resonance and connected meaning develops because of my familiarity with Homer and in response to a style of composition and performance that prioritizes repetitions and meaningful sequences. My interpretation is possible because of the Iliad tendency to layer scenes (the paratactic structure again) and return to motifs (thematic rings), but it is not guaranteed. One can hear the Iliad without getting that Othryoneus was important at all (adding to the pathos) or linger as I have and come to a greater understanding of the whole. But this greater understanding relies on an audience receptive to the methods of meaning-making.

To return to the question of digression: Homeric poetry builds itself out of repetitive structures that are formed in part through performance and audience reception/response. Such intricate meanings are unlikely the result of a master plan and more likely a collaboration in a dynamic context where composer and audience unfold the story together. This method reflects and capitalizes upon human memory and cognition.

Bonus: Stories Tapped by this telling

As I explore in an article about Kassandra in the Odyssey, some narrative details in a story like Othryoneus’ do seem to draw on other narrative traditions. There are traces of a larger story tradition that positions Kassandra as an attractive yet ultimately unattainable bride, an inverse Helen of sorts.

The travel author Pausanias has someone else coming to Troy to seek Kassandra’s hand.

Pausanias 10.27.1-2 (see Benarbe Il. Parvae 15)

“Koroibos came to seek a marriage with Kassandra, but he died. According to a greater tale, she was taken by Neoptolemus; but Lesches gave her to Diomedes.”

ἀφίκετο μὲν δὴ ἐπὶ τὸν Κασσάνδρας ὁ Κόροιβος γάμον, ἀπέθανε δέ, ὡς μὲν ὁ πλείων λόγος, ὑπὸ Νεοπτολέμου, Λέσχεως δὲ ὑπὸ Διομήδους ἐποίησεν.

Alcidamas, an orator, provides us with an imagined speech performed by Odysseus prosecuting Palamedes. In myth, it was Palamedes who revealed that Odysseus was just pretending to be crazy to avoid going to war. Odysseus held a grudge and framed Palamedes as a traitor when they arrived in Troy by planting gold and a letter in his dwelling.

Alcimadas, Rhetor fr. 16.72-7 (4th Century BCE)

“After calling Sthenelos and Diomedes to witness, I was showing them the contents. The letter clearly said these things:

“Alexandros [writes] to Palamedes. You will have all the things promised to Telephos and my father will give you Kasandra as a wife, just as you asked. But do those things you offered quickly.”

These were the things which were written, and when you approached me and witnessed it you took the bow.”

πράγματι, προσκαλεσάμενος Σθένελόν τε καὶ Διομήδη ἐδείκνυον αὐτοῖς τὰ ἐνόντα. ἡ δὲ γραφὴ ἐδήλου τάδε· ‘᾿Αλέξανδρος Παλαμήδει. ὅσα συνέθου Τηλέφῳ, πάντα σοι ἔσται, ὅ τε πατὴρ Κασάνδραν γυναῖκα δίδωσί σοι, καθάπερ ἐπέστειλας· ἀλλὰ τὰ ἀπὸ σοῦ πραττέσθω διὰ τάχους.’ ἐνεγέγραπτο μὲν ταῦτα· καί μοι προσελθόντες μαρτυρήσατε οἱ λαβόντες τὸ τόξευμα.

The Trojan War tradition has Kassandra awarded to Agamemnon after the sack of Troy and killed by Klytemnestra when they return home.

A short bibliography for this post.

Alden, Maureen 2000. Homer Beside Himself: Para-Narratives in the Iliad (Oxford 2000).

Austin, Norman. 1966. “The Function of Digressions in the Iliad”. Greek Roman and Byzantine Studies 7:295-312.

Bakker, Egbert J. 2005. Pointing at the Past: From Formula to Performance in Homeric Poetics. Hellenic Studies Series 12. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies.

J. P. Christensen. “Revising Athena’s Rage: Kassandra and the Homeric Appropriation of Nostos.” YAGE  3: 88–116.

Minchin, Elizabeth. “Voice and Voices: Homer and the Stewardship of Memory.” in Niall W. Slater, Voice and Voices in Antiquity. Orality and Literacy in the Ancient World, 11; Mnemosyne supplements. Monographs on Greek and Latin language and literature, 396. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2017.

On Cretans in Iliad 13

One of the things I emphasized in my first post about Iliad 13 is how it features what we might thing of as the second or third string of Homeric heroes, an Idomeneus and a Meriones who echo other heroic pairs like Achilles and Patroklos, Diomedes and Sthenelos, or Sarpedon and Glaukos. These pairs may echo narrative structures that harken back to Gilgamesh and Enkidu in the Gilgamesh poems and persist to characters like Nisus and Euryalus in Vergil’s Aeneid.

The thematic pairing seems important for these heroes to have the therapon, a ritual assistant who can also be seen as a sacrificial replacement. There’s certainly a hero and sidekick phenomenon going on that’s interesting, but there are interesting psychological possibilities as well. Lenny Muellner has argued, following others, that Achilles and Patroklkos are a mirrored pair, substitutes if not doubles for each other to the extent that the represent the same person. 

In addition to the symbolic exploration of identity, these pairs also allow audiences the opportunity to see heroes in friendships. I often wonder if there is some kind of a commentary on figures who don’t have these relationships or for whom they are problematic. In this, I am thinking primarily of Hektor whose relationships with his brother Paris and his countryman Polydamas are fraught at best. Rather than seeing this as an indictment of Hektor, we may see his lack of a double as a feature of his social and political deprivation. Perhaps we are meant to see Hektor as someone who, despite family and city, is essentially alone.

So, part of what I think is happening again in book 13 is an emphasis on the greater possibilities of the Achaean polity: the Greeks can withstand the Trojan onslaught because they have multiple leaders who can stand up and fight when others fall. This contrast with the Trojans is pointed in book 13 where we see Idomeneus and Meriones rally the Greeks against Hektor until he listens to Polydamas’ advice.

But wait, there’s MORE.

I suspect that the rise of Idomeneus in this passage is also about integrating Cretan mythic traditions into the Homeric narrative. Now, to explain this, a little foot work: As Elton Barker and I explore in Homer’s Thebes, the Homeric epics we possess demonstrate some kind of an appropriative relationship with other poetic traditions. Scholars are pretty sure that there were countless heroic traditions rolling around the Greek world prior to the classical age. Part of the success of the Iliad and the Odyssey is the integration of local traditions–also called epichoric–and other narrative patterns into their narratives. The Iliad does this most clearly in the Catalogue of Ships where i realizes a pretty nifty narrative trick: by creating a coalition narrative that brings heroes together from all over the world of Greek audiences to go against a common enemy in the east, the Iliad creates the perfect opportunity to bring those story traditions together and make them work for its narrative. In a slightly different way, the Odyssey does something similar in the stories Odysseus tells in the underworld in book 11: he subordinates other heroic traditions and genealogical traditions to his own story.

This is all part of the Homeric strategy to replace other traditions. As Christos Tsagalis writes in the Oral Palimpsest: “ ‘Homer’ then reflects the concerted effort to create a Pan-Hellenic canon of epic song. His unprecedented success is due…not to his making previous epichoric traditions vanish but to his erasing them from the surface of his narrative while ipso tempore employing them in the shaping of his epics” (2008, xiii). This process separates the local myths from their original context and transforms them into a different vehicle for Panhellenic identities. According to Gregory Nagy (1990:66) “myths that are epichoric…are still bound to the rituals of their native locales, whereas the myths of Panhellenic discourse, in the process of excluding local variations, can become divorced from ritual.”

Crete was an important place within the larger discourse: ancient myth positions Crete as a place of power, due to King Minos; and Greeks of later years had mostly lost the memory of the great Minoan cities on Crete, but not the shape of those memories. The Iliad and the Odyssey, however, seem to present Crete in somewhat different ways. Crete may have been a setting for different versions of the Odyssey.

There’s a minor debate about how many cities there were in Crete!

Schol. A. ad Il. 2.649

“Others have instead “those who occupy hundred-citied Crete” in response to those Separatists because they say that it is “hundred-citied Crete” here but “ninety-citied” in the Odyssey. Certainly we have “hundred-citied” instead of many cities, or he has a similar and close count now, but in the Odyssey lists it more precisely as is clear in Sophocles. Some claim that the Lakedaimonian founded ten cities.”

Ariston. ἄλλοι θ’ οἳ Κρήτην <ἑκατόμπολιν ἀμφενέμοντο>: πρὸς τοὺς Χωρίζοντας (fr. 2 K.), ὅτι νῦν μὲν ἑκατόμπολιν τὴν Κρήτην, ἐν ᾿Οδυσσείᾳ (cf. τ 174) δὲ ἐνενηκοντάπολιν. ἤτοι οὖν ἑκατόμπολιν ἀντὶ τοῦ πολύπολιν, ἢ ἐπὶ τὸν σύνεγγυς καὶ ἀπαρτίζοντα ἀριθμὸν κατενήνεκται νῦν, ἐν ᾿Οδυσσείᾳ δὲ τὸ ἀκριβὲς ἐξενήνοχεν, ὡς παρὰ Σοφοκλεῖ (fr. 813 N.2 = 899 P. = 899 R.). τινὲς δέ †φασι πυλαιμένη† τὸν Λακεδαιμόνιον δεκάπολιν κτίσαι.

Strabo, 10.15

“Because the poet sometimes calls Krete “hundred-citied” but at others, “ninety-cited”, Ephorus says that ten cities were founded after the battles at Troy by the Dorians who were following Althaimenes the Argive. But he also says that Odysseus names it “ninety-cities” This argument is persuasive. But others say that ten cities were destroyed by Idomeneus’ enemies. But the poet does not claim that Krete is “hundred-citied” during the Trojan War but in his time—for he speaks in his own language even if it is the speech of those who existed then, just as in the Odyssey when he calls Crete “ninety-citied”, it would be fine to understand it in this way. But if we were to accept that, the argument would not be saved. For it is not likely that the cities were destroyed by Idomeneus’ enemies when he was at war or came home from there, since the poet says that “Idomeneus led to Crete all his companions who survived the war and the sea killed none of them.

He would have mentioned that disaster. For Odysseus certainly would not have known of the destruction of the cities because he had not encountered any of the Greeks either during his wandering or after. And one who accompanied Idomeneus against Troy and returned with him would not have known what happened at home either during the expedition or the return from there. If Idomeneus was preserved with all his companions, he would have come back strong enough they his enemies were not going to be able to deprive him of ten cities. That’s my overview of the land of the Kretans.”

Most readers of early Greek poetry might remember that both Odysseus, in the Odyssey and Demeter, in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, use Cretan origins as ways to explain why they can speak Greek but are unknown to mainlanders. Crete is just Greek enough to be “Greek”, but foreign enough to mark a Cretan as ‘other’.

From the Suda

“To speak Cretan to Cretans: Since they liars and deceivers”

Κρητίζειν πρὸς Κρῆτας. ἐπειδὴ ψεῦσται καὶ ἀπατεῶνές εἰσι.

Zenobius, 4.62.10

“To be a Cretan: People use this phrase to mean lying and cheating. And they say it developed as a proverb from Idomeneus the Cretan. For, as the story goes, when there was a disagreement developed about the greater [share] among the Greeks at troy and everyone was eager to acquire the heaped up bronze for themselves, they made Idomeneus the judge. Once he took open pledges from them that they would adhere to the judgments he would make, he put himself in from of all the rest! For this reason, it is called Krêtening.”

Κρητίζειν: ἐπὶ τοῦ ψεύδεσθαι καὶ ἀπατᾶν ἔταττον τὴν λέξιν, καὶ φασὶν ἀπὸ τοῦ ᾿Ιδομενέως τοῦ Κρητὸς τὴν παροιμίαν διαδοθῆναι. Λέγεται γὰρ διαφορᾶς ποτὲγενομένης τοῖς ἐν Τροίᾳ ῞Ελλησιν περὶ τοῦ μείζονος, καὶ  πάντων προθυμουμένων τὸν συναχθέντα χαλκὸν ἐκ τῶν λαφύρων πρὸς ἑαυτοὺς ἀποφέρεσθαι, γενόμενον κριτὴν τὸν ᾿Ιδομενέα, καὶ λαβόντα παρ’ αὐτῶν τὰς ἐνδεχομένας πίστεις ἐφ’ ᾧ κατακολουθῆσαι τοῖς κριθησομένοις, ἀντὶ πάντων τῶν ἀριστέων ἑαυτὸν προτάξαι. Διὸ λέγεσθαι τὸ Κρητίζειν.

 There’s a fascinating myth that brings together these traditions of lying with Idomeneus and Achilles’ mother:

Medeia’s Beauty Contest: Fr. Gr. Hist (=Müller 4.10.1) Athenodorus of Eretria

“In the eighth book of his Notes, Athenodorus says that Thetis and Medeia competed over beauty in Thessaly and made Idomeneus the judge—he gave the victory to Thetis. Medeia, enraged, said that Kretans are always liars and she cursed him, that he would never speak the truth just as he had [failed to] in the judgment. And this is the reason that people say they believe that Kretans are liars. Athenodorus adds that Antiokhos records this in the second book of his Urban Legends.”

Ἀθηνόδωρος ἐν ὀγδόῳ Ὑπομνημάτων φησὶ Θέτιν καὶ Μήδειαν ἐρίσαι περὶ κάλλους ἐν Θεσσαλίᾳ, καὶ κριτὴν γενέσθαι Ἰδομενέα, καὶ προσνεῖμαι Θέτιδι τὴν νίκην. Μήδειαν δ ̓ ὀργισθεῖσαν εἰπεῖν· Κρῆτες ἀεὶ ψευσταὶ, καὶ ἐπαράσασθαι αὐτῷ, μηδέποτε ἀλήθειαν εἰπεῖν, ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τῆς κρίσεως ἐποίησε. Καὶ ἐκ τούτου φησὶ τοὺς Κρῆτας ψεύστας νομισθῆναι· παρατίθεται δὲ τοῦτο ἱστοροῦντα ὁ Ἀθηνόδωρος Ἀντίοχον ἐν δευτέρῳ τῶν Κατὰ πόλιν μυθικῶν.

Of course, in the Odyssey Idomeneus shows up in Odysseus’ lies

Od. 13.256-273

“I heard of Ithaca even in broad Krete
Far over the sea. And now I myself have come
With these possessions. I left as much still with my children
When I fled, because I killed the dear son of Idomeneus,
Swift-footed Orsilokhos who surpassed all the grain-fed men
In broad Krete with his swift feet
Because he wanted to deprive me of all the booty
From Troy, over which I had suffered much grief in my heart,
Testing myself against warlike men and the grievous waves.
All because I was not showing his father favor as an attendant
In the land of the Trojans, but I was leading different companions.
I struck him with a bronze-pointed spear as he returned
From the field, after I set an ambush near the road with a companion.
Dark night covered the sky and no human beings
Took note of us, I got away with depriving him of life.
But after I killed him with the sharp bronze,
I went to a ship of the haughty Phoenicians
And I begged them and gave them heart-melting payment.”

“πυνθανόμην ᾿Ιθάκης γε καὶ ἐν Κρήτῃ εὐρείῃ,
τηλοῦ ὑπὲρ πόντου· νῦν δ’ εἰλήλουθα καὶ αὐτὸς
χρήμασι σὺν τοίσδεσσι· λιπὼν δ’ ἔτι παισὶ τοσαῦτα
φεύγω, ἐπεὶ φίλον υἷα κατέκτανον ᾿Ιδομενῆος,
᾿Ορσίλοχον πόδας ὠκύν, ὃς ἐν Κρήτῃ εὐρείῃ
ἀνέρας ἀλφηστὰς νίκα ταχέεσσι πόδεσσιν,
οὕνεκά με στερέσαι τῆς ληΐδος ἤθελε πάσης
Τρωϊάδος, τῆς εἵνεκ’ ἐγὼ πάθον ἄλγεα θυμῷ,
ἀνδρῶν τε πτολέμους ἀλεγεινά τε κύματα πείρων,
οὕνεκ’ ἄρ’ οὐχ ᾧ πατρὶ χαριζόμενος θεράπευον
δήμῳ ἔνι Τρώων, ἀλλ’ ἄλλων ἦρχον ἑταίρων.
τὸν μὲν ἐγὼ κατιόντα βάλον χαλκήρεϊ δουρὶ
ἀγρόθεν, ἐγγὺς ὁδοῖο λοχησάμενος σὺν ἑταίρῳ·
νὺξ δὲ μάλα δνοφερὴ κάτεχ’ οὐρανόν, οὐδέ τις ἥμεας
ἀνθρώπων ἐνόησε, λάθον δέ ἑ θυμὸν ἀπούρας.
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ τόν γε κατέκτανον ὀξέϊ χαλκῷ,
αὐτίκ’ ἐγὼν ἐπὶ νῆα κιὼν Φοίνικας ἀγαυοὺς
ἐλλισάμην καί σφιν μενοεικέα ληΐδα δῶκα·

This is the first ‘lie’ Odysseus tells upon his arrival on Ithaca. He does not know that he is speaking to Athena and a scholiast explains his choices as if he were speaking to a suitor or one who would inform them.

Scholia V ad. Od. 13.267

“He explains that he killed Idomeneus’ son so that the suitors will accept him as an enemy of dear Odysseus. He says that he has sons in Crete because he will have someone who will avenge him. He says that the death of Orsilochus was for booty, because he is showing that he would not yield to this guy bloodlessly. He says that he trusted Phoenicians so that he may not do him wrong, once he has reckoned that they are the most greedy for profit and they spared him.”

τὸν μὲν ἐγὼ κατιόντα] σκήπτεται τὸν ᾿Ιδομενέως υἱὸν ἀνῃρηκέναι, ἵνα αὐτὸν πρόσωνται οἱ μνηστῆρες ὡς ἐχθρὸν τοῦ ᾿Οδυσσέως φίλου. ἑαυτῷ δὲ ἐν Κρήτῃ υἱούς φησιν εἶναι, ὅτι τοὺς τιμωρήσοντας ἕξει. καὶ τὸν ᾿Ορσιλόχου δὲ θάνατον λέγει διὰ τὴν λείαν, δεικνὺς ὅτι οὐδὲ ἐκείνῳ παραχωρήσει ἀναιμωτί. Φοίνιξι δὲ πιστεῦσαι λέγει, ἵνα μὴ ἀδικήσῃ, λογισάμενος ὅτι οἱ φιλοκερδέσταται αὐτοῦ ἐφείσαντο.

One of my favorite recent articles about book 13, by Grace Erny, looks closely at the role Idomeneus and Meriones play in this book. She argues that the depiction of the heroes in this book integrates “competing depictions of the Islands: one where Crete is well integrated into the Panhellenic world of the Achaeans and one where it stands out as a distinct region” (198). In doing so, I think the epic performs or even creates the Cretan dualism I mentioned above. Idomeneus and Meriones are just Greek enough to be part of the Achaean coalition but not so much as to escape the implication of difference and the echo of something perhaps more salacious.

Enry’s article lays out some of the material realities behind these traditions and also trace out the continuity of Crete’s depiction outside of the Iliad. In the latter part of the article, she looks at the relationship between the heroes and the ambiguity about their relative positions. Such ambiguity partners with their descriptions and actions to make it impossible to forget that they are Cretan, both advancing and confirming the Homeric strategy vis a vis Crete.

A starting bibliography on Book 13

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

Cramer, David. “The wrath of Aeneas: Iliad 13.455-67 and 20.75-352.” Syllecta classica, vol. 11, 2000, pp. 16-33.

Erny, Grace. “Iliad 13, Homer’s Cretan Heroes, and “Cretan Exceptionalism”.” Phoenix, vol. 74 no. 3, 2020, p. 197-219. Project MUSE, https://doi.org/10.1353/phx.2020.0036.

Fenno, Jonathan Brian. “The wrath and vengeance of swift-footed Aeneas in Iliad 13.” Phoenix, vol. 62, no. 1-2, 2008, pp. 145-161.

Friedman, Rachel Debra. “Divine dissension and the narrative of the « Iliad ».” Helios, vol. 28, no. 2, 2001, pp. 99-118.

Kotsonas, Antonis. “Homer, the archaeology of Crete and the « Tomb of Meriones » at Knossos.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies, vol. 138, 2018, pp. 1-35. Doi: 10.1017/S0075426918000010

McClellan, Andrew M.. “The death and mutilation of Imbrius in Iliad 13.” Yearbook of Ancient Greek Epic, vol. 1, 2017, pp. 159-174. Doi: 10.1163/24688487-00101007

Nagy, G. 1990. Pindar’s Homer: the Lyric Possession of an Epic Past. Baltimore.

Panegyres, Konstantine. “Ὄρεϊ νιφόεντι ἐοικώς: Iliad 13.754-755 revisited.” Mnemosyne, Ser. 4, vol. 70, no. 3, 2017, pp. 477-487. Doi: 10.1163/1568525X-12342271

Saunders, Kenneth B.. “The wounds in Iliad 13-16.” Classical Quarterly, N. S., vol. 49, no. 2, 1999, pp. 345-363. Doi: 10.1093/cq/49.2.345

Tsagalis, Christos. 2008. The Oral Palimpsest: Exploring Intertextuality in the Homeric Epics. Hellenic Studies Series 29. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies.

Starting to Make Sense of Book 13

Book 13 of the Iliad is the continuation of  a day of fighting that begins with book 11 and does not actually end until book 18 (see below for more). Where book 12 so the momentous breaching of the Achaean Wall and book 14 features the seduction of Zeus, 13 turns out to appear a little more forgettable. Part of this is because of the steady wounding of the most prominent Greeks that prompted Achilles to send Patroklos to investigate in book 11. The suffering of the Greeks is all part of Zeus’ plan to honor Achilles….as the story goes.

But another reason for this plot is political: despite how many of their captains fall, the Achaeans still seem to have more leaders to stand in place of the wounded and lead on the battle. Book 13 presents something of an aristeia for the Cretan commander Idomeneus, who rallies the Greeks along with Meriones. Their resistance to the Trojan onslaught is facilitated in part by Poseidon (who is opposing Zeus, as surreptitiously as the god of oceans and earthquakes can do anything) and the contrasting dysfunction of the Trojan leadership. In service of this last subplot, book 13 also features another conversation between Hektor and his advisor Polydamas.

 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 Politics, Gods and Humans and Narrative Traditions.

Counting Days, Making Space in the Iliad

As Grace Erny summarizes in her 2020 article on Iliad 13, this book has given interpreters fits. The structure isn’t as ‘geometric’ as book 6, it doesn’t have the same punch as book 12, and there’s no signature episode like we get in book 14. Erny argues that Idomeneus and Meriones in this book function as parallels–if not stand-ins–for the absent Achilles and Patroklos. (An argument I find pretty convincing.) She also adds that the emphasis on their identity as Cretans reveals important reflections of historical knowledge about Crete and its relationship with the rest of Greece (something else I find convincing). What I think we need to consider more of is why this content appears at this point during the epic.

Book 13 is pretty much just over the mid-point of the epic. The fact that as an audience we are treated to this second or third string of Achaean leaders indicates just how bad things are going for the Greeks and may in fact put a strain on our attention (which may explain in part both the somewhat odd and jocular tone of the Cretan captains as well as the flirtation with other narrative traditions and possibilities: the near-miss of having Aeneas face Idomeneus or the somewhat belated advice Polydamas offers to Hektor to rally his troops. Book 13 tests the limits of the Achaeans, the story, and audience patience.

I must confess that my comments in this regard are rooted almost entirely in my own history of frustration with these books: in a way, books 13-15 of the Iliad are not that different from books 13-15 in the Odyssey. Audiences know what needs to happen (Patroklos needs to go to Achilles in the Iliad; Odysseus needs to meet Telemachus in the Odyssey) but the narrative increases our suspense and expands the consequences of what is about to happen by fleshing out this narrative world.

One of the scholarly interventions that helped me see these books differently in the Iliad is J. S. Clay’s Homer’s Trojan Theatre. The book does a great job of laying out the stability and accuracy of movements and space depicted within the battlebooks. The visualization Clay provides on her website demonstrates how well-thought out the process is. The actions of books 12-17 are not just about delaying the inevitable or increasing our suspense, they also reveal a sophisticated narrative plan and advance important themes (like those of politics).

 

But I also think that the potential of these books to exhaust is important for the emotional aims of the epic as well. If Clay’s emphasis on the consistency of Homeric spatial reference helps us understand how thoroughly coordinated these events are, thinking about the passage of time can help us better understand how the audience moves through the poem as one of the combatants.

When I talk about time in the Iliad, I usually just blithely say that the Iliad is metonymically related to the Trojan War, it represents the larger themes and concerns of 10 years through 50 some odd days of war. The temporal breakdown in the Iliad, however, is more complicated than that by far. There are several online discussions of how many days there are in the Iliad and how we should split them up. (and another here!)

Here is an old fashion chart that splits them evenly across units of 11 days

I think this is useful, but it doesn’t give a sense of the narrative weight to the way the time is spent. I am a big fan of this chart by Edward Mendelson that attempts to show the passage of time is split in a symmetrical way. Ultimately, I think the chronology is nearly symmetrical, but not exactly as Mendelson lays out. 

Below I have tried my own hand at making some sense of the chronology. The important thing is how much narrative weight goes into a single day. Narratology instructs that there is an important difference between “story time” (the sequence and events of a story as they are experienced by the characters, if they were laid out as just a sequence) and “narrative time”, the way the particular narrative arranges them and how they are experienced by the audience.

 

 

Most narrative time we experience is significantly edited or altered from ‘story time’ or the time of ‘real life’. With the exception of experiments or shticks like the television show 24, we rarely encounter narratives that try to match the time of the telling to what might be the ‘real’ time of the events. I think we may want to start considering the battlebooks of the Iliad as an early attempt to do so.

The fight from books 11-18 is fully one third of the epic, but it is only one day of the 54 referenced in the poem. Even if we only focus on the 12 fuller days that are depicted in the epic (leaving aside the 42 days glossed over in summary),  we have 1/3 the epic endeavoring to describe 1/12 of the time that passes.

The narrative structure, I think, serves to show how time dilates during war–how it expands and contracts and shifts our experience of night and day. At the same time, it places an important narrative emphasis on the events that it contains: the suffering of the Achaeans requested by Achilles in book 1, culminating in the death of his own friend Patroklos and the re-tasking of Achilles’ rage to the Trojans from his own people. This attempt to bring story time and narrative time into alignment has an emotional impact on audiences, as they struggle to keep up with the action, to stay engaged, and to wade through the fog of war in anticipation of something (clearly) significant happening.

A Few further references for Iliadic chronology and narratology

Foster, B. O. “The Duration of the Trojan War.” The American Journal of Philology 35, no. 3 (1914): 294–308. https://doi.org/10.2307/289413.

Grethlein, J. (2006) Das Geschichtsbild der Ilias: eine Untersuchung aus phänomenologischer und narratologischer Perspektive, Göttingen

de Jong, I. J. (2004 [1987]) Narrators and focalizers: the presentation of the story in the Iliad, Bristol.

de Jong, I. J. and Nünlist, R. (eds.) (2007) Time in ancient Greek literature, Leiden and Boston.

Scott, John A. “The Assumed Duration of the War of the Iliad.” Classical Philology, vol. 8, no. 4, 1913, pp. 445–56. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/262533. Accessed 3 Jan. 2024.

Taplin, O. (1992) Homeric soundings: the shaping of the Iliad, Oxford: Clarendon.

Reading Questions for Book 13

How do Poseidon’s actions in book 13 change the way we think about the gods in the Iliad?

What does the conversation between Polydamas and Hektor in this book contribute to the political theme?

How do the depictions of Idomeneus and Aeneas change how we think about the Greek and Trojan Armies?

I will follow up with longer posts about Idomeneus, Crete, Aeneas, and Trojan Politics.

A starting bibliography on Book 13

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

Cramer, David. “The wrath of Aeneas: Iliad 13.455-67 and 20.75-352.” Syllecta classica, vol. 11, 2000, pp. 16-33.

Erny, Grace. “Iliad 13, Homer’s Cretan Heroes, and “Cretan Exceptionalism”.” Phoenix, vol. 74 no. 3, 2020, p. 197-219. Project MUSE, https://doi.org/10.1353/phx.2020.0036.

Fenno, Jonathan Brian. “The wrath and vengeance of swift-footed Aeneas in Iliad 13.” Phoenix, vol. 62, no. 1-2, 2008, pp. 145-161.

Friedman, Rachel Debra. “Divine dissension and the narrative of the « Iliad ».” Helios, vol. 28, no. 2, 2001, pp. 99-118.

Kotsonas, Antonis. “Homer, the archaeology of Crete and the « Tomb of Meriones » at Knossos.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies, vol. 138, 2018, pp. 1-35. Doi: 10.1017/S0075426918000010

McClellan, Andrew M.. “The death and mutilation of Imbrius in Iliad 13.” Yearbook of Ancient Greek Epic, vol. 1, 2017, pp. 159-174. Doi: 10.1163/24688487-00101007

Panegyres, Konstantine. “Ὄρεϊ νιφόεντι ἐοικώς: Iliad 13.754-755 revisited.” Mnemosyne, Ser. 4, vol. 70, no. 3, 2017, pp. 477-487. Doi: 10.1163/1568525X-12342271

Saunders, Kenneth B.. “The wounds in Iliad 13-16.” Classical Quarterly, N. S., vol. 49, no. 2, 1999, pp. 345-363. Doi: 10.1093/cq/49.2.345