On Reading the Iliad

On Reading the Iliad

Alex Thorn

Class of 2004

Reading Homer’s Iliad has certainly been an experience: the families, the emotion, the honor, the friendships, the willpower – all ultimately exhibited in the same, brute, ultra-human fashion: WAR. Yet, midst the carnage – climaxing in Achilles’ disgusting abuse of Hektor’s dead body – I have gleaned a new perspective on both the Greeks lives and my own, whether it be entirely because of Homer’s poetic piece or also due to entirely unrelated current events in my life, I no longer believe in destiny.

Despite the Iliadic characters’ needs to fight and kill – for both matters of duty and pride, neither the Trojans nor the Achaeans actually want to war against one another.

“Then too let him make inquiry to this effect: will they accept a truce in the hard fighting, allowing us to burn our dead?” (Book 7, Line 373)

The Achaeans are aching to get home; the Trojans simply want the Achaeans to leave. They break from fighting at the sight of the heralds, to bury their dead, to feast… ANYTHING to avoid fighting. Hell, Mr. McGraw, Priam even offers to give Helen back! But no, despite their desire to end the war, they must fight, because the soldiers aren’t making decisions. Rather, they are governed by some higher fate: their destinies. Troy is destined to fall; Achilles is destined to be greater than his father, Peleus; Hektor is destined to die in combat and fail as the “protektor;” Achilles is destined to die, but only after he has avenged the death of his friend, Patrokolus.

In the Iliad, destiny takes a different meaning than the commonly accepted idea of predetermination: the Gods control everything, so destiny, while fate is a strong part of it, is largely controlled by the Gods’ wishes at any given time. For example, Athena, whether based on Achilles “fated” life or on their own wishes, tricks Hektor into fighting the son of Peleus, playing into Achilles destiny to avenge Patrokolus’ death and, ultimately, to die. Destiny, thus, no matter how lofty a concept, has its roots planted firmly in deception and puppetry in Homer’s Iliad.

However, implanted in the destinies of the Greeks and the Trojans is the self-aware concession to ones destiny. Achilles knows his fate; the Acheaens know the fate of Troy; Hektor’s parents seem to “know” that Hektor will fall in battle to Achilles (even Hektor knows and only fights because he is tricked by Athena). Thus, in the Iliad, there is a certain self-resignation that, in part, allows the players’ destinies to exist. On reading the Iliad, I have often wondered, “What if Achilles didn’t know his own destiny?” or “What if the Acheaens didn’t know that Troy was destined to fall?” The answer to that question, no matter how truly inconsequentially unattainable, leads to other questions like, “If Achilles didn’t know he would be such a great fighter, would he go back to fight in the war?” Ultimately, I believe Achilles’ acute knowledge of his own destiny enables him to act upon it, without the Gods having to do everything to make it happen.

Still, despite its inherent omnipresence in the Iliad, something has stretched the concept of destiny too thin for me. Of course, in the Iliad, the hand of a supreme power governing the humans is quite visible – to the point where it is almost unarguable. However, destiny as Homer describes it indirectly, is only possible in his Iliadic world: where characters know their destinies and, if they stray from them, are led back to the path by Gods and Godesses to trick others and help the destiny fall back into place. In real life, things aren’t that simple. People make decisions. Things happen – not always for a “destined” reason. Life isn’t fair; so grow up and “be a man.”

Interestingly enough, though, Homer’s idea of a “man” is again woven along the same threads as destiny. The poem idolizes men who complete “aresteas” and, essentially, are successful in battle and killing. Yet, at the same time, neither side is particularly thrilled to be part of the carnage of it all. Achilles feels like he must complete his destiny in order to be a man. He is so driven to avenge his friend’s death, in fact, that he is so way past the true boundaries of vengeance. Instead, he is so crazed by the revenge he must take out on Hektor probably because he must A) defend the honor and pride that, along with destiny, his world is built upon and B) complete what he was destined to do: kill Hektor, become greater than his father, Peleus, and help cause Troy to fall. Despite the apparent choices that Achilles has, appearances are deceiving.

Embedded in the Iliad and, thus, in Homer’s Iliadic “destiny,” is the central idea that the Gods, not the humans, are in control of the mortal world – it is impossible to get around. This central aspect of destiny in the Iliad promotes the idea that the players in the poem are, essentially, puppets who are not in control of their own lives, but, are controlled by selective salvation, the idea that a human’s fate is predestined and drawn up inconsiderate of that human’s actual character traits or achievements. And, though my distaste for this concept is a fairly popular and, thus, trite one, the personality of the anti-Calvinist doctrine feels queerly at home at 14 Hidden Field Road.

Contrary to Homer’s principle of destiny in the Iliad, things don’t always happen for a reason. Life is not predestined, but it is certainly unfair. Truly, my dissatisfaction with the theory of destiny, or predestination, is born out of my belief in the strength and intelligence of the human complex. I believe that, while some things happen that seem unfair or “out of the blue,” humans can overcome them, and there is no long white parchment floating in the heavens that could suggest otherwise.