The Role of Poets and Music in Archaic Greece

When the trio of heroes, Odysseus, Phoenix, and Ajax, arrive at Achilles’ hut, they find him plucking a lyre:

Self-reflexive art, art that is self-referential or contains a reflection of itself for its own study, is commonly considered Postmodern. No one would confuse the Iliad with Postmodernism, but it is considerably more self-aware than a modern reader might presuppose. The poem is acutely aware of its position and the role it plays in Greek culture. Let us unpack this issue as it is intertwined with a reading of Hesiod’s Theogony.

Perhaps the most important ancient work of poetry about poetry was the introductory element of Hesiod’s Theogony, referred to as “The Invocation of the Muses.” Every Greek and most Roman epics began with an invocation of some kind, usually with a brief summary of the poem’s theme or content. The Iliad accomplishes these tasks within some 20 lines or so. The “Invocation of the Muses” is just over 100 lines, and it is entirely an invocation rather than summary of the rest of the poem’s content or theme. Invocations honor and ask for favor (supplicate) from the gods – similar to prayer. This particular invocation venerates the Muses, children of Zeus and Memory, who memorialize/preserve the past in their entertaining, melodic performances (their choruses include both song and dance). The idea is that the Muses are the patron deities of poetry, and poetry is music, literally the “art of the Muses.” Thus, music both entertains and facilitates memory.[1] Music is the means by which society remembers the past. 

 This leads us to the scene in Achilles’ tent. When the embassy arrives to find Achilles plucking a lyre,[2] what they witness is a layered commentary on the role of epic poetry itself. In another, less complex, reference to the relationship between music and memory, Helen told Hector,  

The greatness (magnitude) of the Trojan War is unparalleled in the Greek world. Helen is aware of this. It is not a happy time for Troy (“evil fate”), but it is certainly important. Poets will sing about the great or famous deeds that occurred and are occurring at Troy for generations to come, hence perpetuating the glory (fame, kleos) of the events and individuals involved.

That Achilles participates in this poetic tradition in Book 9 is fascinating. Ideally, poets sing about and for the hero. In this case, the hero sings about other heroes. Achilles participates in the poetic tradition, singing the deeds of past heroes and, thereby, preserving their memory and perpetuating their fame. He does this all while hoping to receive similar honors from future generations of poets and heroes. In Book 6, Helen told us how the tradition works. In Book 9, Achilles shows it to us in practice.

Our scene in Book 9 suggests that perhaps the line between poet and hero is synthetic. Many of history’s greatest poets were certainly not equally great warriors and vice versa. Shakespeare was not known for his warrior’s prowess. Yet, Aeschylus’ tomb was said to have venerated his participation in the Persian War while saying nothing of his fame as a tragedian. In any case, the ideal of aristocratic warriors who hone their skills in the arts of the Muses as well as warfare is widespread throughout Western Civilization and beyond. It applied to our heroes of myth as well. Achilles was trained by the centaur Cheiron in warfare, medicine, and melody. Note, for example, the 1st century CE Roman fresco from Herculaneum of Cheiron instructing Achilles on the lyre. Achilles was not the only hero of Greek myth to be schooled in the finer arts. Herakles was also instructed in the lyre, but he did not take to it as successfully as Achilles. He killed his instructor, Linos, in a fit of rage after the latter mocked his poor ability with the instrument. The following painting depicts Herakles about to kill his music instructor:

The Iliad, like the “Invocation of the Muses” in the Theogony, is aware of its role in the perpetuation of fame and facilitation of cultural memory. In fact, it reinforces this role for its audience in Helen’s dialogue from Book 6 and this scene with Achilles singing the klea andrōn (fames of men) in Book 9. The Iliad is the most famous work in the corpus of klea andrōn.

Does Diomedes Repeat Achilles' Insults Against Agamemnon? Another Foil for Achilles.

The first 185 lines of Book 9 are omitted in our version of the Iliad. In those 185 lines, Agamemnon admits his folly from Book 1 and accedes to Nestor’s advice that Phoenix, Odysseus, and Ajax offer reparations to Achilles on behalf of Agamemnon. That much can simply be summarized. One aspect of lines 1-185 that we might lament the omission of is Agamemnon’s exchange with Diomedes. The latter is a young, noble warrior who has already proven his prowess in battle. Although the poem marks out Ajax as the greatest warrior after Achilles in the Greek camp (Books 2 & 3), Diomedes’ star certainly shines brighter in the Iliad (Books 5 & 10). These facts only make it more interesting that Diomedes, a young and extremely talented warrior, finds himself in an eerily similar situation as Achilles vis-à-vis Agamemnon.

At the start of the Book 9, Agamemnon announces, what is to him, a stark realization that Zeus sent Dream to deceive him in Book 2, thus highlighting the ignorance of mankind:

Diomedes’ words are sharp, and biting. He dismisses Agamemnon’s words as “foolishness.” He, like Achilles, is insulted as a warrior by Agamemnon’s decision because that decision impugns his courage and martial prowess. Diomedes then probes the issue of excellence or nobility about which Achilles and Agamemnon disputed in Book 1, what it is to be the best of the Achaeans. According to Diomedes, Agamemnon was graced with the honor to rule (the scepter) but not the honor of a warrior’s prowess in battle (strength), and then Diomedes emphasizes that the warrior’s prowess “is real power.” He tells Agamemnon to go back to Mycenae.

How is it that Diomedes can say all of this and be praised whereas Achilles succeeded only in drawing Agamemnon’s wrath and the confiscation of his own prize? Setting aside the obvious answer of Zeus’ will, there are a lot of subtle cues, even in translation, that signal the conformity and appropriateness of Diomedes’ speech. Perhaps the starkest difference between Books 1 and 9 is Agamemnon’s situation, both in the war and his state of mind – the two are tied together: because the war has turned so devastatingly bad since Achilles left the fold, Agamemnon is as mentally shaken as his army is physically beaten. In place of his anger and confidence bordering on hubris in Book 1, he is comparably broken and humbled in Book 9. Therefore, he will receive criticism differently, especially when it has to do with alienating a successful warrior under his command. But this line of reasoning can easily be overstated and relies heavily on psychological speculation. Let us consider other cues in Diomedes’ speech.

Diomedes spoke in assembly only after Agamemnon completed his speech. This may seem slight, but it is significant. It is one of many ways in which Diomedes adheres to protocol that Achilles did not in Book 1. The young warrior further emphasizes the appropriateness of his speech in this situation: “As is my right in assembly, lord.” The honorific of “lord” is used without irony or insult, and he reminds Agamemnon that assembly is the proper place to voice concern to his lord. Furthermore, he attempts to preemptively diffuse Agamemnon’s rage by asking him to check his temper before it wells-up within him. Although Diomedes assaults Agamemnon’s prior speech as “foolishness,” he does not call Agamemnon a fool but, rather, it is foolish to suggest the army are cowards who should retreat. Just as Diomedes avoids a direct aspersion or insult in his opening, so too does he make clear that Agamemnon has inadvertently insulted him (and all other Greek warriors). Rather than directing his wrath toward Agamemnon as Achilles did, Diomedes emphasizes the insult that was done to him – knowing Agamemnon had not meant to attack Diomedes or his soldiers’ honor.

Things get dicier when Diomedes mentions the gifts of Zeus, which address the underlying tensions between Achilles and Agamemnon that were present even before the confiscation of war prizes from Book 1. Note, however, that Diomedes goes out of his way to acknowledge Agamemnon’s divine right to rule; that is never in question. To simply acknowledge this fact is a form of deference, a deference that is lacking in the exchanges between Achilles and Agamemnon. Finally, Diomedes shames Agamemnon, but he does so subtly. Achilles directly curses Agamemnon in Book 1; there’s no tact or suggestion of appropriate behavior there. But throughout the Iliad, there are other instances of aristocratic allies using shame as motivation, Hector and Paris. If we were to compare either of the two instances in which Hector shames Paris for his cowardice, it quickly becomes clear that Hector does so explicitly whereas Diomedes shames Agamemnon implicitly in Book 9. He doesn’t directly call Agamemnon a coward. Nor does he curse or wish ill of him. Diomedes can show restraint and still get his point across: “If you yourself are anxious to go home, then go.”

Finally, as has been the case throughout the Iliad, proper and improper action is affirmed almost immediately by the community within the poem. Often, the guilty party himself will admit he has acted inappropriately (Agamemnon, Paris, Helen), but even when they don’t, the community is there to clarify for the poem’s audience, whether it be a murmur through the ranks (Greek soldiers, Book 1), the soldiers backing away from the guilty party as if he were contagious (Trojan soldiers, Book 3), or a hero standing out and declaring the normative view of things, pounding it into the guilty party if need be (Odysseus, Book 2). Nestor stood between Agamemnon and Achilles in Book 1 and affirmed the normative view on the matter: Agamemnon and Achilles they were both in the wrong. In Book 9, Nestor again stands up in response to Diomedes’ speech, and his message?

Nestor affirms Diomedes’ speech to be honest, insightful, and tactful. He also compliments him as being the best in council of all men his age. Diomedes’ message does indeed share much in common with that of Achilles in Book 1, but the subtle differences and the reactions of the community make for a significant difference in how it is received. Diomedes excels in both council and warfare. Achilles seems less inclined to care for the former, which tradition holds to be the realm of the old, Nestor, and the guileful, Odysseus.

The Embassy to Achilles

Achilles welcomes the embassy of Phoenix, Odysseus, and Ajax to his tent:

This statement offers some insight into the selection of men who makeup the embassy to Achilles; they are the Greeks he loves best. The cases for Phoenix and Ajax are clear enough. Phoenix was something of a surrogate father to Achilles, and even after Achilles rejects their plea, he is able to convince the old warrior to remain with him, possibly to set sail for home the following day. In Book 2, Ajax was said to be the next greatest warrior in the Greek army after Achilles. In this way, Ajax is Achilles. He is the most Achilles-like warrior amongst the Greek heroes; their interests and world view are aligned. Indeed, his speech and Achilles’ reaction to it will confirm this association. The more difficult member of the embassy to rationalize is Odysseus. Classical scholars have convincingly argued that there was a tension between Odysseus and Achilles in the epic canon.[3] Although Achilles does not seem to bear any particular grudge against Odysseus in the Iliad, the fact remains that Odysseus represents a different kind of heroism from that of Achilles. Odysseus is known as a crafty thinker, tactician, and master manipulator; his guile and deceit are made legendary in the Odyssey. Achilles, on the other hand, has no patience for politics or sophistry and values direct, “honest” speech. He is a man of action as opposed to a man of council – recall that Nestor complimented Diomedes for being a master of both spheres, battlefield and council. On the other hand, these same gifts make Odysseus the perfect representative of Agamemnon, both as bearer of Agamemnon’s offer and as the hero most likely to convince Achilles in council. In what follows, we analyze each hero’s attempt to convince Achilles to rejoin the army and Achilles’ psychologically complex refusals to each in turn. 

Odysseus' Entreaty

Odysseus is the first hero to attempt convincing Achilles to rejoin the Greek forces under Agamemnon. As such, Odysseus’ attempt is the most conventional and most closely represents Agamemnon’s offer and disposition. Indeed, much of Odysseus’ speech is nearly verbatim what Agamemnon told the council (lines 1-185) that he would give Achilles if he rejoins the army. Before Odysseus reaches the point of his speech to list Agamemnon’s offer, however, he wisely attempts to put Achilles in a state of mind that would make him amenable to such an offer, and he does this by invoking Achilles’ father. As with Diomedes (Books 5 & 6), Glaucus (Book 6), and Hector (Book 6), the hero’s identity is inexorably intertwined with his ancestry, and Odysseus takes full advantage of that fact:

Odysseus’ words are reminiscent of Diomedes’ (above) in that the speaker attempts to preemptively disarm the anger (temper, thumos) that his words would otherwise stoke. For Diomedes, the task was lighter, but it aided in his ability to shame Agamemnon without enraging him. Likewise, Odysseus anticipates that it is Achilles’ “proud spirit”[4] that is the problem, and by recalling the wisdom of Achilles’ aged father, a man whom he loves, respects, and strives to honor, Odysseus hopes not only to avoid stoking the flames of Achilles’ anger, but to convince him to put out the flames himself. It is a worthy rhetorical stratagem from Odysseus, the master of cunning and wiles. Only after invoking Achilles’ father does Odysseus turn to the business of listing the gifts Agamemnon has offered to Achilles if he rejoins the army: 7 tripods, 10 gold bars, 20 cauldrons, 12 horses, 7 women from Lesbos, Briseis (whom he swears never to have touched), Achilles’ choice of gold and bronze from Troy, 20 Trojan women, marriage to Agamemnon’s daughter, and 7 cities as a dowry (265-305).

 Achilles’ reply to this offer is layered. We will analyze only one part of it here and then come back to the other part in light of his reply to Phoenix. For now, let us focus on the emphasis Achilles places on being cheated and the understanding that comes from it: 

The idea that Agamemnon “cheated” Achilles has to do with the role of timē as a reward for heroic activity. We discussed the relationship between lords and vassals (rulers and the warrior class that protect and enforce their rule) during Book 1. When Agamemnon announced he would confiscate one of his warriors’ prizes – before he had determined it would be Briseis – Achilles objected:

Achilles’ revulsion at the mere thought of confiscating a gift is evident in the repeated insults, calling Agamemnon a “profiteering excuse for a commander” and “dogface.” The proud warrior goes to great lengths to remind Agamemnon that Achilles risks his life at Troy for Agamemnon’s and Menelaus’ honor, not his own. Achilles’ reply to Odysseus in Book 9 must be viewed through the lens of his comment in Book 1: “How are you going to get any Greek warrior to follow you into battle again?” (1.60-1).

The timē or honor(s) that a king bestows on his warrior class (vassals) works as a reward for their service and continued loyalty. It binds them to him. This timē often takes the form of war prizes (slaves [especially aristocratic maidens], precious metals and crafted items, cattle, land) and titles (hand of the king, duke, count, sherrif, jarl, council member/adviser, etc.). However, such timē is more than the sum of its parts to the hero. Thus, the loyalty of the warrior class to the ruler is rooted in the reciprocal relationship of service and reward. When Agamemnon took Achilles’ reward away from him, he violated this fundamental relationship between king and warrior.

There is nothing Agamemnon can offer Achilles because Agamemnon is no longer a trustworthy giver of gifts or titles. He has shown that he is willing to take back the timē that he gives at a whim.  This is the worst possible characteristic of a king in Achilles’ eyes. The implicit contract between lord and vassal has been irreparably broken. It is as if the two were lovers, and Agamemnon was found to have cheated on Achilles. What good is Agamemnon’s word after he has proven that he would go back on it once? How do they ever trust each other again?

Phoenix's Entreaty

Phoenix takes a different approach in his attempt to convince Achilles, but it relies on the same underlying premise that Achilles can be won over with prizes. Thus, the seeds to the interaction between Phoenix and Achilles were sown in Achilles’ earlier reply to Odysseus:

This sentiment should seem familiar. Hector expressed a very similar view to Andromache in Book 6 wherein he explained why he would return to the battlefield: Mortals are born to die. The wealthiest man and the lowliest beggar must die. The bravest hero and the most cowardly villager must die. Death is the fate for all mortals; it is the ultimate right and just future for humans.[5] The question then becomes, why fight? Ideally, society’s answer is tied to rewards in all their various forms. Achilles continues: 

The rewards for the respective labors of Hector and Sarpedon is that they bring honor, rather than shame, to their families, and since one’s identity is intertwined with family, risking their lives in battle enhances their identities or self-images (i.e., the family and the self are equally affected); their social status reinforces this identity. But this system doesn’t work for Achilles, and it doesn’t work for a very specific reason: the implicit relationship between trophies as reward (timē) and memory as reward (kleos) was sundered in Book 1. Hector’s identity, like that of Achilles, is not simply that of a leaf to a tree (legacy). It is continually reaffirmed in everyday social interactions, status symbols, positions at feasts and ceremonies, wealth, and prizes. It is a new understanding of how rewards function within Homeric society that Achilles will flesh-out in his response to Phoenix.

Phoenix offers the analogy of Meleager, an earlier hero who found himself in a similar situation as Achilles and refused to fight in defense of his country because of a dispute with the queen (his mother) despite the pleas of friends and neighbors as well as having been offered numerous gifts and honors to join the defense of their town. His spirit was finally roused after his town had been overrun.  Only then did he suit up and beat back the enemy. Phoenix recounts the story:

Ajax's Entreaty

Both Odysseus and Phoenix have attempted to sway Achilles through the logic of economic transactions. As their argument goes, Agamemnon will give Achilles more and greater timē if he returns to the army than what he took from Achilles earlier. To each in turn, Achilles offered a different but reasoned dismissal. Ajax’s attempt will be different. His argument does contain a clear logical analysis of Homeric social structures, but the appeal is emotional rather than logical. What is at stake is the fundamental nature of human civilization in opposition to the unrestrained savagery of animal existence. Let us review Ajax’s appeal to Achilles:

Whereas Odysseus and Phoenix tried to win over Achilles with honors, Ajax shames him. He accuses Achilles of being fundamentally inhuman or savage at three points in this short speech: Achilles’ heart is savage; he is pitiless; instead of a human heart, the gods placed implacability and wickedness in his breast. The references to Achilles’ heart are clear enough at this point, but the mention of pity calls for more attention as it becomes an increasingly common theme that parallels the rise of savagery in the poem. This parallel is no coincidence; there is a constant and predictable relationship between pity and savagery.

Phoenix alluded to this relationship before he launched into his analogy between Meleager and Achilles: “It’s not right for you to have a pitiless heart” (509-10). Ajax’s speech expounds on the implications of what it means to be pitiless; it is savage, inhuman. Pity is a civilizing emotion, one that benefits the community. It’s easy to offer aide to a child or parent who suffers misfortune. For, as Aristotle wrote, they are so close to us that their pain becomes indistinguishable from our own, and to help them is to help ourselves.[11] But that unconditional willingness to help a close friend or family member can fracture society. It isolates individuals and families. “Why should I help him? Who is he to me?” Pity motivates individuals to extend aide beyond friends or family. It binds members of the community together and is an essential component of civilized life. As Ajax describes it here, and warriors will soon prove on the battlefield, when pity disappears, savagery takes its place and vice versa. Achilles is without pity, and his heart is predictably savage. He is not human but a product of raw and wild nature, as Patroklos will assert in Book 16. 

 Sandwiched between these accusations of Achilles’ savagery, Ajax describes the practice of “blood-money,” a form of justice practiced in society to curb reciprocal violence and promote harmony within the community. Justice, in other words, is associated with civilization in contrast to savagery. This is a common theme in Greek myth. Perhaps its clearest illustration is in Hesiod’s Theogony, which chronicles the succession of cosmic rulers from Ouranos (Sky) to Kronos and, finally, to Zeus. Ouranos and Kronos are characterized as overtly unjust rulers showing little concern for the actions of others beyond how such activities directly affected themselves. Ouranos famously mistreated his children on a narcissistic whim by pushing them back inside their mother’s belly, and Kronos cannibalized his own children out of concern for his standing in the cosmic hierarchy. Zeus, on the other hand, restores those who were abused by his predecessors, freeing them and giving them places of honor in the cosmic order. One of his children is Dikē, Justice incarnate; Zeus literally brings Justice into the world. Throughout the rest of Theogony, the Homeric Hymns, and other stories of gods and heroes, Zeus and his children put down rebellions that threaten the cosmic order, usually embodied by monstrous creatures and savage or lawless beings.[12] 

There are three overlapping spheres of existence in Greek myth: the animal, the human, the divine. Only one is proper for human beings to inhabit. The others are beneath (animal) or beyond (divine) him. Sometimes the distinction between animal and divine is impossible to discern, such as Circe’s hostile welcome of Odysseus or the role of the Scylla in the Odyssey. However, the Odyssey makes perfectly clear that neither is human. To slip into the behavior of animals is to become savage in opposition to the civilized practice of justice in the human sphere. To strive to become a god, however, is equally disastrous; it is the ultimate show of hubris (wantonness or outrage). Civilization, marked by communal living under a system of laws (justice) is the realm proper to human habitation. Animals and gods appear foreign, either savage or inconceivable, to human eyes. Ajax’s reference to “blood money” in Book 9 is an example of the justice that is proper to human civilization. It is not absolute but, rather, mitigating. Justice involves a substitution: rather than to exact the same evil on the perpetrator that he committed, the mechanism of justice steps in and substitutes his punishment with an alternate, less devastating punishment that places agency on the community rather than a single individual. This substitution of a fine (i.e., “blood mondy”) in place of a murder is an important difference between civilization and savagery: justice works toward the common good or cohesiveness of the community; it is community-centered. Vengeance is the opposite; it breaks apart social bonds and fulfills individual desire at the expense of social cohesion. According to Ajax’s analogy, Achilles is stuck in a cycle of vengeance, a perpetual cycle of injustice answered by injustice fit for animals in the wild rather than civilized humans.

Achilles’ reply to Ajax repeats a familiar pattern that began in Book 1 and, as we have noted, occurred at multiple points throughout the poem:

Achilles was presented with three reasoned appeals to rejoin the Greek army. He replied with three reasoned refusals:

• Odysseus offered the terms of the gifts, to which Achilles responded that gifts from Agamemnon are worthless because Agamemnon is not a trustworthy giver of gifts. He has proven that he will take back his gifts at his own whims.
• Phoenix argued that Achilles should rejoin the army now while he can maximize the value of his gifts/honor for doing so. Achilles responded that he no longer cares for the kind of honor that comes from kings (timē vs. kleos). He is not concerned with the kind of honor that cannot be given and taken away (timē). Instead, he yearns for the kind of honor that is intrinsically connected to the heroic deed (kleos).
• Ajax used the practice of “blood money” as an example that one can and should accept gifts as reconciliation even though they may never equal the “price” of what was lost, and Achilles agreed with Ajax wholeheartedly.

All of Achilles’ replies are logical and see deep beneath the surface of the Iliad’s warrior culture. Yet his response to Ajax shows just how inconsequential those reasons actually are in his decision to remain apart from the rest of the Greeks.

It is not reason (logos) at all that drives Achilles. It is rage. The Iliad is the song of the rage of Achilles, as the opening lines of Book 1 attest, and it is ultimately his unrelenting rage that governs his actions and the trajectory of the poem. Ajax was correct in that Achilles was pitiless. Attempting to make him feel shame and pity are the keys to bringing him back to the norms of reciprocity that characterize civilized society, but Achilles’ rage is still too strong; his thumos “swells” with it.

How incredibly and tragically human is that? He knows what he should do. He is intellectually clear on what the correct and just course of action is. Yet he cannot bring himself to do what he knows is right because rational as such action might be, they cannot compete with the overwhelming emotion – rage – that dominates his psyche.