12§1. The key word for this hour is dikē, which means ‘justice’ long-term and ‘judgment’ short-term. In ancient Greek poetics, a primary metaphor for dikē is a flourishing field or garden or orchard or grove or vineyard or any other such place where vegetation is cultivated. As I will argue, the typical cult hero is an exponent of dikē. And the worshippers of the cult hero can view the presence of his or her corpse in the local earth as the cause of vegetal flourishing or thriving or blooming.

12§2. As we have seen in Hour 11§9 and §57, the corpse of the cult hero, as hidden below in the local earth, is envisioned as a talisman of fertility and prosperity for the worshippers who cultivate that earth. Now we will see that such a vision is a sign of dikē in the long-term sense of ‘justice’.

12§3. We see an example of this vision in a passage quoting the words of the disguised Odysseus, addressed to his wife Penelope:

12§4. The wording of this passage shows the only place in the Odyssey where Penelope is said to have kleos or ‘glory’ herself, but even here the glory emanates more broadly from the poetic tradition that features primarily Odysseus and only secondarily those who are close to him, especially Penelope, as we saw in Hour 9§22 and §23. Moreover, the kleos of Penelope depends on the validity of comparing it with the kleos of the unnamed king whose ‘acts of good dikē’ energize the fertility and prosperity of the land he rules. Since the words about this just king are spoken by the disguised Odysseus, it is evident that he himself will take the role of that just king when the time comes. But when exactly will that time come? Will it be after he kills the suitors? Or will it be after he dies? I ask the second question because the wording that refers to the inhabitants of the fertile and prosperous land of the just king is remarkably parallel to the wording that referred to the inhabitants of the kingdom of Odysseus after he is dead:

12§5. This wording is taken from the prophecy of Teiresias to Odysseus in Odyssey xi 90-137, which I quoted in its entirety in Hour 11 Text J. I draw attention once again to the word olbioi here, which I continue to translate as ‘blessed’, and which describes here the inhabitants of the kingdom of Odysseus. As I ar- {346|347} gued in Hour 11§§38-39 and §44, this word olbioi, ‘blessed’, refers to the blessings of fertility and prosperity that the inhabitants of Ithaca receive as a result of the hero’s death (xi 136-137; retold at xxiii 283-284). This death, as I argued in Hour 11§59, leads to the transformation of Odysseus into a cult hero, who is invoked as olbios, ‘blessed’, at the end of Odyssey, at xxiv 192 as quoted in Hour 11 Text G.

12§6. In the Hesiodic Works and Days, as we saw in Hour 11§15, this same word olbioi, ‘blessed’, is used to describe cult heroes who are immortalized after death and who enjoy a state of bliss in the Islands of the Blessed, which as we have seen is a paradisiacal setting that transcends the temporal and the spatial constraints of mortality:

12§7. On the basis of these parallel texts, then, I argue that the picture of a just king who rules over a fertile and prosperous land in Text A, Odyssey xix 107-114, refers to the future status of Odysseus as a cult hero. But I still need to confront a possible objection: why would a cult hero be described as a basileus, ‘king’, at xix 109? And besides, would not the title of ‘king’ fit Odysseus when he is alive, right after he kills the suitors and recovers his kingdom – and before he is dead? True, the title would fit then as well, but I maintain that the context of the words spoken by the disguised Odysseus to Penelope is more transcendent. The fact is, the title of ‘king’ fits the cult hero as well. There is evidence to show that the generic cult hero is conventionally described as a basileus, ‘king’. [3] In a stylized thrēnos or ‘lament’ composed by Pindar (F 133), for example, hēroes hagnoi, ‘holy heroes’, are equated with basilēes, ‘kings’. [4] {347|348}

12§8. We find another attestation of the idea of cult heroes as basilēes, ‘kings’, in the Hesiodic Works and Days, which tells the story of the Golden Generation, a mythological category of humankind that corresponds to the positive aspects of cult heroes:

12§9. Elsewhere in the Hesiodic Works and Days (248-262), these cult heroes are described as agents of the goddess of justice personified, Dikē, who is daughter of Zeus: all these forces of justice are shown as uniting in their mission to punish men who are adikoi, ‘unjust’ (260), especially basilēes, ‘kings’ (261), who make dikai, ‘judgments’, unjustly, that is, ‘in a crooked way’, skoliōs (262). [7]

12§10. By contrast with such unjust men, the persona of Hesiod speaks as an exponent of justice when he admonishes the unnamed kings to speak their words in a way that ‘makes them straight’, ithunein (263). Hesiod has good reason to make this admonition, since he is accusing these unnamed kings of having taken bribes (264) and rendering ‘crooked judgments, that is, skoliai dikai (264).

12§11. The persona of Hesiod is not only the speaker of the entire Works and Days: he is also the main character of the action, from the very start. He and his {348|349} brother, named Perses, are engaged in a neikos, ‘quarrel’ (35), over inheritance, and the unnamed kings are supporting the brother against Hesiod, having been bribed (as implied in 264). Whenever Hesiod speaks to Perses or to the kings in the poem, he presents himself as the representative of dikē, ‘justice’ (213, 217, 220, 225, 239, 254, 256, 272, 275, 278, 279, 283), and of whatever is dikaio-, ‘just’ (217, 226, 270, 271, 280), whereas the other side represent the opposite of justice, which is hubris, ‘outrage’ (213, 214, 217, 238), and whatever is adiko-, ‘unjust’ (260, 272). Besides the instances of the word dikē in the long-range sense of ‘justice’ I note the instances of the same word in the short-range sense of ‘judgment’: in these instances, Hesiod consistently accuses Perses and the unjust kings of making or upholding dikai, ‘judgments’, that are perverted, and a choice adjective for such bad judgments is skoliai, ‘crooked’ (219, 221, 250, 264; adverb skoliōs, ‘crookedly’, at 262), whereas the good judgments of the just are itheiai, ‘straight’ (36, 224, 226).

12§12. We see at work here a metaphor that pervades the Hesiodic Works and Days: dikē or ‘justice’ is straight and direct or unidirectional, whereas hubris as the opposite of justice is crooked and indirect or multidirectional. The etymology of the noun dikē, derived from the verb deik-nunai, which means ‘to point’ or ‘to indicate’, shows the built-in idea of direction, directness, directedness. [8]

12§13. As for the opposite of dikē, which is hubris, I have already noted that this word is conventionally translated as ‘outrage’. But this translation does not capture adequately the metaphorical world of hubris as the opposite of dikē in the sense of ‘justice’. To understand in more depth the meaning of hubris as the opposite of dikē, I propose to outline the contexts in which we find the word hubris, and I divide these contexts into the realms of (1) humans (2) animals (3) plants. In the human realm, hubris refers to acts that provoke a sense of moral outrage, which calls for a response by humans and gods alike, and the response can take the form of social and cosmic sanctions respectively; in the Odyssey, for example, hubris refers frequently to the behavior of the suitors of Penelope (i 368 and so on). I will have more to say toward the end of this hour about such a human realm of hubris. As for the realm of animals, hubris refers more simply to any behavior that is violent (Herodotus 1.189) or sexual (as in {349|350} Pindar Pythian 10.36) – though such behavior extends of course from animals to humans. As for the realm of plants, hubris refers to excessive productivity in one aspect of the plant, to the detriment of other aspects: for example, in the case of fruit-bearing trees and shrubs, hubris would result in the excessive production of wood or of leaves at the expense of the fruit itself. [9] I turn to a case described by the botanist Theophrastus (fourth / third century BCE). In the passage I am about to quote, Theophrastus is analyzing the behavior of the white lupin plant (Lupinus albus), a kind of shrub that bears a fruit (a kind of “bean”) that is even today commonly eaten as a snack in many parts of the Mediterranean world:

Or again, in the case of almond trees, soil that is poor in nutrients is better than rich soil for cultivating these trees if you want them to produce plenty of almonds:

12§14. To counteract the undergrowth of fruit in plants, the cultivator must prevent the overgrowth of wood or leaves in order to restore equilibrium in growth. So, the cultivator must regulate the plant. Theophrastus, in his trea- {350|351} tise Research about plants (2.7.7), mentions a wide variety of ways to regulate, including the process of pruning (for example, the pruning of grape vines at 3.15.4); and he notes a traditional way for referring to such a process: you can say that the cultivator ‘punishes the plant that is committing hubris’ (kolazein hōs hubrizon to dendron). [12] And, giving another example, Theophrastus notes that the native expression in Arcadia for pruning the sorbapple tree is euthunein, which means literally ‘straighten’. Here is how Theophrastus says it:

12§15. As we saw at the beginning of this hour, a primary metaphor for dikē in the sense of ‘justice’ is a flourishing field or garden or orchard or grove or vineyard or any other such place where vegetation is cultivated. And now we see that hubris, which is the opposite of dikē, is a negative force that counteracts the flourishing of vegetation: hubris results in vegetal overgrowth and undergrowth. From a mythological point of view, the extreme landscapes of hubris are a wildland or a desert.

12§16. In the examples of hubris as surveyed so far, an excessive production of wood or of leaves prevents a plant from producing fruit. Conversely, as we will now see, excessive production of seed will prevent garden-herbs like lettuce from producing leaves, and such herbs will then go to seed or bolt, as we say. That is why, as Theophrastus notes (About the aetiologies of plants 3.9.2), the way to cultivate such herbs is to prevent ‘the generating of fruit’ (karpogoneîn) by promoting ‘the production of leaves’ (phullophoreîn).

12§17. So, what are the mythological consequences of going to seed? A prime example is a myth that links the thridax or ‘lettuce’ with the hero Adonis, a beautiful mortal boy who became the lover of the goddess Aphrodite herself. {351|352} References made by ancient authors to this myth have been collected by an author dated to the early third century CE, Athenaeus of Naucratis (2.69b-d), and from these references we can see a central event of the myth: Aphrodite hid Adonis inside a head of lettuce. Since Aphrodite is the goddess of reproduction as well as sex, this action of hers is most counterproductive, since lettuce must be kept from going to seed if it is going to be a good little lettuce. Accordingly, the hiding of Adonis inside a head of lettuce results in sterility for Adonis. And the hero Adonis is in fact associated with sterility. The boy may be a great lover, most appreciated by the goddess of sexuality herself, Aphrodite, but he is still sterile. And there is an ancient traditional proverb that stems from this myth:

12§18. The rituals surrounding the Gardens of Adonis, as Marcel Detienne has shown, are a negative dramatization of fertility. [15] The so-called Gardens of Adonis (kēpoi Adōnidos) are potted herbs that are planted in the most unseasonal of times, the Dog Days of summer: the plants grow with excessive speed and vigor, only to be scorched to death by the sun’s excessive heat, and this death is then followed by stylized mourning and lamentations for Adonis, protégé of Aphrodite. In opposition to the normal cycle of seasonal agriculture, which lasts for eight months, the abnormal cycle of the unseasonal Gardens of Adonis lasts but eight days (as we see from Plato Phaedrus 276b). Like his suddenly and violently growing plants, Adonis himself dies prohēbēs, ‘before reaching maturity [hēbē]’ (CPG I p. 183.3–8, II p. 3.10–13; compare also II p. 93.13). [16]

12§19. The beautiful boy hero Adonis is parallel to the heroes featured in the stylized narrative of the Hesiodic Works and Days about a debased second generation of humankind, the Silver Generation, who were created after the first humans, the Golden Generation. Here is the narrative about the Silver Generation: {352|353}

12§20. Like the boy hero Adonis, the heroes of the Silver Generation are unable to achieve a stable maturity or hēbē. They are immature and unseasonal. By contrast, in Works and Days 115–120 the unspoiled heroes of the Golden Generation live in a Golden Age of stable fertility, as expressed directly by the word karpos, ‘fruit’ (117). They are mature and seasonal. The Golden Age presents an idealized picture of wealth that is won by way of dikē: true and lasting, it is antithetical to the sudden and violent wealth that is won by way of hubris and that is destined not to last (320–326).

12§21. So, just as the Golden Generation is a positive image of a cult hero, the corresponding Silver Generation is a negative image, as we see from the narrative here in Text I. In this narrative about the Silver Generation, the Hesiodic Works and Days shows the dark side of cult heroes: the heroes of the Silver Generation refuse to ‘care for’ the gods, therapeuein (135), as we have just noted here and have already noted in Hour 6§51, and they likewise refuse to perform sacrifices to the gods (136). But, despite such impious behavior, which is equated with not giving tīmē, ‘honor’, to the gods (138), these heroes of the Silver Generation are said to receive tīmē, ‘honor’, from humans after they die, just as the heroes of the Golden Generation receive honor (142). And, as we have seen in Hour 8§21 with reference to Text C there, taken from the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (259-267), this word tīmē can refer to the ‘honor’ that cult heroes receive in the rituals of hero cult after they die, as in the case of the tīmē received by the cult hero Demophon after he dies (261, 263). As we can see in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (268), where the goddess refers to herself as tīmāokhos, ‘receiver of honor’ [tīmē], the gods receive tīmē just as cult heroes receive tīmē, but of course they do not have to die to receive it as heroes have to die. And the heroes of the Silver Generation do have to die, as we have just seen in the text I quoted. So, once again, I apply the formula that I applied in Hour 11§45 and §51: god-hero antagonism in myth corresponds to god-hero symbiosis in ritual.

12§22. In the Hesiodic Works and Days, the contrast between dikē and hubris is re-enacted not only in the contrast between the Golden and the Silver Generations but also in an overall myth of five successive generations of humankind (106–201). As we are about to see, the contrast between the Golden and Silver Generations is part of an overall system of contrasts between dikē and hu – {354|355} bris, framed within the myth of five generations. This system has been cogently analyzed by Jean-Pierre Vernant, who has shown that the superiority and inferiority of Generations 1 and 2 respectively are marked by their dikē and hubris, while, inversely, the inferiority and superiority of Generations 3 and 4 respectively are marked by their hubris and dikē. [19] So, we turn next to these Generations 3 and 4.

12§23. I start with Generation 3. Just as the narrative about Generation 2, the Silver Generation, shows the dark side of cult heroes, so also the narrative about Generation 3, the Bronze Generation, shows the dark side of epic heroes. Here is the narrative:

12§24. So, this negative picture, with its emphasis on hubris (146), suits the dark and latent side of the epic hero as we see him in action in Homeric po- {355|356} etry. [21] The negativity extends to the afterlife for such a hero, which is described in a way that seems at first to offer no hope for immortalization after death. The narrative simply says that the dead heroes went to Hādēs. So, if Hādēs were a permanent rather than a transitional place of existence for heroes after death, then these heroes of Generation 3 would be forever nōnumnoi, ‘nameless’ (154).

12§25. By contrast, the narrative in the Works and Days about Generation 4 features a positive picture of the epic hero, with an emphasis on heroic behavior that is dikaion, ‘just’ (verse 158), and with a promise of immortalization after death:

12§26. I have already quoted the last part of this text, the four verses 170-173, in Hour 11 Text C, where I analyzed the use of the word olbioi, ‘blessed’ (172). This word, as we have seen, occurs typically in contexts where heroes are pictured as inhabitants of paradisiacal settings in an afterlife. And I quoted these same four verses 170-173 again in Text C of this hour, where I compared the context of the word olbioi in Text C with the context of the same word in Text B of this hour, at Odyssey xi 137, referring to the blessings brought upon the people of Odysseus after his death as prophesied by Teiresias.

12§27. So, in this Hesiodic narrative about Generation 4 we see an alternative visualization of the heroes whom we know from Homeric poetry and from other poetry (especially the Seven against Thebes epic, which has not survived in any integral text from the ancient world). First of all, the Hesiodic narrative shows the heroes of Generation 4 only in a positive light, and the negative side of the epic hero is reserved for Generation 3; by contrast, Homeric poetry views both the positive and the negative sides of its heroes. Secondly, the Hesiodic narrative speaks explicitly about the immortalization of the heroes belonging to Generation 4; by contrast, the immortalization of heroes after death is only implied in Homeric poetry, as we have seen in Hour 8§§40-48.

12§28. Another difference that we see here between Homeric and Hesiodic poetry is signaled by the Hesiodic use of the word hēmi-theoi, ‘demigods’, in the Works and Days (160) with reference to the epic heroes of Generation 4 who were obliterated in the time of the Theban and the Trojan Wars (161-165) – but who were preserved after death and immortalized by being transported to the Islands of the Blessed (167-173). By contrast, the word hēmi-theoi is never used in Homeric poetry – except for one occurrence in Iliad XII (23). Matching this {357|358} exceptional Homeric occurrence of hēmi-theoi is an exceptional shift in the Homeric narrative perspective here: instead of viewing heroes through the lens of the heroic age, seeing them as they were back then, alive and hoping to be remembered, the poetry now views them through the lens of a post-heroic age, seeing them as already dead and about to be forgotten (XII 17-33). [25] So, the scenario of obliteration followed by immortalization for the hēmi-theoi in the Hesiodic Works and Days (obliteration in 161-166, immortalization in 167-173) must be contrasted with a scenario of obliteration followed by no mention of immortalization for the hēmi-theoi mentioned in the Homeric Iliad (XII 17-33). [26]

12§29. Unlike Homeric poetry, Hesiodic poetry consistently views heroes through the lens of a post-heroic age, as we can see most clearly when Hesiod finally turns to Generation 5 of humankind, which is his own generation:

12§30. In this grim Iron Age, which is the here and now for Hesiod, the neat division between dikē and hubris breaks down. You cannot say that this is a time of either dikē or hubris, because these two forces are presently engaged in an ongoing struggle, and Hesiod expresses his pessimism in the light of his present neikos, ‘quarrel’ (mentioned in verse 35), with his unjust brother Perses, who is being supported by the unjust kings. Earlier in this hour, at §10, I explored the details of such an ongoing struggle of dikē and hubris as viewed through the situation of Hesiod as he describes it. And Hesiod’s wording about the Iron Age, as I just quoted it in Text L, reflects his pessimism about the outcome of the struggle. In his anguish, he expresses a riddling wish, as we see it quoted in Works {358|359} and Days 175-176, which is part of Text L: if only he had died, he says, in the previous generation or been born in the next generation! Well, if Hesiod had died in the previous generation, which is one of his two alternative wishes, he would have found himself in Generation 4, and we have already seen what happened to the epic heroes who died in Generation 4: they became cult heroes by way of becoming immortalized after death in a paradisiacal setting that matches the Golden Age. And if he had been born in the next generation, which is the other one of his two alternative wishes, he would have found himself in the paradisiacal setting of the Golden Age of Generation 1, who are cult heroes to start with, just as Generation 4 are cult heroes to end with, though they had started off as epic heroes. So, the two alternatives in the riddling wish of Hesiod are really one and the same thing, which is, to be in the Golden Age. [28]

12§31. Not only are the end of Generation 4 and the beginning of Generation 1 the same thing. We can also say that Generations 1 and 2 are the same thing, which is, the positive and the negative sides of cult heroes; and that Generations 3 and 4 are the same thing as well, which is, the negative and the positive sides of epic heroes. We can even say that Generations 1 and 2 are the same thing as Generations 3 and 4, since epic heroes do become cult heroes at the end of 4 in the cyclical logic of 1 to 2 to 3 to 4 back to 1 and so on. And this cycle is the same as the present, which is the quintessential here-and-now. [29] We see this kind of thinking in the mythmaking traditions of other Indo-European languages as well: in Celtic and Indic traditions, for example, the number 5 following the sequence 1 2 3 4 is a symbol of integration and centrality. [30]

12§32. Even though Hesiod wishes he did not live in the Iron Age, he still faces the struggle between dikē and hubris, which he proceeds to split into two separate worlds, just as he had split the world of heroes into two worlds, occupied by the cult figures on the one hand and the epic heroes on the other hand – and just as he had split those two worlds further into two sub-worlds each, occupied by heroes who are just and heroes who are unjust.

12§33. In a new split between dikē and hubris, as foreseen by Hesiod in the context of his Iron Age, there is a polis, ‘city’, of dikē, and this city abounds in fertility (225–237). By contrast, there is a polis, ‘city’, of hubris, and this city is af- {359|360} flicted by sterility (238–247): Zeus punishes the people of such a city with famine (243), with the barrenness of their women (244), and with the diminution of their household possessions (244). Moreover, the stylized city of hubris is afflicted with shipwrecks in seastorms brought on by Zeus himself (247), whereas the fortunate inhabitants of the stylized city of dikē do not have to sail at all (236–237), since the earth bears for them plentiful karpos or ‘fruit’ (237). [31]

12§34. Hesiod’s city of dikē is of course very much like the Golden Age of the Golden Generation, and at first sight it fits the heroic world. But the very opposition of dikē and hubris in this tale of two cities reflects a post-heroic world. By contrast, Homeric poetry, which is mostly situated in the world of heroes, by and large avoids any foregrounding of an opposition of dikē and hubris in the sense of ‘justice’ and its opposite. In fact, there are only three attested cases of such a formal opposition in Homeric poetry. In each of these three cases, we see parallel contexts: Odysseus does not yet know where he has just arrived in the course of his travels, and he is asking himself whether the new place he has just reached is populated by people who are dikaioi, ‘just’, or by hubristai, that is, by people who commit hubris (vi 120, ix 175, xiii 201). In the first case (vi 120), the place is the land of the Phaeacians; in the second, it is the land of the Cyclops (ix 175); and in the third (xiii 201), it is his own homeland, Ithaca. In the course of events, the Phaeacians turn out to be dikaioi, while the Cyclops is the ultimate hubristēs. But the situation is ambiguous in the case of Ithaca, since the suitors of Penelope fit the description hubristai while only those who are near and dear to Odysseus would qualify as dikaioi. So, the political situation in Ithaca at the time of Odysseus’ homecoming is the closest Homeric parallel to the political situation in the world of Hesiod. And such a political situation in Homeric poetry is the closest thing to a post-heroic context.

12§35. A related point can be made about the word dikē in the absolute sense of ‘justice’ and about derivative words conveying the same sense. That fact is, Homeric poetry avoids such words. We have already seen two of the most notable exceptions: in Text A of this hour, Odyssey xix 107-114, we saw the disguised Odysseus comparing Penelope to a basileus, ‘king’, who ‘upholds acts of good dikē [eu-dikiai]’ (111), and in Text E of Hour 9, Odyssey iii 130-135, we saw that Athena punished some of the Achaeans in the course of their travels back home after the capture of Troy, and that the reason for this punishment was their failure to be dikaioi, ‘just’ (133). We can say about both these cases that the {360|361} exception proves the rule. In each case, Odysseus is stepping out of his role as epic hero. In the first case, as I argued in §7 near the beginning of this hour, the picture of a just king who rules over a fertile and prosperous land refers to the future status of Odysseus as a cult hero. And, in the second case, as I argued in Hour 11§55, Odysseus himself had been one of those offending Achaeans who had failed to be dikaioi, but the story of his moral offenses at Troy is screened out by the Odyssey. So, technically, neither one of these two examples shows Odysseus as a Homeric hero of the Trojan War.

12§36. By contrast with Homeric poetry, Hesiodic poetry explicitly depends on dikē. Even the identity of Hesiod as an authoritative poetic voice depends on the justification of dikē. Especially in the Hesiodic Works and Days, the embedded master narrative starts with the disequilibrium of injustice and moves towards the equilibrium of justice. I offer here an overall summary.

12§37. After these four narratives, the integrating logic of the master narrative takes hold. In the Hesiodic Works and Days, the man of dikē will in the end regain the wealth of the earth that he has justly earned (280-281), while the man of hubris will in the end lose all the wealth that he gained unjustly (325-326). And, in fact, the unjust brother Perses does in the end lose all his wealth (396).

12§38. By contrast with the myth of the Five Generations of Humankind in the Hesiodic Works and Days, where the generic hero is refracted into four different generations, showing split images of cult heroes and epic heroes, of good heroes and bad heroes, the narrative of the Homeric Odyssey comes to an end with an {362|363} integrated vision of heroic generations. This integration is achieved by way of a reconnection that happens between ancestor and descendant, as focused in the relationship of father and son. And this reconnection happens at the moment when Odysseus finds his father Laertes in an ‘orchard’, an alōē (Odyssey xxiv 226). The son finds the father in the act of cultivating that orchard, which looks just like the paradisiacal garden of a Golden Age. Here is what Odysseus says to Laertes, even before their mutual recognition is complete:

12§39. Once the father and the son are reconnected, Laertes may start looking like a cult hero from the Golden Age. In the text that we have just seen, however, where Odysseus is addressing Laertes for the first time, the father is not yet ready to connect with the son because he has not yet recognized him. The interior sorrow of Laertes about being disconnected from Odysseus is still reflected in his exterior appearance, and, as the still-unrecognized Odysseus says bluntly but lovingly to his father, Laertes has not taken good ‘care’ (komidē xxiv 249) of himself, even though he has taken very good ‘care’ of the orchard, as we saw in the wording of Text M (xxiv 245, 247). But beneath the exterior degradation of the father, as Odysseus goes on to note, it is clear that Laertes still has the looks of a basileus, ‘king’ (xxiv 253). So, once the son takes proper care of his father, Laertes will once again look like his true self (xxiv 254-255); and, later on in the narrative, this is exactly what happens, with the help of the goddess Athena (xxiv 365-371). But now, so that Laertes may finally recognize Odysseus, the son shows that he knows everything about the orchard that Laertes is tending. Odysseus reveals that his father had actually given that garden to him as a gift when Odysseus was still a boy (xxiv 336-337), and Odysseus shows that he remembers every detail that he learned from his father back then, when he {363|364} was growing up, about this ‘orchard’ (alōē xxiv 336) or ‘garden’ (kēpos xxiv 338). Odysseus now narrates, in proper order, all the beautiful details that he had learned from his father about this paradisiacal place where they used to take long walks together, and the father would answer every single question asked by the son (xxiv 337-344).

12§40. So, once Laertes reclaims his appearance as a king, he can be like a cult hero as he welcomes back to his paradisiacal garden a returning epic hero who has finally achieved a successful homecoming – and who can now reclaim a garden that he has owned all along. Now Odysseus, appearing as a king in his own right, can ultimately become a cult hero in his own right. So, the divide between epic hero and cult hero is ultimately repaired, and so too is the divide that separates generations from each other. Now an integrated vision of the generic hero can finally be achieved. {364|365}