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Chapter 19. More on Strife and the Human Condition
19§1. The deaths of Aesop and Thersites result directly from their engaging in blame, [1] and the result of their deaths is purification. [2] It follows, then, that their engaging in blame is itself an ultimately purifying act. Thus even in the ideology of myth, blame and the ridicule that it can bring have a potentially positive social function. [3] Moreover, among the things that Aesop actually blamed was the negative social function of blame itself, formalized in ritual as strife over cuts of sacrificial meat (P.Oxy. 1800). [4] The same negative social function is formalized in classical praise poetry as éris ‘strife, conflict’ (Pindar Nemean 4.93), a negative foil of praise poetry itself. [5] A parallel negative foil is phthónos ‘envy, greed’, conventionally visualized by praise poetry as a bestially gluttonous appetite for meat (Bacchylides 3.67–68, Pindar Nemean 8.21–25). [6] The negative social function of blame is also formalized in myth as the primal éris between Prometheus and Zeus (Hesiod Theogony 534)—a conflict over cuts of meat that is the very cause of the human condition (Theogony 535–616). [7] Alternatively, it is formalized as the personified Éris at the Judgment of Paris, the cause of the Trojan War in particular (Cypria/Proclus 102.14–19 Allen) and of the human condition in general (Hesiod fr. 204MW). [8] At the Judgment of Paris, Éris overtly takes the form of blame: as our Iliad tells it, Paris had engaged in blaming Hera and Athena, while praising Aphrodite (Iliad XXIV 29–30). [9] {309|310}
19§2. If there is a positive social function assigned by myth to the institution of blame, there might also be a parallel assignment to the Hellenic concept of éris ‘strife, conflict’, a word we have seen so far as formalizing only the negative social function of blame. The social ambivalence of Eris is in fact a prime theme of the Works and Days:
οὐκ ἄρα μοῦνον ἔην Ἐρίδων γένος, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ γαῖαν
εἰσὶ δύω· τήν μέν κεν ἐπαινήσειε νοήσας,
ἡ δ᾽ ἐπιμωμητή· διὰ δ᾽ ἄνδιχα θυμὸν ἔχουσιν.
ἡ μὲν γὰρ πόλεμόν τε κακὸν καὶ δῆριν ὀφέλλει,
σχετλίη· οὔ τις τήν γε φιλεῖ βροτός, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης
ἀθανάτων βουλῇσιν Ἔριν τιμῶσι βαρεῖαν.
τήν δ᾽ ἑτέρην προτέρην μὲν ἐγείνατο Νὺξ ἐρεβεννή,
θῆκε δέ μιν Κρονίδης ὑψίζυγος, αἰθέρι ναίων,
γαίης τ᾽ ἐν ῥίζῃσι καὶ ἀνδράσι πολλὸν ἀμείνω·
ἥ τε καὶ ἀπάλαμόν περ ὅμως ἐπὶ ἔργον ἔγειρεν.
εἰς ἕτερον γάρ τίς τε ἰδὼν ἔργοιο χατίζων
πλούσιον, ὃς σπεύδει μὲν ἀρώμεναι ἠδὲ φυτεύειν
οἶκόν τ᾽ εὖ θέσθαι· ζηλοῖ δέ τε γείτονα γείτων
εἰς ἄφενος σπεύδοντ᾽· ἀγαθή δ᾽ Ἔρις ἥδε βροτοῖσιν.
καὶ κεραμεὺς κεραμεῖ κοτέει καὶ τέκτονι τέκτων,
καὶ πτωχὸς πτωχῷ φθονέει καὶ ἀοιδὸς ἀοιδῷ
There was not just one Éris born, but there are two
on earth. When a man recognizes one, he should praise it.
The other one is worthy of blame. The two have split dispositions.
One brings about the evil of war and fighting. [10]
It is wretched. No man loves it, but, by necessity,
in accord with the Will of the Immortals, men give tīmḗ to this burdensome Éris . [11]
The other one was the elder-born from dark Night.
The son of Kronos, who sits on high and abides in the aether,
placed it in the very roots of Earth. And this one is far better for men.
This one incites even the resourceless man to work—
as one man who is out of work looks at another
who is rich and busy with ploughing, planting,
and maintaining his household properly. Neighbor envies neighbor,
striving for wealth. This Éris is good for men.
And the potter is angry with the potter, and the artisan with the artisan. [12] {310|311}
And the beggar has phthónos [envy] for the beggar, and the poet for the poet. [13]
εἰσὶ δύω· τήν μέν κεν ἐπαινήσειε νοήσας,
ἡ δ᾽ ἐπιμωμητή· διὰ δ᾽ ἄνδιχα θυμὸν ἔχουσιν.
ἡ μὲν γὰρ πόλεμόν τε κακὸν καὶ δῆριν ὀφέλλει,
σχετλίη· οὔ τις τήν γε φιλεῖ βροτός, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης
ἀθανάτων βουλῇσιν Ἔριν τιμῶσι βαρεῖαν.
τήν δ᾽ ἑτέρην προτέρην μὲν ἐγείνατο Νὺξ ἐρεβεννή,
θῆκε δέ μιν Κρονίδης ὑψίζυγος, αἰθέρι ναίων,
γαίης τ᾽ ἐν ῥίζῃσι καὶ ἀνδράσι πολλὸν ἀμείνω·
ἥ τε καὶ ἀπάλαμόν περ ὅμως ἐπὶ ἔργον ἔγειρεν.
εἰς ἕτερον γάρ τίς τε ἰδὼν ἔργοιο χατίζων
πλούσιον, ὃς σπεύδει μὲν ἀρώμεναι ἠδὲ φυτεύειν
οἶκόν τ᾽ εὖ θέσθαι· ζηλοῖ δέ τε γείτονα γείτων
εἰς ἄφενος σπεύδοντ᾽· ἀγαθή δ᾽ Ἔρις ἥδε βροτοῖσιν.
καὶ κεραμεὺς κεραμεῖ κοτέει καὶ τέκτονι τέκτων,
καὶ πτωχὸς πτωχῷ φθονέει καὶ ἀοιδὸς ἀοιδῷ
There was not just one Éris born, but there are two
on earth. When a man recognizes one, he should praise it.
The other one is worthy of blame. The two have split dispositions.
One brings about the evil of war and fighting. [10]
It is wretched. No man loves it, but, by necessity,
in accord with the Will of the Immortals, men give tīmḗ to this burdensome Éris . [11]
The other one was the elder-born from dark Night.
The son of Kronos, who sits on high and abides in the aether,
placed it in the very roots of Earth. And this one is far better for men.
This one incites even the resourceless man to work—
as one man who is out of work looks at another
who is rich and busy with ploughing, planting,
and maintaining his household properly. Neighbor envies neighbor,
striving for wealth. This Éris is good for men.
And the potter is angry with the potter, and the artisan with the artisan. [12] {310|311}
And the beggar has phthónos [envy] for the beggar, and the poet for the poet. [13]
Hesiod Works and Days 11–26
We see here the “good” Éris in her positive social function as the principle of competition, that fundamental aspect of most Hellenic institutions—including poetry itself. [14] In this connection, it is important to keep in mind that even the performance of such sublime poetic compositions as Pindar’s Paean 6 took place in the framework of a competition. This song that tells about the éris of the gods (Paean 6.50, 87) in the awesome setting of Delphi’s Panhellenic theoxénia is actually being performed, in the song’s own words, at an agṓn ‘place of contest’ (ἀγῶνα: Paean 6.60). [15] In sum, one can praise and blame the good and the evil Éris, as the Works and Days tells us, but these very activities of praising and blaming are subsumed in the principle of competition itself—that elder and hence more primordial kind of Éris.
19§3. Evil or good, éris functions as a prime definition of the human condition. It comes as no surprise, then, that éris is the overt catalyst for many of the major poems of Hellenic civilization. We have already seen that éris or neîkos precipitates not only the Cypria in particular but also in general the entire mass of epic material framed by the Trojan War. [16] Moreover, the Iliad itself begins with the éris/neîkos between Achilles and Agamemnon. [17] When Achilles tells {311|312} Agamemnon that the Achaeans will long remember their mutual éris (XIX 63–64), his words apply—far beyond the Achaeans of their time—to the future generations of Hellenic listeners who will ask to hear the story of the Iliad. [18] The grand Strife Scene between Agamemnon and Achilles is even recapitulated on the Shield of Achilles, in that microcosmic stop-motion picture of litigation between a defendant who offers compensation and a plaintiff who refuses it (Iliad XVIII 497–508). [19] Like its major counterpart, this minor Strife Scene is also a neîkos (νεῖκος/ἐνείκεον: Iliad XVIII 497/498). But here the quarrel is a formal litigation, with claims and counterclaims expressed in correct legal language. [20] And the objective of the whole procedure is díkē ‘justice’ (δίκαζον/δίκην: Iliad XVIII 506/508). This quarrel is in fact strikingly similar to the one between Perses and Hesiod himself, where the objective is again díkē (δίκῃς/δίκην … δικάσσαι: Works and Days 36/39) and where the quarrel itself is a neîkos(νεῖκος at Works and Days 35; cf. also νείκε᾽/νεικέων/νείκεαat Works and Days 29/30/33). [21]
19§4. The neîkos of Perses and Hesiod is in fact a formal context for engaging in blame as a positive social function, as we see from the corresponding quarrel of Agamemnon and Achilles. Here the words spoken by the aggrieved warrior against the king of his phíloi are taken from the language of blame-poetry. [22] Achilles insults Agamemnon by calling him such names as kunôpa ‘having the looks of a dog’ (Iliad I 159) and kunòs ómmat’ ékhōn ‘having the eyes of a dog’ (Iliad I 225)—epithets that typify a bestial degree of gluttony. [23] When blame is justified, the application of kúōn ‘dog’ and its derivatives is a quint-{312|313} essentially appropriate insult. [24] With other insults as well, Achilles attacks Agamemnon by picturing him as the ultimate glutton: most notably, he calls him dēmobóros basileús ‘a king who is the devourer of the dêmos‘ (Iliad I 231). [25] Agamemnon is here branded as a king so greedy that he consumes his own community. [26] This insult is immediately pertinent to the neîkos of Perses and Hesiod, where the adjudicating basilêes ‘kings’ are themselves called dōrophágoi ‘devourers of gifts’ on account of their lack of díkē ‘justice’ (Works and Days 38–39 and 263–264; cf. 220–221). The figure of Hesiod is engaged in making justified blame, expressed in language appropriate to blame-poetry, just as Achilles had done in his quarrel with Agamemnon. Here too we see blame-poetry in its positive social function. Moreover, this blaming of unjust kings whose injustice promotes the neîkos of Perses and Hesiod is in sharp contrast with the praising of the just kings in Hesiod Theogony 80–93. A king who makes settlements with díkē (Theogony 85–86) is described as one who can stop ‘even a great neîkos’ (καὶ μέγα νεῖκος: Theogony 87). Such just kings are ekhéphrones ‘aware’ (Theogony 88) precisely because they heed what the Muses say (Theogony 80 ff.)—through the intermediacy of the poets. [27] Thus only those kings who are phronéontes ‘aware’ can understand the message of Hesiod the poet, as he tells them the aînos of the hawk and the nightingale:
νῦν δ᾽ αἶνον βασιλεῦσιν ἐρέω φρονέουσι καὶ αὐτοῖς
Now I will tell an aînos for kings, aware [ phronéontes ] as they are. [28]
Now I will tell an aînos for kings, aware [ phronéontes ] as they are. [28]
Hesiod Works and Days 202
In sum, the neîkos of Perses and Hesiod is a context for blaming the unjust king; it is a neîkos that can be stopped only by the just king. {313|314} The blaming itself is justified so long as the injustice remains—which is hubris as opposed to díkē (Works and Days 213–285). [29] In this sense, the neîkos of Perses and Hesiod has the positive social function of precipitating the Works and Days. Moreover, this very neîkos motivates the major theme that has served as our point of departure—the Hesiodic portrait of Eris as a prime determinant of the human condition (Works and Days 11–26). [30]
19§5. The human condition is not only defined by éris; it is even caused by it. On the level of myth, this éris is formalized as one primordial Strife Scene that takes place at one primordial daís ‘feast’ shared by gods and men. [31] There are various multiforms of this feast, such as the one attended by Prometheus (Hesiod Theogony 535 ff.) or the one celebrating the Wedding of Peleus and Thetis (Hesiod fr. 204.95 ff.; Cypria/Proclus 102.13 ff. Allen; Pindar Paean 6.50 ff.). But, aside from such variables, there is also an essential constant: by disrupting the daís, the éris of the Strife Scene disrupts the communion of gods and men, thereby bringing to an end the golden existence of mankind. [32] Since éris is inevitable and since it also can be formalized as blame, [33] the institution of blame in general and blame poetry in particular is itself conceived as one of life’s necessary evils.
19§6. Ironically, the aînos as a traditional form of blame is not only an institution of éris but also an eternal reminder of what had been disrupted by éris at a primal Strife Scene, namely, the golden existence of mankind. The standard setting for the narrative of the aînos is the Golden Age itself. In the proem to the versified fables of Babrius, where the poet cites the prosaic retellings of the Aesopic tradition as his immediate source (lines 14–16), [34] we read that the Golden Age was a time when:
- animals had the same
phōnḗ
- ‘power of speech’ as men (lines 5–12)men and gods were one community (
hetaireíē
- : line 13).
In other words, there had been in the Golden Age a communion of animals and men and of men and gods. In the fables of Aesop, we find animals actually communicating with men as well as one another {314|315} through the power of speech, [35] and there are instances where the fable is actually introduced with an explicit statement to that effect: [36]
καθ᾽ ὃν καιρὸν ἦν ὁμόφωνα τὰ ζῷα τοῖς ἀνθρώποις …
At the time when animals had the same phōnḗ as men have …
At the time when animals had the same phōnḗ as men have …
Life of Aesop G 99, introducing “The Poor Man Catching Insects” = Fable 387 Perry
καθ᾽ ὃν καιρὸν ἦν ὁμόφωνα τὰ ζῷα …
At the time when animals had the same phōnḗ …
At the time when animals had the same phōnḗ …
Life of Aesop W 97, [37] introducing “The Wolves and the Sheep” = Fable 153 Perry
Ironically too, Aesop himself had no phōnḗ ‘power of speech’ before he received the gift of verbal skills from the Muses (Life of Aesop G 7). [38] In the beginning, he had been like an animal, doubly removed from the Golden Age. By having no phōnḗ, he had been excluded from the community of both gods and men. We see as a permanent reminder of his primal state the simple fact that Aesop actually remains a theriomorphic figure throughout his Life. [39] In the end, {315|316} however, after having died for blaming a ritualized Strife Scene (P.Oxy. 1800), Aesop wins immortality (Plato Comicus fr. 68 Kock). [40] It was in fact immortality that the animals had demanded from Zeus in their own Strife Scene, which had plummeted them from their own golden existence (Callimachus Iambus 2 = fr. 192 Pfeiffer). [41] In the end, Aesop transcends the condition of both animals and men. The gaps that are bridged in his aînoi between animals and men and gods are bridged in the course of his Life.{316|}
Footnotes
[ back ] 1. Ch.16§4.
[ back ] 2. Ch.16.§§1–2, Ch.18§10.
[ back ] 3. On the acknowledgment of this social function in the ideology of epic, cf. Ch.14§12 and n. 40.
[ back ] 4. For the text, see again Ch.16§7.
[ back ] 5. Ch.12§3.
[ back ] 6. Ch.12§§4–5 and §§6–11.
[ back ] 7. Ch.11§15.
[ back ] 8. Ch.11§14.
[ back ] 9. Ch.11§16.
[ back ] 10. For more on dêris ‘fighting’, see Ch.16§10n39.
[ back ] 11. For the correlation of Éris and the Diòs boulḗ ‘Will of Zeus’, see Ch.11§§10–15.
[ back ] 12. The ‘anger’ of potter against potter and artisan against artisan is equivalent to phthónos, as we see from the parallelisms in the next verse. On the inherited parallelism of the téktōn ‘carpenter’ as artisan par excellence with the aoidós ‘poet’, see Ch.17§§10–13. On the poet as dēmiourgós, see Odyssey xvii 381–387 as discussed at Ch.12§13 and n46–47.
[ back ] 13. On the convention of presenting the xénos ‘guest-stranger’ on a social scale that ranges from beggar all the way to poet, see Ch.12§§13–16.
[ back ] 14. Cf. Pucci 1977:31–32, 130–135.
[ back ] 15. The agṓn is also the traditional context of such archaic poetic forms as the Homeric Hymns—and we can see this from the use of the word agṓn at Homeric Hymn 6.19–20. See also the Hesiodic and Homeric references to poetic contests at Works and Days 654–659 and Iliad II 594–600, and the commentary by Maehler 1963:16. In fact, the name of the competitive poet Thámuris at Iliad II 595 seems to be the embodiment of the social context for poetic competition. In the Alexandrian lexicographical tradition and elsewhere, we see that thámuris means ‘assembly’; see Durante 1976:202 for documentation and commentary. Moreover, the word agṓn itself denotes ‘assembly’ (from ágō; cf. Chantraine I 17); the semantic extension ‘place of contest’ reveals that the holding of contests was a basic social function of such an ‘assembly’. Compare the semantics of samaryá– ‘poetic contest’ in the Rig-Veda, as discussed by Durante, pp. 198–201. I disagree, however, with Durante’s equating the meaning of samaryá– with that of Hómēros: see Ch.17§9n41.
[ back ] 16. Ch.11§12; also Ch.7§16.
[ back ] 17. Above, Ch.7§17.
[ back ] 18. For the poetic self-references associated with the theme of remembering and not forgetting a story of grief, see Ch.6§§4 ff.
[ back ] 19. Ch.6§20.
[ back ] 20. See Muellner 1976:100–106 on the legal use of eúkheto ‘claimed’ at Iliad XVIII 499, for which he finds a striking parallel in the use of e-u-ke-to = eúkhetoi ‘claims’ in the Linear B texts (Pylos tablets Ep 704 and Eb 297). Muellner (pp. 104) also notes the collocation of e-u-ke-to with da-mo = dâmos (Ep 704), corresponding to the collocation of eúkheto with dêmos in the Homeric passage at hand (Iliad XVIII lines 499 and 500 respectively). For Linear B dâmos as ‘an administrative entity endowed with a juridical function’, see Lejeune 1965:12.
[ back ] 21. Cf. Vernant 1977. Note especially the expression diakrīnṓmetha neîkos ‘let us settle our quarrel’ at Works and Days 35. The compound verb diakrī́nomai here must be compared to the simple krī́nomai ‘have a definitive settlement’ as used in Hesiod Theogony 535 and 882, where the settlements lead to the permanent separation of gods/men and gods/Titans respectively. Discussion at Ch.11§5. Cf. also the semantics of the passive formation kríthen ‘they separated from each other’ in Pindar Pythian 4.168.
[ back ] 22. Ch.12§6.
[ back ] 23. Ch.12§5.
[ back ] 24. Consider again Ch.12§§5–6.
[ back ] 25. For the semantics of dêmos in this context of neîkos, see §3n20. Since there is a traditional interplay in Homeric diction between dêmos ‘district, community’ and dêmos ‘fat’ (Nagler 1974:5–9), we may note that dēmobóros can also be understood as ‘devourer of fat’. On the traditional theme that tells of dogs devouring the dêmos ‘fat’ of corpses (Iliad VIII 379–380, XI 818, XIII 831–832), see Ch.12§5. If this interpretation is valid, then Agamemnon is being described by Achilles with an epithet that befits a corpse-devouring dog.
[ back ] 26. Note that Thersites himself blames Agamemnon for his greed (Iliad II 225–238). At Iliad II 236–237, he even says that the Achaeans should forsake Agamemnon, leaving him behind ‘to digest his géras [plural; = honorific portions]’ all to himself (γέρα πεσσέμεν: Iliad II 237). For géras ‘honorific portion’ in the sense of ‘cut of meat’, see Ch.7§19. On the greed of Agamemnon, consider also philokteanṓtate ‘preeminent lover of possessions’ (Iliad I 122), an epithet applied to him again by Achilles.
[ back ] 27. Cf. Puelma 1972:97–98.
[ back ] 28. See Ch.12§18.
[ back ] 29. For more on díkē and húbris: Ch. 9§7 and n. 17.
[ back ] 30. See again §2.
[ back ] 31. Ch.11§15.
[ back ] 32. Ch.11§§1–14.
[ back ] 33. §1; also Ch.11§16.
[ back ] 34. This is not to say, of course, that the original Aesopic tradition of aînoi was not poetry.
[ back ] 35. For an example of verbal communication between animals and men, see Aesop Fable 465 Perry.
[ back ] 36. Cf. also Callimachus Iambus 2 = fr. 192 Pfeiffer.
[ back ] 37. Also at G 97, where the introductory phrasing is exactly as at G 99.
[ back ] 38. In the attested version (G 7), Isis gives Aesop the power of speech itself (phōnḗ) while the Muses give him the power of speech skills. I believe that earlier versions had Apollo in place of Isis: see Ch.17§1n6, §2n9, Ch.18§2. Note too that the epiphany of the Muses to Aesop is in the setting of an elaborately lush garden, where the téttīx ‘cicada’ sings (G 6). For more on the téttīx, see Ch.18§1.
[ back ] 39. There is a collection of epithets applied to Aesop, many of them having to do with the various grotesque forms of various animals, at the very beginning of the Life narrative (Vitae G+W 1), on which see Wiechers 1961:31–32. Throughout the narrative, in fact, the other characters keep insulting Aesop by way of appellations like kunoképhalon ‘dog-head’ (G 11, 30; W 31). The association of Aesop with the figure of a dog is especially interesting in view of the traditional use of kúōn ‘dog’ and its derivatives in the language of blame; see in particular Ch.12§6 on Iliad I 159 and 225, where Achilles insults Agamemnon by calling him kunôpa ‘having the looks of a dog’ and kunòs ómmat’ ékhōn ‘having the eyes of a dog’. In fact, the name of Aesop himself may be a semantic parallel: Aís-ōpos may mean ‘having the looks of baseness’, if the element ais– can be connected with ais-kh– as in the word aîskhos ‘baseness’ and its family (on the semantics of which see Ch.14§13). The element ais– also may be connected with the adjective ais-ulo– ‘unseemly’. Note that the speaking of aísula ‘unseemly things’ is equated with kertomíai ‘reproaches’ at Iliad XX 202 and 433. On the semantics of kertoméō ‘reproach’ and its family, see Ch.14§11(n36) and Ch.14§14. Questions of etymology aside, however, the strong association of Aesop with the figure of a dog seems to be connected with the function of the Aesopic aînos as blame poetry. We observe the message of Aesop’s fable about “The Wolves and the Sheep” (Fable 97 Perry), as conveyed by the context of its retelling in Vitae G+W 97: just as the dogs’ barking protects the sheep from the wolves, so also the fable of Aesop protects the Samians from Croesus. In connection with the Samian phase of Aesop’s Life (on which see also Ch.16§8n34), I should note in passing a curious passage in Vita G 87, featuring a barrage of insulting appellations as spoken by the Samians against Aesop (the last one of which is “a dog in a wicker basket”!). The categories of these appellations are well worth careful study, since they may match some stock characters in the Aesopic fables (though their language is certainly far more picturesque than that of the rhetorical retellings in the Aesopic corpus that has come down to us).
[ back ] 40. For a collection of other testimonia on the immortalization of Aesop, see Perry 1952:226; cf. Wiechers 1961:41.
[ back ] 41. The contents of this Callimachean fragment can be supplemented by two paraphrases of its substance: (1) a papyrus from Tebtynis [see Maas 1934] and (2) Philo of Alexandria De confusione linguarum 6–8. See Perry 1962:312–313. Significantly, this same Callimachean passage telling of the animals’ loss of immortality also alludes to Aesop’s death at Delphi (fr. 192.15–17 Pfeiffer).