Petropoulos, J. C. B. 2011. Kleos in a Minor Key: The Homeric Education of a Little Prince. Hellenic Studies Series 45. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Petropoulos.Kleos_in_a_Minor_Key.2011.
1. Kleos and Oral History
“Es Tagträumt in mir.”
Ernst Bloch, Das Prinzip Hoffnung
‘αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν Ἰθάκην ἐσελεύσομαι, ὄφρα οἱ υἱὸν
μᾶλλον ἐποτρύνω, καί οἱ μένος ἐν φρεσὶ θείω,
εἰς ἀγορὴν καλέσαντα κάρη κομόωντας Ἀχαιοὺς
πᾶσι μνηστήρεσσιν ἀπειπέμεν, οἵ τέ οἱ αἰεὶ
μῆλ’ ἁδινὰ σφάζουσι καὶ εἰλίποδας ἕλικας βοῦς.
πέμψω δ’ ἐς Σπάρτην τε καὶ ἐς Πύλον ἠμαθόεντα,
νόστον πευσόμενον πατρὸς φίλου, ἤν που ἀκούσῃ,
ἠδ’ ἵνα μιν κλέος ἐσθλὸν ἐν ἀνθρώποισιν ἔχῃσιν.’
μᾶλλον ἐποτρύνω, καί οἱ μένος ἐν φρεσὶ θείω,
εἰς ἀγορὴν καλέσαντα κάρη κομόωντας Ἀχαιοὺς
πᾶσι μνηστήρεσσιν ἀπειπέμεν, οἵ τέ οἱ αἰεὶ
μῆλ’ ἁδινὰ σφάζουσι καὶ εἰλίποδας ἕλικας βοῦς.
πέμψω δ’ ἐς Σπάρτην τε καὶ ἐς Πύλον ἠμαθόεντα,
νόστον πευσόμενον πατρὸς φίλου, ἤν που ἀκούσῃ,
ἠδ’ ἵνα μιν κλέος ἐσθλὸν ἐν ἀνθρώποισιν ἔχῃσιν.’
Odyssey 1.88–95
“But as for myself, I shall go to Ithaka, so that I might rouse for him his son
still more and instill determination in his mind,
after summoning the long-haired Achaians to a public assembly
to serve notice to all the suitors, who are constantly
slaughtering his huddling flocks of sheep and his oxen of shambling feet and curved horns.
After that I shall send him off to Sparta and sandy Pylos
to seek information about his dear father’s return, if perhaps he may hear of it,
and so that a fine reputation (kleos) among human beings may accrue to him.”
still more and instill determination in his mind,
after summoning the long-haired Achaians to a public assembly
to serve notice to all the suitors, who are constantly
slaughtering his huddling flocks of sheep and his oxen of shambling feet and curved horns.
After that I shall send him off to Sparta and sandy Pylos
to seek information about his dear father’s return, if perhaps he may hear of it,
and so that a fine reputation (kleos) among human beings may accrue to him.”
The Odyssey begins essentially with the melancholy reverie of a twenty-year-old kouros—by modern standards, a male at the “psychic boundary between adolescence and adulthood”—who is supposed to gain kleos as the action unfolds. [1] {1|2} This kleos will also amount to his social identity and indeed his profounder identity as an adult and a man. [2] Amid the commotion (ὀρυμαγδός) of the suitors deep in their cups (see Odyssey 1.106ff., 133), [3]
ἧστο γὰρ ἐν μνηστῆρσι φίλον τετιημένος ἦτορ,
ὀσσόμενος πατέρ’ ἐσθλὸν ἐνὶ φρεσίν, εἴ ποθεν ἐλθὼν
μνηστήρων τῶν μὲν σκέδασιν κατὰ δώματα θείη,
τιμὴν δ’ αὐτὸς ἔχοι καὶ κτήμασιν [4] οἷσιν ἀνάσσοι.
τὰ φρονέων, μνηστῆρσι μεθήμενος, εἴσιδ’ Αθήνην.
ὀσσόμενος πατέρ’ ἐσθλὸν ἐνὶ φρεσίν, εἴ ποθεν ἐλθὼν
μνηστήρων τῶν μὲν σκέδασιν κατὰ δώματα θείη,
τιμὴν δ’ αὐτὸς ἔχοι καὶ κτήμασιν [4] οἷσιν ἀνάσσοι.
τὰ φρονέων, μνηστῆρσι μεθήμενος, εἴσιδ’ Αθήνην.
Odyssey 1.114–118
[Telemachos] was sitting among the suitors aggrieved in his heart,
picturing his noble father in his mind, if he were to come from somewhere
and send those suitors scampering in the palace
and were himself to regain honor and to rule over his possessions.
Reflecting on these things as he sat among the suitors, he caught sight of Athena.
picturing his noble father in his mind, if he were to come from somewhere
and send those suitors scampering in the palace
and were himself to regain honor and to rule over his possessions.
Reflecting on these things as he sat among the suitors, he caught sight of Athena.
This passage is cast in the form of a ring-composition. [5] Its centerpiece describes schematically the content of the abstract image that passes through Telemachos’ mind (Odyssey 1.115: ὀσσόμενος … ἐνὶ φρεσίν ‘picturing … in {2|3} his mind’). [6] As others have observed, the Odyssey is in large part “psychological drama.” [7] The poet evinces a marked penchant for recording or representing internal, psychological states already in Odyssey 1.114ff., where he gives the first information about Telemachos. [8] To be sure, as Friedrich Klingner remarks in one of the most penetrating articles ever written on the Telemachy, the poem does not commence with the violence of the Iliad or the Aeneid but instead (as he shows) with inner conflict, represented by the youth’s festering mental anguish. [9] This “helpless martyr” daydreams, “plunged into isolation and humiliation” or in Homer’s words, “aggrieved in his heart” (Odyssey 1.114). The unseen but keenly felt “spiritual presence of Odysseus” overshadows from the outset the entire scene with Mentes; this presence haunts the prince’s thoughts, rendering him especially susceptible to Mentes’ ensuing psychological intervention. Telemachos is well prepared for a process in which each, prince and guest, will “seek after and find in the other elements of Odysseus.”
The mental state of grief (Odyssey 1.114) [10] characterizes the young man in varying degrees of intensity, particularly in the first two books. Only in Book 4 is this mood reversed temporarily (though not entirely) thanks to Helen’s magical “antidepressant.” [11] The very moment we meet him, Telemachos is fixated on his suffering (πένθος, Odyssey 1.342), [12] immobilized in a phantasy in which his father occupies center stage in exterminating the suitors. [13] This daydream, which lacks the structure of a typical dream, [14] condenses (to use a Freudian {3|4} term) the precarious power vacuum that Odysseus has left behind: one of the leitmotifs of the Telemachy is the “absence of Odysseus” and the fluctuating intensity of the emotions of loss, powerlessness, and sorrow this causes to his intimates, or philoi. [15] The content of this Tagtraum betrays the relative unpreparedness of the youth: it is not he who undertakes the act of vengeance (as will also happen later) but his father. Book 1.117 is most telling, for here Odysseus is said to ‘regain honor’ (ἔχοι … τιμήν), which is equivalent to the social status and recognition enjoyed by a member (male or female) of the hereditary elite. As H. van Wees has shown in his historical study, the heroes’ continual efforts to uphold their timê is the main cause of the violence endemic in Homeric society. [16] This pathological state arises out of the paradox that a hero can only achieve status through conflict, [17] but rightful authority and the defense of ownership presuppose his use or threat of violence. In Telemachos’ phantasy, Odysseus—with whom his son does not identify, however—behaves no differently from a typical Homeric basileus ‘king’ who, being primus inter pares, would be required to show in practice that he was basileuteros ‘more kingly’ or, better yet, basileutatos ‘kingliest’ vis-à-vis other ‘peers of the realm’. [18] C. Antonaccio, drawing on others, notes that a basileus is comparable to the big man of ‘primitive’ micro-societies studied by social anthropologists, given that political authority in the Iron Age and the Archaic period in the Greek world “was achieved, not heritable,” for “such a position is only partly heritable.” [19]
From Pain to Strength and Back Again
Book 1.114–118, just examined, merits two further comments. First, to judge from Telemachos’ fanciful reverie, which, as noted, is rather exiguous and {4|5} schematic (note the indefinite enclitic ποθεν ‘from somewhere’, Odyssey 1.115), the youth is deprived of a convincing image of his father. Indicative of this particular lack is the contrapuntal image that Mentes later conjures up for his benefit (Odyssey 1.253–258, 265–266). Serving as a kind of encouragement, the imaginary scene evoked practically corresponds in every detail to the manner in which the prince articulates his wish-fulfillment (compare Odyssey 1.114–117 and 163–164) but is much more detailed and hence convincing, especially because it is supposedly an actual reminiscence (Odyssey 1.257ff.). [20] Telemachos thus has now before him a diptych version of Odysseus to which presently, in Odyssey 1.298ff., will be added the imago of the grand exterminator Orestes. [21] Suddenly, however, even before he moves on to the related exemplum of Orestes, Mentes himself corrects his exhortation (compare Odyssey 1.166–168 and see below):
‘τοῖος ἐὼν μνηστῆρσιν ὁμιλήσειεν Ὀδυσσεύς·
πάντες κ’ ὠκύμοροί τε γενοίατο πικρόγαμοί τε.
ἀλλ’ ἦ τοι μὲν ταῦτα θεῶν ἐν γούνασι κεῖται,
ἤ κεν νοστήσας ήποτίσεται, ἦε καὶ οὐκί,
οἷσιν ἐνὶ μεγάροισι· σὲ δὲ φράζεσθαι ἄνωγα
ὅππως κε μνηστῆρας ἀπώσεαι ἐκ μεγάροιο.’
πάντες κ’ ὠκύμοροί τε γενοίατο πικρόγαμοί τε.
ἀλλ’ ἦ τοι μὲν ταῦτα θεῶν ἐν γούνασι κεῖται,
ἤ κεν νοστήσας ήποτίσεται, ἦε καὶ οὐκί,
οἷσιν ἐνὶ μεγάροισι· σὲ δὲ φράζεσθαι ἄνωγα
ὅππως κε μνηστῆρας ἀπώσεαι ἐκ μεγάροιο.’
Odyssey 1.265–270
“If only Odysseus, just the way he was then, could mingle with the suitors:
the whole lot of them would be swift to die during their bitter-tasting ‘wedding.’
But of course these matters lie on the knees of the gods:
whether after returning home he will exact revenge—or not—
in his palace. Now as for you, I urge you to consider
how you might drive the suitors out of the palace.”
the whole lot of them would be swift to die during their bitter-tasting ‘wedding.’
But of course these matters lie on the knees of the gods:
whether after returning home he will exact revenge—or not—
in his palace. Now as for you, I urge you to consider
how you might drive the suitors out of the palace.”
The phrase ἦε καὶ οὐκί ‘or not’ (Odyssey 1.268), though common enough, is perhaps one of the most startling and cruel occurrences of a disjunction in ancient Greek literature. Klingner has already remarked the descent from “idealisation” (we might say ‘phantasy’) to unadorned reality expressed in theological terms (Odyssey 1.266–267). [22] According to this scholar, Athena calculatingly raises the alternative of abandoning Odysseus as idealized avenger in {5|6} order to force Telemachos to realize his duty to act (as opposed, one might add, merely to daydreaming): σὲ δὲ φράζεσθαι ἄνωγα (“Now as for you, I urge you to consider,” Odyssey 1.269). The divine interlocutor, in other words, resumes her encouragement of the youth but coarsens it for outright “paedagogical” reasons, converting Telemachos’ pain to strength, as Klingner also notes. [23]
Tucked away at a discreet distance from the carousers (Odyssey 1.132), the prince can converse almost without distraction (he actually whispers; see Odyssey 1.157) with the mysterious ‘Mentes’. [24] The withdrawal of the two in a corner of the palace symbolically connotes Telemachos’ marginalization in the constitutional and symposiastic order. [25] As if performing an impromptu lament-speech (γόος), the youth unexpectedly bewails the situation in the palace: [26]
‘Ξεῖνε φίλ’, ἦ καί μοι νεμεσήσεαι ὅττι κεν εἴπω;
τούτοισιν μὲν ταῦτα μέλει, κίθαρις καὶ ἀοιδή,
ῥεῖ’, ἐπεὶ ἀλλότριον βίοτον νήποινον ἔδουσιν,
ἀνέρος οὗ δή που λεύκ’ ὀστέα πύθεται ὄμβρῳ
κείμεν’ ἐπ’ ἠπείρου, ἢ εἰν ἁλὶ κῦμα κυλίνδει.
εἰ κεῖνόν γ’ Ἰθάκηνδε ἰδοίατο νοστήσαντα,
πάντες κ’ ἀρησαίατ’ ἐλαφρότεροι πόδας εἶναι
ἢ ἀφνειότεροι χρυσοῖό τε ἐσθῆτός τε.
νῦν δ’ ὁ μὲν ὣς ἀπόλωλε κακὸν μόρον, οὐδέ τις ἡμῖν
θαλπωρή, εἴ πέρ τις ἐπιχθονίων ἀνθρώπων
φῇσιν ἐλεύσεσθαι· τοῦ δ’ ὤλετο νόστιμον ἦμαρ. {6|7}
ἀλλ’ ἄγε μοι τόδε εἰπὲ καὶ ἀτρεκέως κατάλεξον·
τίς πόθεν εἰς ἀνδρῶν; πόθι τοι πόλις ἠδὲ τοκῆες;’
τούτοισιν μὲν ταῦτα μέλει, κίθαρις καὶ ἀοιδή,
ῥεῖ’, ἐπεὶ ἀλλότριον βίοτον νήποινον ἔδουσιν,
ἀνέρος οὗ δή που λεύκ’ ὀστέα πύθεται ὄμβρῳ
κείμεν’ ἐπ’ ἠπείρου, ἢ εἰν ἁλὶ κῦμα κυλίνδει.
εἰ κεῖνόν γ’ Ἰθάκηνδε ἰδοίατο νοστήσαντα,
πάντες κ’ ἀρησαίατ’ ἐλαφρότεροι πόδας εἶναι
ἢ ἀφνειότεροι χρυσοῖό τε ἐσθῆτός τε.
νῦν δ’ ὁ μὲν ὣς ἀπόλωλε κακὸν μόρον, οὐδέ τις ἡμῖν
θαλπωρή, εἴ πέρ τις ἐπιχθονίων ἀνθρώπων
φῇσιν ἐλεύσεσθαι· τοῦ δ’ ὤλετο νόστιμον ἦμαρ. {6|7}
ἀλλ’ ἄγε μοι τόδε εἰπὲ καὶ ἀτρεκέως κατάλεξον·
τίς πόθεν εἰς ἀνδρῶν; πόθι τοι πόλις ἠδὲ τοκῆες;’
Odyssey 1.158–170 [27]
“Dear stranger, will you be indignant at me if I speak?
These men are only interested in this, the kitharis and song,
[which is] easy for them, since they’re eating up with impunity the livelihood of someone else,
indeed, of a man whose white bones rot in the rain
as they lie on land or the surge of the sea turns them over and over.
If they saw that man returned to Ithaka,
all of them would pray to be faster on their feet
than richer in gold and clothing.
Yet as it is, this man perished with an evil doom and we haven’t any
heart-warming consolation, not even if some earth-dwelling human
said that he will come, for this man’s day of homecoming is lost.
But come, tell me this and recount it accurately:
Who are you and from where? Where are your city and your parents?”
These men are only interested in this, the kitharis and song,
[which is] easy for them, since they’re eating up with impunity the livelihood of someone else,
indeed, of a man whose white bones rot in the rain
as they lie on land or the surge of the sea turns them over and over.
If they saw that man returned to Ithaka,
all of them would pray to be faster on their feet
than richer in gold and clothing.
Yet as it is, this man perished with an evil doom and we haven’t any
heart-warming consolation, not even if some earth-dwelling human
said that he will come, for this man’s day of homecoming is lost.
But come, tell me this and recount it accurately:
Who are you and from where? Where are your city and your parents?”
The Implied, Anonymous Man
Telemachos does not mention the name of the owner of the palace. The significant missing person is an anonymous male (see ἀνέρος ‘of a man’, Odyssey 1.161; κεῖνον γ᾽ ‘that one’, 1.163; ὁ μὲν ‘this one’, 1.166; τοῦ δ᾽ ‘this one’s’, 1.167), and the youth defines his relation to him only indirectly (at the end of his opening speech), camouflaging the referent under the adjective πατρώϊος ‘stemming from my father or forefathers’ (Odyssey 1.175). [28] To an unsuspecting stranger the speaker might initially create the impression that he is simply referring to an unspecified third person. Then, in the short span of three verses (Odyssey 1.163–165), Telemachos reverts fleetingly to his earlier silent phantasy, which this time he expresses out loud, again in the form of a conditional sentence in the optative, only to deconstruct the wishful supposition with a typical epanor– {7|8} thosis: ‘νῦν δ’ … ’ (“Yet, as it is,” Odyssey 1.166–168). The sole certainty is that the implied, anonymous man has died; only the manner and place of his death (on land? at sea?) remain uncertain. At Odyssey 1.234–240 Telemachos reformulates these dark thoughts and adds the affecting observation that the unnamed man lacks even a grave (Odyssey 1.239). [29]
Mentes, [30] exactly like his Doppelgänger Mentor (in Books 2 and 3) and to a degree like Peisistratos (especially in Books 3 and 4), will prove to be an effective teacher and interlocutor, indeed arguably the most successful. [31] He will be the first adult to elicit certain psychological reactions in the immature, self-doubting youth, which will bring him closer to maturity. Significantly, Mentes will accomplish this even before Telemachos sets out for the Peloponnese.
Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth play down the importance of the voyage, pointing out—correctly—that the prince’s “awakening” and “real psychological change” (as they put it) take place in Book 1 (320ff.) and are merely corroborated thereafter in the next book. [32] It might however be more accurate to say that in cultural and social terms the voyage per se (in Books 3–4) {8|9} is intrinsic and instrumental to Telemachos’ coming of age, which is set in motion in Book 1 and formally culminates after the Telemacheia proper when the prince participates in the slaying of the suitors and especially in the war against their relatives (see Chapter 6). As noted, the Telemacheia revolves around the psychosocial maturation of the Little Prince; unless he matures he will be unable to help his father to take revenge on the usurpers and regain power. [33] By the third century AD, Porphyry had already defined Telemachos’ journey as a paideusis. [34] H. W. Clarke and P. V. Jones have in their turn aptly brought out the ‘paideutic’ dimension in the Tale of Telemachos. As they argue, in the course of Books 1–4 the princeling receives from Athena, Nestor, Menelaos, and Helen successive accounts and versions of himself, among other narratives, all of them characteristic of a performance culture. [35] By means of these accounts the protagonist harmoniously matches—and reconciles—his inner world with his outer appearance. [36] That this process of harmonization is highly important can be inferred from the leitmotif of (in de Jong’s formulation) “Telemachus’ resemblance to Odysseus, both in his appearance and his manner of speaking,” [37] which Klingner calls the “theme of the father inside the son”—and which we might call the “theme of Odysseus’ nostos in the mental world of his son.” [38]
The Father’s Imago
If the young man can only realize how much he resembles his father in physiognomy and potentially in mental traits, he will be able to resolve the aporia regarding his identity: Is he or is he not the worthy son of Odysseus? (He does not really doubt that Odysseus is his father.) Is he or is he not an extension {9|10} (almost an instantiation) of his father, as his very name, Telemachos, would suggest? [39] These are standard questions, which every hero (even Achilles, the son of a goddess) is necessarily bound to put to himself (even if indirectly) or to encounter in epic society. There are at least two reasons for this. The first touches on Homer’s interest in the disparity between Schein and Sein, between seeming and being—in the case of Telemachos between, on the one hand, his promising, godlike appearance (θεοειδής ‘of godlike appearance’, Odyssey 1.113; compare ἰσόθεος ‘godlike’, 1.324), which Mentes and the poet himself register, and, on the other, the lad’s Odyssean capabilities. [40] The other reason reflects a particular psychosocial constant, given the fact that the consolidation of a male’s sense of ‘masculinity’ presupposes in myth as in social reality the individual’s self-definition in relation to his father. [41] Indeed, the trajectory towards self-definition and hence maturity featured in the Telemacheia largely concerns the son’s relation to the imago of his father, as will be shown. In this sense as well the Telemacheia may be said to describe a symbolic ‘education’. This particular process is pretty far advanced in Book 1 (even before the assembly and Telemachos’ departure in Book 2), since the conversation between the prince and Mentes has induced the youth to cite Odysseus at first by name (Odyssey 1.396, 398) and then as “my father” (Odyssey 1.413). [42]
In general the recognition of Odysseus’ secret presence in the midst of Telemachos and Mentes comes about through the mutual mirroring of outer signs and psychological associations; each mirrors the absent hero in the other’s eyes. From a psychological perspective the successive mental images of Odysseus that Mentes will bring to life for the youth’s benefit will amount to the imago or, as B. Copley would argue, [43] the “unconscious object” of his father. Because Telemachos will, in the course of his interaction with Mentes, concretize and begin to come to terms with this ‘object’, it may be as well to examine in greater detail the stages of their interaction.
The stranger startles the young man with his initial ‘news’, a virtual non sequitur (Odyssey 1.194) that he hastens to correct by offering more ‘news’, {10|11} schematic but hopeful, which in turn he transforms into an equally hopeful prophecy:
‘νῦν δ’ ἦλθον· δὴ γάρ μιν ἔφαντ’ ἐπιδήμιον εἶναι,
σὸν πατέρ’·ἀλλά νυ τόν γε θεοὶ βλάπτουσι κελεύθου.
οὐ γάρ πω τέθνηκεν ἐπὶ χθονὶ δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς,
ἀλλ’ ἔτι που ζωὸς κατερύκεται εὐρέϊ πόντῳ,
νήσῳ ἐν ἀμφιρύτῃ, χαλεποὶ δέ μιν ἀνδρες ἔχουσιν,
ἄγριοι, οἵ που κεῖνον ἐρυκανόωσ’ ἀέκοντα.
αὐτὰρ νῦν τοι ἐγὼ μαντεύσομαι, ὡς ἐνὶ θυμῷ
ἀθάνατοι βάλλουσι καὶ ὡς τελέεσθαι ὀΐω,
οὔτε τι μάντις ἐὼν οὐτ’ οἰωνῶν σάφα εἰδώς.
οὔ τοι ἔτι δηρόν γε φίλης ἀπὸ πατρίδος αἴης
ἔσσεται, οὐδ’ εἴ πέρ τε σιδήρεα δέσματ’ ἔχῃσι·
φράσσεται ὥς κε νέηται, ἐπεὶ πολυμήχανός ἐστιν.’
σὸν πατέρ’·ἀλλά νυ τόν γε θεοὶ βλάπτουσι κελεύθου.
οὐ γάρ πω τέθνηκεν ἐπὶ χθονὶ δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς,
ἀλλ’ ἔτι που ζωὸς κατερύκεται εὐρέϊ πόντῳ,
νήσῳ ἐν ἀμφιρύτῃ, χαλεποὶ δέ μιν ἀνδρες ἔχουσιν,
ἄγριοι, οἵ που κεῖνον ἐρυκανόωσ’ ἀέκοντα.
αὐτὰρ νῦν τοι ἐγὼ μαντεύσομαι, ὡς ἐνὶ θυμῷ
ἀθάνατοι βάλλουσι καὶ ὡς τελέεσθαι ὀΐω,
οὔτε τι μάντις ἐὼν οὐτ’ οἰωνῶν σάφα εἰδώς.
οὔ τοι ἔτι δηρόν γε φίλης ἀπὸ πατρίδος αἴης
ἔσσεται, οὐδ’ εἴ πέρ τε σιδήρεα δέσματ’ ἔχῃσι·
φράσσεται ὥς κε νέηται, ἐπεὶ πολυμήχανός ἐστιν.’
Odyssey 1.194–205
“And now I have come, because indeed they said he was among his people,
your father; but surely the gods are deflecting him from his course.
Divine Odysseus is not yet dead on this earth;
rather, alive still, he is kept back somewhere on the broad sea,
on a sea-washed island, and harsh men are holding him,
savages, they are detaining him, I take it, against his will.
But now I shall prophesy to you, just as in my spirit
the immortals are impelling me and as I believe it is coming to pass
although I am scarcely a seer nor one well-versed in omens:
No doubt he will not be away from his beloved country any longer,
no, not even if chains of iron hold him;
he will devise a way of returning, for he is a man of many devices.”
your father; but surely the gods are deflecting him from his course.
Divine Odysseus is not yet dead on this earth;
rather, alive still, he is kept back somewhere on the broad sea,
on a sea-washed island, and harsh men are holding him,
savages, they are detaining him, I take it, against his will.
But now I shall prophesy to you, just as in my spirit
the immortals are impelling me and as I believe it is coming to pass
although I am scarcely a seer nor one well-versed in omens:
No doubt he will not be away from his beloved country any longer,
no, not even if chains of iron hold him;
he will devise a way of returning, for he is a man of many devices.”
As Klingner (1944:30) says of this passage, “the image of Odysseus appears to his son in an ever new perspective and shape” (though, one might add, this image remains amorphous despite its undeniable emotional charge). Immediately afterwards, in his reminiscence in the same passage about the young Odysseus, Mentes transfers the image of the young commander bound for Troy onto Telemachos (Odyssey 1.206–212; see below). Here, as Klingner (1944:30) remarks, the goddess “builds a bridge of thought between the young Odysseus who once went to war and his image who is now standing in front of the guest. Yes, in addressing Telemachos she is close to addressing an Odysseus who has grown up again and (so to speak) returned … ” A little later Mentes portrays Odysseus in considerable detail, albeit only momentarily, as an idealized avenger (Odyssey {11|12} 1.255–265; see n52 and discussion below). In this same passage Mentes allusively assimilates this image to the heartening example of the equally young avenger Orestes (Odyssey 1.296–302). In evoking these paradigmatic figures the goddess exploits deliberately the topic of her host’s outer resemblance to the two heroes (Odyssey 1.206–209, 301–302). This topic is deployed as a rhetorical argument meant to persuade the prince that he combines the physical and mental attributes that render him a new Odysseus-Orestes capable of achieving kleos. See Odyssey 1.269–270 discussed above and especially 1.301–302, where Telemachos is cast as Orestes:
‘καὶ σύ, φίλος, μάλα γάρ σ’ ὀρόω καλόν τε μέγαν τε,
ἀλκιμος ἔσσ’, ἵνα τίς σε καὶ ὀψιγόνων ἐῢ εἴπῃ.’
ἀλκιμος ἔσσ’, ἵνα τίς σε καὶ ὀψιγόνων ἐῢ εἴπῃ.’
Odyssey 1.301–302
“You too, friend—for I see that you are very handsome and impressive-looking—
be brave [sc. like Orestes] so that even in future people will speak well of you.”
be brave [sc. like Orestes] so that even in future people will speak well of you.”
Just as Mentes detects “elements of Odysseus within Telemachos,” as Klingner notes, so too does the prince begin, by the end of the book, to notice reflections of Odysseus in Mentes. [44] It is no coincidence that moments before the stranger disappears with the speed of (or, less probably, in the form of) a bird Telemachos likens him gratefully to a father:
‘ξεῖν, ἦ τοι μὲν ταῦτα φίλα φρονέων ἀγορεύεις,
ὥς τε πατὴρ ᾧ παιδί, καὶ οὔποτε λήσομαι αὐτῶν.’
ὥς τε πατὴρ ᾧ παιδί, καὶ οὔποτε λήσομαι αὐτῶν.’
Odyssey 1.307–308
“Stranger, truly you speak these [sc. words] in the spirit of intimacy,
like a father to his son, and never shall I forget them.”
like a father to his son, and never shall I forget them.”
G. Wöhrle would account for this comparison as a nearly automatic politeness typical in a patriarchal society wherein senior men have the status of Ersatzväter. [45] But social reflexes aside, Telemachos’ reaction suggests something deeper on which Homer’s ‘objective’ comment may cast psychological illumination: {12|13}
τῷ δ’ ἐνὶ θυμῷ
θῆκε μένος καὶ θάρσος, ὑπέμνησέν τέ ἑ πατρὸς
μᾶλλον ἔτ’ ἢ τὸ πάροιθεν.
θῆκε μένος καὶ θάρσος, ὑπέμνησέν τέ ἑ πατρὸς
μᾶλλον ἔτ’ ἢ τὸ πάροιθεν.
Odyssey 1.320–322
and in his heart
she instilled determination and courage, and called his father to his mind
even more than before.
she instilled determination and courage, and called his father to his mind
even more than before.
The ‘internal object’ of the father is starting to become more concrete in the depressed youth’s mind. It is suggestive at least that he assimilates Mentes to the ‘internal object of the good father’, as Melanie Klein might have argued. [46] In general Telemachos’ references to his father, by name and otherwise, together with the theme of ‘Odysseus’ nostos in Telemachos’ mental world’ (see also below) indicate his need for a father. (Mutatis mutandis this need is implied by Odysseus’ declaration on first meeting his son: ‘ἀλλὰ πατὴρ τεός εἰμι, τοῦ εἵνεκα σὺ στεναχίζων / πάσχεις ἄλγεα πολλά, βίας ὑποδέγμενος ἀνδρῶν’ [“Rather, I am your father, on whose account you, groaning, / have been suffering much pain, putting up with the abuses of men,” Odyssey 16.188–189].) What this early post-adolescent most clearly lacks is “a sense of a firmly established relationship with inner objects,” particularly an internal father. [47] (Even the exemplum of Orestes is a disguise for the image of Odysseus.) According to Copley, an introjective relationship of this kind provides a developing person with a “deeper experience of identity” required for the “formation and maintenance of a mature adult state of mind.” [48]
If a crucial step in the youth’s ‘education’ is the establishment, or re-establishment, of a relationship particularly with his internal paternal object, the next step, equally indicative of his progress, can be seen in the episode (Odyssey 1.365–425) in which apparently for the first time—indeed, in public rather than in a purely optative private reverie—he lays claim to his rights as heir and head of Odysseus’ oikos (see especially Odyssey 1.397–398: ‘αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν οἴκοιο ἄναξ ἔσομ’ ἡμετέροιο / καὶ δμώων, οὕς μοι ληΐσσατο δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς’ [“but I shall be lord of our house / and of our male servants whom illustrious Odysseus took as plunder for my sake.”]). As Klingner notes, [49] the episode, taking place as it does immediately after the “awakening” (which this scholar situates in Odyssey 1.253–305), points up how substantive this change is, inasmuch as the prince’s forthright words precipitate and “bring to the fore the dynamic of opposition to {13|14} Penelope and the suitors.” In particular, as will be seen, the youth’s opposition to his mother is psychologically and culturally plausible, and because it also raises the matter of the meaning of kleos it will be analyzed shortly.
Σὸν πάτερ’: Putting a Name to the Indefinite
Celibate Athena is, incidentally, the ideal dedicated teacher; her combination of strategic and intellectual resourcefulness makes her Telemachos’ best motivator. [50] Moreover, she is an exotic figure enjoying a liminal status, given that her sexual ambiguity corresponds to the liminal status of a (possibly Phoenician) slave trader who conducts business with the Ithacans without belonging to their society. [51] Socially, being a generic kakos ‘lowly person’ on account of her occupation, she would not have been deemed threatening by the suitors. (In fact, Eurymachos’ “seemingly generous remark”—so Dawe 1993:79 ad Odyssey 1.411—about the mysterious, evanescent stranger would seem to confirm the very opposite, namely, that Mentes is of κακός social status: ‘οὐ μὲν γάρ τι κακῷ εἰς ὦπα ἐῴκει’ [“because he definitely did not at all look, eye in eye, like a lowly person.”].) She also has the advantage, qua Mentes, of having been a philos of Odysseus since the latter’s youth; he is, as noted, the emotional and educational link between the liminal adult Telemachos and the liminal adult Odysseus, irrespective of whether the goddess’s account about the stranger’s junior mission at Ephyre is true (as de Jong believes) or an ad hoc invention (as others hold). [52]
Mentes takes Telemachos aback, though not Homer’s audience, when, introducing himself, he announces:
‘νῦν δ’ ἦλθον· δὴ γάρ μιν ἔφαντ’ ἐπιδήμιον εἶναι,
σὸν πατέρ’· ἀλλά νυ τόν γε θεοὶ βλάπτουσι κελεύθου.
οὐ γάρ πω τέθνηκεν ἐπὶ χθονὶ δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς … ’
σὸν πατέρ’· ἀλλά νυ τόν γε θεοὶ βλάπτουσι κελεύθου.
οὐ γάρ πω τέθνηκεν ἐπὶ χθονὶ δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς … ’
Odyssey 1.194–196 {14|15}
“And now I have come, because indeed they said he was among his people,
your father; but surely the gods are deflecting him from his course.
Divine Odysseus is not yet dead on this earth … “
your father; but surely the gods are deflecting him from his course.
Divine Odysseus is not yet dead on this earth … “
σὸν πατέρ’ ‘your father’, emphatic at the beginning of verse 195, is nothing short of breathtaking. By ‘μιν … ἐπιδήμιον’ (“him … among his people,” Odyssey 1.194) the young man would understand his grandfather Laertes, to whom the stranger had just been referring (Odyssey 1.189–93). The shock value is redoubled when Mentes utters ‘Ὀδυσσεύς’ (“Odysseus”) at the end of verse 196. The audience would have waited with bated breath for the name of the absent hero during this conversation, [53] especially after Mentes’ earlier proleptic remark that he and Odysseus were ‘ξεῖνοι … πατρώϊοι … / ἐξ ἀρχῆς’ (“guest-friends … going back to our fathers … / from old times,” Odyssey 1.187–188). Surely enough, the newcomer pronounces the name, confirming (as if he had to!) the identity of ‘σὸν πατέρ’’ (“your father”). Mentes has in effect adduced the two ingredients, the cognitive coordinates—Ὀδυσσεὺς ‘Odysseus’ and σὸν πατέρ’ ‘your father’—that Telemachos will have to explore both intellectually and psychologically in the next books. Yet the prince is taken aback by more than the two nouns just mentioned, for his guest at first speaks as if Odysseus were already in Ithaka (‘ἐπιδήμιον εἶναι’ [“to be among his people,” Odyssey 1.194]). These unexpected tidings of great joy are an explanation, tacked on to the stranger’s statement ‘νῦν δ’ ἦλθον’ (“And now I have come,” Odyssey 1.194), which, as noted, is something of an anacolouthon. The news would have pained the prince as much as raised his hopes. [54] Before long Telemachos will utter these emotive words, [55] individually or together, in the same book (Odyssey 1.354, 396, 398, 413) [56] and subsequently in Book 2 (Odyssey 2.46, 59, 71) [57] , Book 3 (Odyssey 3.83–84, 98ff.) and Book 4 (Odyssey 4.328) [58] .
Telemachos, in addressing Nestor at Odyssey 3.83–84, combines the proper name with the phrase ‘πατὴρ ἐμὸς’ (“my father”), as he had already done in his speech before the assembly at Odyssey 2.71. He repeats the combination at Odyssey 3.98ff., his impassioned plea to the Pylian ruler for information about {15|16} his father. He is here claiming the glorious past, in essence the very kleos of Odysseus: [59]
‘λίσσομαι, εἴ ποτέ τοί τι πατὴρ ἐμός, ἐσθλὸς Ὀδυσσεύς,
ἢ ἔπος ἠέ τι ἔργον ὑποστὰς ἐξετέλεσε
δήμῳ ἔνι Τρώων, ὅθι πάσχετε πήματ’ Ἀχαιοί·
τῶν νῦν μοι μνῆσαι … ’
ἢ ἔπος ἠέ τι ἔργον ὑποστὰς ἐξετέλεσε
δήμῳ ἔνι Τρώων, ὅθι πάσχετε πήματ’ Ἀχαιοί·
τῶν νῦν μοι μνῆσαι … ’
Odyssey 3.98–101
“I beg you, if ever my father, noble Odysseus
promised you and carried out any word or any deed
in the country of Troy where you Achaians were experiencing much suffering:
now remember these things for my sake … “
promised you and carried out any word or any deed
in the country of Troy where you Achaians were experiencing much suffering:
now remember these things for my sake … “
In nomine patris
In addressing Nestor in the passage just cited, the young guest hypostatizes the generic kleos of a Homeric hero from its two defining constituents, namely, epos and ergon (see Chapter 3). Borrowing as it were the kleos of his father, [60] he projects it onto himself in the hope of prompting Nestor to give him ‘news’ (the secondary meaning of the term kleos; see below). As he told the king slightly earlier:
‘πατρὸς ἐμοῦ κλέος εὐρὺ [61] μετέρχομαι, ἤν που ἀκούσω,
δίου Ὀδυσσῆος ταλασίφρονος, ὅν ποτέ φασι
σὴν σοὶ μαρνάμενον Τρώων πόλιν ἐξαπαλάξαι.’
δίου Ὀδυσσῆος ταλασίφρονος, ὅν ποτέ φασι
σὴν σοὶ μαρνάμενον Τρώων πόλιν ἐξαπαλάξαι.’
Odyssey 3.83–85
“I come in quest of news (kleos) of my father that has spread from afar, on the chance I may hear
about divine Odysseus the steadfast, who once, they say,
after fighting together with you sacked the Trojans’ city.”
about divine Odysseus the steadfast, who once, they say,
after fighting together with you sacked the Trojans’ city.”
Generally speaking, kleos as such, especially when it emanates from a military deed, can be transferred to the laos ‘people’ (see Iliad 12.315–328) {16|17} or less diffusely to the philoi ‘friends, intimates’ of a hero. This associative, or synecdochic, transference is a predictable concomitant of a “shame culture.” [62] Jones remarks that the young man is appropriating, by hereditary right, the consequences of his father’s deeds. [63] Moreover the youth’s resort to an exemplum in order to validate his request is highly conventional. [64] What is of particular relevance to the educational dimension of the Telemachy is the fact that in his plea the prince consciously interweaves the past and present and in so doing substitutes his father (living or dead) for himself.
If, as will be remarked, kleos subsumes a person’s social identity, a hypallage, or ‘mutual exchange’, of identity may be at play here: by way of ‘persuasive association’—which is at once a rhetorical and deeply social argument-the exemplum ascribes Odysseus’ mighty panoply of accomplishments to Telemachos while Telemachos’ role as a son in search of his father devolves upon Odysseus, who travels in quest of his πατρὶς γαῖα ‘native country’. This crisscrossing of identities may underlie the parallels in the adventures of Odysseus and his son that many scholars have detected. D. E. Bynum has invoked in this connection the “role transference between father and son,” remarking that this theme also occurs in Serbo-Croatian epic poetry. [65] At least as regards Telemachos, the theme may imply an educational process. Throughout his ὁδός ‘journey’ the Little Prince in fact imitates in a symbolic way the travels of his father, and particularly his temptations, as A. J. Apthorp has shown. [66] Καθ’ ὁδόν ‘on his way’ Telemachos comes of age, absorbing both consciously and unconsciously elements of his father’s personality. Imitation of such a duration and nature typifies both the educational practice of apprenticeship per se and the process of growing up as a figurative apprenticeship, which will be discussed in Chapter 5. [67] For the time being it is perhaps sufficient to observe that the ancient scholia registered that as a result of his ἀποδημία ‘going abroad’ the prince developed—we might say ‘grew up’—from a modestly tongue-tied, overprotected youth to a more Odyssean man:
ἄτοπος δοκεῖ εἶναι Τηλεμάχου ἡ ἀποδημία … , ἀλλ’ ἔδει τὸν ἐν γυναιξὶ τεθραμμένον, λύπαις τεταπεινωμένον, ῥητορειῶν οὐ πεπειραμένον οὐδεπώποτε, πολύτροπον γενέσθαι παραπλησίως τῷ πατρὶ, … καὶ κοινωνεῖν τῷ πατρί τῶν κατορθωμάτων ἐν τῇ μνηστηροκτονίᾳ {17|18}
Telemachos’ going abroad seems absurd … yet having been raised among women, having been humiliated by sorrows, never having had any experience in public speaking, he had to become polutropos nearly like his father … and to take part in the success of the murder of the suitors. [68]
To return to Odyssey 3.98–99, the condition ‘εἴ ποτέ τοί τι πατὴρ ἐμός, ἐσθλὸς Ὀδυσσεύς … ᾽ (“if ever my father, noble Odysseus … “) in Telemachos’ petition bears comparison to Odysseus’ manifestly unorthodox yet telling oath in Iliad 2.260:
‘μηδ’ ἔτι Τηλεμάχοιο πατὴρ κεκλημένος εἴην’
“nor may I any longer be called father of Telemachos”
“nor may I any longer be called father of Telemachos”
Instead of highlighting his relation to his father Laertes, the hero defines himself in relation to his son Telemachos: Odysseus reverses the obvious hallmark of his son’s masculine identity (‘Telemachos, son of Odysseus’) and applies the rearranged terms to himself (‘Odysseus, father of Telemachos’). R. B. Rutherford regards this unique reversal as an indirect indication that Homer was aware of tales about Odysseus’ nostos and, one might add, about the role that his relationship with Telemachos plays in this nostos. [69] The hypallage in the Iliadic oath may at first seem curious; in Book 16 however the patronymic relationship—and, by extension, the son’s relation to (or reception of) the kleos of his father—will be fully elucidated when the prince lives up to his father’s call to action. Such a protropê ‘exhortation’ concerning the importance of a warrior’s ancestry is routine in martial rhetoric: [70]
‘εἰ ἐτεόν γ’ ἐμός ἐσσι καὶ αἵματος ἡμετέροιο,
μή τις ἔπειτ’ Ὀδυσῆος ἀκουσάτω ἔνδον ἐόντος… ‘
μή τις ἔπειτ’ Ὀδυσῆος ἀκουσάτω ἔνδον ἐόντος… ‘
Odyssey 16.300–301
“If you really are mine and of our blood,
then let nobody hear about Odysseus being inside … “ {18|19}
then let nobody hear about Odysseus being inside … “ {18|19}
When Nestor asks him outright, “Who are you?” (Odyssey 3.71) Telemachos could—in theory—answer just as directly as his father does in Book 9.19–20 (in response to Alkinoos’ questions):
‘εἴμ’ Ὀδυσεὺς Λαερτιάδης, ὃς πᾶσι δόλοισιν
ἀνθρώποισι μέλω, καί μευ κλέος οὐρανὸν ἵκει.’
“I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, who because of my tricks
am on the minds of all human beings, and my reputation (kleos) reaches the sky.”
ἀνθρώποισι μέλω, καί μευ κλέος οὐρανὸν ἵκει.’
“I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, who because of my tricks
am on the minds of all human beings, and my reputation (kleos) reaches the sky.”
As it happens, Telemachos has not (yet) gained the requisite military and other kinds of experience to warrant even a faintly similar (and typically self-regarding) heroic boast. [71] Even when he avails himself of his father’s kleos the youth distances himself from it by using the phrase ‘ὅν ποτέ φασι’ (“who once [upon a time], they say,” Odyssey 3.84), which imparts a fairy-tale-like coloring to the existence and deeds of his father. [72] On the one side, Telemachos grounds his relation to his father on the collocation of πατὴρ ἐμός ‘my father’ and Ὀδυσσεύς ‘Odysseus’ in Book 2 and in his address to Nestor in Book 3. On the other, as remarked, he tempers the certainty even of his father’s existence. Admittedly such diminuendo may in large measure be rhetorical; but even so, we may allow for some echo of general uncertainty besetting the prince. [73] This psychological reaction is plausible, despite the fictional plot of the Telemachy: the little ἄναξ ‘lord’ emerges as an “ordinary young person” who is much nearer to everyday life than most of his predecessors, the relentless heroes of the Iliad. [74]
The Little Prince’s Lineage
The Little Prince’s progression towards adult confidence and competence will go through many fluctuations in the Telemachy. For example, the poet at first describes him, even before he meets Mentes, as “aggrieved in his heart” (Odyssey 1.114); the selfsame phrase will be used to describe his mood at the end of Book 2 (298), right after Athena delivers the longest of her exhortations (this {19|20} time in the guise of ‘Mentor’). The spiraling, vacillating course towards self-awareness as the ‘adult son of Odysseus’ is set in motion, as already noted, by Mentes in his first speech:
‘Ἀλλ’ ἄγε μοι τόδε εἰπὲ καὶ ἀτρεκέως κατάλεξον,
εἰ δὴ ἐξ αὐτοῖο τόσος πάϊς εἰς Ὀδυσῆος.
αἰνῶς μὲν κεφαλήν τε καὶ ὄμματα καλὰ ἔοικας
κείνῳ, ἐπεὶ θαμὰ τοῖον ἐμισγόμεθ’ ἀλλήλοισιν,
πρίν γε τὸν ἐς Τροίην ἀναβήμεναι …
εἰ δὴ ἐξ αὐτοῖο τόσος πάϊς εἰς Ὀδυσῆος.
αἰνῶς μὲν κεφαλήν τε καὶ ὄμματα καλὰ ἔοικας
κείνῳ, ἐπεὶ θαμὰ τοῖον ἐμισγόμεθ’ ἀλλήλοισιν,
πρίν γε τὸν ἐς Τροίην ἀναβήμεναι …
Odyssey 1.206–210
“But come now, tell me this and recount it frankly,
whether being so grown, you really are the son of the very man Odysseus.
Uncannily, to be sure, in your head and beautiful eyes you look like
him, [sc. I say this] because we often associated with one another like this,
well before he embarked for Troy … ”
whether being so grown, you really are the son of the very man Odysseus.
Uncannily, to be sure, in your head and beautiful eyes you look like
him, [sc. I say this] because we often associated with one another like this,
well before he embarked for Troy … ”
“Now tell me, being so large and tall, whether you are Odysseus’ own son?”—so, in effect, begins Mentes’ provocative oblique question. Given that Athena has already identified her interlocutor as the son of Odysseus (see especially Odyssey 1.195–196), her query is superfluous. Yet it provides Telemachos with a springboard for further thought and psychological searching. Contradicting her previous statements, Athena feigns ignorance in order to elicit from him an anxious reaction (Odyssey 1.214–220); acting as a mirror, she forces him to re-examine his relationship with his absent progenitor. [75] From a strictly logical point of view the syntax of her question is elliptical; this is the ellipsis of colloquial speech. Mentes immediately corrects this, explaining the reasons for his question. First, as an adult (a secondary implication of τόσος, literally, ‘so big’, Odyssey 1.207; compare τηλίκος ‘of such an age’, Odyssey 1.297), the young man bears a surprising (see αἰνῶς ‘uncannily’, Odyssey 1.208) and attractive (see κεφαλήν τε καὶ ὄμματα καλὰ ‘in your head and beautiful eyes’) resemblance (ἔοικας ‘you look like’) to his father’s physiognomy. [76] Second, inasmuch as τοῖον ‘to such an extent’ in verse 209 does not modify the adverb θαμά ‘often’ {20|21} but may be connected instead in sense to the verb ἐμισγόμεθ’ ‘we associated with, were intimate with’, [77] the goddess is citing another element that father and son share: “because we often associated with one another so closely or so well [sc. as you and I are now doing].” Athena’s recognition of these points in common reflects a leitmotif of the Telemacheia that has already been observed by other scholars. [78] She is the first character to mention this resemblance, and she does so in a manner that cannot but flatter her interlocutor (compare ὄμματα καλὰ ‘beautiful eyes’).
Here and in verses 224ff. her words must mean a great deal to a young man whose relationship to his father is precarious, particularly given that he has never seen his father and talks with considerable reservation about his ancestry. (De Jong acutely comments that the prince does not really doubt his descent from Odysseus but rather stresses that his conviction is based entirely on hearsay.) [79] The prince answers the goddess’s query as follows:
‘τοιγὰρ ἐγώ τοι, ξεῖνε, μαλ’ ἀτρεκέως ἀγορεύσω.
μήτηρ μέν τ’ ἐμέ, φησι τοῦ ἔμμεναι, αὐτὰρ ἐγώ γε
οὐκ οἶδ’· οὐ γάρ πώ τις ἑὸν γόνον αὐτὸς ἀνέγνω.
ὡς δὴ ἐγώ γ’ ὀφελον μάκαρός νύ τευ ἔμμεναι υἱὸς
ἀνέρος, ὃν κτεάτεσσιν ἑοῖς ἔπι γῆρας ἔτετμε.
νῦν δ’ ὃς ἀποτμότατος γένετο θνητπων ἀνθρώπων,
τοῦ μ’ ἔκ φασι γενέσθαι, ἐπεὶ σύ με τοῦτ ἐρεείνεις.’
μήτηρ μέν τ’ ἐμέ, φησι τοῦ ἔμμεναι, αὐτὰρ ἐγώ γε
οὐκ οἶδ’· οὐ γάρ πώ τις ἑὸν γόνον αὐτὸς ἀνέγνω.
ὡς δὴ ἐγώ γ’ ὀφελον μάκαρός νύ τευ ἔμμεναι υἱὸς
ἀνέρος, ὃν κτεάτεσσιν ἑοῖς ἔπι γῆρας ἔτετμε.
νῦν δ’ ὃς ἀποτμότατος γένετο θνητπων ἀνθρώπων,
τοῦ μ’ ἔκ φασι γενέσθαι, ἐπεὶ σύ με τοῦτ ἐρεείνεις.’
Odyssey 1.214–220
“Very well, then, Stranger, I shall speak to you quite frankly:
My mother, to be sure, keeps saying I am his, but I for my part
do not know, for [generally speaking] no one knows for certain his own stock.
If only I were the son of some blessedly fortunate
man whom old age has come upon in the midst of his possessions.
As it is, that man has proved the most unfortunate of mortal humans—
from him they say I was born since you ask me about this.”
My mother, to be sure, keeps saying I am his, but I for my part
do not know, for [generally speaking] no one knows for certain his own stock.
If only I were the son of some blessedly fortunate
man whom old age has come upon in the midst of his possessions.
As it is, that man has proved the most unfortunate of mortal humans—
from him they say I was born since you ask me about this.”
His words form a ring-structure. [80] The particle τε in verse 215 lends the nuance of repetition: Penelope persistently defends her son’s patriline, as Stanford (1958:225) and Jones (1991:50) remark (‘keep on saying’). The gnomic cast of {21|22} the youth’s opening words (Odyssey 1.216) is clever, as it gives him an excuse for generalizing his ‘predicament’. [81] The central component of the ring structure is an unrealistic wish: the μάκαρ ἀνήρ ‘blessedly fortunate man’ who grows old among his possessions may also be an embellished allusion to his grandfather Laertes, whom Mentes mentions earlier (Odyssey 1.188–193) or a prolepsis of Nestor in Book 3. What is more, this wish is associated with two admittedly minor themes of the Odyssey: first, the self-consciousness of many characters about the stages of life (see Odyssey 1.218: ‘ὃν … γῆρας ἔτετμε [“whom old age has come upon”]), [82] and second, the nostalgic theme of ‘the former prosperity of Odysseus’ household’. [83] Wishful thinking, in any event, is the only escape for those who yearn for Odysseus and cannot act—or, like Telemachos, hesitate to act. [84]
The Consequences of Lineage
The prince, we noted, does not doubt his mother’s fidelity or Odysseus’ paternity. Though he uses the adverb ἀτρεκέως ‘frankly’ (Odyssey 1.214) in his asseveration, [85] he is rather tendentiously and imaginarily renouncing his real father (who he assumes is long lost) and replacing him with an idealization—the father who returns home and dies in old age among his loved ones. [86] This phantastical image—old man Odysseus dying in happiness in Ithaka—is at once a wish and a prophecy (and hence a virtual φήμη); [87] compare Teiresias’ prophecy in Book 11 (134–137). Shortly afterwards (Odyssey 1.236–240) the Little Prince will proceed to refashion this image into a variation, also inspired by desperate Wünscherfüllung. In this variant wish, Odysseus, deprived of his homecoming, nevertheless dies gloriously at Troy, bequeathing customary kleos to his son, as we will see.
Telemachos’ rhetoric of misfortune wavers between two phantastical versions of his father’s fate, both of them comforting. The first eventuality is rooted in the post-heroic world of the audience: ‘Old man Odysseus dies [without kleos] among his intimates and possessions in Ithaka’ (motif A). The {22|23} second eventuality is the very opposite and a throw-back to the remoter, earlier cosmos of Iliadic kleos: ‘Middle-aged Odysseus dies gloriously [i.e. with kleos] in battle but far away from Ithaka’ (motif –A). [88] If this son renounces his real father by resorting to alternative wishes, this is because, as S. Olson comments, [89] he does not doubt his mother’s faithfulness but rather wants to avoid as conveniently as possible a role he realizes that Mentes thrusts upon him but which he feels he cannot assume. If he accepts Athena’s statements and insinuations about his likeness to Odysseus, he must admit also that this ancestry is imperatively relevant, obliging him to take action (see Odyssey 1.228–229). [90] Scholars have overlooked that in order to help this post-adolescent resolve his “identity crisis,” [91] as a result of which he shirks all responsibility, the goddess emphasizes Telemachos’ biological, and simultaneously social, status, situated ‘betwixt and between’ adolescence and adulthood (see again τόσος πάϊς ‘so grown’, Odyssey 1.207], with Chapter 3 n4 below). At length Athena will repeat to the prince that he has indeed come of age: ‘οὐδέ τί σε χρὴ / νηπιάας ὀχέειν, ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι τηλίκος ἐσσί’ (“it is not fitting for you / to carry on your childish ways, because you no longer are of such an age,” Odyssey 1.296–297).
In verses 222–224 the goddess pointedly reinforces her earlier remark about the youth’s appearance (Odyssey 1.206ff., see below):
‘οὐ μέν τοι γενεήν γε θεοὶ νώνυμνον ὀπίσσω
θῆκαν, ἐπεὶ σέ γε τοῖον ἐγείνατο Πηνελόπεια.
ἀλλ’ ἄγε …
θῆκαν, ἐπεὶ σέ γε τοῖον ἐγείνατο Πηνελόπεια.
ἀλλ’ ἄγε …
Odyssey 1.222–224
“Surely the gods have not made you a family [that will be] nameless in future
since Penelope has given birth to someone of your kind.
But come … ”
since Penelope has given birth to someone of your kind.
But come … ”
She very reasonably shifts from the theme of outer resemblance to the related topic of γενεή ‘family’ (compare the expression ‘family resemblance’ in English). Γενεή as invoked here, however, is a purely qualitative (internal) criterion by which to evaluate and hearten Telemachos (compare τοῖον ἐγείνατο ‘someone of your kind’, Odyssey 1.223). The mere reminder of a hero’s γενεή or γένος ‘stock, family’ is usually enough to move him to carry out his utmost duty. Thus, to cite the famous example in Iliad 6, Glaukos confidently recites his own immediate {23|24} pedigree (contrast this with Telemachos’ uncertainty at Odyssey 1.215ff. and especially 220) and then recalls the standard and, from a sociological point of view, plausible paternal injunction (compare ἐπέτελλεν ‘he instructed’, verse 207 below): [92]
‘Ἱππόλοχος μ’ δέ ἔτικτε, καὶ ἐκ τοῦ φημι γενέσθαι·
πέμπε δέ μ’ ἐς Τροίην, καί μοι μάλα πολλ’ ἐπέτελλεν,
αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν καὶ ὑπείροχον ἔμμεναι ἄλλων,
μηδὲ γένος πατέρων αἰσχυνέμεν, οἳ μέγ’ ἄριστοι
ἔν τ’ Ἐφύρῃ ἐγένοντο καὶ ἐν Λυκίῃ εὐρείῃ.
ταύτης τοι γενεῆς τε καὶ αἵματος εὔχομαι εἶναι.’
πέμπε δέ μ’ ἐς Τροίην, καί μοι μάλα πολλ’ ἐπέτελλεν,
αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν καὶ ὑπείροχον ἔμμεναι ἄλλων,
μηδὲ γένος πατέρων αἰσχυνέμεν, οἳ μέγ’ ἄριστοι
ἔν τ’ Ἐφύρῃ ἐγένοντο καὶ ἐν Λυκίῃ εὐρείῃ.
ταύτης τοι γενεῆς τε καὶ αἵματος εὔχομαι εἶναι.’
Iliad 6.206–211 [93]
“But Hippolochos begat me, and I assert that I was engendered by him.
And he sent me to Troy, and sternly instructed me
always to be best and to be superior to others,
and not to shame the family of our forefathers, who by far the best
were in Ephyre and Lykia alike.
Of this lineage and bloodline do I avow to be.”
And he sent me to Troy, and sternly instructed me
always to be best and to be superior to others,
and not to shame the family of our forefathers, who by far the best
were in Ephyre and Lykia alike.
Of this lineage and bloodline do I avow to be.”
Kirk well notes that a father’s role in passing on the dictum of αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν ‘always to be best’ is not necessarily as decisive as Homer’s heroes make it out to be. [94] Even when Hektor says that his father ‘taught’ him the code of kleos as epitomized in the notion of ἀριστεύειν ‘to be best’, he really implies that his instruction and inspiration stemmed from the wider context of growing up and participating in his particular class of elites: {24|25}
‘οὐδέ με θυμὸς ἄνωγεν, ἐπεὶ μάθον ἔμμεναι ἐσθλός
αἰεὶ καὶ πρώτοισι μετὰ Τρώεσσι μάχεσθαι,
ἀρνύμενος πατρός τε μέγα κλέος ἠδ’ ἐμὸν αὐτοῦ.’
αἰεὶ καὶ πρώτοισι μετὰ Τρώεσσι μάχεσθαι,
ἀρνύμενος πατρός τε μέγα κλέος ἠδ’ ἐμὸν αὐτοῦ.’
Iliad 6.444–446
“Nor does my heart bid me [sc. to shirk battle], because I have learnt to be brave
always and to fight alongside Trojans in the front line,
seeking to gain great glory (kleos) for my father and myself.”
always and to fight alongside Trojans in the front line,
seeking to gain great glory (kleos) for my father and myself.”
(Another excellent ‘student’ of war is the young Trojan Euphorbos. As the poet remarks parenthetically, this hero proves from his very first battle to be the best among young warriors: Iliad 16.808–811.)
Glaukos and Hektor (and, for that matter, Aineias) will automatically emulate the ethic of excellence in battle because it is required by their social status as ἄριστοι ‘best, preeminent’. [95] By achieving kleos they will confer it—by association—not only on their fathers but, more importantly, also on the dynasty to which they belong. [96] Indeed, as Glaukos attests (Iliad 6.206–211), an aristocrat’s γένος ‘family, stock’, [97] exactly like his synonymous γενεή, sets exacting precedents and standards of behavior (αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν ‘always to be best’), and any deviation from them will shame the πατέρων γένος (in effect, ‘ancestors’). Odysseus expresses this very sentiment when he forewarns his son at the end of the Odyssey:
‘μή τι καταισχύνειν πατέρων γένος, οἳ τὸ πάρος περ
ἀλκῇ τ’ ἠνορέῃ τε κεκάσμεθα πᾶσαν ἐπ’ αἶαν.’
ἀλκῇ τ’ ἠνορέῃ τε κεκάσμεθα πᾶσαν ἐπ’ αἶαν.’
Odyssey 24.508–509
“how not in any way to shame the family of our forefathers, us who since times past
have excelled in warfare and masculinity throughout the whole world.” {25|26}
have excelled in warfare and masculinity throughout the whole world.” {25|26}
By contrast, then, to Glaukos and other heroes, the Ithakan prince lacks (for the time being) the father who would be expected to give him this customary command. [98] It is Athena who in her vital paideutic role will supplement his peculiar deficit. She will do so not only by citing his celebrated γενεή ‘family, pedigree’ (Odyssey 1.222–223) but also, as has been shown, by instilling in him, through the course of Book 1, an increasingly vivid mental image of his father (see ὑπέμνησέν τε ἑ πατρός [“she called his father to his mind,” Odyssey 1.321]).
Kleos and the Shame of Not Having a Tomb
Athena’s litotes in Odyssey 1.222–223, an affirmation of the reputation of the prince’s family, is part and parcel of the Homeric ideological construct embraced by the concept of kleos. Later (see especially Odyssey 1.239–240 below) her interlocutor rebuts her enthusiastic prediction, particularly in verses 222–223: the youth’s rejection of the eventuality of κλέος ὀπίσσω ‘kleos in future’ disposes of Athena’s anticipation of the continuance ὀπίσσω ‘in future’ of his family’s ‘name’. Telemachos’ speech, which is bitter throughout but soars intermittently to rhetorical heights, now dwells on the tragic shame of the ‘anonymity’ [99] inevitably attending a hero when he is deprived even of a σῆμα ‘burial marker’ or τύμβος ‘tomb’, the latter being among the concomitants needed for the preservation ὀπίσσω of a hero’s kleos and, secondarily, that of his family: [100]
‘ξεῖν’, ἐπεὶ ἂρ δὴ ταῦτά μ’ ἀνείρεαι ἠδὲ μεταλλᾷς,
μέλλεν μέν ποτε οἶκος ὅδ’ ἀφνειὸς καὶ ἀμύμων
ἔμμεναι, ὄφρ’ ἔτι κεῖνος ἀνὴρ ἐπιδήμιος ἦεν·
νῦν δ’ ἑτέρως ἐβόλοντο θεοὶ κακὰ μητιόωντες,
οἳ κεῖνον μὲν ἄϊστον ἐποίησαν περὶ πάντων
ἀνθρώπων, ἐπεὶ οὔ κε θανόντι περ ὧδ’ ἀκαχοίμην, {26|27}
εἰ μετὰ οἷς ἑτάροισι δάμη Τρώων ἐνί δήμῳ,
ἠὲ φίλων ἐν χερσίν, ἐπεὶ πόλεμον τολύπευσε.
τῷ κέν οἱ τύμβον μὲν ἐποίησαν Παναχαιοί,
ἠδέ κε καὶ ᾧ παιδὶ μέγα κλέος ἤρατ’ ὀπίσσω.
νῦν δέ μιν ἀκλειῶς ἅρπυιαι ἀνηρείψαντο·
οἴχετ’ ἄϊστος ἄπυστος, ἐμοὶ δ’ ὀδύνας τε γόους τε
κάλλιπεν· οὐδ’ ἔτι κεῖνον ὀδυρόμενος στεναχίζω
οἶον, ἐπεί νύ μοι ἄλλα θεοὶ κακὰ κήδε’ ἔτευξαν.’
μέλλεν μέν ποτε οἶκος ὅδ’ ἀφνειὸς καὶ ἀμύμων
ἔμμεναι, ὄφρ’ ἔτι κεῖνος ἀνὴρ ἐπιδήμιος ἦεν·
νῦν δ’ ἑτέρως ἐβόλοντο θεοὶ κακὰ μητιόωντες,
οἳ κεῖνον μὲν ἄϊστον ἐποίησαν περὶ πάντων
ἀνθρώπων, ἐπεὶ οὔ κε θανόντι περ ὧδ’ ἀκαχοίμην, {26|27}
εἰ μετὰ οἷς ἑτάροισι δάμη Τρώων ἐνί δήμῳ,
ἠὲ φίλων ἐν χερσίν, ἐπεὶ πόλεμον τολύπευσε.
τῷ κέν οἱ τύμβον μὲν ἐποίησαν Παναχαιοί,
ἠδέ κε καὶ ᾧ παιδὶ μέγα κλέος ἤρατ’ ὀπίσσω.
νῦν δέ μιν ἀκλειῶς ἅρπυιαι ἀνηρείψαντο·
οἴχετ’ ἄϊστος ἄπυστος, ἐμοὶ δ’ ὀδύνας τε γόους τε
κάλλιπεν· οὐδ’ ἔτι κεῖνον ὀδυρόμενος στεναχίζω
οἶον, ἐπεί νύ μοι ἄλλα θεοὶ κακὰ κήδε’ ἔτευξαν.’
Odyssey 1.231–244
“Stranger, since you’re asking me about these things and inquiring,
this household here probably was once bountiful and beautiful
as long as that man was still among his folk.
But as it is, gods plotting evil willed things otherwise—
they made him vanish unseen, him above all other
human beings. For I would not grieve like this if he had simply died,
if he had been slain in the country of Troy in the company of his comrades-in-arms
or in the hands of intimates, after he had finished winding the thread of war.
In that case Achaians from everywhere would have erected a tomb for him,
and he would have won great glory (kleos) for his son too for the future.
But as it is, Harpy-storm-winds snatched him away so that there is no news of him (literally without kleos).
He’s gone unseen, unreported, while to me pain and lamentation
he has left as a legacy; nor, what is more, do I moan and mourn over
only that man, because now gods have created other worries for me.”
this household here probably was once bountiful and beautiful
as long as that man was still among his folk.
But as it is, gods plotting evil willed things otherwise—
they made him vanish unseen, him above all other
human beings. For I would not grieve like this if he had simply died,
if he had been slain in the country of Troy in the company of his comrades-in-arms
or in the hands of intimates, after he had finished winding the thread of war.
In that case Achaians from everywhere would have erected a tomb for him,
and he would have won great glory (kleos) for his son too for the future.
But as it is, Harpy-storm-winds snatched him away so that there is no news of him (literally without kleos).
He’s gone unseen, unreported, while to me pain and lamentation
he has left as a legacy; nor, what is more, do I moan and mourn over
only that man, because now gods have created other worries for me.”
Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth (1988:104) and R. Dawe (1993:63) unnecessarily suggest that Odyssey 1.238 be obelized; the formers’ view, in particular, that φίλων ‘of friends, intimates’ must refer to Odysseus’ family is debatable. [101] In a foreign and, moreover, hostile land such as Troy, all Greeks would have been φίλοι ‘friends, intimates’. I suggest keeping verse 238 but reading ἠδὲ ‘and’ instead of the disjunctive conjunction ἠὲ ‘or’. (If emended in this way the verse suits even better the context of Odyssey 4.490, where it is repeated.) Telemachos, in effect, wishes that his father had been killed in action at the conclusion of the {27|28} war (‘ἐπεὶ πόλεμον τολύπευσε᾽; compare Odyssey 5.308–512) at Troy, where Achaians of widely diverse origins would have buried him: [102]
ἠὲ φίλων ἐν χερσίν, ἐπεὶ πόλεμον τολύπευσε.
“and in the hands of intimates, after he had finished winding the thread of war.”
“and in the hands of intimates, after he had finished winding the thread of war.”
In Archaic society a hero’s post-mortem kleos vitally depended on, above all else, the existence of an oral tradition concerning him; proper burial rites and the physical evidence of a tomb were not enough. [103] A mute tomb on its own, as Telemachos assumes—robbed of a narrative about, say, Odysseus’ death in battle—could scarcely sustain the hero’s particular kleos. [104] A memorializing oral tradition arising out of ritual lamentation at the funeral would, of course, have been a significant step towards preserving this kleos ὀπίσσω ‘for posterity’ (that is, in a systemic sense; see below). Yet no funeral took place and no one—neither Nestor nor Menelaos nor a fortiori Telemachos—knows “the end to Odysseus’ story” as S. Murnaghan has remarked (1989). Given this incomplete record, the integrity of Odysseus’ kleos, which definitionally has a commemorative aspect, is at risk. His presumably posthumous kleos indeed exists but only as an unfinished story. It is its incompleteness that Telemachos-with some exaggeration—believes will thwart the transferral of his father’s kleos to himself.
The youth is enervated, then, not only by the disastrous predicament of having no father (Odyssey 1.244–251) but also by the consideration that his father has an open-ended life story and no grave—not even (he must imply) a cenotaph. [105] These particular shortfalls create a major stigma for Odysseus himself; additionally, they have dire ‘metaphysical’ repercussions for his family. As early as Odyssey 1.161–162 Telemachos cites the absence of a grave when he melodramatically speculates that his father’s bones ‘πύθεται ὄμβρῳ / κείμεν’ ἐπ’ ἠπείρου, ἢ εἰν ἁλὶ κῦμα κυλίνδει’ (“rot in the rain / as they lie on land or the surge of the sea turns them over and over”). To be sure, the {28|29} cruelest fate conceivable in antiquity for a hero at death was to be carrion for birds of prey (on land) or fish (at sea) and to be denied the customary ritual lament and burial. [106] Such a death was regarded as superlatively desolate and, socially speaking, most humiliating; for the unmourned hero—lost at sea, for instance—was unlikely to be joined with his family in Hades (whence the preventive customary practice, which reached back to the Mycenaean period, of placing a stone or cenotaph to stand synecdochically for the deceased). [107] The tomb Telemachos desiderates would thus also have guaranteed the integrity of his family. [108] Under the circumstances, this integrity has been jeopardized not only in the afterlife through the lack of a tomb, but also in the present, on account of Odysseus’ disappearance. This deeply tragic sense of double loss underlies his words at Odyssey 1.234ff., where, as noted, he effectively wishes at least that his father had been buried at Troy. [109]
This speech, we remarked earlier, has a studiedly rhetorical texture. Compare especially: a) the ambiguity of the adverb ἀκλειῶς ‘without report’ at Odyssey 1.241, [110] which following on the noun κλέος ‘fame, glory’ at 1.240 is an example of paronomasia; [111] and b) the asyndeton at Odyssey 1.242, which juxtaposes two privative (and in fact, rhyming) adjectives counterpointed by the remainder of the run-on verse. [112] Cumulatively the phraseology in verses 240–244, the punning assonance and especially the unconnected, emotive adjectives in verse 242, recall the style of an actual lament. [113] Odysseus (whom the prince does not mention by name) has vanished without a trace, depriving his family and society at large of reports (κλέος). Synchronically, these oral accounts would feed into the sum total of the narratives about him; diachronically, they would make up his κλέος, rendering it much more intricate than mere ‘news’ or ‘gossip’. [114] {29|30}
Homeric Man as a Version of Narrative
Kleos can be predicated also of objects and songs, places and events (e.g. war, a military mission). [115] Thus an object (e.g. Nestor’s shield) [116] but especially a deity (e.g. Poseidon at Iliad 7.458), a hero, or a heroine (e.g. Penelope; compare κλέα γυναικῶν) [117] possesses his or her own ‘objective history’ (in the sense of E. Benveniste’s histoire), [118] to the extent that certain accomplishments or qualities credited to him or her are relayed widely in society as ‘things heard’ or hearsay. [119] These énoncés are preserved, in theory forever, through various {30|31} media, but principally through epic poetry and hero cult. [120] Diachronic, that is, systemic, kleos, because it has become detached from (subjective) discours, presupposes as a rule a more objective communication process, and it is diffused by third parties in the form of a narrative. Hence in the Iliad a hero rarely says ἐμὸν κλέος ‘my kleos’ (and he never refers to it as already accomplished), while in the Odyssey only Odysseus speaks of his own kleos, when he represents it as a fait accompli moments before launching on the subjective speech (or discours) of the Ich-Erzählung of Books 9–12. But in the court of Alkinoos he occupies the unique, paradoxical position of a supposedly objective aoidos. [121]
A worthy hero enjoys certain exceptional qualities or special qualifications (e.g. excellence in fighting or in giving counsel, or both) or moral virtues. More concretely, he may be associated with specific achievements (e.g. the taking of a city, an athletic victory, or, in the case of a married couple, ὁμοφροσύνη ‘harmony of mind’). Either way, the hero will attract to himself successive layers of reports or more extensive oral narratives bound up indissolubly with his name. [122] These ‘stories’ become crystallized over time into virtual objects—permanent organic ingredients, as it were, of the social universe encompassing both the subject of kleos and its recipients or audience. [123] From a sociological point of view, as R. Redfield has noted, a hero’s identity or role in epic society is defined by the narratives concerning him. [124] Ultimately kleos is commensurate with the hero’s iden- {31|32} tity in relation not merely to others but also to himself. Hence kleos is not, stricto sensu, ‘glory or fame’, as indeed G. Nagy has shown: the latter meaning is only the consequence of kleos, which by extension may on occasion be rendered even as ‘songs that praise gods and men on account of their deeds’. [125]
As a concept kleos lends itself to other distinctions than the linguistically inspired juxtaposition of ‘objective’ histoire and ‘subjective’ discours, with the corollary differentiation of énoncé from é nonciation. Thus, according to the degrees in which Homer’s characters perceive ‘pastness’ in relation to particular instances of kleos, we may distinguish two broad types, roughly comparable with oral history and oral tradition, respectively. As Jan Vansina, the historian of Africa has proposed, ‘oral history’—which in essence is ‘oral testimony’—comprises personal reminiscences, eyewitness accounts, rumors, commentary, and other ‘things heard’ (compare again kleos in its radical denotation) regarding events that took place during the lifetime of an informant (who may have also been an eyewitness of these events). On the other hand, ‘oral tradition’, in Vansina’s formulation, is based on oral narratives and information reaching back to several generations prior to the informant’s lifetime. [126] W. Kullmann is right to note that the Homeric epics are not the end-products of (naive) ‘oral history’ and ‘oral tradition’ in the ethnographic sense of these terms. [127] As Kullmann argues, Homeric characters demonstrate a much more sophisticated awareness of history and a richer thought world than their counterparts in the African epics, which purport to record events but do so rather ingenuously and within a shallow time frame. The findings of historians and ethnographers such as Vansina and Jack Goody therefore have no heuristic value with regard to Homeric poems. We cannot, Kullmann stresses, extract historical events from the Greek epics inasmuch as they are {32|33} not the result of genuine ‘oral history’. Yet, I would like to suggest, because of this very sophistication, a poet living as he did during the transition from orality to literacy, as Kullmann emphasizes, designedly represented societies that in earlier stages interpreted history, both collective and individual, on the basis of purely oral testimony and traditions. Thus the epics may show how, in synchronic terms, people perceived ‘history’. It is impressive at least that a) epic poets as a rule limit themselves to a maximum of three generations, the upper limit recognized by social historians such as Keith Thomas, [128] and b) the Odyssey gives special prominence to the fundamental importance of oral testimony and narrative, as will be shown in the next chapter.
The Personal Narrative
“Reminiscences are perhaps the most typical product of human memory … Reminiscences are bits of life history … Reminiscences are part of an organized whole of memories that tend to project a consistent image of the narrator and, in many instances, a justification of his or her life.” [129]
The kleos that Odysseus solipsistically announces in the same breath as his name in Book 9 alludes retrospectively to experiences from his life. That is, it emerges from his ‘personal story’, in which he has proved harmful to the collectivity of his ἑταῖροι ‘comrades’:
‘εἴμ’ Οδυσεὺς Λαερτιάδης, ὃς πᾶσι δόλοισιν
ἀνθρώποισι μέλω, καί μευ κλέος οὐρανὸν ἵκει.’
“I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, who am on the minds of all men for my tricks; my reputation reaches to the sky.” [130]
ἀνθρώποισι μέλω, καί μευ κλέος οὐρανὸν ἵκει.’
“I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, who am on the minds of all men for my tricks; my reputation reaches to the sky.” [130]
In epos, incidentally, ‘history’ per se may be conceived as little more than a series of separate ‘personal narratives’, the equivalent of oral ‘life stories’ or ‘autobiographies’ delivered by heroes in the course of the action. Sometimes heroes will resort to reminiscences derived from ‘family traditions’ or straightforwardly cumulative accounts such as genealogies—both being classes of interpretative testimony with African analogues (see Vansina 1985:17–24.) In the instance of a {33|34} genealogical reminiscence that traces back spectacularly to a god, as Aineias’ at Iliad 20, the hero may be rehearsing a chapter in ‘cosmic history’, which, as B. Graziosi and J. Haubold argue (2005), is the general subject of the Homeric and Hesiodic epics. In the Odyssey, where the actions of gods and mortals are emphatically, indeed programmatically, separated (see Graziosi and Haubold 2005, especially 76–77, 80–81, 143, 146), ‘history’ is by and large based on stories in which gods only rarely play a visible role. This more ‘secular’ focus, for all the primitive, strange supernatural or semi-mortal beings (e.g. the goddess Kalypso, Poseidon, half-divine Kyklops), is, in my view, an advance on cosmic history. Returning to the ‘personal (experience) story’, modern folklorists and ethnographers recognize the genre, [131] and it is with the help of such evidence, much of it drawn from fieldwork in the United States, that we might approach the Apologoi and the Telemacheia. As defined by S. Stahl, the ‘personal story’ is “a prose narrative relating a personal experience; it is usually told in the first person” and its content is “seemingly idiosyncratic” (hence ‘nontraditional’) while at the same time expressing “folklore attitudes, values, prejudices, and tastes” (Stahl 1989:12–13, 19). In the setting of an interview or discussion, the teller relates his or her ‘actual’ experiences, much as Odysseus publicly records his adventures, albeit in verse, in the Apologoi. The three cardinal features of this ‘literary folk genre’ may recall the Apologoi still further. These are, in Stahl’s words (1989:15): “(1) dramatic narrative structure, (2) a consistently implied assertion that the narrative is true, and (3) the selfsame identity of the teller and the story’s main character (the Ich-Bericht form).” But Odysseus’ proud promulgation of his kleos in Book 9 clearly touches something more than anecdotal, multi-episode ‘personal narration’. It adumbrates also the domain of impersonal ‘history’ he has just entered. The conflation of a ‘personal experience story’ with collective ‘history’ in Homer, particularly in the Apologoi and the Telemachy, makes sense sociologically: for the narration of personal experiences (by which, as will be noted shortly, the reminiscing narrator aims to convey and to fix his well-defined identity) is shaped in a social environment which subsumes and at the same time transcends exponentially the aggregate of individual memories. As the sociologist M. Halbwachs argues, autobiographical memory—the stuff of a ‘personal story’—intersects collective memory and is decisively influenced by it. [132] {34|35}
Compared to the characters of the Old and New Testaments, Homer’s heroes have their eyes trained narcissistically on the hic et nunc of their society and ultimately—at least in theory—on the indefinite future, again in society, after their death. [133] The sole meaning and aim of ‘history’ lie in the acquisition of kleos in life, its transferral at death to one’s epigoni, and its preservation thereafter, mainly through song. Consider Iliad 6.146–149, the renowned comparison of the generation of mortals with ephemeral, falling leaves: sub specie aeternitatis one generation succeeds another, only to hand on to the next the account about its descent, and so forth. (Compare in this connection Glaukos’ historiola about his ancestors, Iliad 6.150–206, already noted, which features the feats of his grandfather Bellerophon.) The layers upon layers of generations following one another—gathering like an ever mounting heap of mulching leaves—all contribute to these cumulative accounts, which perpetuate the kleos of ancestors and in turn corroborate the kleos of their proud descendants. Iliad 20.203–204 (“For we know each other’s ancestry, and we know [each other’s] parents, / hearing as we do the accounts heard of old of mortal men”), from Aineias’ historiola in support of his pedigree, shows with particular lucidity that the kleos affiliated with genealogy may be transmitted in the long term by means of non-poetic narrative (see φασὶ ‘they say’, Iliad 20.206). As Glaukos does earlier, Aineias recounts in extenso, indeed performs, the tale of his famous forebears. It is legitimate to ask whether his tale necessarily emerges from song (see e.g. Helen’s words to Hector, Iliad 6.357–358: “so that even in the future / we might be subjects of song for future human beings.”) [134] or from ‘prose accounts’, including hearsay and generally oral media other than song. It seems in any event certain that Aineias’ narrative is based on ‘πρόκλυτ’ … ἔπεα θνῆτων ἀνθρώπων’ (“the proklut(a) accounts of mortal men,” Iliad 20.204), where the adjective proklut(a) means ‘that have been heard from the distant past’, and therefore alludes to an ‘oral tradition’ in Vansina’s sense.
At the same time, Odysseus’ first-person ‘life story’ (see Odyssey 9.19–20 above)—or ‘personal story’—forms a part of broader ‘oral history’ and is recorded synchronically in the epic poem itself, as will be seen, in sung and ‘prose’ narratives. Using the selfsame formulation, the poet described earlier (Odyssey 8.73ff.) the kleos attaching to Demodokos’ song about the colossal neikos between Odysseus and Achilles, a confrontation that may well have juxtaposed the former’s characteristic dolos ‘trickery’ to the latter’s biê ‘physical force’. [135] {35|36} The kleos of the song—or more precisely, of the cycle of songs (see οἴμης, Odyssey 8.74) from which this particular song originates [136] —radiates, metaphorically, outward to the broad sky: οἴμης τῆς τότ’ ἄρα κλέος οὐρανὸν εὐρὴν ἵκανε (‘from the point in the tale [or cycle of tales] of which the fame/kleos at that time [already] reached the broad sky’). But in what sense can a song about an event in a hero’s career (actually two heroes’ careers) have kleos that rises to the sky? Dawe suspects that Homer has conflated almost out of oversight the song (the medium) with the event (message): the exceptional nature of the neikos has ‘rubbed off’ on the song commemorating it. [137] This catechresis is, I think, revealing. If we accept Redfield’s view (see above, especially n124) that a multi-episode narrative about a hero (living or dead) contributes to, in effect defines, his kleos, [138] then the two instances of sky-high kleos just cited are homologous. First, the event will possess kleos by dint of synecdoche; a hero’s overall life story, of which the event is a chapter, is conceptualized as kleos. Second, because the song about the conflict is in itself an oral narrative, the poet can readily associate it with kleos, ultimately an oral phenomenon. Together, the particular medium (song) and message (the event) have a relatively fixed and quasi-objective character. In the poem’s social universe both have the status of (immaterial) cultural goods, as noted, [139] entitling Odysseus to represent his kleos as something already ‘there’ and complete. True enough, at least two ἔργα ‘deeds’ performed by the hero, [140] namely, the great neikos ‘quarrel’ (some twenty years earlier) and the episode of the Wooden Horse (ten years ago; see Odyssey 8.499–520), are—in synchronic terms—well-known themes in Demodokos’ fixed repertory. And Helen previously recounts (Odyssey 4.240–260) a selected episode, the sack of Troy; she pre-announces {36|37} it, significantly, as one of the innumerable ἄεθλοι ‘feats’ (Odyssey 4.241) that in the aggregate would have constituted the ‘personal tradition’ about Odysseus. [141]
According to Vansina (1985:18–19), a ‘personal tradition’ will often revolve around the adventures of a leader or someone otherwise prominent in his community. If sufficiently memorable, such a tradition ordinarily will survive only one or two generations after his death. So far, Odysseus’ story conforms to this scheme. Transmitted in song and ‘prose’ alike, his ‘personal tradition’ already belongs, synchronically, to collective ‘oral history’. [142] Odysseus is thereby bound to society in much the same manner as an extraordinary material object such as Nestor’s shield (noted earlier):
‘ἀσπίδα Νεστορέην, τῆς νῦν κλέος οὐρανὸν ἵκει
πᾶσαν χρυσείην ἔμεναι … ‘
πᾶσαν χρυσείην ἔμεναι … ‘
Iliad 8.192–193
“Nestor’s shield, the reputation (kleos) of which now reaches the sky
that it is all of gold … “
that it is all of gold … “
The kleos of this material object is widespread not only on account of its uncommon qualities (which are analogous to Odysseus’ δόλοι ‘tricks’) but also because of the ‘oral history’ regarding its use by Nestor in battle: [143] in like fashion the ‘personal tradition’ about Odysseus, having found its way into collective {37|38} memory, is broadcast to every corner of Hellas and the whole world. [144] Indeed, the two passages just examined, Odyssey 9.19–20 and Iliad 8.192–193, [145] offer a homology that makes good sense according to Redfield’s and Vansina’s criteria.
As a subject of kleos, Odysseus emerges in his eponymous poem an established, almost objectified figure. In the excursive ‘personal experience story’ of his Apologoi he seeks not only to triumphantly celebrate his identity but also to delineate for his audience its stability. Stahl (1989:21), confirming Vansina (see the epitaph to this section), shows that identity is bound up with the ‘personal narrative’, the “overall function” of which is “to allow for the discovery of the teller’s identity (especially in terms of values and character traits) and to maintain the stability of that identity for both the teller and listener” [my emphasis]. Odysseus’ kleos, hence also his identity, is celebrated self-reflexively in Odyssey 9.19–20, but it is also corroborated as a self-existent, as it were, entity in Demodokos’ songs and the accounts of others. [146] By contrast, Telemachos’ kleos, needless to say, is still in a state of becoming. The young ἄναξ ‘lord’ has not yet produced a ‘personal story’ (Stahl) or ‘personal account’ (Vansina) that, duly highlighting conventional competence in ἔργα ‘deeds’ and ἔπεα ‘words’ alike, could go down in collective ‘oral history’ (see Chapter 3). {38|}
Footnotes
[ back ] 1. See Copley 1993:107 on this age. On Telemachos’ age: Odyssey 4.112, 11.67–68, 174, and esp. 447–450, etc. (For the ‘initiatory’ significance of this age cf. Jason who at 20 embarked on the Argonauts’ expedition. See Woronoff 1978:246 and Chapters 5–6 below.) The ancients apparently did not distinguish between dreams, visions, and daydreams: see also nn13–14 below. Martin 1993:239 aptly calls Telemachos “the gateway to the Odyssey.” According to this scholar Telemachos’ focalization is identical to the poet’s, just as Achilles’ focalization is coextensive with Homer’s. At Odyssey 1.94–95, incidentally, the motif of ‘the kleos of Telemachos’ is sounded for the first time (by Athena); on the narratological function of this motif, see Rengakos 2002:87–98.
[ back ] 2. Cf. Odyssey 1.1: ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε … The proem pre-announces as the poem’s subject the much-wandering man who, though not mentioned by name, is readily identified by the audience yet remains a fuzzy idea for Telemachos (see also n24). The prince will have to prove just how much of an ἀνήρ he is (see verse 1.358 and discussion below). On ἀνήρ as a strongly “gendered term,” see further Graziosi and Haubold 2003:71 ad loc. and Chapter 3 below.
[ back ] 3. For the pejorative term ὀρυμαγδός (of the incoherent, loud cacophony of cultural inferiors), see Heath 2005:64; on drunkenness, a rare phenomenon that characterizes Kyklops, Elpenor, and the Centaurs, ibid.
[ back ] 4. κτήμασιν: δώμασιν. Both lectiones are satisfactory, esp. because, as Jones 1992:86 observes, “For Telemachus, the central issues are what the house used to be like when Odysseus was at home, especially the way in which Odysseus won it for him (Telemachus has a strong sense of his responsibility for his father’s possessions) … ” On the motif of the erstwhile prosperity of Odysseus’ household, see Odyssey 1.21–218 (where κτεάτεσσιν occurs) and discussion below.
[ back ] 5. See in general van Otterlo 1944. Jones 2002:10 ad loc. (but not de Jong 2001:20–21) also notes this structure.
[ back ] 6. This, in effect, is the imago (see Odyssey 1.115: ἐνὶ φρεσίν, 1.118: τὰ φρονέων, and discussion below) of his father, which stands in counterpoint to the non-phantastical (i.e. real) appearance of the suitors and Athena. ὀσσόμενος πατέρ’ ἐσθλὸν … , εἴ … (Odyssey 1.115) = σκοπῶν or σκοπούμενος + oblique question. (According to Jones 1991:42 ad Odyssey 1.116, θείη and ἔχοι are pure optatives; see also nn13–14 below.) The oblique questions in Odyssey 1.115–117 are a rare example of silent internal monologue.
[ back ] 7. Rutherford 1992: “psychological drama of suspense and deception” (9–10, esp. 10).
[ back ] 8. Dawe 1993:54 ad Odyssey 1.114: “As Homer gives us the first picture of Telemachos, he avails himself several times of set phrases like ‘in his heart’ and ‘in his mind’ to convey to us in full the young man’s mood of introspection” (my emphasis).
[ back ] 9. Klingner 1944:26. The passages quoted in this paragraph are taken from Klingner 1944:27, 28, 30, 31; the translation of p30 is by Jones and Wright 1997:206.
[ back ] 10. See n12 and n15 below.
[ back ] 11. Odyssey 4.220–331, 290–295, and de Jong 2001:100–101, 104 ad loc.
[ back ] 12. Jones 1991:113 ad Odyssey 1.114–117: “a typically significant first sight of Telemachus, almost as depressing as our first sight of Odysseus (5.81–4, cf. 4.556). Telemachus is incapable of taking action himself: all he can do is think about the possibility of his father returning” (my emphasis). (Cf. also Martin 1993: “we cannot see Telemachus without instantly hearing of his father.” [234])
[ back ] 13. In British psychoanalytical circles the term phantasy (as opposed to ‘fantasy’) is “more akin to imagination than to whimsy”: see Rycroft 1995:55–56, s.v. ‘fantasy and phantasy’. De Jong 2001:21 ad Odyssey 1.113–118 considers this wish a prolepsis of the Odyssey’s vengeance; prolepseis are often expressed as wishes. See n14.
[ back ] 14. Cf. n1 above. In Odyssey 15.1–47, Athena counsels Telemachos in what is otherwise a typical dream scene, despite the fact that he is awake: see de Jong 2001:363–364 ad loc. (and 120–121 ad Odyssey 4.795–841). From a cultural point of view it was assumed that an actual ὄνειρος (Odyssey 19.535) or a genuine ὄναρ (19.547) was not only prophetic (a kind of prolepsis) but also sometimes a form of wish-fulfillment: at Odyssey 19.547 the eagle, the protagonist of Penelope’s dream, makes this diagnosis in the course of the dream! Telemachos’ reverie in Book 1 is comparable to his mother’s ὄναρ-ὕπαρ in Book 19.
[ back ] 15. See de Jong 2001:25 ad Odyssey 1.158–160. For the political vacuum, see Osborne 2004: “The Odyssey examines issues of political succession in an extreme situation of political vacuum and uncertainty” (212). The political uncertainty regarding the succession at Ithaka is homologous to the psychological vacuum and the deeper uncertainty caused by Odysseus’ absence.
[ back ] 16. Van Wees 1992, esp. 61ff.
[ back ] 17. See Graziosi and Haubold 2003, esp. 68, 74–75, Chapter 3 n12, and Chapter 4 n35 below: the plot and epic vocabulary itself concur in showing that self-harming, antisocial ἀγηνορίη/ἀγήνωρ θυμός are tempered in both Homeric poems by a countervailing tendency to social cooperation and solidarity between the heroes.
[ back ] 18. Cf. Taplin 1992:47–48.
[ back ] 19. Antonaccio 1993:64, to whom now add Murray 1993:323 and Hall 2007:122–123.
[ back ] 20. Olson 1995:71 also notes: “Athena now imagines the hero’s return in concrete terms which echo Telemachos’ own fantasies … ” Cf. Menelaos’ even more vivid remembrance of Odysseus in Odyssey 4.341–346 (Odysseus as a triumphant wrestler) and Jones 1992:79 ad loc.
[ back ] 21. The Freudian term for ‘internal object’; see below.
[ back ] 22. Klingner 1944:34–35.
[ back ] 23. Klingner 1944:34.
[ back ] 24. From the outset they sit ἔκτοθεν ἄλλων, in the words of the poet (Odyssey 1.132), their voices drowned out by the ὀρυμαγδός (Odyssey 1.106ff., 133). Afterwards, though, when Phemios performs and everyone grows silent (Odyssey 1.155; cf. 1.325–326), they are forced to whisper (Odyssey 1.156–157). Klingner 1944:27–28 remarks that initially the cacophony of the ἀγήνορες suitors and subsequently the aoidos’ song provide the secrecy that makes it possible for both to conjure up in their midst the spiritual presence of Odysseus. According to Klingner, this scene harks forward to the “subsequent concealment of the physically present Odysseus” (1944:27–28). I might add that whispering—in effect, a disguising of normal speech—suits the general climate of concealment and disguise evoked by ‘Mentes’.
[ back ] 25. See also Rutherford 1992:14.
[ back ] 26. See de Jong 2001:25 ad Odyssey 1.158–77. Dawe 1993:58 is both salutary and amusing: “ … unburdening oneself in this way to the total stranger Mentes is not how we expect a son of Odysseus to behave” (a gentleman, indeed a prince, should not let on about his personal worries!). But Dawe aptly notes: “Here Telemachus’ words are of a self-tormenting savagery, right for a man suffering grief and oppression” (1993:58). According to Jones 2002:12 ad Odyssey 1.160–168, the youth’s extravagant grief is a plausible way to protect himself from worse news. Telemachos’ rhetorical resort to pathos in his speech is also a desperate captatio benevolentiae, framed by his opening apology in verse 158; see also Jones 1991:116 ad Odyssey 1.159–168.
[ back ] 27. Cf. also Odyssey 1.161–162, 166–168, echoing faithfully an Iliadic goos (γόος) speech, as does Odyssey 1.241–251: on the generic goos-speech, see Τsagalis 2004. See also the (emotionally meaningful?) assonance ‘κείμεν’ … κῦμα κυλίνδει’ in Odyssey 1.162 (not noted in the commentaries ad loc.). Elsewhere, e.g. Odyssey 5.296, the selfsame assonance occurs twice.
[ back ] 28. See also de Jong 2001:18, 25 ad Odyssey 1.163. Nor does Penelope utter the name Ὀδυσσεύς, despite the fact that when she first comes on stage in the poem she recollects him with heart-rending tenderness and pride (Odyssey 1.342–344). On the other hand, as de Jong 2001:18 remarks, ‘Mentes’ repeatedly cites the absent hero ὀνομαστί (Odyssey 1.196, etc.). To be precise, Athena has already cited his name at Odyssey 1.48 in her response to Zeus: ‘ἀμφ’ Ὀδυσῆϊ δαΐφρονι δαίεται ἦτορ.’
[ back ] 29. See below.
[ back ] 30. Μέντης (as also most probably the equivalent name Μέντωρ) < men ‘to think’; its meaning must be ‘adviser, counselor’: Jones 1991:117 ad Odyssey 1.180. Frame 2009:25–28 posits the verb *μένω ‘I make eager, incite’ and hence argues that the proper names Mentes and Mentor mean ‘he who instils μένος’, ‘he who incites’, and also ‘he who reminds’. Here and elsewhere the poet brings out mental operations and attributes: e.g. Odyssey 1.3: νόον ἔγνω, the name of the Ithakan noble Νοήμων, etc.
[ back ] 31. Mentor’s sole appearance and speech in propria persona occur at Odyssey 2.224ff. ‘Mentor’/Athena appears in Odyssey 2.267ff. and accompanies Telemachos to Pylos (Odyssey 2.399–406). The only adult on the ship, the goddess is a “guide initiatique” comparable to e.g. Herakles and Orpheus on the Argonauts’ expedition: Woronoff 1978:246–247, 252–253, and Chapters 5 and 6 below. For Mentes and Mentor, see also de Jong 2001:59–60; for Peisistratos, de Jong 2001:70–71 ad Odyssey 3.34–64 and 366 ad Odyssey 3.49–55. At Odyssey 3.371–373 ‘Mentor’ leaves Pylos and is replaced by Peisistratos, the prince’s contemporary who like him is unwed; Peisistratos accompanies him to Sparta (Odyssey 4.156ff.), acts as a real ‘mentor’ at Odyssey 15.49–55, and returns to Pylos at Odyssey 15.202–216, his mission ended.
[ back ] 32. Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:54–55, 67, evidently following Allione 1963, esp.15 (Athena metamorphoses the lad instantaneously into a man by causing him to reflect on his father; this overall cognitive process is a single “atto spirituale,” sealed by the goddess’ miraculous disappearance at 319ff.). Klingner 1944:34 argues along similar lines, assigning the transformation more specifically to the duration of Athena’s long pep talk in verses 253–305, as will be noted. For the degrees of Telemachos’ psychological change (Entwicklungsgang) in Book 1 and beyond, see further Clarke 1963:140–141n16 (bibliography), Wöhrle 1999:129–131 (on Mannwerdung), chapter 4 of Olson 1995, and Heath 2005:92n34. Fundamental to my approach throughout this study, and particularly in Chapter 5 below is Jaeger 1939:27–34: The ‘antitype’ of the recalcitrant former pupil Achilles of Iliad 9, Telemachos gradually develops (albeit not in a modern sense) in the course of the Odyssey, which has a “deliberately educational outlook as a whole” (29; my emphasis). I follow Jaeger in being a gradualist while admitting that Athena’s exhortations in Odyssey 1 work pretty much as typical inspiration in the form of a divine command (which Jaeger 1939:31 expressly rules out in this book). In my view, Athena gives Telemachos a supernatural fillip—or kick—in the middle of Book 1, and from then until the end of the poem he evolves according to a distinct cultural logic, which I hope to explore.
[ back ] 33. See esp. Jones 1988:496–506 and discussion below.
[ back ] 34. Scholia ad Odyssey 1.284, noted by Clarke 1963:140n16 and others. For Athena’s intervention as instruction, cf. Odyssey 1.384 (‘θεοὶ διδάσκουσι’), etc.
[ back ] 35. Clarke 1963, esp. 140–143; Jones 2002:7–8, stressing Telemachos’ need for approval by others of his mode of self-presentation, on which also see below. Cf. also Olson 1995, esp. 89: “Telemachus can accordingly expect to be described to anyone who visits Pylos … in an awed and respectful manner … So too in Sparta … By the time Telemachus is ready to leave Sparta in Book XV … , he has got himself a good reputation among men … “
[ back ] 36. Clarke 1963: “The burden of the next few books is to harmonize Telemachus’ inner and outer selves” (131n6, a superb précis of the Telemachy). Wöhrle 1999:118, too, underscores the discrepancy between Telemachos’ outer and inner maturity. Martin 1993:232–233 well remarks, along with others, that the entire poem revolves generally around the gap between, on the one hand, Schein ‘seeming’—hence the importance attached to disguise—and, on the other, Sein ‘being’ or ‘reality’ and real competence.
[ back ] 37. See de Jong 2001:27–28 ad Odyssey 1.206–212 and below.
[ back ] 38. Klingner 1944:35 (this terminology is especially fitting for Book 1). I have replaced Klingner’s “return” with nostos.
[ back ] 39. See de Jong 2001:27–28 and Jones 2002:7–8: Iliad 4.370–400 (Diomedes is the worthy son of Tydeus), 6.476–481 (Astyanax will hopefully surpass Hektor in bravery), 8.281–285 (Teukros is the worthy son of Telamon). A patronymic used in addressing a hero is honorific particularly because it evokes his ethos: van Wees 1992:69; in general, a patronymic suggests the social status or the achievements of a hero’s ancestors: Wöhrle 1999, esp. 18–22, 19 (with n31), and 49.
[ back ] 40. See Martin 1993:234–235 and n36 above. (According to this scholar, the fact that Telemachos lags behind his father particularly in respect of μῆτις suggests that Homer acknowledges that a living epic tradition has come to an end: see Chapter 6 on the end of the Odyssey.)
[ back ] 41. Pace Graziosi and Haubold 2003:68–69: see Chapters 4 and 6 below. For a bibliography of the ethnography of masculinity, see Graziosi and Haubold 2003:75–76.
[ back ] 42. See de Jong 2001:18 ad Odyssey 1.96–324 and further below.
[ back ] 43. I rely here on chapter 4 of Copley 1993, a psychoanalytical discussion.
[ back ] 44. Cf. the mutual mirroring of Achilles and Priam in Iliad 24.486–492, 540–542.
[ back ] 45. Cf. Wöhrle 1999:36–37.
[ back ] 46. Klein 1932 and 1948.
[ back ] 47. Copley 1993:109.
[ back ] 48. Copley 1993:109–111.
[ back ] 49. Klingner 1944:34.
[ back ] 50. See also Clarke 1963: “Athena, herself half native and half intruder, also childless and kinless … “ (142). For Athena as a teacher of εὐβουλία, see Chapter 3 below.
[ back ] 51. ‘Mentes’ is by definition a pirate: Odyssey 15.427, 16.426. He belongs to the category of Hartog’s hommes frontières: Hartog 1996:12–14 (who does not cite Mentes, however). Perhaps this character foreshadows the liminal traveler Odysseus himself. (Klingner 1944:27n8 regards specifically the scene with Mentes as a “shadow of the scene with Eumaios” [see Odyssey 14.122–172].)
[ back ] 52. De Jong 2001:32 ad Odyssey 1.255–264 notes that this is the first anecdote about the young Odysseus. Cf. Jones 1991: the narrative is a fictitious prolepsis of the murder of the suitors (123); Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:107 ad loc. remain undecided on whether the anecdote is an ad hoc invention or not.
[ back ] 53. So also Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:102 ad Odyssey 1.196.
[ back ] 54. See also Klingner 1944:31.
[ back ] 55. On hearing the mention of his father’s name in Odyssey 4.113–116 Telemachos cries, which indicates the emotional charge of this name.
[ back ] 56. See de Jong 2001:18 ad Odyssey 1.96–324. In the verses above, Telemachos in fact believes the opposite, i.e. that Odysseus is alive: de Jong 2001:37, 38, 41 ad Odyssey 1.345–359, 353–355, 396, and 413–421, respectively; see also n57 immediately below.
[ back ] 57. These passages occur in Telemachos’ first public address before the Ithakans, in which, aiming as he does to arouse pity for himself, among other emotions, he feigns that he believes his father to be dead: see Odyssey 2.131, 218ff., and de Jong 2001, esp. 49 ad Odyssey 1.39–81. For other similar passages in Book 2: see Odyssey 2.131, 215, 218, 264, 352, and 360.
[ back ] 58. See n28 above.
[ back ] 59. See Jones 2002:29 ad Odyssey 3.98–101 and discussion on kleos below. Cf. Odyssey 2.70–74 (Telemachos’ ironical reference to Odysseus’ kleos).
[ back ] 60. Cf. Odyssey 1.263–266, where Odysseus appropriates (cf. Segal 1994:96) the kleos of Marshal Agamemnon. See also n62 below.
[ back ] 61. See Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:165 ad Odyssey 3.83 (κλέος εὐρὺ) and Segal 1994:96 (with n27) noting that in Indoeuropean poetry and the Odyssey alike the adjective εὐρύ may typify κλέος. See also n119 below.
[ back ] 62. Cf. again Οdyssey 9.263–266 and Clarke 2004:77 ad Iliad 12.315–328 (Sarpedon’s and Glaukos’ kleos devolves upon the Lykians). For the transferral of kleos in general: LfgrE i.1330, 1α abb, s.v. ἄρνυμαι c. dat. pers. For shame culture, see e.g. Petropoulos 2003:161n323.
[ back ] 63. Jones 1988:501n10. See n60 above.
[ back ] 64. For the exemplum in prayers, supplications, and magic spells, see e.g. Petropoulos 2008:44–45.
[ back ] 65. Bynum 1968:1296–1303 (also cited by Jones 1988:498n5).
[ back ] 66. Apthorp 1980:1–22. See also Chapter 5 below.
[ back ] 67. See also Chapter 6 for the hypallage in the simile in Odyssey 16.17–21.
[ back ] 68. EM ad Odyssey 1.93 (Dindorf); see Jones 1988:498n5. For πολυμήχανος Telemachos, see Jones 1988, esp. 505–506, (who relies on Austin 1969:45–63). See Martin 1993:239–240 for a metapoetic exegesis of the fact that at a formal level Telemachos is described as πεπνυμένος though never πολύμητις; see Chapter 3 (on Telemachos πεπνυμένος) and Chapter 6 (further on Martin’s exegesis).
[ back ] 69. Cf. also Iliad 4.354 and Rutherford 1992:18–19 ad loc.
[ back ] 70. For this topos, see below, esp. Chapter 6. Wöhrle 1999:133–135, notes that the command serves as a kind of “testing” of Telemachos after father and son have recognized one another.
[ back ] 71. On bragging about one’s kleos, see Martin 1989:94 with n15 (cross-cultural and Homeric evidence). See e.g. Diomedes’ remarks to Glaukos, Iliad 6, esp. 150–151, 206–211, Segal 1994:93 ad loc. and discussion of kleos below. De Jong 2001:72 (contra Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:165 ad Odyssey 3.83) rightly points out that Telemachos keeps mum about his own name because of shyness or uncertainty about himself (I prefer the latter).
[ back ] 72. Cf. Cypria fr. 1.1 Davies: ἦν ὅτε μυρία φῦλα κατὰ χθόνα, recalling the incipit of a fairy tale; also Plato Protagoras 320c: Ἦν γάρ ποτε χρόνος. See de Jong 2001:73 ad loc.: κείνου (88), φασι, and the indefinite article ποτέ (84) evoke either genuinely or affectedly (and with rhetorical effect) the pessimistic conviction that the youth is separated from his father by space as well as time. (In Odyssey 1.189, 220 Telemachos also employs the verb φασὶ/φασι.) See below on rumors.
[ back ] 73. See nn71–72 above.
[ back ] 74. For Telemachos as an “ordinary youth,” see Clarke 2004:86.
[ back ] 75. See also de Jong 2001:27–28 ad Odyssey 1.206–212 (“suggestive questions”).
[ back ] 76. Cf. τοσοῦτον, Iliad 9.485 in the sense of ‘adult’. For Telemachos’ height and handsomeness, see Odyssey 14.174–177, 18.215–220, 175–176 (his beard). See van Wees 1992: heroes are invariably and by definition impressive in appearance and strength, e.g. Odyssey 20.194: ἔοικε δέμας βασιλῆϊ ἄνακτι (78ff.). See also Chapter 3. Epic descriptions however of a hero or an important woman (such as Helen) are as a rule schematic and indirect, evoking only the impression made on a third party: Edwards 2001:52–53, 111; Petropoulos 2003:24.
[ back ] 77. Contra Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:102, as Stanford 1958:225 ad loc. (“τοῖον emphasises θαμά”). Compare Odyssey 3.496: τοῖον γὰρ ὑπέκφερον ὠκέες ἵπποι.
[ back ] 78. See nn36–37 above.
[ back ] 79. De Jong 2001:28 ad Odyssey 1.214–220. Cf. n72 and n81.
[ back ] 80. This appears to have escaped the notice of scholars. See also n5 on this structure.
[ back ] 81. See esp. Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:102 ad Odyssey 1.215–216 (Telemachos’ ironical disposition and modesty); pace Rutherford 1992:28 (the youth, suspecting his mother’s infidelity, doubts that he is the son of Odysseus); de Jong 2001:28 ad loc. (Telemachos, for all these uncertainties, does not doubt Odysseus’ paternity).
[ back ] 82. See Reinhardt 1960: the Odyssey stresses the contrast and the differences between the older and the younger generation (41). See also Chapter 6.
[ back ] 83. See Odyssey 1.117 and n4 above.
[ back ] 84. For nostalgic wishes in the pure optative, see de Jong 2001:32 ad Odyssey 1.253–269.
[ back ] 85. In verse 214 he responds to Mentes’ command ‘εἰπὲ καὶ ἀτρεκέως κατάλεξον.’
[ back ] 86. Jones 1991:120 ad Odyssey 1.215–220, to which the present paragraph is indebted, rightly notes that this disavowal is striking rhetorically.
[ back ] 87. For φήμη, see Bakker 2002a:139 and Chapter 2 below.
[ back ] 88. Jones 1991:120 compares Odyssey 1.215–220 to Achilles’ heroic disjunction in Iliad 9.410–416.
[ back ] 89. Olson 1995:70–71.
[ back ] 90. Olson 1995:71 (“the relevance of Odysseus’ story for his own,” “the relevance of Telemachos’ ancestry and the promise it holds out for the future”).
[ back ] 91. Among others, Jones 2002:7 employs the term ‘identity crisis’.
[ back ] 92. Like others Kirk 1993:187 ad Iliad 6.207–208 remarks that Peleus gave the same typically heroic advice verbatim to his son in Iliad 11.783ff., namely, αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν καὶ ὑπείροχον ἔμμεναι ἄλλων.’ (The phrase καὶ ὑπείροχον ἔμμεναι ἄλλων is notionally almost identical to αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν.)
[ back ] 93. The long syllable τοῦ (Iliad 6.206) lends a note of gravitas, as possibly does the spondee ταύτης in the recapitulating verse 211. Aineias sounds even more self-assuredly boastful when he advertises his divine descent at Iliad 20.200ff., esp. 208–209: ‘αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν υἱὸς μεγαλήτορος Ἀγχίσαο/εὔχομαι ἐκγεγάμεν, μήτηρ δέ μοί ἐστ’ Ἀφροδίτη,’ and 241: ‘ταύτης τοι γενεῆς τε καὶ αἵματος εὔχομαι εἶναι.’ Cf. Iliad 6.211 (= 20.241) and Odyssey 1.220.
[ back ] 94. See Kirk 1993:187, 220 ad Iliad 6.209–211 and 444–446, respectively. This scholar echoes the emphasis characteristically given by British social anthropologists to the imperatives of social class. Per contra Wöhrle 1999:32–48 stresses the primary, exclusive role of the father in transmitting the tenet ἀεὶν ἀριστεύειν; in his view the rigid patriarchal hierarchy dominant in both epics imposes the father as a behavioral model for his son. This scholar admits however that a son, once mature, enters a system of collective ‘fathers’ (Väterkollektiv) and contemporary ‘brothers’ (36–37).
[ back ] 95. See also below. In epic ideology the members of the heroic elite are brave warriors and their bravery in battle conversely justifies their elevated status (τιμή): van Wees 1992, esp. 79ff., 100; Clarke 2004:77–78.
[ back ] 96. Moreover, in support of Kirk’s comment (n94 above) we can compare πατρός τε … κλέος (Iliad 6.446) with e.g. γένος πατέρων (Iliad 6.209). In Odyssey 24.508–509 (immediately below) the father is elided with the entire γένος, which is traced to the past. See also Chapter 6 on the continuation and end of generations in the Odyssey.
[ back ] 97. On the term γένος as used in modern historiography, see chapters 1–2 of Patterson 1998. This scholar glosses γένος in Homer as ‘family, kin’ (but not ‘clan’).
[ back ] 98. According to Martin 1989:128–130, Glaukos is fighting a verbal duel (as is Diomedes earlier on in his allusively malicious speech: Iliad 6.123–143) wherein each speech is “an act of self-presentation that attempts to wrest authority.” What is pertinent is Glaukos’ youthful inexperience (if we accept Diomedes’ comments at Iliad 6.123–126). Yet the Lykian hero, Martin remarks, insinuates unmistakably that he even surpasses his grandfather Bellerophon in courage. He expressly recalls his father’s injunction (‘αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν … ,’ Iliad 6.208), while Diomedes expressly admits that he does not even remember his father Tydeus (‘Τυδέα δ’ οὐ μέμνημαι, ἐπεί μ’ ἔτι τυτθὸν ἐόντα / κάλλιφ᾽,’ Iliad 6.222–223).
[ back ] 99. See esp. Odyssey 24.93 and Hesiod Works and Days 154: those belonging to the third (Bronze) Generation are condemned to being νώνυμνοι after death.
[ back ] 100. Bakker 2002b:18 observes that in epic a dead hero’s kleos is disseminated and maintained only through song. Yet surely his tomb also contributes to a hero’s post mortem kleos: de Jong 2001:228 ad Odyssey 9.19–20; further, Nora 1989, esp. 22–24 (generally on lieux de mémoire). See also n103 below.
[ back ] 101. Contra Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:105.
[ back ] 102. The prefix παν- brings out the pluralistic variety of the individual groups of Achaians: Hall 2002:132 with n28. When the Παναχαιοί, and not simply Ἀχαιοί set up the tomb, it is understood that the participation in the burial, and hence its magnificence, are maximal.
[ back ] 103. Cairns 2001:31–32, with n103 contra Vernant. See also Sourvinou-Inwood 1995:139ff. (for the reciprocally magnifying relation between the splendor of a τύμβος/σῆμα and the diffusion of κλέος); also n100 above.
[ back ] 104. See Odyssey 1.240: ‘ᾧ παιδὶ . . . κλέος ἤρατ ὀπίσσω᾽ and LfgrE i.1329 s.v. ἄρνυμαι, 1a α: construed with the immaterial objects κῦδος, κλέος, and εὖχος, this verb refers to the ‘glory and fame’ that arise from individual martial action; also LfgrE i.1330, 1a abb. (For a different reading of Telemachos’ sentiments in this passage, see Murnaghan 1989:157, 159.)
[ back ] 105. On the “mound of earth over the grave with or without a stele,” see Sourvinou-Inwood 1995:128ff., n107 and Chapter 6 below.
[ back ] 106. See again e.g. Odyssey 5.308–312 and Vermeule 1979:12, 184–185, 187.
[ back ] 107. Vermeule 1979:12, 45, 221n4 (to her bibliography of the σῆμα and cenotaph now add Sourvinou-Inwood 1995 above). The cenotaph is mentioned at Odyssey 5.584 (see Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:228 ad loc.).
[ back ] 108. For the triumph of the cohesion of a genos, see Chapter 6.
[ back ] 109. This has not been remarked by modern-day commentators.
[ back ] 110. Cf. Odyssey 4.728: [sc. ἀνηρείψαντο Τηλέμαχον] ἀκλέα ἐκ μεγάρων, where the adjective ἀκλεής is explained by the adjoining sentence οὐδ’ ὁρμηθέντος ἄκουσα (see also Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:239 ad loc.). Cf. also the synonym ἀπευθὴς, Odyssey 3.88.
[ back ] 111. See also Jones 1991:121 ad loc. Puns are more characteristic of the Odyssey than the Iliad; In Odyssey 1.48 and 62 paronomasia foreshadows Odysseus’ playfully polytropic ethos: Silk 2004:33.
[ back ] 112. For the evolution of the asyndeton, see e.g. Σαρίσχουλη 2000:7–34. Τhe adjective ἄϊστος also occurs in Odyssey 1.235 above; see also Jones 1991:242. Instead of kleos Odysseus bequeaths grief to his son (Odyssey 1.240–243); Penelope makes the same ironical statement about herself at Odyssey 19.127–129 (see also below).
[ back ] 113. For a stylistic analysis of the generic lament, see Alexiou 2002; also n27 above.
[ back ] 114. Κλέος < *κλύω, ‘to hear’, cf. Autenrieth, Kaegi, Willi 1920 s.v.v. For the basic, synchronic meaning ‘things heard, news, rumor(s)’, cf. Iliad 2.486, Odyssey 3.83, 16.461 (‘τί δὴ κλέος ἔστ’ ἀνὰ ἄστυ;’), and Olson 1995, esp. 9–16; also Odyssey 14.179: πατρὸς ἀκουήν ‘news about his father’; but cf. Nagy 2003:45, on the limited usefulness of a strictly synchronic reading of kleos, and Chapter 2 below. The next two paragraphs have been inspired by Redfield 1994:30–33, a nuanced analysis showing the process of κλύειν and ἀκούειν to be primarily social. See also Segal 1994 and Nagy 2003:45. For a recent bibliography of kleos: Sourvinou-Inwood 1995:374 (with n28) and Currie 2005, esp. 71–88.
[ back ] 115. Redfield 1994:32, who however does not cite song per se (cf. Odyssey 8.74). De Jong 2001:228 ad Odyssey 9.19–20 observes that, while in the Iliad kleos mainly pertains to military deeds, in the Odyssey it is won in many other ways. Hence the relevant range of actions embraces not only excellence in warfare but also the following:1.) Adventuresome voyages: this category as postulated by de Jong is false because her three examples, Odyssey 1.19, 3.78, and 13.422, refer to Telemachos’ investigative mission, which, as will be seen, is comparable to reconnaissance or espionage missions in the Iliad, which also confer kleos (see Iliad 9.212). 2.) Conjugal fidelity: Odyssey 6.185 (inter-spousal solidarity), 24.196 (Penelope’s faithfulness); see Katz below. 3.) Dolos: Odyssey 9.19–20 (de Jong’s other instance, Odyssey 16.241–2, is not relevant; see no. 5 below), possibly Odyssey 4.725–726 = 815–816 (neither passage in de Jong). 4.) Combination of martial skill and intelligence: Odyssey 16.241–242. 5.) Athletic victory: Odyssey 8.147. This is the first attested instance—pace de Jong 2001:203 ad loc.—of the notion that kleos won through the quintessentially aristocratic activity of sport is absolutely legitimate: see also Murray 1993:69, 202. 6.) Song: see Odyssey 8.74, 83. 7.) Adherence to justice, piety towards the gods, and other moral virtues: Odyssey 19.108ff. (Penelope) [not in de Jong]. On Penelope’s particular kleos, see Katz 1991, a largely narratological treatment of the queen’s ambiguous, problematic, and complex kleos. (For a general bibliography of Penelope, see Heath 2005:76n110.) The classification of kleos on the basis of beauty is not entirely valid, as will be seen; contra de Jong 2001, citing 18.255. 8.) Seafaring: ‘Φαίακες … ναυσίκλυτοι’, Odyssey 16.227.
[ back ] 116. Iliad 8.192–193: ‘ἀσπίδα Νεστορέην, τῆς νῦν κλέος οὐρανὸν ἵκει/πᾶσαν χρυσείην ἔμεναι … ‘ See also Iliad 7.451 (the Achaians’ wall, built largely of bricks).
[ back ] 117. Although the term ‘the glories of women’ is unexampled, the corresponding notion is discernible: see Iliad 2.742, κλυτὸς Ἰπποδάμεια and the catalogue of heroines in Odyssey 11.234ff. The plural κλέα, as in the phrase κλέα ἀνδρῶν (Iliad 9.189), in effect means ‘epic poetry’ (Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1990:88 ad loc.) or “a given tradition of [sc. epic] composition” (Nagy 1990:202).
[ back ] 118. Benveniste 1966, esp. 238ff., 258ff.
[ back ] 119. Kleos (= ‘news’ in its primary sense) is said to be εὐρύ in relation to its starting point and the extent of its diffusion in space-time (Odyssey 3.83) and space (Odyssey 1.344 = 4.726 = 4.816; cf. 23.333). In Odyssey 19.333–334 κλέος εὐρὺ is carried by word of mouth on a universal scale ‘πάντας ἐπ’ ἀνθρώπους’ after being crystallized into laudatory fame (‘πολλοί τέ μιν ἐσθλὸν ἔειπον’, cf. the gnomic aorist, which consolidates the ἐσθλὸς quality of the laudandus). Not surprisingly, the sky into (or across) which positive kleos is transmitted is said to be εὐρύς: Odyssey 8.74ff. (of the kleos of Demodokos’ song) = 19.108ff. (of the kleos of Penelope and the generic good king); cf. Iliad 8.112 (of the kleos of Nestor’s shield), 7.451 (of the wall) and n61 above.
[ back ] 120. Ἐσαεί: epos does not talk directly about (catastrophic) time, far less about eternity; see Bakker 2002b:27–28 and Nagy 2003, esp. 41–43. Because of its inherent self-referentiality this poetic genre represents itself tendentiously as the only vehicle for the perpetuation of kleos: e.g. Iliad 6.356ff., Odyssey 8.580, 24.200ff.; cf. Segal 1994: “The ‘message’ appears … as the creation of its ‘medium’” (89), “kleos as a self-conscious creation of bardic tradition” (90), et passim; also Nagy 1990, esp. 147–148 and 2003, esp. 41–43. Yet in an oral society non-poetic legends and, particularly from the eighth century BC on, hero cults would have had at least some contributory role in the formulation and diffusion of kleos: see e.g. also Griffin 1995 and n100 and n114 above.
[ back ] 121. Segal 1994:88, citing Reinhardt 1960, notes the anomalous running together of objectivity and subjectivity. On the Apologoi, see also the fine analysis in Murnaghan 1989:170–171.
[ back ] 122. Redfield 1994:32. See also n115 above. Additionally compare e.g. the lengthy narrative, as performed by Agamemnon, of Tydeus’ ‘personal story’ (Iliad 4.372–399), which was however related to him by others (Iliad 4.374–375: ‘οὐ γὰρ ἔγωγε / ἤντησ’ οὐδὲ ἴδον· περὶ δ’ ἄλλων φασὶ γενέσθαι’). The stories circulating about actions and attributes of a hero—for instance, ‘δίου Ὀδυσσῆος ταλασίφρονος, ὅν ποτέ φασι / σὺν σοὶ μαρνάμενον Τρώων πόλιν ἐξαπαλάξαι’ (Odyssey 3.84–85)—can be condensed in a formulaic adjective such as, in the case of Odysseus, ταλασίφρων (as here) or πτολίπορθος (elsewhere). See also the discussion of Odysseus’ ‘personal story’ and kleos below and Chapter 2 on news narratives.
[ back ] 123. See further Segal 1994:87, following Nagy 1974:241ff., a comparative treatment of Homeric and Sanskrit epic poetry.
[ back ] 124. Redfield’s observation in 1994:34 is seminal and almost revolutionary: “Kleos is thus a specific type of social identity. A man has a history … His story is in a certain sense himself—or one version of himself—and, since his history can survive his personal experience and survive his enactment of a social role, his story is … the most real version of himself … in Homer a man may be conceived as narrative, may conceive himself as a narrative” (my emphases). See inter alios Jones 1988, esp. 499–500 and Wöhrle 1999:130. But cf. Olson 1995:88n54: “κλέος in the Odyssey always reflects what others think and say of one, not what one thinks of oneself.” Contra Olson, it may be urged that in a face-to-face culture such as we find in epic a) ‘what others think and say of one’ inevitably determines the hero’s self-opinion (see Odyssey 9.19–20); and b) ‘what others think and say of one’ constitutes by definition the hero’s social identity. Hence kleos is connected directly to social identity in the twin social-anthropological sense of ‘identity in relation to others and to oneself’. See Encyclopedia of Social and Cultural Anthropology, s.v. ‘identity’ (Barnard and Spencer 1996:292). For the comparative notions of the person and personhood, see Carrithers, Cohen, and Lukes 1985.
[ back ] 125. Cf. Odyssey 1.338: ἔργ’ ἀνδρῶν τε θεῶν τε, τά τε κλείουσιν ἀοιδοί, Hesiod Theogony, esp. 100–101 (discussed below), and Nagy 1974:246–250 (“κλέος was the singer ’s own word for what he sings in praise of gods and men” [250]). But see also Iliad 9.524 and discussion below.
[ back ] 126. Vansina 1985, esp. 12–13. Marwick 2001:136 prefers the term ‘oral testimony’ as opposed to ‘oral history’, which he considers an exaggeration. For the difference between oral history and oral tradition, see also Thomas 1989:10–12 (following Vansina) and now Thomas 1992:108–113 (with further bibliography of oral tradition, 108n25).
[ back ] 127. Kullmann 1992, esp. 159, 162, 168–169.
[ back ] 128. See Thomas 1983 and Chapter 6 below.
[ back ] 129. Vansina 1985:8.
[ back ] 130. Dawe’s trans. (1993:354). According to Haubold 2000:128 this hero’s fame “feeds on collective disaster,” the utter destruction he inflicts on the laos (i.e. his comrades and later the suitors). This kleos is depicted as spreading vertically (“reaches the sky”) on account of its unprecedented magnitude; the same can be said of negative kleos, e.g. of the suitors (Odyssey 15.329: ‘τῶν ὕβρις τε βίη τε σιδήρεον οὐρανὸν ἵκει’). See also n119 and n133.
[ back ] 131. Stahl 1989, esp. 12–21. Cross-cultural examples of this genre include the ‘yarns’ told by Nova Scotian fishermen (14).
[ back ] 132. See again Odyssey 9.19–20: ‘πᾶσι … / ἀνθρώποισι μέλω,’ an allusion to the collective memory of the self-memorializing πολύμητις Odysseus. For the interdependence of collective and individual memory: Halbwachs 1980, esp. 44–47, 50–51. Halbwachs’s analysis is noteworthy, particularly his insightful observation that collective memory, impersonal as it is, is the accumulation of the personal recollections of individuals yet different from particular memories. See also Chapter 2 n14.
[ back ] 133. As Penelope suggests at Odyssey 19.328–334, kleos might also be understood as recompense in the here-and-now for morally correct behavior: given that, as Penelope says, ‘ἄνθρωποι δὲ μινυνθάδιοι τελέθουσιν’ (328), this reward—essentially a collective makarismos—has an immediate and purely sociological, and not a metaphysical, character.
[ back ] 134. See also Martin 1989:16, following Nagy.
[ back ] 135. The poet paraphrases (in oratio obliqua) the content of this ἀοιδή: see de Jong 2001:195 and Nagy 2003:13–15 ad loc. This conflict a) suggests the innate instability and impermanence of power in Homeric society (see below), and b) shows the poet to be indirectly comparing the respective advantages of δόλος and βίη as means for handling crises; the poet decides in favor of δόλος: Osborne 2004:213, cf. Clarke 2004:82. Cunning is one of the main themes of the Odyssey: de Jong 2001:196 ad loc.
[ back ] 136. De Jong 2001:197 ad Odyssey 8.73–5 on ο?μη; cf. Nagy 2003:13n70 (οἴμη = ‘story-thread’).
[ back ] 137. Dawe 1993:308 ad Odyssey 8.74: “One can see a kind of blurring in the poet’s own mind between ballad and event.” Yet the confusion that Dawe condemns may have arisen from associational transference (on which see n60 above), which supports my arguments below on the ‘objectification’ of kleos.
[ back ] 138. Herewith a comparison—which, I hope, is not far-fetched—based on conventional Byzantine iconography: a thirteenth-century icon of St. George from Mt. Sinai features in the center the saint in military uniform surrounded by twenty scenes, practically vignettes, illustrating his life, e.g. the slaying of the dragon and his martyrdom. Each scene is a figurative narrative and as an aggregate these make up his ‘personal story’, or, better, they reflect his ‘oral biography’, serving thus to establish his saintliness. In similar fashion the various episodes of Odysseus’ life underpin and define his ‘notoriety’ or kleos.
[ back ] 139. See n123.
[ back ] 140. Cf. Odyssey 1.338: ‘ἔργ’ ἀνδρῶν τε θεῶν τε, τά τε κλείουσιν ἀοιδοί’ and see Chapter 3 on the conjunction of deeds and words in heroic conduct.
[ back ] 141. Helen narrates the episode involving Odysseus’ reconnaissance mission prior to the sack of Troy, an episode treated in the Little Iliad: see e.g. de Jong 2001, esp. 102–103 ad Odyssey 4.234–289, 240–243; Heubeck, West, and Hainsworth 1988:208–209 ad Odyssey 4.242ff.; and Dowden 2004:199 (on the Little Iliad). The choice of this particular scene is not, pace de Jong 2001:102–103, simply a rhetorical recusatio, but an indication that Helen is also acting consciously as an aoidos who, well aware of the immense superstructure of oral narratives—in theory, innumerable as Helen also admits—singles out a particular episode, substituting the ‘part’ for the ‘whole’ (Odyssey 4.240–242: ‘πάντα μὲν οὐκ ἂν ἐγὼ μυθήσομαι οὐδ’ ὀνομήνω, / ὅσσοι Ὀδυσσῆος ταλασίφρονός εἰσιν ἄεθλοι· / ἀλλ’ οἷον τόδ’ ἔρεξε… ‘); cf. Odyssey 1.10, 8.500. For a singer’s metonymic selections, see Fowler’s acute observations (2004): “the larger superstructure … is always immanent but almost never performed as a sequenced whole … Were we to conduct a thorough survey of the world’s epic traditions, we would find that this ‘immanent’ approach to epic performance—letting the part stand for the implied whole—is in fact a very common strategy that reflects the traditional, non-textual nature of composition and reception” (176–177).
[ back ] 142. See de Jong 2001:195–196 ad Odyssey 8.73–82: hearing the song about the νεῖκος (and also the song about the Wooden Horse), Odysseus confronts his own kleos after his seven years of total isolation on Kalypso’s isle.
[ back ] 143. In an actual (extra-poetic) society this shield might give rise to the elaboration of aetiological legends—that is, to an iconatrophy—about it. According to Vansina 1985:7–8 and esp. 10–11, iconatrophy is one of the interpretative oral genres that feed into the historical consciousness of a people: iconatrophy comprises imaginary explanations ex post facto regarding objects, monuments, landscapes, etc. that have extraordinary qualities. Cf. the aetiological ‘legend’ about Niobe (Iliad 24.599–620).
[ back ] 144. See esp. n132 above.
[ back ] 145. An ‘equivalence’ of this kind would be inconceivable in Homer as well as the logocentric Pindar and Simonides. In Homer, what in the ultimate analysis survives—indeed in perpetuity—is neither Agamemnon’s and the Achaians’ wall (Iliad 7.451ff.) nor the walls of Troy (which Poseidon and Apollo built, Iliad 7.452–3) nor the rival kleos of each of these military constructions. These material objects and their concomitant kleos are destined to be overshadowed by the kleos of Achaian heroes in their ‘incarnation’ as ἡμίθεοι, a kleos that hero cult and epic poetry will perpetuate. See Hainsworth 1993:230 ad Iliad 12.23: ἡμίθεοι and Nagy 1999:160–161. Both Pindar and Simonides scoff at the notion that a material memorial such as a statue (Pindar Nemean 1.1–5) or an inscription (Simonides fr. 581 PMG) will gain for someone eternal kleos: in their view, as Thomas 1992:114–115 notes, poetry is an eminently flexible medium that, depending on its quality, circulates more widely and potentially forever.
[ back ] 146. Demodokos and the Phaiakians already know of Odysseus’ fame (and at least certain of the concomitant narrative details), though they do not yet know that their shipwrecked guest is the hero himself. This hero’s reputation for μῆτις must be widespread throughout Phaiakia since, as Halbwachs 1980, esp. 24ff. argues, collective memory and hence ‘oral history’ presuppose belonging to a social group (while oblivion is born from the state of not belonging). Thus only the Kyklopes appear to lack collective memory: Polyphemos is therefore not moved by Odysseus’ mention of Agamemnon at Odyssey 9.263–266. See also Chapter 2 n14.