The following essay is written as a companion to a lecture series in the Myths of Greece and Rome course at the University at Albany by Daniel Gremmler. It follows the translation and line numbering of The Essential Iliad (Hackett, 2000) and The Essential Homer (Hackett, 2000).
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Book 4 is split between Olympus and the Trojan plains. The issue at stake is how to deal with the unsatisfactory conclusion of the duel between Paris and Menelaus. The ways in which both humans and gods negotiate this unusual circumstance offers an opportunity to analyze how gods and humans interact with each other as well as to continue analyzing the cultural values that the poem affirms and perpetuates.
Generally, mythical delineations of savagery are measured by the words and actions of humans. Gods are not held to the same standards as humans, so it’s difficult to appraise the moral quality of their actions, particularly when humans are involved. Thus, the difference between a monstrous beast and a deity can be indecipherable from the limited perspective of a human.[1] Furthermore, the anthropomorphic nature of the Greek pantheon makes hard and fast rules difficult to maintain, and the added burden of relating the gods to mortals in ways that they can make sense of their deities further blurs these distinctions between civilized and savage actions on the part of the gods. However, the opening scene of Book 4 on Olympus is an example in which lessons generally reserved for human interlocutors are discernable in the society of the gods. Let’s investigate.
Athenian red-figure kylix found in Capua, Italy, (c. 480 BCE). Louvre G 115.
"On the left, Helen, holding a piece of yarn(?), stands behind Menelaus as he draws his sword and attacks Paris, just as Homer describes. Paris holds a spear in his right hand and runs away, but Artemis—with her emblem, the bow—not Aphrodite, stands behind Paris, perhaps because Artemis always favors Trojan affairs. The warriors are dressed as typical 5th century hoplites with breastplate and helmet, except that they do not have greaves. Their shields have a strap for the arm and a handgrip, never found in Homer, where shields are suspended over the shoulder by a baldric; some shields are as large as the whole body.
Either the artist is recreating the scene to include elements he remembers from Homer’s story, but he is careless about details, or this painting represents an alternate iteration of the myth."
The gods looked down with some interest as the duel between Paris and Menelaus played out in Book 3. It was clear to gods and men alike that Menelaus had the measure of Paris, and only Aphrodite’s intervention saved the Trojan prince’s life. The question for gods and mortals is what should happen next? Zeus floats the suggestion that Menelaus clearly won and should be treated as the victor in the contest while simultaneously goading Hera and Athena:
“Did you see how [Aphrodite] saved [Paris] just now
When it looked like he was about to die!
Still, Menelaus, Ares’ favorite, clearly won.
But we should decide all this now.
Should we let war rage again
Or establish peace between the two sides?
If somehow we all could agree to do this
Priam’s city might still be a place to live,
And Menelaus could take Argive Helen home.” (15-23)
On one level, Zeus’ question is entirely practical. Menelaus was the superior warrior and would have won the duel had Aphrodite not intervened. It is also true that neither Greeks nor Trojans are entirely sure how to proceed now that Paris has mysteriously vanished from the battlefield, but they would all prefer he appear and die by Menelaus’ sword. All military activity has ground to a halt. It makes sense that the gods should take action of some kind so that the world – or war – might go on. There is, however, a mischievous underside to Zeus’ question: Hera and Athena are dead set on the destruction of Troy, and a peaceful resolution of the war by means of this duel would not accomplish their goal –Zeus knows this. Nor would it even result in the death of Paris, whose life was saved, counter to the way things were going should the duel have reached completion. Zeus is aware of this, and his words are the proverbial bait on the hook. “Athena didn’t say a word; although she was furious with her father. Hera however, couldn’t contain her anger” (29-31), and she objects strenuously to Zeus’ suggestion that the victor be declared and the conditions of the duel be honored, thus ending the war. In reply to Hera’s objections, Zeus says the following:
“I don’t understand you, woman. What have
Priam and his children done to you
That you are so fixed on demolishing
Ilion’s stronghold down to its last well-laid brick?
Do you think if you were to enter its gates,
Get inside its long walls, and chew up Priam
And Priam’s children raw, and the rest of the Trojans,
You might find some relief from this livid hate?” (39-46, emphasis added)
The term “woman” is important.[3] It specifically ties Hera’s gender to the irrationality of her reply. She’s so consumed by hatred for all things Trojan that the rawest form of cannibalism might not assuage her anger. This is the language of the civilized and the savage. Cannibalism, consumption of raw meat, and female susceptibility to overwhelming emotion are regularly associated with savagery in Greek myth. They are often juxtaposed, as in the previous excerpt, to Zeus’ masculine, rational deliberations on the matter. This is, of course, staged. Even within the conceit of the narrative, Zeus contrives to goad Hera specifically to elicit an emotion fueled reply. Nevertheless, it affirms the Iliad’s cultural stereotypes regarding gender and emotion in the language of the civilized and the savage.
Ultimately, Zeus relents to Hera’s anger. That has been his plan all along. He needs the war to continue if he’s to honor his pact with Thetis and bring about the fated deaths of various heroes mentioned in the opening of the poem – not to mention Troy itself is destined to fall.
To this point, we have seen the gods directly interact with, and influence, mortals in three fundamental ways: environmental manipulation, dream, direct communication (disguised and undisguised). Apollo sent a plague upon the Greeks. Dream infiltrated Agamemnon’s psyche at the behest of Zeus. Aphrodite and Iris disguised themselves as familiar servants to speak with Helen (disguised), and Athena appeared directly before Achilles (albeit only he was permitted to see her). In truth, nothing occurs in the Iliad that is beyond some sort of daemonic influence, but these are the most obvious and overt kinds of interactions between gods and mortals.
When Zeus sends Athena to rekindle the war, she does so by disguising herself as a familiar of Pandarus and convincing him to act in accordance with her will. Zeus’ orders are clear: “Go down instantly to the battlefield. Get the Trojans to break the truce and do some damage to the exultant Greeks” (80-3). That the Trojans should be the ones to break the truce is important. It maintains Trojan culpability for the war – recall that the Trojans gave safe harbor to Paris & Helen despite the former’s clear violation of xenia. That remains the “just cause” for the Greeks.
The narrative continues:
Athena blended into the crowd, disguised
As a Trojan, Antenor’s son Laodocus,
A good man with a spear, and went in search
Of Pandarus and found that son of Lycaon
[…]
Athena stood next to him and her words flew fast:
“If you listened to me, wise son of Lycaon,
You would take a shot at Menelaus
And win glory and gratitude [4] from the Trojans,
Especially from prince Alexander.
He would give you splendid gifts
If he saw Menelaus, Atreus’ warrior son,
Felled by your arrow and laid on the pyre.
Come on, one swift arrow aimed at Menelaus,
And vow to Apollo, the Wolf-born Archer,
That you will offer a hundred firstling lambs
When you come home to your city, sacred Zeleia.”
Athena spoke and convinced the fool. (97-116, emphasis added)
Unlike Athena’s interaction with Achilles (Book 1) or Aphrodite’s with Helen (Book 3), there is no question of the mortal recognizing that he speaks with a god; Pandarus remains woefully ignorant of Athena’s identity. She convinces him to reignite hostilities through the promise of glory,[5] and the narrator labels him a fool. Pandarus is ignorant of with whom he actually speaks, and just as Agamemnon was a fool because he was persuaded by Dream in Book 2, so too is Pandarus a fool for being persuaded by Athena. In truth, however, the mortals never had a chance. Ignorance before the gods is part and parcel with the human condition, and our only recourse is suffering (i.e., suffer through our ignorance and the pain it causes).
We discussed the importance of reciprocity in the relationship between warriors and society with reference to timē (honor) in Book 1: Perform a deed of great valor; receive a reward (timē) commensurate with the societal value of your deed. Glory (kudos & kleos) is another form of timē; they are both rewards for certain accomplishments – in the Iliad, these accomplishments are achieved predominately through martial prowess. Glory, then, is a kind of honor, but it is wholly psychological. Glory is the feeling, the idea, and the trophy rolled into one. The right kind of glory can be more valuable than any number of trophies, women, or titles. The idea of glory on the battlefield will grow in prominence throughout the epic, including Diomedes’ aristeia in Book 5. For now, let us simply recognize glory’s existence as a kind of honor that one may earn on the battlefield just as one may earn other, more tangible prizes for heroic exploits. Glory is the carrot Athena dangles before Pandarus for slaying Menelaos and reigniting hostilities between the two armies. It is a reward Pandarus is culturally conditioned to pursue.
[1] Compare Odysseus’ encounters with Circe and the Scylla in the Odyssey. Both are divine, and both are inhospitable hosts. But they are not bound to the laws of xenia as mortals are. Thus, they appear savage in the eyes of Odysseus, no different from the Laestrygonians or Cyclopes, but they are divine and not subject to the laws that define mortal civilization.
[2] Barry B. Powell in Homer. The Iliad. Oxford UP (2014).
[3] The precise word is daimoniē, the vocative feminine form of daimōn, meaning here “lady” in the casual, gendered sense of “Good day, lady,” “Hello, madam,” or simply “wife.”
[4] Kudos (glory, renown in war) and charis (grace, favor, good will) from the Charities (the three Graces).
[5] Kudos, in this case, but kleos would certainly follow, should his gambit play out as Athena suggests.
