Voyaging with Odysseus: The Wile and Resilience of Virtue.

• Author: Moore, John Rees
• Position: Critical Essay

Odysseus has lived through many transformations since Homer commemorated him in the Odyssey. None of them, however, has made Homer obsolete. Both the Iliad and the Odyssey have been translated many times. By common consent of those competent to judge such matters, Robert Fagles has done a superb job with the Odyssey. [1] Even before I read it, I heard it read by Ian McKellan. That was an eye-opener, or should I say ear-opener. It sounded as though that was the natural way to come at it. The spaciousness, the contrast of tones alternating between casual, even rambling digression and the tightness of dramatic moments, the sense of intimacy a voice establishes--all these drew me into the poem and made me aware of new meanings, or forgotten relationships, that I would like to share. The Odyssey is so large and various that we need reminding of its riches. The only way to do this properly, it seems to me, is to travel along with Homer, hitting the highlights and commenting as I go.

Ignoring the gods is costly.

The son goes in search of his father

As the poem opens, the gods, who steer human destiny in the large while leaving elbow room for humans to confound themselves on their own, are having a conference. The assembled gods take pity on Odysseus held captive on Calypso's island, all except Poseidon, still enraged at what Odysseus did to his son, the Cyclops. But Poseidon is away in far-off Ethiopia, so the others are uninhibited. Zeus speaks, complaining that mortals blame the gods for their miseries when they themselves add to their problems by their own recklessness. As example he takes Aegisthus, who was repeatedly warned by Hermes not to court Clytemnestra or murder Agamemnon but who went right ahead anyway and is now paying the price. Exactly so, says Athena, let all die thus who deserve it. But, father Zeus, Odysseus longs for his home and wife despite all the goddess Calypso can do to seduce him. So why are you dead set against him? What nonsense, he replies, I think Odysseus a splendid man; it's brother Poseidon who has it in for him. But l et's plan the poor fellow's return. How can Poseidon stand against the rest of us?

Of course Athena has it figured out: let Hermes tell Calypso she has to let Odysseus go while I go to Ithaca and rouse his son to go seek information about his missing dad. She descends from Olympus as Mentes to find sad Telemachus sitting amidst the good-for-nothing suitors. He greets her with automatic courtesy, but when they have eaten he tells her so no one else hears of the wicked behavior of these revelers feasting at the expense of his father, who he presumes is dead. Athena assures him it is not so and offers advice: tell the suitors to go home and let Penelope go home to her father if she wishes, but he should go to Pylos, Nestor's home, then on to Sparta, where Menelaus and Helen live, to find out what is known about Odysseus. You are tall and handsome now, you're no longer a boy, you must act like a man.

Penelope comes down from her room, begging the bard to sing a different song--this one saddens her so. Surprisingly, Telemachus rebukes her, saying it's not the bard's fault, but Zeus's.

So mother, go back to your quarters. Tend to your own tasks, the distaff and the loom, and keep the women working hard as well. As for giving orders, men will see to that, but most of all: I hold the reins of power in this house.

Everyone is astonished--perhaps even Telemachus is--at this bold speech, the first indication that now he is indeed a man. Soon he is off on his way to Pylos, but not before rebuking the suitors soundly.

Even Zeus, apparently, is afraid to offend his brother Poseidon, the god most responsible for Odysseus's misadventures. Athena, who showed her partiality for Odysseus as a person only once or twice in the Iliad now becomes his ardent patron and guardian in the Odyssey. Why the gods have made Odysseus languish on Calypso's island for seven long years before bestirring themselves we will never know, but without Athena's support Odysseus might never have escaped that nymph.

Odysseus's character draws the gods' attention.

Calypso, though a goddess of sorts, does not have the power to make Odysseus love her and forget Penelope. Nor do the gods endow humans with their character: Odysseus was resourceful and long-enduring and a born leader before the gods paid him any attention; it was because of his character that he drew their attention. Athena sees a masculine counterpart of herself in the man, so she loves him as though he were her own son. And she sees in Telemachus a true son of his father. Still so young, the boy needs a little urging to take matters into his own hands, and this she provides.

Repeatedly in the poem the Odysseus-Penelope relationship is contrasted with that of Agamemnon-Clytemnestra. Never for a day, perhaps never for an hour, does Odysseus not think of Penelope. And she does everything she can to avoid bedding with any of the suitors. On the other hand, poor Agamemnon arrives home to find not only an unfaithful wife, but a murderess. The strength and purity of the bond between Odysseus and Penelope is the best indicator we could have of the essential integrity of our hero. This is so despite the fact that Odysseus finds beautiful women attractive, as they certainly find him. Whatever momentary satisfaction he may find in sex with others--and Homer is reticent about this--Penelope remains the strong magnet pulling him toward home.

We know early on that Odysseus is the kind of hero who succeeds against all odds. But the gods, or at least Poseidon, make sure he sustains extremes of peril and suffering to earn his final peace. The kind of suspense we find in the Odyssey is the vivid reliving through of things past until Odysseus reaches Ithaca; then we are, so to speak, at his side in a steadily advancing present. Events are prolonged, sometimes almost unbearably stretched out, because Odysseus wills it so. Experience has taught him a continual wariness, just as it has Penelope. But in addition he enjoys the sense of power he gets from knowing what those around him do not.

To return to the simpler, youthful Telemachus. The suitors all consider him a kid to be laughed at until he succeeds in taking ship to Pylos; then they begin to think it is time to get rid of him when he returns--if he does. They plan an ambush. Really it is Athena who has guided his transition to manhood and given him sound advice about what to do. Though she appeared in disguise, in his heart Telemachus realized that he was dealing with an immortal. When pressed Telemachus admits a doubt that he is the son of Odysseus, though his mother has always told him so. But to Athena his appearance leaves no doubt. That build, those fine eyes--there can be no mistake. And she is charmed by his courtesy and frankness. (I imagine him as longer of leg than his father and less heavy in the shoulders and chest.)

Constantly guided by the motherly Athena, the inexperienced young man arrives safely at Pylos. Now he is embarked on his first real adventure; Athena tells him it is no time for shyness. Good old Nestor is overjoyed to see him and almost overwhelms him with his hospitality. Eager as ever to talk, Nestor gives a long account of the hardships the Achaeans encountered both at Troy and on the way home. Again we hear how Agamemnon met his death at the hands of that villain Aegisthus, but also how Orestes exacted vengeance on the very day that Menelaus arrived after a seven-year absence. Young Telemachus astonishes the company by the splendor of his oratory, thereby giving further proof that he is truly the son of his illustrious father. Loaded down with supplies and accompanied by Pisistratus, Nestor's son, they make their way by land to Sparta.

Menelaus and Helen, apparently now content with her house-wifely role, live in luxurious splendor. A festive occasion is at hand: two weddings, of a son and of a daughter, are in progress. Nevertheless, Menelaus commands that the guests be welcomed with full hospitality, which includes the maid service of being bathed and rubbed down with oil, then supplied with a soft cloak and tunic. Telemachus is as astonished at the richness of Menelaus's establishment as the hosts are at the kingly behavior of the two young guests.

Like Nestor, only more so, Menelaus in his leisurely tale of the doings at Troy insists on his closeness to Odysseus. Once more we hear of our hero's greatness; in fact we might get the impression that Odysseus, much more than Achilles, was responsible for winning the Trojan War. Helen, still ravishing, appears and expresses sorrow for all the misery she is responsible for, "shameless whore that I was." To her, the likeness of Telemachus to his father is immediate: the feet, the hands, the eyes, the head, the hair. Menelaus agrees.

Odyssey full of tears.

At the mention of great Odysseus none of them can restrain their tears. Vergil is said to celebrate the tears in things, but as for weeping, the Odyssey is full of it. Not only does Odysseus find many occasions for tears; he is also the cause of tears in others. Nothing is recollected in tranquility. And Odysseus is never far from the thoughts of others, so that his greatness is made to loom up before he ever appears in person.

Meanwhile Penelope, hearing that Telemachus has gone, gives way to even sharper tears than she has for her husband. She continues to hope that her husband survives, though she always tells herself and others that he must have perished. While her husband is always on the move, Penelope is fixed in one spot. She rarely leaves her room; her only company is her maids--and Telemachus. But lately, it seems, she has seen little of him. She is not only a patient woman but one with iron resolve. Her heroism is the only kind available to a woman.

Out on the western sea

The gods are in good session once more. Athena reminds Zeus that Odysseus still languishes...