1
ILIAD AND ODYSSEY:
HOMER’S EPIC NARRATIVES
Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
The subject of this paper is the characteristic formal elements and
structural principles of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. By the Iliad and
the Odyssey we mean the two works as we have them now, i.e. in the
literary form in which they have become foundational texts of Western culture. The conjecture that these texts – or rather their predecessors – were originally created and recreated as ever-changing pieces
of oral poetry is a conjecture nowadays shared by the majority of
scholars, as is the conviction that this provenance has left its traces in
the Homeric texts we have. We agree with these assumptions, but are
not here interested in reconstructing the coming into being of the Iliad
and the Odyssey.1 Instead, we will focus on describing and interpreting the shape of the two poems after they had become literature (i.e.
texts fixed and transmitted in a written form), whenever this might
have happened.
In terms of contents, the two epics are concerned with the Trojan
War and its aftermath. The Iliad tells the story of the “wrath of Achilles”. The greatest Greek hero is offended by King Agamemnon, the
leader of the Greek army. He withdraws from fighting until the Trojans
gain the upper hand, break into the Greek camp, and start burning the
Greek ships. At this moment, Achilles agrees for his friend Patroclus to
join the battle. Patroclus pushes the Trojans back, but in the end is
killed by Hector, the son of King Priam and strongest defender of Troy.
Achilles settles his dispute with Agamemnon, resumes fighting, and
takes revenge for Patroclus. By killing Hector, he seals both the fall of
1
On this topic, see Finkelberg in this volume.
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
Troy and his own death. The Odyssey narrates the final phase of Odysseus’ wanderings and his homecoming. After leaving the nymph Calypso, on whose island – after the loss of all his ships and comrades –
he has spent seven years, Odysseus takes to sea on a raft. He is hit by
another storm and washed ashore in the country of the Phaeacians.
There he is well received, reveals his identity, and recounts his adventures since the fall of Troy. A Phaeacian ship brings him secretly back
to his home Ithaca where, with the help of his son, Telemachus, and
some loyal servants, he succeeds in taking revenge on the suitors who
for many years have been beleaguering his wife Penelope. Thus, husband and wife are reunited, and, in the end, even peace with the families of the suitors is achieved.2
That, basically, is the content of the two texts whose formal features and architectonic structures we wish to describe in the following
pages.
Formal Elements
The Iliad and the Odyssey are epic poems, i.e. long narratives in poetic
form.3 The most obvious component of this poetic form is the rhythmic
shape of the two texts, the fact that they are composed in a certain
meter, the so-called dactylic hexameter.4
Meter
A meter is constituted by the regular sequence of opposite elements. In
English and German, this is the regulated sequence of stressed and
unstressed syllables. In ancient Greek, which does not know a dynamic
word accent, it is the regular sequence of long and short syllables. A
syllable counts as long if it contains a long vowel or a diphthong, or if
the vowel is followed by two or more consonants. Otherwise, it counts
as short.
2
For more detailed summaries of both works, see Andersen in this volume.
As such, they have parallels in other cultures in which the foundational
texts are narratives of similar kind (see Foley 2004). In sharp contrast, China’s
foundational text is a collection of ca. 300 relatively short poems.
4
For solid introductions to the Homeric hexameter, see Patzer 1996, 23-60,
and West 1997. Cf. also Clark 2004, 119-23, and Hackstein 2011a, 26-32.
3
Homer’s Epic Narratives
231
A dactyl is the combination of one long syllable with two short syllables. A dactylic hexameter consists – in principle – of six such units,
called feet, a first modification being that the last foot consists of only
two syllables, the first long, the second long or short:
–--|–--|–--|–--|–--|–x
If the dactylic hexameter appeared only in this basic form, several
difficulties would arise. The continuous repetition of the verse over
thousands of lines would be tiring; the number of words that could be
fitted into this pattern would be limited; and the distance from everyday language would be big. With respect to all three points, it is important that the possible variety of the line is significantly increased by the
fact that the two short syllables in each foot can be replaced by one
long syllable, this substitution being rather rare in the fifth foot. Thus,
the dactylic hexameter can be represented in the following way:
–--|–--|–--|–--|–--|–x
–
–
–
– (–)
By this modification, the danger of monotony and the difficulty of
adapting words to the metric pattern are considerably reduced, as is the
distance from spoken language, without being annihilated.
There is, however, more to be said about Homeric verse. The dactylic hexameter is usually divided into several sections, called cola.
These sections are formed by word or sense boundaries within the line.
Breaks within a foot are called caesurae; breaks at the end of a foot are
called diaireseis. At a number of points, breaks are particularly frequent. Thus, in more than 98% of Homeric hexameters, there is a
word-end either after the first long syllable or after the first short syllable of the third foot. In many of these cases, word boundary coincides
with sense boundary and often a syntactic break. In this way, the line is
divided into two relatively equal halves. Very frequently, in addition to
this caesura, roughly in the middle of the line, one finds a word
boundary after the first long syllable of the fourth foot, or between the
fourth and the fifth foot. Finally, word boundary often occurs between
the first and the second foot, or after the first long syllable of the second foot. As a consequence of all of this, each line is, in one way or
another, divided into two or three, sometimes four, cola of recurring
rhythmic shape. Thus, the text gains further in rhythmic relief and
variety, but as the number of possibilities is, nevertheless, limited, the
steadiness of the epic flow is still preserved.
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
One last point must be considered: the atmospheric or emotional
value of the dactylic hexameter. Here, of course, caution is advisable
since every judgment in this matter seems to depend on subjective
impressions. For this reason, it is welcome that ancient rhetoric, or else
philology, already dealt with this question and developed its own theory. As it seems, this theory goes back to Damon of Athens (fifth cent.
BCE), but we get glimpses of it through Plato, who refers to it in his
Republic,5 and through Aristotle, who probably follows it in his Poetics and in his Rhetoric. In the former work, we read:
As for the meter, the heroic measure [= the dactylic hexameter] has
proved its fitness by the test of experience. If a narrative poem in any
other meter or in many meters were now composed it would be found
incongruous. For of all measures the heroic is the stateliest and the
most massive; and hence it most readily admits rare words and metaphors, which is another point in which the narrative form of imitation
stands alone. … Hence no one has ever composed a poem on a grand
scale in any other than heroic verse. Nature itself, as we have said,
teaches the choice of the proper measure.6
As we see, for a recipient like Aristotle, whose testimony we can take
as representative at least of his time, the metrical form of the Homeric
poems created an atmosphere of heroic steadfastness and weightiness
appropriate to the action and the characters described.
Language
Concerning the language of Homer, the philosopher says something
comparable, as we will see in a moment. For present-day scholars,
Homeric language is a complex phenomenon.7 As in the case of other
genres of Greek literature, the language of epic has an affinity to one of
the Greek regional dialects, in this case to Ionic Greek. But Homeric
Greek is not simply Ionic Greek. In addition to Ionic elements, there
are Aeolic elements in the text as well as certain Atticisms. But that is
5
3.399e8ff.
1459b31ff. (translation Butcher 1951, as are all translations from Aristotle’s Poetics).
7
On Homeric language, the classic is Meister 1921. More recently, see Horrocks 1997. See also Hackstein 2011b, 33-45, and the linguistic contributions
in Andersen and Haug 2012.
6
Homer’s Epic Narratives
233
not all. Homeric Greek represents not only a geographical (or synchronic) but also a chronological (or diachronic) mixture: besides the
“regular” forms of the Greek or dialects of “Homer’s” time – whatever
time that might precisely be – it contains both archaisms and neologisms. How are we to explain this complex situation?
As one can imagine, the process of coming into being and that of
transmission have been adduced for this purpose, and it is indeed probable that the linguistic shape of the texts is, to a large extent, the result
of this process. But how exactly things developed over the decades and
centuries is a matter of dispute, and this is certainly not the place to try
to provide a conclusive answer to the question.
Independently of this problem, however, two points can be made
with relative certainty. One concerns the technical, the other the expressive aspect of the matter. It seems to be clear that one reason for
“Homer’s” openness to different regional varieties and different temporal stages of Greek is the fact that such openness considerably facilitated verse making, i.e. the adaptation of words and sentences to meter.
The more variants of a form or a word were available the easier it was
for the poet to find the proper match for his respective metrical needs.8
But the technical advantage of the specific character of Homeric language does not exclude an expressive function. Homeric language was
never spoken by anyone. With these described particularities, it was, to
use Karl Meister’s term, a “Kunstsprache”. As such, it corresponds to
Aristotle’s idea that non-triviality is a mark of the lexis of poetry,9 that
“variation from what is usual makes language appear more stately”,10
and that “in verse such effects … are fitting, since persons and things
there spoken of are comparatively remote from ordinary life”.11 This
applies all the more to epic, which the philosopher calls somewhat later
“a proud and stately affair”.12 If we add the fact that, with its participation in several of the regional versions of Greek, Homeric language
also gained a certain pan-Hellenic character, it seems obvious that it
was the appropriate medium for the great epic narratives that were
soon to become treasures of the nation’s cultural heritage.
8
On this aspect, see e.g. Patzer 1996, 60-86.
Poetics 1458a18ff.
10
Rhetoric 1404b8.
11
Rhetoric 1404b12-14.
12
Rhetoric 1406b3.
9
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
Formulas and Set Phrases
If one moves from language to style, the first phenomenon to catch
one’s attention is, of course, the famous formulas and set phrases,
which, with their regular recurrence, contribute considerably to the
narrative’s stylistic coloring.13 The best known are proper names accompanied by an adjective or another modifier, such as “swift-footed
Achilles”, “lord of men Agamemnon” or “much-suffering, godlike
Odysseus”. But there are also common nouns accompanied by an attribute like “the wine-colored sea” or “the spear casting a long shadow”. In addition, there are set phrases, sometimes whole lines, that
denote specific recurring events, such as “a word escaping the fence of
[someone’s] teeth” or “early-born, rosy-fingered Eos making her appearance”. One thing that makes these formulas and set phrases easy to
remember is the fact that they are related to the cola system of the
hexametric line,14 which is to say that because of their rhythmic shape
they always appear in the same place in the line, filling out the same
colon or cola.
In twentieth-century scholarship, these elements of repetition and
their relation to the metrical system gained eminent importance as they
played a decisive role in the debate about Homer’s epics as oral poetry.
This debate was launched, or rather re-launched,15 by Milman Parry,
who analyzed Homer’s epics in comparison with the poems of living
oral poets in the former Yugoslavia.16 His thesis was that the diction of
the Iliad and the Odyssey is, to a large extent, formulaic because, like
the poems performed and documented in Yugoslavia, the two works
were oral poetry, i.e. creations of a poet who, without knowledge – or
at any rate, the usage – of writing but relying on a stock of metrically
fixed formulas and set phrases, at each performance, composed an ever
new version of his narrative. Parry’s ideas met with both enthusiastic
13
For general presentations of the phenomenon and the problems connected
with it, see Russo 1997, Edwards 1992, Clark 2004, 123-34, Friedrich 2011,
45-64 (all with further literature).
14
See above 231.
15
“Re-launched” since Parry had an early predecessor in Friedrich August
Wolf, the “inventor” of the “Homeric question” and others.
16
For a collection of Parry’s papers, see Parry 1971.
Homer’s Epic Narratives
235
acclaim and embittered resistance, and thus initiated decades of fierce
discussion.17
By now, things seem to have somewhat calmed down, with the result that the majority of scholars agree that the Iliad and the Odyssey,
even if they themselves should not be pieces of oral poetry, are, at any
rate, creations derived from a long tradition of oral poetry, just as, on
the other hand, most scholars share the view that there is much in these
creations that goes beyond the mere piecing together of formulas, set
phrases, etc., and that demands interpretation other than the explanation of the technicalities of composition.18 Perhaps not a majority view,
but a view we adhere to, is that even if one considers these elements of
repetition as “essential tools of composition in the tradition of Greek
oral poetry”,19 one should, nevertheless, in their case too, ask about the
aesthetic effect they had and still have on the recipient. We will do so
in a moment in connection with another such element, but first we
would like to look at an “ornamental” device that has always been
considered just as characteristic for Homeric epic as the formulas and
set phrases: the simile.20
Similes
It is striking that, whereas we do not find a frequent use of metaphor in
Homer’s two poems, we do meet several hundred similes, i.e. formal
comparisons introduced by a term meaning “like” or “as”. These similes can differ considerably in length, from the term of comparison plus
a single noun to eight or nine lines of veritable comparison narrative.
On the whole, the similes leave a strong imprint on Homeric diction
and it seems worthwhile to briefly ponder their function.
Two points are of particular importance. The fundamental function
of similes is illustration. By the introduction of a simile, the poet retards the narrative in order to illustrate a certain element of the “Geschehen” and, by illustration, give it weight. The juxtaposition of a
corresponding image lets the recipient see the illustrated act, person,
scene, etc., in an additional light, and makes him re-feel or re-think it
17
For a helpful documentation of the debate, see Latacz 1979.
See the wise remarks in Lesky 1963, 82f.
19
Clark 2004, 118.
20
On this topic, the classic is Fränkel 1921. See also the articles republished
in De Jong 1999, vol. III, 299-382. For a recent introduction, see Buxton 2004.
18
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
more intensely. 21 Sometimes, the illustration concerns the external
appearance of an object or a person.22 Much more often, however, the
similes refer to the emotions or sentiments of one or various persons
involved in the action.23 In addition, similes can have an effect beyond
the immediate context if, by the similarity of their imagery, they point
to a deeper connection of the persons, actions or situations illustrated.24
The second point of interest is the imagery taken by itself. Through
the imagery of the similes, the poet can open up the world of the main
action and bring into view spheres of life otherwise excluded from the
narrative. This aspect is more important for the Iliad than for the Odyssey. The latter contains significantly fewer similes than the former and,
as it were, needs them less since its action reaches out into a larger and
much more diversified world than that of the other poem.25 In the Iliad,
however, it is only by the similes – and the description of Achilles’
new shield in Book 18 – that the representation of the restricted world
of heroic fighting is supplemented by glimpses into the sphere of the
daily life of common people and into the world of nature: of animals,
21
See Fränkel 1962, 45.
As when e.g. the radiance of Achilles’ spear is compared to the brightness
of the evening star moving along among the other stars in the darkness of the
night (Iliad 22.317f.)
23
As in many similes that illustrate the emotions of a warrior meeting the
enemy, e.g. the two similes that, at the beginning of Book 3 of the Iliad, contrast Menelaus and Paris at the moment they see each other, comparing the
former to a hungry lion who is glad to hit upon a big carcass and devours it
greedily in spite of dogs and hunters around him (23-6), the latter to a man
who suddenly comes upon a snake in a mountain glade and, overcome by fear,
startles back, trembling and pale (33-5). For similes illustrating psychic processes, see Patzer 1996, 118-30.
24
This is always the case when the recipient remembers the “Familienzusammenhang des Bildes”, i.e. other similes that use the same image (see
Fränkel 1962, 45). Thus, for example, all the similes that compare a warrior to
a lion are somehow connected. But there are also a few more specific cases. In
the Odyssey Book 8, Odysseus – in a most striking reversal of sexes – is compared to a woman weeping over her mortally wounded husband (523-30).
Corresponding to this, Penelope in Book 23 is compared to men who, having
been hit by a storm, are finally washed ashore after much suffering (233-8).
Concerning the significance of these two “reverse similes” for the depiction of
Odysseus and Penelope as a model couple, see Felson and Slatkin 2004, 112.
25
See Fränkel 1962, 48.
22
Homer’s Epic Narratives
237
plants, rivers and sea, weather and seasons. In this way, the similes
help to locate the heroic action within the larger cosmos of life as a
whole.26
Typical Scenes
Returning from the theme of “ornament” to that of “construction”, we
have to take up once again the topic of repetition. Repetition is not
limited to the formulas and set phrases already discussed, but occurs
also on the next level of narrative construction, that of scenes. As early
as 1933, Walter Arend pointed out that the Homeric epics are full of
“typische Szenen”, typical scenes or type-scenes, i.e. recurring situations that are described in relatively analogous terms.27 Arend examined scenes of arrival, sacrifice and meal, journey, dressing and arming,
reflection before a decision, assembly, oath, bath, etc., and showed that
in each of these type-scenes the poet treats the same components of
action in the same sequence and, to a large extent, using the same formulas.28 In the following decades, others have supplemented and further refined Arend’s observations,29 the basic correctness of which is
generally agreed upon.
As to their interpretation, it is not surprising that for Milman Parry,
who managed to see and react to Arend’s book just prior to his untimely death, the repetitions that the German scholar had observed
were to be seen in the context of the orality of the Homeric poems. For
Parry, the stable patterns of type-scenes were simply another means
enabling the oral poet to compose, or rather re-compose, his song anew
at each performance.30 No doubt there is some truth in this. But the fact
that the type-scenes may very well have had this technical significance
for the producer should not prevent us from reflecting on the aesthetic
effect they, and other elements of repetition, had on the recipient.
The direction in which to look for this effect has been pointed out
by Lesky and Dihle,31 among others. The regular application of the
26
More extensively on this topic, see Andersen in this volume.
Arend 1933.
28
See the analysis of arming scenes in Arend 1933, 92-7; Armstrong 1958;
Clark 2004, 134f.; of meal-scenes in Latacz 1991, 12-17.
29
See Armstrong 1958; Fenik 1968; Fenik 1974, 153-71; Edwards 1992.
30
Parry 1936.
31
Lesky 1963, 82f., Dihle 1967, 16-18.
27
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
same epitheta to various persons and things, the repetition of set
phrases to denote specific actions, and the recurrence of stable patterns
in the presentation of type-scenes gave the recipient the impression of
a world in which persons and things had their fixed place, of a world
that had its rules and laws and with which – in spite of its distance
from one’s own world – one soon felt familiar. But this is only one
side of the coin. At the same time, the principle of frequent and farreaching repetition had the advantage that with only minor changes the
poet could give a line, a passage, or a scene its particular touch, and
that, against the backdrop of recurring patterns, the recipient could
perceive and appreciate differentiation and individual design.32
Direct Speech
Of all the formal elements of Homeric narrative, direct speech is perhaps the most striking.33 As Homerists know, around 45% of the Iliad
and more than two thirds of the Odyssey consist of direct speech.34
There is little indirect, i.e. reported speech (or inner monologue). Almost all of what the agents say (or think) appears in direct speech.
It is not surprising that the speeches in both epics vary considerably
in length and in function. Concerning length, a quick survey shows that
there are short speeches of appeal or encouragement that comprise just
a few lines, dialogues of medium length, as between Hector and Andromache in the Iliad 35 or Odysseus and Calypso in the Odyssey, 36
really long speeches, like that of old Phoenix in Book 9, who tries in
170 lines37 to persuade Achilles to rejoin the fighting, and finally, the
four books of continuous direct speech in which Odysseus narrates his
adventures to the Phaeacians. As to the different kinds of speeches, a
look at Book 1 of the Iliad suffices to get an impression of the possible
variations: “from threats of violence to prayers, supplications and at-
32
On this point, see the analysis of meal-scenes in Latacz 1991, 12-17.
On speeches in Homer, see the articles republished in De Jong 1999, vol.
III, 201-97; Griffin 2004.
34
Iliad: 7,018 out of 15,690 lines; Odyssey: 8,225 out of 12,103 lines.
35
Iliad 6.407-96.
36
Odyssey 6.149-224.
37
Iliad 9.434-605.
33
Homer’s Epic Narratives
239
tempts to make peace …, and from human squabbles to the most sublime utterance of the father of gods and men”.38
However, what interests here is less the role of the single speech in
its particular context than the contribution of direct speeches to the
effect of Homeric narrative in general. As to the character of this effect,
Plato’s famous critique of poetry in general, and of Homer in particular,
in the third and tenth books of the Republic, gives useful hints. After
having formulated his concern about the contents of stories told to
children and youths, Socrates turns to the form in which these stories
are presented. He distinguishes between “simple narrative” and “narrative through imitation”39 and criticizes Homer for not only speaking in
his own voice but for also “speaking as Chryses and making us believe
that not Homer but the old priest was speaking”.40 It is Homer’s extended use of direct speech that is here at issue. What disturbs the philosopher is the fact that, in contrast to simple narrative,41 this form of
representation invites identification with the personae of the narrative
and with their emotions. 42 This alone seems bad enough, but it becomes even more problematic since Homer does not restrict his use of
direct speech to morally exemplary characters, such as brave and considerate men; he also uses it for heroes quarreling and abusing each
other or lamenting about their misfortune, for women in different sorts
of emotional upheaval, and even for slaves.43
Using Plato’s observations, but interpreting them in Homer’s favor,
we can say the following: On the one hand, Homeric narrative consists
of “simple narration” with the narrator speaking in his own voice. The
38
Griffin 2004, 166.
392d5f.: diêgêsis haplê, diêgêsis dia mimêseôs gignomenê.
40
393a7-b1.
41
Of which Plato, with a summary of the beginning of Book 1, creates an
example (393d8-394b1).
42
In the immediate context of Book 3, Plato speaks of this effect with respect to those who produce poetry and to a particular kind of recipient, the
actor. In the corresponding passages of Book 10, he speaks about the effect on
the recipients in general. Consequently Griffin, in his interpretation of the
passages in Book 3, is not unjustified when he claims that “Homer [i.e. according to Plato] damaged the self-control of the audience by making his
characters express their feelings so freely. The spectators felt licensed to weep
and wail” (Griffin 2004, 157).
43
See in particular 10.605a2-607a9.
39
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
tone is “discrete and neutral”.44 The narrator dispenses with comments
and presents what happens simply and, so to speak, objectively.45 On
the other hand, this kind of straightforward third-person narrative is
continually supplemented with “narrative through imitation”, i.e.
shorter and longer pieces of direct speech. In these speeches, the –
carefully individualized – agents reflect, comment, react to, and try to
influence what is happening. The recipient is invited to sympathize
with the thoughts and feelings that find expression, he participates in
the mental and emotional processes of the persons involved. Since the
pieces of direct speech are attributed to different persons and groups,
their collected subjectivity creates a kind of second degree objectivity
that does justice to most of those involved in the narrated actions.
Summing up, one can say that with the both variable and expressive
dactylic hexameter, with a “Kunstsprache” that produced a certain
distance from daily life and, at the same time, gave the poems a kind of
Panhellenic touch, with the composition-facilitating and atmospherecreating formulas of set phrases and type-scenes, and with the stylistically effective devices of simile and direct speech, “Homer” had at his
disposal a set of formal elements that was well suited for the creation
of highly powerful narratives.
Structural Principles
Having discussed these elements that in all probability were, at least in
part, responsible for the effect of the Homeric narratives, we turn now
to the second topic of our investigation and ask: What are the structural
principles at work in the Iliad and the Odyssey?
Static Structures
In a study of the structure of the Iliad in one of the more recent companions to Homer, Seth Schein has pointed out that this work “is organized according to two complementary, structural principles”: one
that can be called “static and symmetrical” and that is “independent of
the plot of the poem”; and another that is “dynamic and linear or pro44
Fränkel 1962, 43.
That things are more complicated, has become very clear through De Jong
1987.
45
Homer’s Epic Narratives
241
gressive” and that “involves the movement of the poem from beginning to end”.46 This observation is valid and it is also valid for the
Odyssey.
The first structural principle can take on two forms: ringcomposition (a-b-c / c-b-a) and parallelism (a-b-c / a-b-c). 47 Both
forms occur frequently both in the Iliad and the Odyssey and they occur on all levels of the texts. In the Iliad, ring-composition can be
found in many speeches;48 in the Odyssey, the hero’s conversation with
this mother in the underworld (11.173-203) is a good example.49 Yet
axial symmetry also appears in more extended sections of the narrative,
as in Book 21 of the Odyssey with respect to Penelope, Odysseus, and
the bow.50 In the case of the Iliad, it is even effective in the whole
poem, where symmetrical correspondences between the first three and
the last three books have been noted.51
Parallelism occurs no less frequently than ring-composition, as can
be observed in many speeches of the Iliad.52 For the Odyssey, Stephen
Tracy has claimed parallelism even as a “dominant structural mode”53
being operant on the level of single episodes, such as Odysseus’ descent to the underworld (11.51-627), on the level of series of books, as
books 9-12 with Odysseus’ narrative of his adventures, and on the
level of the whole poem, where the first and the second half can be
seen as consisting of three times four books, with the corresponding
tetrads showing pronounced thematic parallels.54
These Homeric symmetries have been connected with the so-called
geometric art on Greek pottery of the eighth century BCE, and it seems
46
Schein 1997, 345.
In more scientific terms, one would probably have to speak of “axial
symmetry” and “translational symmetry”.
48
See Lohmann 1970, 12-30 (with earlier literature).
49
See Tracy 1997, 361-3.
50
Tracy 1997, 363f.
51
E.g. the supplications of Chryses and of Priam with the releases of daughter and body of the son in books 1 and 24; the presentations of the Greek contingents and their leaders in the so-called Catalogue of Ships and in the description of the funeral games for Patroclus in books 2 and 23; and the duels of
Menelaus and Paris and of Achilles and Hector in books 3 and 24. For a more
detailed analysis, see Schein 1997, 345-7.
52
Lohmann 1970, 30-40.
53
Tracy 1997, 372.
54
Tracy 1997, 372-7.
47
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
obvious that there is a shared sense of correspondence and balance at
work. On the other hand, if one thinks of, for example, the poetry
books of Augustan Rome in whose arrangement-patterns – seven hundred years later and in a very different socio-cultural environment –
both kinds of symmetry play just as important a part, one may wonder
whether we are not confronted here with the effect of a fundamental
human desire for balance and completion. But however this may be,
there can be no doubt that both Homeric poems are shaped by a strong
sense of proportion, balance and order and that the effect of this is in
part responsible for their appeal.
Dynamic Structures
The structural patterns so far discussed concern the surface, the formal
appearance of the poems rather than their artistic essence. This changes
once we turn to the so-called “dynamic and linear or progressive”
structures, those that are related to the actions narrated and that unfold
in time. According to the most prominent of ancient critics, it is here
that we have to locate one of Homer’s great achievements, an
achievement that distinguished him from most other epic poets. This
achievement consists in giving the Iliad and the Odyssey thematic
unity.55
How is this thematic unity achieved? Three points are important.
First, Homer does not narrate all the ten years of the Trojan War or all
the ten years of Odysseus’ wanderings. Instead, he limits his narrative
to 51 and 40 days, of the tenth year of war and wanderings respectively.56 Second, in each case, the focus of attention is on one hero.
The Iliad names its hero in the first line: Achilles, son of Peleus. The
first word of the Odyssey is “the man” as the object of the Muse’s song.
Although his name occurs only in the last line of the prologue (21), he
is unambiguously defined in line 2 as the hero who destroyed Troy.
Yet, according to Aristotle, the unity of the hero does not suffice to
establish the unity of action. Therefore, it is decisive that, third, the
Iliad and the Odyssey each have one theme, the wrath of Achilles and
the homecoming of Odysseus, and it is in the framework of these
themes that the episodes that both epics recount are interconnected in
such a way that each of them “is the necessary or likely sequel of the
55
56
See Aristotle, Poetics, chap. 8.
Already praised by Aristotle, Poetics, 1459a30-7.
Homer’s Epic Narratives
243
preceding one” and that “the transposition or removal of one part
makes a difference”.57 This assertion demands a more detailed analysis
in both cases.
The theme of the Iliad is Achilles’ wrath. Is it possible to determine
when it starts and when it ends? The Iliad is clear and explicit about
the origin or cause of Achilles’ wrath: the Muse is asked to start her
song from the moment when King Agamemnon and divine Achilles
first split in quarrel (Il. 1.6f.). But when does Achilles’ wrath end, and
where does its ending stand in relation to the end of the Iliad? This is
controversial. Scholars either regard the reconciliation between the
hero and Priam (the aged father of the enemy he slew) at the end of the
epic as the end of Achilles’ wrath,58 and see his revenge on Hector
as a continuation of his initial passion; or they recognize the reconciliation of Agamemnon and Achilles after Patroclus’ death (book 19)
as the termination of the quarrel and the end of Achilles’ wrath.59 We
are inclined to prefer this interpretation, not only because it is unequivocally stated in the text (Il. 19.67f. and 75), but also because
Achilles’ passion for revenge is an emotion quite different from his
indignation at experiencing the violation of his honor.60 If this interpretation is accepted, the question arises if and how books 19 to 24 can
be said to belong to that one action that is constituted by the wrath. The
answer does not appear to be difficult. Iliad 19 to 24 recount the direct
consequences of the effects of Achilles’ wrath, and the last book of the
poem presents a solution that, for a moment, provides respite from war,
struggle, and revenge.
The prologue had made clear that the theme of the poem is Achilles’ wrath (= “Achilleid”) in the sense that its cause is told, its context:
the Trojan war (= “Iliad”), and its consequences:61 the imminent defeat
of the Achaeans (= “Iliad”), Patroclus’ death at Hector’s hand (= “Patrocly”), Achilles’ re-entering the war and his slaying of Hector, which
57
58
12.
59
See Aristotle, Poetics, 1451a22-34.
See Welcker 1824, 429; Schadewaldt 1938, 134-6; Schadewaldt 1975, 8-
See Reinhardt 1961, 24.
It has also been noted that the prologue mentions only Achaeans as victims of his anger (See Reinhardt 1961, 20).
61
See Latacz 1979, 16-18: According to the prologue “Achilleus’ wrath [. . .]
shall be dealt with in respect to its consequences”; “the theme of the wrath [. . .]
is given a firm position in a great temporal and causal connection.”
60
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
will lead to Troy’s fall (= “Iliad”), and the final solution of that series
of actions in the reconciliation of Achilles and Priam. Thus, the one
action of the Iliad can be understood as a threefold layer of interdependent actions, in the following way:
1. The poem called Iliad is an “Iliad”, i.e. an epic dealing with the
great struggle of the Greeks against Troy because of Helen’s abduction
by the Trojan prince Paris. Of the whole story – from its very beginning, with the judgment of Paris, who gave preference to Aphrodite
over Hera and Athena and won the most beautiful woman of the world,
to its end, the conquest of Troy and the destruction of the town – only
the decisive period is narrated: a series of events in the last, the tenth,
year of the battles, with the death of Hector, the best of the Trojans and
their only true support and defender. Nevertheless, all the other events
of the Trojan war are continuously present, not only Troy’s imminent
fall, doomed to happen after Hector’s death, but also the happenings
that lead up to what is told in the epic.
2. The phase of the Trojan war that is narrated is caused and constituted by Achilles. The “Iliad” becomes an “Achilleid”. But this “Achilleid” remains an Iliadic “Achilleid”. For it does not present all the
events of the hero’s life chronologically, in a narrative starting from
Peleus’ successful wooing of the goddess Thetis and their subsequent
wedding, then, following Achilles from his birth and education to further adventures and deeds of heroic prowess until his early death, after
his slaying of Hector and before the fall of Troy. These events, past
and future ones, enter the epic again and again by way of remembering
and foreshadowing, always with the intention of making them bear on
present constellations and events.
3. The “Achilleid” of the “Iliad” starts with the event that is the
seed of Patroclus’ and Hector’s deaths, the quarrel with Agamemnon
and Achilles’ wrath, which is to say, this “Achilleid” is constituted and
given its formative principle by a “Patrocly”. The gist, the very point
of the Iliadic “Achilleid” is the death of Achilles’ hetairos Patroclus.62
Achilles’ wrath is recounted because of this tragic result.
4. The “Patrocly” begins when the “Achilleid” begins and when the
“Iliad” begins. The quarrel about the booty girl Briseis sets into motion
a series of events that lead to Patroclus’ death. Then, Achilles recon62
See Jacoby 1933, 179f.: “There can never (this be said to the analytics)
have existed an epic nor even a song of Achilles’ wrath which did not contain
the death of Patroklos.”
Homer’s Epic Narratives
245
ciles with Agamemnon, re-enters the war and kills Hector to avenge
the latter’s killing of Patroclus, and Hector’s death is destined to be
followed by Achilles’ own death. “Patrocly” and “wrath” are one and
the same.63
5. The start of the epic that Homer has chosen marks the beginning
of the three actions: Achilles’ wrath is the cause of Troy’s fall because
of Hector’s death at his hand (“Iliad”); Achilles’ wrath is the cause of
his own death (“Achilleid”); Achilles’ wrath is the cause of Patroclus’
death (“Patrocly”).64 All these later events, within the epic (Patroclus’
and Hector’s deaths) and, beyond it (Achilles’ death and Troy’s fall65),
are again and again present in the poem.66 Thus, it is fair to say that the
three actions around Ilium, Achilles, Patroclus, are three layers of one
action. The Iliad narrates one story (mythos), it presents the imitation
(mimêsis) of one action (praxis).
The Odyssey’s theme of “homecoming” presupposes three localities
or spaces reducible to two: the point of departure, the homecomer’s
route, and his home.67 The point of departure and the places on his way
home may be taken together as one space: “abroad”. The problematic
locality is home. This is due to the fact that at the hero’s home things
have changed during his stay at Troy and his return voyage. It is important for the recipient to know whether the homecomer is expected at
home or not, whether his people are alive and well, whether they long
for him or fear his return, and his claims. Moreover, coming home
means more than arrival at home in the bare local sense. Its meaning,
at least as the poet understands it, is the return of the traveler to his
earlier position, as husband, as father, as son, as master of his house,
and as king. This duality of spaces, home and abroad, is constitutive of
the story of a coming home; it belongs to its very structure. And it is
63
For the ideas in this paragraph see Hölscher 1988, 26 and 44; also Hölscher 1994, 24f. Even analytics appear to recognize the identity of wrath and
Patrocly or to connect Patroclus’ death (book 16) with a supposed original
mênis poem. Leaf 1888, 129: “we have in the sixteenth book a perfect piece of
the primitive mênis.”
64
Rutherford 1982, 275: “The poet’s great design makes the death of Patroclus lead inevitably to the death of Hector, and the slaying of Hector by Achilles in turn precipitates Achilles’ own death.”
65
4.30-67; 15.69-71.
66
See Rutherford 1982, 276 with note 40, referring to Duckworth 1933.
67
See Hölscher 1988, 46f. and 49.
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
already underscored by the poet in his prologue: troubles at sea, enforced sojourn on a distant island, as opposed to Ithaca, his home,
where, even after arriving, the hero will not yet have escaped his labors
(Od. 1.16-19). The one action, then, of coming home and being restituted to the former position, is complete in its temporal extension from
the point of departure to the beginning of a safe life at home. How does
the poet of the Odyssey handle this double space and the temporal
process of the two parts of the action from the chronological startingpoint to the end of the plot?
As a matter of fact, the poem’s narrative does not take its start from
the end of the Trojan War. It opens at a very late state of the action
with an assembly of the gods who consider the fate of Odysseus. The
result of their counseling is to address the situation in two different
places: Athena shall head to the hero’s home Ithaca, Hermes to Calypso’s island Ogygia, the hero’s distant sojourn. The duality of spaces
leads to a duality if not of actions yet of strands of action and, as soon
becomes clear, both strands are related to the spatial situation and the
theme of homecoming.
On Ithaca, the state of affairs is critical. At Odysseus’ house, the
aristocratic youth of Ithaca and the nearby islands woo his wife Penelope, ever more urgently after so many years and the certainty – as they
take it – of her husband’s death. Odysseus’ son Telemachus has come
of age and wishes to be master of his heritage. The swarms of suitors,
feasting day after day, ruin his estate. Athena suggests that he visit old
Nestor at Pylos and Menelaus in Sparta to see if he can get news about
his father. Thus, Telemachus, for the sake of his father – like his father
– leaves home for abroad. His journey does not lead to any certain
knowledge about Odysseus’ whereabouts but it nourishes hope that he
is still alive. In addition, it puts Telemachus in the position of a homecomer as well. And with the suitors’ decision to ambush him, for
Odysseus’ son, too, homecoming will have to consist of two components: his physical return and the regaining of his legitimate position.
Just as Athena’s intervention leads Telemachus to his movement
from home to abroad (books 1-4), so Hermes’ intervention entails for
Odysseus the resumption of his movement from abroad towards home
(books 5-8). The hero has already spent seven years on the nymph
Calypso’s island, the most distant place of sojourn on his return voyage.
As a king, and a commander without his fleet, his men, and his booty,
he is reduced to a most humble condition, far away from his true social
Homer’s Epic Narratives
247
position, exposed, moreover, to the temptation of becoming a god
through his marriage with the nymph and forgetting his wife and home.
However, Odysseus’ extreme outward helplessness and hopelessness is
counterpoised by his absolute desire and will to get home. He has
completely lost his former spirit of adventure and his worldly curiosity.
Thus, the divine intervention finds in him a responsive vessel. And
with Hermes’ message to the nymph that she release the man, the action has a new start: Odysseus builds a raft and takes off for home. Yet
another storm keeps him away from Ithaca and washes him ashore at
his penultimate station, the land of the Phaeacians.
For the action to be taken as a whole, the start at a chronologically
late phase demands that the preceding episodes be told later. However,
the Homeric narrative does not know how to return to earlier events.
The only procedure to place them in the narrative is to put them into
the mouth of a person who retells them. That is what happens in books
9-12: after introducing himself by his name, his glory, and his home,
Odysseus himself becomes the narrator of his wanderings and adventures at the Phaeacian court. This narrative of the earlier adventures
from Troy to Ogygia – the so-called apologoi – at the Phaeacian court
and the poem’s start from Ogygia condition one another; each is both
cause and effect of the other.
The second half of the poem finally presents the homecoming, first
homecoming as the physical return, then homecoming as the reestablishment of the hero’s – and his son’s – legitimate position. In
books 13-16, by uniting Telemachus and Odysseus in the Ithacan
countryside, the narrative brings together the two strands of action it
has developed in the first half of the work. Then, in books 17-24, father
and son, with the help of some faithful servants and in interplay with
the intelligent and resourceful Penelope, take revenge on the suitors
and thus complete homecoming and reunification. On the whole, Aristotle’s judgment seems justified for the Odyssey as well; “Homer”, in
this case too, succeeds in presenting a unified whole, in narrating one
mythos, even if here he does so in a more complex way than in the
Iliad.
Homer and the Cycle
The Iliad and the Odyssey were not the only epics of their time. There
were poems dealing with other mythological cycles, like those con-
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
cerning the struggles around Thebes, the expedition of the Argonauts,
the hunt of the Calydonian boar, etc., and there were poems dealing
with other parts of the same, i.e. the Trojan cycle. Of these, we know
the names and are informed about their basic contents, while the
chronological and genetic relationship with the Homeric epics is a matter of dispute.68 What concerns us here, however, is the fact that of all
this bulk of poetry only the Iliad and the Odyssey survived, and not
only survived but became highly privileged parts of the Western cultural heritage. Very probably the artistic shape of the two poems had
something to do with this success. It is, therefore, of interest that they
seem to have shared the formal elements and structural principles discussed in this paper only partly with the epics around them. It can be
assumed that those features that made them unique added to their attraction.
There has been agreement that the hexameter, flexible and dignified
at the same time, developed centuries before Homer, perhaps already
in Mycenaean times, 69 and became the generally used meter of epic
song, which it remained until the modern era. Homeric language too,
combining different regional dialects and different chronological layers
of Greek, was obviously the product of a long development and was, in
all probability, shared by contemporary epics. The same applies to
those elements of repetition: the epitheta, set phrases, and typical
scenes, that have been convincingly connected with the original orality
of epic poetry.70
As to the Homeric similes, things are not as clear-cut. For a long
time, similes have been considered as a “late”, non-traditional element
of Homeric discourse. Recently, however, this view has been questioned.71 The dispute is not yet decided. But given the lack of textual
evidence it is – and will remain – at least uncertain whether the similes
were a feature unique to the Iliad and the Odyssey or shared with other
poems of the time.
This is different concerning the last formal element dealt with
above, the speeches. In this case too, the fact that early epics other than
the Iliad and the Odyssey are preserved only in fragments prevents
judgment based on direct evidence. But we do have indirect evidence
68
About the poems of the “Cycle”, see Finkelberg in this volume.
See e.g. West 1997, 133f.
70
On the “internationality” of these elements, see Latacz 1991, 17-19.
71
Bakker 2005, 114-35.
69
Homer’s Epic Narratives
249
and this from a trustworthy witness. In chapter 24 of Aristotle’s Poetics, we read:72
Homer, admirable in all respects, has the special merit of being the only poet who rightly appreciates the part he should take himself. The
poet should speak as little as possible in his own person, for it is not
this that makes him an imitator. Other poets appear themselves upon
the scene throughout, and imitate but little and rarely. Homer, after a
few prefatory words, at once brings in a man, or woman, or other personage; none of them wanting in characteristic qualities, but each with
a character of his own.
The statement is clear: one feature that distinguished the Iliad and the
Odyssey – in Aristotle’s eyes favorably73 – from other epics was the
frequency and extent of direct speech they contain. In view of the fact
that direct speech amounts to more than 50% of the lines of both epics,
it cannot surprise us that this stylistic device attracted the attention of
the philosopher. It is, however, noteworthy that he considers this affinity to drama as one of the great assets of Homer’s epic narratives.
If we turn to structural principles, we find a comparable situation:
lack of direct evidence concerning epics other than the Iliad and the
Odyssey but Aristotle’s testimony concerning a specific point. As far
as the structure of limited passages and sections is concerned, it is
reasonable to assume that other epics did not differ much from the
Iliad and the Odyssey. Ring-composition and parallelism could probably be found here as well as in Homer. With regard to large-scale
structure, like that of entire poems, things are more uncertain. Some
scholars may be inclined simply to deny that the cyclic poets had the
ability for this kind of overarching composition. But there is no way of
knowing. Therefore, it is welcome that in this case too we have the
testimony of Aristotle, who compares Homer with the other poets and
declares:74
Here again then, as has been already observed, the transcendent excellence of Homer is manifest. He never attempts to make the whole war
of Troy the subject of his poem though that war had a beginning and an
end. … As it is he detaches a single portion, and admits as episodes
72
1460a5-11.
That Plato viewed things differently was pointed out above.
74
1458a30ff.
73
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
many events from the general story of the war … All other poets take
a single hero, a single period, or an action single indeed, but with a
multiplicity of parts. Thus did the author of the Cypria75 and of the Little Iliad76. For this reason the Iliad and the Odyssey each furnish the
subject of one tragedy, or, at the most, of two; while the Cypria supplies material for many, and the Little Iliad for eight.
Once again, in Aristotle’s view, it is the affinity to tragedy, this time
the shared unity of action, that made the Homeric poems superior to
the other epics and ensured their success with the recipients.
The Iliad and the Odyssey
To facilitate comparison with the Book of Songs, we have in this paper
treated the Iliad and the Odyssey in terms of what they have in common rather than in terms of what distinguishes them. But finally, it
seems appropriate to point, at least briefly, to some differences that
concern points discussed in our analysis.
One of them has already been touched upon: with regard to the frequency of similes there is a striking difference between the two epics.
Men and actions in the Iliad are contained in a very restricted world.
But this world is set against a wider horizon and related to other realities. That happens, first of all, in the numerous similes (about 170),77
then, additionally, in the pictures on Achilles’ shield: 78 men’s social
life, working people, artisans’ work and technical expertise, farmers
and shepherds menaced by beasts of prey, bulls killed by lions, deer or
doe victims of stronger beasts. The Odyssey is much poorer in similes
(about 40), obviously due to the fact that the world of Odysseus is not
as closed as the heroic and aristocratic horizon of battle in the plain
between the coast and the city of Troy. There are more milieus, more
general life conditions. There is less need to open up new vistas.79
Another, so to speak, complementary difference has the same background. If one looks at the device of direct speech in both epics, the
75
Poem on the prehistory and the first part of the Trojan War.
Poem on the final phase of the Trojan War.
77
Together, 665 lines (see Dihle 1970, 52).
78
18.478-616.
79
On the contents of similes and shield, see also Andersen in this volume.
76
Homer’s Epic Narratives
251
decisive difference consists in the fact that, whereas in the Iliad and in
large parts of the Odyssey we have many speeches of varying length
and function as integral parts of the narrator’s narrative, in the Odyssey
we have, in addition, four books of continuous direct speech by a narrator within the narrative: Odysseus, who at the court of the Phaeacians
relates his wanderings and adventures (9-12). That this phenomenon
appears in the Odyssey and not in the Iliad is no accident. Both epics
narrate the happenings of only a limited number of days in the final
year of a ten-year period filled with a specific nexus of events: the war
at Troy and Odysseus’ wanderings. Thus, there is in principle much to
be recounted in addition. But, because the world of the Iliad is so
closed and limited, in this case, such recounting would be a continuous
repetition of the same. In the Odyssey, things are different. The world
of the Odyssey is wide, rich, and partly mysterious and fantastic, and
accordingly the events that took place between the destruction of Troy
and the final phase of Odysseus’ homecoming were varied and colorful.
This means that, in their case, indications and brief references are not
enough for an appropriate evocation; they must be, and are worth being,
narrated at length and in detail.
This brings us to a final point. As mentioned above, for Plato and
Aristotle, Homer was the first and greatest of tragic poets. 80 In the
same vein, modern scholars have stressed the importance of the Homeric epics for the development of tragedy. However, there can be no
doubt that these judgments build more on the Iliad than the Odyssey. It
is the former work that has the inner form of a tragedy; the latter, instead, as has convincingly been pointed out, shows affinity to another
genre, one that developed much later: the novel.81 Suffice it to draw
80
This implied very different evaluations in the two cases.
Rudolf Borchardt compared the Iliad and the Odyssey thus (Borchardt
1959, 63): Whereas the “form of the Iliad […] is the tension between two
equally tragic worlds, the Achilleus tragedy and the Hektor tragedy”, “the
form of the Odyssey […] is that of a novel.” Borchardt’s judgment can be
supplemented with Otto Weinreich’s statement (Weinreich 1962, 234): “The
Greek love novel was the offspring of a liaison which aged epic [meaning the
Odyssey] formed with the capriciously attractive Hellenistic historiography.”
Both of these remarks, Borchardt’s referring to the form and the structure of
the Odyssey and Weinreich’s referring to the Odyssey’s siring the Greek erotic
novel, are jointly dealt with and analyzed in substance and depth in Hölscher
1988.
81
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Fritz-Heiner MUTSCHLER and Ernst A. SCHMIDT
attention to the basic pattern of the Odyssey and the Greek erotic novel:
they deal with a loving couple, separated for years full of adventures
and finally happily reunited after many troubles. Another analogy will
be recognized in the simultaneity of the two strands of the narrative.
Private accidents and adventures in the framework of a hostile or disorderly world connect the Odyssey and the novel. And they share the
intended effects of such narration, like surprise and suspense. It seems
legitimate to conclude that the heirs and successors of Homer’s great
narratives are two in number: the tragedy82 and the novel.
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