Two passages from the Scholia to Euripides’ Medeaexplain why Euripides told the story he did and what the ‘real’ facts were behind it.
Schol. B ad. Eur. Med. 9.1-11
“There’s a story from the philosophers that is much repeated—one Parmeniskos also offers—that Euripides changed the murder of the children to Medea because he accepted five talents from the Korinthians. [He claims] that the children of Medea were killed by the Korinthians because they were angry over her ruling the city and they wanted there to be an end of her ruling in Korinth, because it was her paternal [right]. For this reason he changed the [responsibility] to Medea. Hippus presents [accounts] about her residency in Korinth, as does Hellanikos. Eumelos and Simonides report that Medeia ruled Korinth. In his work called On Isthmian Affairs, Mousaios reports that Medeia was immortal, and he explains this also in his work on The Festivals of Hera Akraia.”
“Parmeniskos writes the following for this line: “Because the Korinthian women did not want to be ruled by a barbaric, potion-pouring woman, they conspired against her and [planned] to kill her children, seven boys and seven girls. [Euripides says that she only had two]. They fled, pursued, into the temple of Hera Akraia and they stayed there. But even then the Korinthians did not hold back: they slaughtered all of them at the altar. Then a plague fell over the city, and many bodies were perishing because of a sickness. They received an oracle that the god must be propitiated for the hunt of Medeia’s children. This is why each year during the appointed time seven girls and boys from the noblest families return to the precinct of the goddess and appease their rage—and the anger of the goddess on their behalf—with sacrifices.”
Medea, Museo archeologico nazionale di Napoli, (inv. nr. 8977). Da Pompei, Casa dei Dioscuri. Medea medita di uccidere i suoi figli intenti a giocare con gli astragali, guardati con mestizia dal pedagogo.
The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women tells the story of of Helen’s suitors, explaining that Menelaos won Helen’s hand because of the magnitude of his wealth. The fragment, however, does not stop there. No! It has to explain why Achilles didn’t win Helen’s hand:
Fr. 204.86-93
“Atreus’ war-loving son Menelaos conquered everyone
Because he gave the most gifts. Kheiron took Peleus’ son
of swift feet to wooded Pelion, that most exceptional of men,
when he was still a child. War-loving Menelaos wouldn’t have defeated him
nor would any other Mortal man on the earth who was wooing
Helen if swift Achilles had come upon her when she was still a maiden
As he returned home from Pelion.
But, as it turned out, war-loving Menelaos got her first.”
In other traditions Achilles actually is a suitor. (Pausanias 3.24; Euripides’, Helen 98-99; see Ormand, The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women and Archaic Greece, 2014, 149-150 and 198-201). Hesiod, however, finds it necessary to explain why he is sidelined from this game…
eleus (left) entrusts his son Achilles (centre) to Centaur Chiron (right). White-ground black-figured lekythos by the Edinburgh Painter, ca. 500 BC. From Eretria. National Archaeological Museum in Athens, 1150.
My general argument in an earlier post, emphasizing that we need to understand the Homeric epics as objects that exist through time and different layers of reception only goes so far in helping current readers and teachers grapple with Homeric epic. Indeed, acknowledging that different audiences meaningfully engaged with the Homeric epics in very different modes does little to help first time readers make their way into the poems. On sententiaeantiquae.com, I posted somewhat problematic essays on how not to read Homer and on reading Homer. Those comments are somewhat more polemical and aimed at a particular cultural stance. Here, I hope to provide (1) more practical advice, followed by (2) some limited justification for that advice, before closing with (3) some recommendations for introductions to Homeric epic.
Prepare by reading something else: Ancient audiences grew up with the names of heroes and the basic plots in their minds. Modern audiences who are less familiar with the characters, the pantheon, and their narrative traditions are at a bit of a loss. Try preparing by reading something else first, like an overview or one of Gareth Hinds’ graphic novels first. Don’t read epic as if it is a modern novel full of twists and surprises. Read it like you’re attending a new Spiderman film and you have seen earlier reboots and maybe read the comic book once as a kid.
Follow a ‘rule of three’: Epic is full of place names, people, and stories that show up once or twice. Some of these references are subtle intertexts; others are about vibes or flavor. Very few are really necessary to understand the overall tale. So, even given the work done on #1, don’t sweat all the details on your first or even second reading. If a name or idea does not come up at least three times, don’t worry about it. This doesn’t mean it isn’t important, it just means that it is less important than the others.
Focus on the story being told: These details aren’t insignificant, but they can distract from the major plot. Remember that the Iliad is not the Trojan War: there’s no Trojan Horse, there’s no judgment of Paris; Achilles doesn’t even die. When people come to Homer expecting the whole story, they are confused or disappointed. In fact, it may almost be better to know less than more when starting the epic for the first time. While there are nearly endless references to and echoes of characters, events, and stories that are not in the Iliad and recognizing such references may enhance one’s enjoyment of epic over time, the story in its telling can appeal to multiple audiences simultaneously. The way I explain it is this: someone with little knowledge of baseball or American football can enjoy the competition, provided they know the basic rules. A home-run or a hail-Mary are no more or less majestic and exciting if you know advanced statistics and the history of the game. Allow epic’s game to unfold, and if you return to it again, bring some new understanding each time.
Court anachronism: it is certainly the case that Homeric characters are not “just like us”; but, by the same token, modern comic book characters are not like us either. The enduring power of epic resides in its ability to function as a vehicle for audiences with very different experiences and worldviews.
Don’t Read Homer Alone! Accept polysemy: Once you have started to do #4, also acknowledge that this might not be enough: test your responses against other peoples’ responses (both your peers and contemporaries and people over time). Many authors will gladly remind you of how brutal, savage, and different the Homeric heroes (and their anticipated audiences) are. Don’t ignore this, but don’t be shackled by it either. Any work of art that exists through time requires you to move around it, to look at it from different angles, to ask what other people think of it, and to weigh your responses against those from different times.
Code Switch: Learn enough about Homeric aesthetics to understand where they matter: The epics we have are assuredly ‘oral-derived’ and they were performed in front of audiences in their earliest periods. “Aesthetics”, or the set of cultural assumptions about style, form, and value that inform interpretation and judgment, vary from culture to culture and over time. Homeric language developed over time in concert with its rhythmic shapes. Rather than be concerned with individual words, good interpretation of Homer looks at partial lines, phrases, and their adaptation (and in this there is likely more common with music than what we think of as poetry). In general, Homeric poetry tends to have more repetition than a modern author would be comfortable with; it also tends to be additive (paratactic) because it unfolds in real time and performance, giving the (deceptive) appearance of simplicity. This does not mean that the repetition is meaningless or mechanical. One of my favorite takes on this belongs to John Miles Foley who argues that oral poetry works like any other language, just more so!
Learn about Metonymy: Metonymy is often paired with metaphor; the latter is figurative language that says something is something else; the former, metonymy, uses a part of a thing to evoke the whole. The very nature of epic is metonymic: the Iliad evokes the themes and motifs of a vastly larger and expanding story-scape of nearly 20 years (and countless characters) through something like 58 days. This structural relationship should be understood as operative the parts of each epic as well.
Because of its existence through and over time and its adaptive, generative nature, Homeric language and narrative are filled with potential meaning. A single word or sequence of words can invoke entire story-traditions. Never assume, as I once did, that a simple simile (e.g. Hektor went forth like a snowy mountain) is just waiting to be extended or elaborated. Instead, imagine that the complex story was there first and then compressed. Epic, as made clear from the comparative studies of Milman Parry and Albert Lord, advances itself through expansion or contraction (suppression) of various themes and motifs).
When in doubt, read more Homer: In line with the ancient practice of “clarifying Homer through Homer”, many Homeric ‘problems’ can be resolved by looking at the practices within Homer, not adducing information from outside the epics. If things are really knotty, Homeric scholarship is deep and wide and chances are someone else has encountered the same problem you have.
Homer’s Early Audiences Engaged with Homer repeatedly, but rarely completely:
The more I think about it and the more I have learned over time, I am convinced that a majority of audiences prior to the Hellenistic period experienced Homeric epic episodically and rarely in full, ‘monumental’ performances. After the Hellenistic period, I think that most engagements in writing would have been with popular passages mined for rhetorical examples and equally rare in full readings of the epic from beginning to end. For me, this distinction between ancient and modern practices suggests that we should modify our approach to reading Homer to include both sampling of famous passages and iteration/repetition. In addition, the origin of the Homeric epic in performance contexts recommends a form of reading that includes other people as part of the interpretive process. Homeric poetry developed within communities of performers and audiences and to this day relies on a community of readers to return them to life.
Ancient Scholarly Practice was to Make Sense of Homer Through Homer
Ancient scholarly practice commends a practice of iterative re-reading epic. Since Homeric poetry was–and is–somewhat sui generis, questions of style and content can be best answered only with reference to the epics itself. Below I have marshaled a few quotations on the practice of “clarifying Homer through Homer”. Note, this practice of interpreting a text within its own terms through its own guidance became a foundational custom of Classical and Biblical philology (see, for example Martin Luther’s scriptura sui ipsius interpres [“scripture is its own interpreter”])
D Scholia to the Iliad (5.385)
“Aristarchus believed it best to make sense of those things that were presented more fantastically by Homer according to the poet’s authority, that we not be overwhelmed by anything outside of the things presented by Homer.”
“Since often in our conversations with one another about Homeric questions, when I try to show you that Homer interprets himself for the most part, and we consider from every angle in most instances based on our training more than [simply] knowing what he says, you have considered it right that I write up the things we have said rather than allow them to fall aside and disappear because we’ve forgotten them.”
“Because I think it best to make sense of Homer through Homer, I usually show by example how he may interpret himself, sometimes in juxtaposition, sometimes in other ways.”
This practice of analyzing Homer is multilayered as well; in keeping with Homeric poetry’s metonymic self-generation, its additive character and a scaffolding of shared characteristics from the level of the word all the way to the level of structure, the Iliad and the Odyssey in their entirety are assumed to be responsive to similar approaches. Indeed, Hellenistic scholars conceived of a scaffolded interpretive process
Dionysius Thrax, Ars Grammatica 1
“The art of grammar is the experience-derived knowledge of how things are said, for the most part, by poets and prose authors. It has six components. First, reading out loud and by meter; second, interpretation according to customary compositional practice; third, a helpful translation of words and their meanings; fourth, an investigation of etymology; fifth, a categorization of morphologies; and sixth—which is the most beautiful portion of the art—the critical judgment of the compositions.”
Regardless of the period of its reception, Homeric poetry is aesthetically different from our own, but it guides us on its use
Homeric poetry is a language that developed from multiple dialects, selecting for morphologies and syntax over time to create a dynamic and flexible language. The rhythmic shape of the dactylic hexameter line is a natural part of the Homeric dialect, but not in the sense of functioning as a rigid or restrictive form. As part of the song culture of ancient Greece, Homeric poetry was (and is) capable of conveying a full range of ideas and emotions like any other language. The one thing I would add to the “clarify Homer through Homer” sentiment above works best if we understand Homer as part of a much larger song culture that includes all poetry from ancient Greece.
As I note above, familiarity with ancient Greek poetry in general will help modern readers understand the structure and narrative flow of Greek epic. It accommodates, if not relies upon, repetitions and builds larger patterns out of doublets, rings, rising tricola (three-part statements with emphasis on the final) and more.
Moving from epic to lyric and back again also helps us to see that Homeric epic is structured around devices that invite comparison from ‘outside the frame’ to inside. Consider speeches, omens, and similes. Each one of these devices that together make up the majority of the Iliad, has an opening (a speech introduction, a ‘like this, so that’ or something like it) and a closing statement around content that needs to be understood within the framework provided. So, speech introductions and conclusions give us information about how to understand the nature of the speech framed, while omen scenes (see especially Odysseus description of the omen in book 2 [Iliad 2.299–330 ] the debate in book 12 [12.199–257] over the omen of the snake and the eagle at the Greek wall) demonstrate debate over interpretation and similes demarcate boundaries between the ‘real’ and the ‘imaginary’ that nevertheless invite us to collapse the two to make meaning.
It is my contention that Homeric poetry models and trains audiences on methods of interpretation, prizing judgment from without over the importance of detail within. This becomes clearest, I think, in moments where Homeric heroes try to use stories from their past to persuade their interlocutors. They make equivalences between the narratives they present and the actions around them that anticipate or echo similar moves made by external audiences. Phoinix makes this explicit when he speaks to Achilles in book 9 (see below, c) and Achilles himself acknowledges that his quarrel with Agamemnon will be an object of memory for years to come (below, b). But most importantly of all, when the epic asks its audiences to look outside of itself in book 18 at the cities on the shield Hephaestus makes for Achilles, the prize offered is for those who judge a quarrel most correctly.
In future posts, I will return to these questions again, particularly when assembling some notes on books 9, 18, and 19.
a. Phoinix Prefaces his tale of Meleager, 9.524–526: This is the way we have learned from famous stories of the men who were before, the heroes, whenever a furious anger overcomes someone. They are amenable to gifts and persuaded by words.”
οὕτω καὶ τῶν πρόσθεν ἐπευθόμεθα κλέα ἀνδρῶν
ἡρώων, ὅτε κέν τιν’ ἐπιζάφελος χόλος ἵκοι·
δωρητοί τε πέλοντο παράρρητοί τ’ ἐπέεσσι.
b. Achilles on the Conflict, 19.64–65: “This was better for the Hektor and the Trojans: I think that the Achaeans will remember our strife for a long time.”
῞Εκτορι μὲν καὶ Τρωσὶ τὸ κέρδιον· αὐτὰρ ᾿Αχαιοὺς
δηρὸν ἐμῆς καὶ σῆς ἔριδος μνήσεσθαι ὀΐω,
c. Il. 18. 496–508: “The people where gathered, crowded, in the assembly where a conflict (neîkos) had arisen: two men were striving over the penalty for a man who had been killed; the first one was promising to give everything as he was testifying to the people; but the other was refusing to take anything; and both men longed for a judge to make a decision. The people, partisans on either side, applauded. Then the heralds brought the host together; the elders sat on smooth stones in a sacred circle as they held in their hands the scepters of clear-voiced heralds; each one was leaping to his feet and they pronounced judgments in turn. In the middle there were two talents of gold to give to whoever among them uttered the straightest judgment.”
λαοὶ δ’ εἰν ἀγορῇ ἔσαν ἀθρόοι· ἔνθα δὲ νεῖκος
ὠρώρει, δύο δ’ ἄνδρες ἐνείκεον εἵνεκα ποινῆς
ἀνδρὸς ἀποφθιμένου· ὃ μὲν εὔχετο πάντ’ ἀποδοῦναι
δήμῳ πιφαύσκων, ὃ δ’ ἀναίνετο μηδὲν ἑλέσθαι·
ἄμφω δ’ ἱέσθην ἐπὶ ἴστορι πεῖραρ ἑλέσθαι.
λαοὶ δ’ ἀμφοτέροισιν ἐπήπυον ἀμφὶς ἀρωγοί·
κήρυκες δ’ ἄρα λαὸν ἐρήτυον· οἳ δὲ γέροντες
εἵατ’ ἐπὶ ξεστοῖσι λίθοις ἱερῷ ἐνὶ κύκλῳ,
σκῆπτρα δὲ κηρύκων ἐν χέρσ’ ἔχον ἠεροφώνων·
τοῖσιν ἔπειτ’ ἤϊσσον, ἀμοιβηδὶς δὲ δίκαζον.
κεῖτο δ’ ἄρ’ ἐν μέσσοισι δύω χρυσοῖο τάλαντα,
τῷ δόμεν ὃς μετὰ τοῖσι δίκην ἰθύντατα εἴποι.
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Some reading recommendations
Elton Barker and I wrote a beginner’s guide to Homer a decade ago, so I am including that in the list. Some other books here are good too!
Bakker, E. J. 1997. Poetry in Speech: Orality and Homeric Discourse. Ithaca.
A great introduction to Homeric language from a linguistic perspective. It is a bit complicated for people who have no experience with epic, but it is a great next step.
Barker, E.T.E and Christensen, J. P. 2013. Homer: A Beginner’s Guide. One world
Elton and I wrote this during a six month period in 2011. It was torrid and crazy and I think it is still a decent text that introduces Homeric language and both epics in a slim volume
Foley, John Miles. 1999. Homer’s Traditional Art. Philadelphia.
It is hard for me to pick one book by Foley. It is a close race between his Immanent Art (1991) and How to Read an Oral Poem (2002) and this book. A great overview of how orality matters to understanding the Homeric epics.
Graziosi, B., and J. Haubold, 2005. Homer: The Resonance of Epic. London.
While not an introduction to Homer, per se, this volume is a great introduction to archaic epic, cosmic history, and the relationship between Homer and Hesiod. Barbara Graziosi also has a very good Homer: A Very Short Introduction(Oxford, 2016)
Nagy, Gregory. 1979/1999. The Best of the Achaeans: Concepts of the Hero in Archaic Greek poetry. Baltimore.
This is a book that rewards, if not requires, rereading and introduces the broader mythopoetic world of ancient Greek heroes inside and outside of Homer
Schein, S. 1984. The Mortal Hero: An Introduction to Homer’s Iliad. Berkeley.
This is one of three books that sealed my fate as a Homerist
Bust-length Study of the Blind Homer by Paul Buffet in the MET
“What is the beginning of the change from guardian to tyrant? Isn’t clear when the guardian begins to do that very thing which myth says happened at the shrine of Lykaion Zeus in Arcadia?
Which is? He said.
That once someone tastes a bit of human innards mixed up with the other sacrifices he becomes a wolf by necessity? Haven’t you heard this tale?
I have.
Is it not something the same with a protector of the people? Once he controls a mob that obeys him, he cannot restrain himself from tribal blood, but he prosecutes unjustly, the sorts of things men love to do, and brings a man into court for murder, eliminating the life of a man—and with tongue and unholy mouth that have tasted the murder of his kind, he exiles, kills, and promises the cutting of debts and the redistribution of land. Is it not by necessity that such a man is fated either to be killed by his enemies or to become a tyrant, to turn into a wolf from a man?”
In ancient Greek myth, Lykaon (Lycaon, related to lúkos, “wolf”) was a king of Arcadia. According to Pausanias (8.31-5) , Lykaon sacrificed a newborn child to Zeus. In other sources he offers the infant mixed up with other food to test Zeus’ divinity (although some attribute the deed to his sons, see Apollodorus, 3.8.1). Zeus killed the sons with lightning; Lykaon was transformed into a wolf. Stay tuned for more of this in coming days.
Antiphon was killed in Sicily by Dionysius the tyrant. I am inclined to ascribe the fault for his death more to Antiphon himself than to Dionysius, because Antiphon scoffed at his tragedies, in which Dionysius took more pride than he did even in being the tyrant. When Dionysius became interested in the quality of bronze and asked some people who were present what country or island produced the best bronze, Antiphon spoke up and said, ‘I know that the best bronze is in Athens, where one can find the statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton.’ He was killed for this because he was treading upon Dionysius’ authority and turning the Sicilians against him.
A few years back, Erik made a post about Moonface’s Album of Songs about the Minotaur. It made me think a lot about the story from the Minotaur’s (Asterion’s) perspective. In general, the narratives that include him are about Theseus. Here are some passages about Pasiphae and the Minotaur.
Hesiod, Fr. 145.13–17
“When he looked in her eyes he longed for her
[and she gave herself over to the bull]
After she was impregnated, she gave birth to a powerful son to Minos,
A wonder to see: for he had the appearance of man
Down to his feet, but a bull’s head grew on top.”
“In every myth there is also Daidalos’ corruption”: People say that because Pasiphae lusted after a bull, she begged Daidalos to make her a wooden cow and, once he had set it up, to put her in it. When the bull mounted her as a cow he made her pregnant. The Minotaur was born from this. For certain reasons Minos was angry at the Athenians and he took from them seven maidens and the same number of youths. They were thrown to the beast. Since origin and responsibility for these evils were attributed to Daidalos and he was hated for them, this was translated into the proverb.”
Heraclitus the Paradoxographer, 7 Concerning Pasiphae
“People claim that [Pasiphae] lusted after the Bull, not, as many believe, for an animal in a herd—for it would be ridiculous for a queen to desire such uncommon intercourse—instead she lusted for a certain local man whose name was Tauro [the bull]. She used as an accomplice for her desire Daidalos and she was impregnated. Then she gave birth to a son whom many used to call “Minos” but they would compare him to Tauro because of his similarity to him. So, he was nicknamed Mino-tauros from the combination.”
“[in] Pasiphae
The Kyprian goddess [sewed]
Longing [….]
To the son Eupalamos
The wisest of the craftsmen
She told Daidalos [about]
Her sickness. Credible oaths
She ordered him to make [so that]
So that she might have sex with the bull
But keep it secret from her husband
Minos, the oppressive-archer,
The general of the Knossians.
But when he learned of the tale,
He was overtaken by worry and
[about his] wife….
“A mound of earth is not far from a building in the Argive marketplace. People claim the head of the Gorgon Medusa lies here. Leaving aside the myth, here are the other things said about her. She was a daughter of Phorkos and, after her father died, she ruled those who lived near Lake Tritôn, going forth to hunt and leading the Libyans in war. When she was in camp with the army against Perseus who was followed by selected troops from the Peloponnese, she was deviously murdered at night. Perseus, who was amazed at her beauty, even in a corpse, cut off her head and took it to display to the Greeks.”
Medusa (c. 1597). Oil on canvas mounted on wood, rotella (tournament shield), 60 × 55 cm (24 × 22 in). Uffizi Gallery, Florence
The Byzantine Suda has its own take on the legend. It is not less misogynistic:
“Medousa: She is also called Gorgonê. Perseus, the son of Danae and Pêkos, after learning every kind of magical display, because he wanted to establish his own kingdom, made plans against the realm of the Medes. And so, after he travelled over much land, he saw a maiden who was intelligent and ugly and, as he looked away from her, he asked “who are you” and she said, “Medousa”. He cut off her head and prepared it as he had been taught and held it up. He made everyone panic and killed those who witnessed it. He called this head the Gorgonê because of the sharpness of its power.
From there, he went to the land ruled by Kêpheus and found a virgin girl in a temple who was named Andromeda and whom he married. He founded a city in this country called Amandra and set up a pillar which held the Gorgonê. This was called the Ikonion and, because of the object, the Gorgonê. He then made war against the Isaurians, the Kilikians and he founded a city which he called Tarsos, which before was called Andrasos. He had received a prophecy that after the victory he should found a city and name it Tarsos in thanks for the victory in the place where he put the flat of his foot [tarsos] in when he got off his horse.
After conquering the Medes, he changed the name of their country and called it Persis. He taught some of the Persians whom he named Magi the mystery rite which he had performed with the Gorgonê. At that time, a ball of fire whirled from the heaven. Perseus took some of it and gave it to some of the tribe to guard and honor because it had been hurled from heaven.
Then he waged war on Kêpheus, whom old age left blind and dull in the dead, because he thought the Gorgonê was now useless But when Perseus campaigned against him and saw [Medousa’s head] he died. Later on, Merros, Perseus’ son, burned the head.”
In the first book of the Iliad, Nestor attempts to intervene in the conflict between Achilles and Agamemnon. He eventually tells both men to simmer down—Achilles should act insubordinately and Agamemnon shouldn’t take Briseis. Neither of them listen to him. The reason—beyond the fact that neither of them are in a compromising state of mind—may in part be because of the story Nestor tells.
Il. 1.259–273
“But listen to me: both of you are younger than me; for long before have I accompanied men better than even you and they never disregarded me. For I never have seen those sort of men since, nor do I expect to see them; men like Perithoos and Dryas, the shepherd of the host, and Kaineus and Exadios and godly Polyphemos and Aigeus’ son Theseus, who was equal to the gods; indeed these were the strongest of mortal men who lived—they were the strongest and they fought with the strongest, mountain-inhabiting beasts, and they destroyed them violently. And I accompanied them when I left Pylos far off from a distant land when they summoned me themselves; and I fought on my own. No one could fight with them, none of those mortals who now are on the earth. Even they listened to my counsel and heeded my speech.”
Ancient commentators praise Nestor elsewhere for his ability to apply appropriate examples in his persuasive speeches:
Schol. Ad Il. 23.630b ex. 1-6: “[Nestor] always uses appropriate examples. For, whenever he wants to encourage someone to enter one-on-one combat, he speaks of the story of Ereuthaliôn (7.136-56); when he wanted to rouse Achilles to battle, he told the story of the Elean war (11.671¬–761). And here in the games for Patroklos, he reminds them of an ancient funeral contest.”
The scholia also assert that such use of stories from the past is typical of and appropriate to elders:
Schol. ad Il. 9.447b ex. 1-2 : “The elderly are storytellers and they persuade with examples from the past. In other cases, the tale assuages the anger…”
Not just elders of course! Singers and teachers are positioned as authorities who should (and do) use narrative examples to form the characters of the young (the first comment comes in response to Achilles’ playing of the lyre; the second comment is prompted by Phoinix’s tale of Meleager presented to Achilles in the 9th book of the Iliad:
Schol. A ad. Il. 9.189b ex. 1-2: “Klea andrôn: [this is because] it is right to be ever-mindful of good men. For singers make their audiences wise through ancient narratives.”
Schol. ad Il. 9.447b ex. 1-2 : “The elderly are storytellers and they persuade with examples from the past. In other cases, the tale assuages the anger…”
For Nestor’s speech, the ancient critics do concede that there is some rhetorical grace in the elder’s choice of detail:
Schol. bT ad Il. 1.271c ex. 3-5: “[Nestor] does not mention that Peleus [Achilles’ father] was Agamemnon’s friend so that he doesn’t appear to be rebuking Achilles if his father obeyed him some, but he does not.”
But in explaining the details of Nestor’s speech—that he is alluding to the mythical battle of the Lapiths vs. the Centaurs—the scholiast may hit upon part of the problem of Nestor’s example:
Schol. bT ad Il. 1.266 ex 1-2: “These were the strongest men: but they were the strongest in competing against the remaining beasts”.
Unlike Nestor’s other tales, this one does not fit the context. He uses it in an attempt to establish his own heroic bona fides. But what his audience(s) hear is some rambling tale about fighting beasts they are not fighting. The conflict is between men who are supposed to be on the same side.
As an aside, Xenophanes would prefer we avoid talking about Centaurs altogether:
Xenophanes, fr. B1 13-24
“First, it is right for merry men to praise the god with righteous tales and cleansing words after they have poured libations and prayed to be able to do what is right: in fact, these things are easier to do, instead of sacrilege. It is right as well to drink as much as you can and still go home without help, unless you are very old. It is right to praise a man who shares noble ideas when drinking so that we remember and work towards excellence. It is not right to narrate the wars of Titans or Giants nor again of Centaurs, the fantasies of our forebears, Nor of destructive strife. There is nothing useful in these tales. It is right always to keep in mind good thoughts of the gods.”
In a later post, I will talk more about what I see as some of the most important themes to emphasize when working with students on the Iliad. One of them is the way Homeric poetry positions itself in relation to other narrative traditions.
A commonly recognized feature in the speeches of Homer’s heroes is the offering of an example from another mythical tradition, called a paradeigma. In particular, paradeigmata provide an opportunity to think about how Homeric characters relate to stories from their own past and make sense of their present. At the same time, they also provide opportunities for audiences to think about how the Iliad might be used as a paradigm for their lives.
My personal take is that the Iliad is particularly interested in where examples from other narratives create dissonance with the contexts to which they are compared. This example from book one in the Iliad is a clear one; but the epic ends with such an example as well when Achilles provides the paradigm of Niobe to Priam in order to convince him to eat. The epic is, in my opinion, engaged from beginning to end in getting audiences to think about just how effective extant narratives are as models for the challenges they face in the world outside the story. And, I think, it anticipates its own use as a problematic model for others, clearly when Achilles says(19.64–65): “This was better for the Hektor and the Trojans: I think that the Achaeans will remember our strife for a long time.” (῞Εκτορι μὲν καὶ Τρωσὶ τὸ κέρδιον· αὐτὰρ ᾿Αχαιοὺς / δηρὸν ἐμῆς καὶ σῆς ἔριδος μνήσεσθαι ὀΐω)
Major Iliadic Paradeigmata
1.259–274 Nestor’s tale of the Lapiths and Centaurs
1.393–407 Thetis’ rescue of Zeus
4.370–400 Agamemnon’s Tale of Tydeus
5.382–404 Dionê’s list of gods harmed by mortals
6.130-140 Diomedes on Lykourgos and Dionysus to Glaukos
7.124–160 Nestor’s one-on-one combat);
9.524–605 Phoinix’s Meleager Tale
11.669–762 Nestor’s story to Patroklos
14.315–328 Zeus’ Erotic Catalogue
15.18–30 Zeus’ Warning to Hera
18.394–405 Thetis’ rescue of Hephaestus;
19. 90–144 Agamemnon’s tale of Atê, Zeus and the birth of Herakles
[23.629–643 Nestor’s Reminiscence]
24.596–620 Achilles’ tale of Niobê
Andersen (1987) on paradeigmata: primary, secondary, and tertiary functions
1. Persuasion of one character by another
2. Reflection of the main story
3. Modeling of reading the epic as a whole; cf. Nagy 2009, 54: “[Homeric] poetry actually demonstrates how myth is activated”
Some things to read on paradeigmata
Andersen, Øivind. 1987. “Myth Paradigm and Spatial Form in the Iliad.” In Homer Beyond Oral Poetry: Recent Trends in Homeric Interpretation, edited by Jan Bermer and Irene J. F. De Jong. John Benjamins.’
Barker, Elton T. E. and Christensen, Joel P. 2011. “On Not Remembering Tydeus: Agamemnon, Diomedes and the Contest for Thebes.” MD: 9–44.
Brenk, F. 1984 “Dear Child: the Speech of Phoinix and the Tragedy of Achilles in the Ninth Book of the Iliad.” Eranos, 86: 77–86.
Braswell, B. K. 1971. “Mythological Innovation in the Iliad.” CQ, 21: 16-26.
Combellack, F.M. 1976. “Homer the Innovator.” CP 71: 44-55.
Edmunds, L. 1997. Myth in Homer, in A New Companion to Homer, edited by I. Morris and B. Powell, 415–441. Leiden.
Held, G. 1987. “Phoinix, Agamemnon and Achilles. Problems and Paradeigmata.” CQ 36: 141-54.
Martin, Richard. 1989. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.
Minchin, Elizabeth. 1991. “Speaker and Listener, Text and Context: Some Notes on the Encounter of Nestor and Patroklos in Iliad 11.” CW 84: 273-285.
Nagy, Gregory. 1996. Homeric Questions, Austin.
—,—. 2009. “Homer and Greek Myth.” Cambridge Companion to Greek Mythology, 52–82.
Pedrick, V. 1983. “The Paradigmatic Nature of Nestor’s Speech in Iliad 11.” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Society, 113:55-68.
They found Odysseus, dear to Zeus, swarmed
by Trojans, like when light-brown mountain jackals
crowd round an antlered deer a man’s struck
with an arrow. The deer bolted from him,
scooting while its blood was warm and knees limber.
But when the fast arrow does the deer in,
flesh-eating jackals snarf it down in a glade’s
shade. But a god leads a lion against them,
a hungry one: jackals scurry, lion sups.
Just so, round wise and deft Odysseus
many able Trojans swarmed, but the hero,
flashing his spear, saw off the cruel day.
Ajax with his tower-like shield came
and stood before him. The Trojans scurried pell-mell.
475. crowded round an antlered deer: Odysseus is likened to a deer, but he is not pathetic. The demonstrable force of the comparison is not that; rather, it is their similar suffering. It [the simile] likens him to the dying deer in order to emphasize the danger [he, Odysseus, is in].
“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.”
“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.”
Agamemnon makes a similar promise to Achilles in book 9.145–6=287–8 (Χρυσόθεμις καὶ Λαοδίκη καὶ ᾿Ιφιάνασσα, / τάων ἥν κ’ ἐθέλῃσι φίλην ἀνάεδνον ἀγέσθω; offering any of three daughters without a bride gift). When Apollo is described as taking Stratonikê thus at Hes. Fr. 26.23 (βῆ δὲ φέ[ρ]ων ἀνάε̣[δ]ν̣[ον ἐύζωνον ]Στ[ρ]α̣[τ]ον̣ί̣κ̣ην) it would be fair to say that the ‘extra-ritual’ act is clearly rape.
