II§329 The Athenian connection of the Homēridai helps explain why the narrative of a decidedly non-Athenocentric Life of Homer like Vita 1 denies the idea that Homer {254|255} had any sons. This way, as we saw in Chapter 3, the narrative also denies the idea that Homer of Chios was linked to the Homēridai who performed at the Panathenaia and who claimed to hail from Chios. Evidently, the concept of Homēridai, even as a name, had something to do with the idea of an Athenian federation—an idea that is generally avoided in Vita 1.

IIⓣ45 Homeric Hymn (3) to Apollo 164

II§335 In some versions of the Life of Homer traditions, as we have already seen in Chapter 6, the naming of Homer as Homēros (Ὅμηρος) is explained on the grounds that the word homēros (ὅμηρος) means ‘blind’, not ‘hostage’. I now propose to examine in detail the relevant passages. To begin, I need to stress that the explanation of homēros as ‘blind’ is problematic, since as we have seen the etymology of homēros points to the basic idea of bonding, not blinding. In some versions of the Lives, however, this meaning ‘blind’ is explicitly juxtaposed with the meaning ‘hostage’, presented as an alternative.

IIⓣ46 Vita 4.4–9

IIⓣ48 Vita 2.8–12

IIⓣ49 Vita 10.25–28

IIⓣ50 Vita 11.14–20

IIⓣ52 Vita 2.29–32

IIⓣ53 Vita 3a.20–24

IIⓣ54 Vita 3a.39–44

II§338 Beyond this point, the narrative of Vita 3a does not say what happened to Homer while he was a hostage of the Lydians. But the language of the narrative up to this point leaves some indications: it euphemistically pictures the political hostage as a ‘joiner’, as if the bond between hostage and hostage-taker corresponded to an idealized bonding between ‘guest’ and ‘host’. Homer himself is pictured as a ‘hostage’ by virtue of his ‘joining’ the Lydians as they make their exit from the besieged city of Smyrna.

IIⓣ55 Ctesias FGH IIIc 688 F 9 lines 40–43 (via Photius Bibliotheca 72.36b lines 2–6)

II§340 Evidently, the father is figuratively blinded by the Persians in retribution for his violation of a hostage agreement. I stress that the blinding here is figurative: the father’s vision is forever maimed by the sight of his son’s violent death, inflicted as a punishment for a breach of contract committed not by the son but by the father himself. The mentality behind this kind of figurative blinding is evident in wording that describes a form of punishment where the figurative blinding is reinforced by physical blinding. I have found such wording in a description of the punishment inflicted on the captured renegade king Zedekiah, ruler of Jerusalem, by the over-king Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon:

IIⓣ56 Septuagint Book of Kings 4 (Book of Kings 2, Masoretic text) chapter 25 section 7

II§341 Here I compare the wording in a later source:

IIⓣ57 Georgius Cedrenus Compendium historiarum, volume 1 page 201 ed. Bekker

II§342 We see here the same wording applied to the punishment of Zedekiah as was applied to the punishment of Croesus: ὅπως τε δολορραφοῦντος Κροίσου ὁ παῖς κατ’ ὀφθαλμοὺς ἀναιρεῖται ‘and [Ctesias tells] how, after Croesus devises a deceptive stratagem, his son is killed before his eyes’.

II§343 I return to the story about Homer in the Aeolian traditions native to Smyrna: as {261|262} I have reconstructed it, Homer was taken as a homēros ‘hostage’ by the Lydians evacuating the city when it was recaptured by the Aeolians. By implication, Homer was blinded by the Lydians while he was their hostage, presumably in retaliation for the hostile actions of the Aeolians who recaptured Smyrna. The Lydian mentality behind the blinding of hostages, as I have reconstructed it, is parallel to the Persian mentality behind the figurative blinding of Croesus in retaliation for his breaking of a hostage agreement.

II§345 In sum, Homer in the Life of Homer traditions is a ‘hostage’ by virtue of his function as a bond, a tie that binds together the Hellenic cities situated in Asia Minor and in the major offshore islands. The cultural ties that unite these cities are expressed in his persona: he is a ‘hostage’ for them all. In the case of one city, Smyrna, Homer’s ties are so close that his status as ‘hostage’ leads to his blinding: for this Aeolian city, the city of his birth, Homer is ready to give up his eyesight. For Aeolian Smyrna, Homer is not only a hostage: he is the blinded hostage par excellence. That is why Aeolian Smyrna marks the point where the name of Homer is changed from Melēsigenēs to Homēros.

II§346 The idea ‘hostage’ is reflected even in the name of the Homēridai. According to a myth preserved only in the antiquarian post-Athenocentric phase of the Life of Homer traditions, the Homēridai are named after homēra ‘hostages’ who had been taken and given in the context of a primordial battle of the sexes at the festival of Dionysus in Chios:

II§347 Whereas the pre-Athenocentric narrative of Vita 1 elides the Homēridai altogether, this alternative pre-Athenocentric narrative transmitted by Seleucus (first century CE) recognizes the existence of a genos ‘lineage’ from Chios named the Homēridai but elides their derivation from a notional ancestor called Homer. As we have already seen, the etymological contradiction of deriving Homēridai either from Homēros ‘Homer’ or from homēra ‘hostages’ can be resolved once we understand that the name of Homer, Homēros, is cognate with the word that means ‘hostage’, homēros / homēron. As we have also seen, a culture hero named Homēros could be simultaneously a notional ancestor of a lineage called the Homēridai as well as a notional homēros ‘hostage’.

II§349 Just as different cities claim Homer as their native son in different stories, they can also claim him as their very own hostage—whether he is given or taken as their {263|264} hostage. In three different stories, we have seen him taken as hostage by three different groups: the Lydians (3a.39–44), the people of Colophon (10.25–28), and the people of Chios (11.14–20). In each of these three stories, Homer serves as hostage on behalf of the people of Smyrna. So now once again we see Smyrna in the forefront of the cities that make claims on Homer. But there are also other groups besides the Lydians and the people of Smyrna, Chios, and Colophon that make claims on Homer as hostage. In another story, we have seen Homer’s father serving as hostage on behalf of the people of Cyprus; in this case, the hostage-takers are the Persians (2.29–32). In yet another story, the hostage-taker is the Basileus ‘King’, who may be the king of the Lydians or, conceivably, the Great King of the Persians; in this case, the immediate context implies that the hostage-givers are the people of Lesbos (6.41–45).

II§350 As in the case of rival claims to Homer as the native son, these rival claims to Homer as the man who serves as a security linking adversarial communities are contained by the Panhellenism of the framing narratives. The general stance of the Lives of Homer, to repeat what I said earlier, is Panhellenic: the aim is to acknowledge a multiplicity of local claims and thereby to transcend them. In a Panhellenic sense, Homer becomes a hostage of all Hellenes. From the standpoint of the Athenian empire, Homer is its imperial hostage.

II§352 As a perennial hostage to the politics of federation and empire, how could Homeric poetry survive? My answer is that this poetry negotiated its way to ultimate survival through its variability as a system, continually adjusting and readjusting itself to fit its multiple appropriations by competing powers. There are ample signs of this variability in the content of Homeric poetry wherever that poetry refers to itself—whether directly or indirectly. What we can see in these self-references is a poetic impulse, perpetuated through an ongoing system of oral poetry, to maintain a sense of currency.

II§353 The transition of Homeric poetry from an era of the tyrants to the succeeding era of democracy in Athens was a critical moment for the final shaping of this poetry. Before I attempt to confront this critical moment, I need to express my awareness of the difficulties of analyzing the final stage of such a lengthy process of shaping. I am also keenly aware of the difficulties of reconstructing the earlier stages. Symbolic of these difficulties is the darkness of the Dark Age of Homer.

II§354 Having noted these difficulties, I start the analysis by highlighting two basic facts. First, in the era of the Peisistratidai of Athens, Homeric poetry was under their control. Second, when the Peisistratidai were overthrown, the control of this poetry was transferred to the democracy. Such a transfer must have led to changes in the nature of this poetry. And, later on, there must have been further changes after Athens gained power over the Greek states that had once belonged to the Persian empire. So the task is to consider the nature of all these changes.

II§356 In the Prolegomena to the twin book Homer the Classic, I speak of variants that we discover from the evidence of the surviving Homeric texts, in the form of manuscripts and marginalia and quotations and citations. But there is also internal ev-{265|266} idence, embedded in the textual tradition, showing variation in the act of composition. It is to this kind of evidence that I now turn.

II§358 To illustrate this concept of split referencing, I turn to a sequence of passages in Iliad VI. Once again, the referent is the Peplos of Athena. The narration focuses on a moment in the Trojan War when the women of Troy present a peplos to the goddess Athena inside her temple on the acropolis of Troy. In this case, the split referencing concerns (1) the ad hoc presentation of a peplos to Athena on the acropolis of Troy and (2) the seasonally recurring presentation of the Panathenaic Peplos to Athena on the acropolis of Athens. I now proceed to quote this sequence. It consists of three consecutive passages that state and restate, in increasing order of complexity, the ritual requirements of presenting the peplos to Athena:

IIⓣ59 Iliad VI 90–93 (Helenos to Hector about what Hecuba should do)

IIⓣ60 Iliad VI 271–273 (Hector to Hecuba about what she should do):

II§361 So we see choices being made each time the ritual is restated, and we see that each restatement entails further variability, focusing more and more on a master perspective. In the third passage, this variability is expressed by the words pan-poikilos and poikilma, both of which refer to the peplos that is being chosen for presentation to Athena (Iliad VI 289, 294). I will soon consider the meaning of these two words. For the moment, however, it will suffice to quote the climax of the narrative, which describes the actual presentation of the peplos to the goddess:

II§362 Looking back at the entire narrative sequence, I highlight two most salient visual details, namely the acropolis and the temple on the acropolis. These two details correspond to the two most visible details distinguishing the city of Athens from most other cities. I see at work here a split reference. The reference is split between Troy and Athens. The referent is both the prehistorical city of Troy and the historical city of Athens.

II§363 There are two other details that reinforce the split reference. One detail has to do with the use of the words pan-poikilos and poikilma. Both words refer to the peplos that is being chosen for presentation to Athena (Iliad VI 289, 294). The second detail has to do with the positioning of the statue of Athena at Troy: it is figured as sitting, not standing, since the worshippers are pictured as placing the peplos on the knees of the goddess (VI 303).

II§366 In the narrative about the presentation of the peplos to Athena in Iliad VI, the peplos to be chosen is highlighted as the biggest of all the peploi (VI 90, 271, 294). It is the peplos that is most ‘beautiful’ or kalon (294), with the most ‘pleasurable beauty’ or kharis (90, 271). The size and the beauty of the fabric evoke a vision of the quadrennial Panathenaic Peplos, which is notionally the biggest and most beautiful of all imaginable peploi. As for the association of the word kharis ‘pleasurable beauty’ with the fabric, it is appropriate not only to the peplos that is being described but also to the medium that describes the peplos. That medium is Homeric poetry as performed at the quadrennial festival of the Panathenaia. The concept of kharis conveys the charisma of Homeric poetry as described by Homeric poetry. In terms of this description, the peplos of Iliad VI can be seen as a metaphor for epic as performed at the Panathenaia. This epic is notionally the biggest and the most beautiful of all epics. Like the peplos of Iliad VI, this epic as performed at the Panathenaia has more kharis than all other epics.

II§367 The kharis ‘pleasurable beauty’ of the peplos so elaborately described in Iliad VI is not only Panathenaic. It is also royal and even imperial in its grandeur. As we saw from the Homeric description, this peplos was woven by women whom Paris had brought over to Troy from Sidon in the course of his Phoenician detour (VI 289–292). This Phoenician connection is surely no accident. I propose that we see here an indirect reference to the provenience of the all-expensive and all-luxuriant purple that dyed the quadrennial Peplos of the Panathenaia. I will have more to say in the Epilegomena about the purple of the Peplos, which serves as a mark of grandeur suitable for kings and for their kingly empires. For now I simply maintain that the grandeur implied by this Phoenician connection suits also the description of the peplos described in Iliad VI. As we saw in Chapter 3, Herodotus (2.116.1–2.117.1) recognized this augmented description as truly Homeric in its grandeur, contrasting it with the unaugmented description that he knew from the epic Cypria of his day. The historian treats the unaugmented story of the direct voyage of Paris and Helen from Sparta to Troy as a foil for the augmented story of their Phoenician detour. The poet of the unaugmented story, as Herodotus sees it, is a foil for Homer as the rightful poet of the augmented story.

II§368 Here I stop to offer a summary of what we have seen so far in this Homeric narrative about the offering made by the women of Troy to Athena in her temple on her acropolis. The text of the narrative refers to the temple of Athena at Troy, while the subtext refers to the temple of Athena at Athens. On the basis of this narrative, I have developed the concept of split referencing, applying it to situations where the performer refers to the immediate world of performance at a given time and {271|272} place as well as to the ulterior world of the composition as it exists ready-made for a variety of different times and places. In this sequence of passages describing the offering of a choice peplos to Athena, the implicit referent concerns Athens and Athenian interests, while the explicit referent concerns not only Athens but notionally all Hellenic city-states. The implicit referent is Athenian, while the explicit referent is Panhellenic. It is essential for me to add here that this argument for implicit Athenian reference does not preclude the existence of earlier stages of references that are pre-Athenian.

II§369 There remains the task of explaining split referencing in terms of oral traditions. I offer this formulation: variable features of an inaccessible referent are adjusted over time, through a lengthy process of ad hoc selection, to become features that fit an accessible referent. The repertoire of features, which are cognate with each other, evolves by way of an ongoing process that I will call a selective adjustment of repertoire. What results is that a reference to the inaccessible world in the story being told becomes a reference to the accessible world of the audience that hears the story as a story intended only for them to hear.

II§370 This is not to say that the ritual of the peplos in the narrative of Iliad VI was originally based on the ritual of the Peplos in the festival of the Panathenaia. It is only to say that a preexisting narrative tradition concerning ritual traditions of the peplos had been adjusted, over time, to fit the preexisting ritual tradition of the Panathenaic festival in Athens. And I stress that this festival was the actual occasion for the narrative as we have it in Iliad VI.

II§371 In terms of this narration, the ad hoc presentation of the peplos to Athena in Troy is a ritual failure; in terms of the festival of the Panathenaia, on the other hand, the seasonally recurring presentation of the peplos to Athena in Athens is notionally always a ritual success. In other words, the text is imperfect, but the subtext is notionally perfect. The perfect subtext is a mark of the Athenians, while the imperfect text is the mark of everyone else.