Men, women and cunning gods: comments on the Iliad
Zeus set an evil lot upon us all, to make us topics of a singer’s tale for people in the future still unborn — Helen of Troy*
O Great Man, how ardently would I listen to you! — Petrarch
The Homeric epics are nearly 27 centuries old and have been the object of scrutiny since then. So it’s hard to come up with some original say on the matter of the bloody Trojan War waged in the Iliad. However, first off, I’d like to share some of my personal literary ethics by saying that I do not take part in the excessive flattery that surrounds great works of literature. If one wants to read the Iliad in an abridged form, or rather a prose version, or even not read it at all, or be satisfied with the blockbuster film starring Brad Pitt, then fair enough. Dante himself, author of The Divine Comedy, did not read it, though he was aware of its importance. The so-called “Western civilisation” lost direct contact with Homer, and translations were not available. Petrarch, a prominent figure in the Renaissance, did not tackle Greek epic until his maturity. What I’m trying to point out is that there’s no such thing as mandatory reading. Every reader’s journey is unique and should be a pleasant practice, not a whip for self-flagellation.
That being said, the Iliad may not be everyone’s cup of tea; its enormity, repetitiveness, digressions and formulaic chunks of language are not easy to enjoy. For that reason, I think Homer’s work is better understood and appreciated within its wider tradition. The same fixed bits of language, expressions and general cosmogony are found in Hesiod’s works and in the Homeric Hymns, historically quasi-simultaneous poems that are often overlooked. Moreover, we shouldn’t forget about the lost works comprising the Epic Cycle, poems that outlined other aspects of the Trojan War — a foundational mythical event with historical roots in the end of the second millennium. These primordial texts are pivotal to comprehend everything that comes afterward in Hellenic history.
*All quotes from the Iliad are from Emily Wilson’s translation.
The Homeric Question: does it matter that much?
Something we first learn once we barely start reading or studying Greek literature is the well-known Homeric Question. That is, who was Homer? Did he really exist? If so, where did he live? Were both the Iliad and the Odyssey written by him or rather only one of them? Was he really blind? Homer was a total mystery even for people living in antiquity, and so he is for us! Thus, I personally do not engage in such questions. I’m not interested in this authorship because of a very simple reason: people writing in ancient times were not writers in the sense we hold now—an individual creative genius.
The ancient bards, rhapsodes, aedos, and all the rest are simply the means through which culture found expression. We should always bear in mind that during this particular period, humankind was going through the greatest of changes: the invention of writing. All primitive works of humankind are the result of centuries of oral tradition; there is no such thing as single authorship. Every folklore, every new generation of storytellers, every new performance added something to this early literature. To what extent the writers or scribes added to its final form is an excruciating thing to ponder. These are not documents of a particular person; they are written collective imagery. The stories were not for someone to claim; they were communal property — popular culture. Although the very language of these epics was artificially crafted with poetry in mind, combining different dialects and eloquent speech — a gift of the Muses that all great men hold, poets alike. But no one ever spoke like the characters in the Iliad and Odyssey. Literature is a language nobody speaks.
The Iliad
Prior to the emergence of rational thought, fact and fiction were not two separate entities, and the poets held the true knowledge for their communities. Poems were not mere fiction; they were history, religion, geography, a source of wisdom — they were the account of the whole cosmos. In short, they were Everything. And if you wanted to know something about this world, you had better listen to a poet, for they were closer to the gods.
Now tell me, Muses, who have your houses high on Mount Olympus, for you are goddesses and you are here, and you know everything, you see it all, while we can only listen to the stories — we have seen nothing and we do not know — Homer, Iliad, Book II
O, the impossibility of knowledge! Humans can only aspire to it! At best, we can only be philosophers — friends of knowledge, which remains a divine possession. Thus, the poet would resort to the nine Muses, daughters of Zeus and Memory; after all, memory was everything they had to record poetry and pass it down through orality. The archaic Greeks knew well the importance of discourse — the power of speech, which every noble man must possess. Calchas is the figure who most resembles a man endowed with heaven-sent, sweet, and persuasive speech; he counsels the Greeks in the opening Wrath of Achilles and throughout the epic.
Famously, the Iliad does not tell us the entirety of the Trojan War, a 10-year conflict. One could wonder if such a conflict actually took place. The ancients certainly thought it did, and the poet would rely on that shared folklore. That’s why, I think, the Iliad didn’t need to cover the whole war. Instead, the story goes on for a handful of days: the detailed consequences of Achilles’ absence following his wrath, which was caused by the abduction of his female slave by Agamemnon. But really, Achilles’ motive was his own self-worth:
I do not think the son of Atreus or any of the Greeks can change my mind, because I got no thanks for all my labors, constantly battling the enemy. A man who fights his hardest in the war gets just the same as one who stays behind. Cowards and heroes have the same reward — Homer, Iliad, Book IX
But how did all this take place? Well, I do not aim to explain what is unsaid in the Iliad—that is, the previous nine years of strife. It suffices to say that the conflict commenced because of a “beauty contest” in which the Trojan Paris was meant to choose a goddess, and Aphrodite promised Helen in exchange for his choosing. Then Paris abducted Helen, King Menelaus’ wife, and this is supposed to be the spark of the war between Trojans and Greeks.
The Trojans and the Greeks in their fine armor should not be blamed for suffering so long for such a woman, being as she is — Homer, Iliad, Book III
War is a men’s habit. Men would wage war no matter what, but they soon found an excuse: the conveniently self-deprecating Helen. The poem claims that her abduction is their reason. That’s hard to believe, for in the Iliad, women are depicted as bitches, both the cause of the war and its spoils, and are presumed to be raped by the victors. Scholars cannot say anything certain about Homer’s identity, but one must surely conclude that this is a male-made tale. In a funny remark, like a 10-year-old, the major Trojan fighter Hector offends his enemy Diomedes by calling him a girl. And shortly after that, he yells at his warriors: "Be men!"
Fates are goddess, after all
The fate of our main characters is a recurring theme throughout the narrative, constantly reinforced by the gods, especially Zeus, who possess knowledge of what has happened, what is happening, and what will come to pass. The Iliad is in dialogue with both the past and future, thanks to recollections and prophecies. So, somehow the epic does tell us the whole war. We know Achilles is doomed because of his heel, just as we know Troy will fall. Patroclus, Achilles’ close friend (and possibly lover), was destined to be killed by Hector. In a way, this was all set in motion by Achilles himself, who prayed to his mother for war glory and recognition. His initial vain wrath could only be overcome through the profound loss of someone he loved. Hector’s fate, too, was sealed as he would be slain by an enraged and sorrowful warrior. With Achilles back in the battle, the downfall of Troy becomes certain — along with his own:
… why do you prophesy death to me? You need not do so. I know all this already very well. It is my fate to die out here at Troy, far from my loving father and my mother. But even so, I shall not stop until I drive the Trojans to be sick of war — Homer, Iliad, Book XIX
As Agamemnon puts it, “But what was I to do? It is a god who carries everything to its conclusion.”
