Power, Wisdom or Beauty? The Judgment of Paris, the embassy to Achilles, and the tragedy of Wile E. Coyote
The Banquet, Ancients, Ed. 1
Dear All and Sundry,
Welcome to another Banquet!
We are going back to the origins, to when the Great Conversation was just getting started. And that means Homer! We will be diving into one of the main dishes of Western Culture today, so I hope you brought your appetite!
Also, don’t miss the BRAND NEW issue of Comfort Food: Help! Have I done enough to prepare my child for a Classical School? You can also find it on the site itself as well!
Alright, in today’s issue you will find-
Homer’s place in the Canon
Tips for introducing Epics
The Judgment of Paris- power, wisdom, or beauty? Pt1
The embassy to Achilles- power, wisdom or beauty? Pt 2
The Trojan War: World War or Domestic Dispute?
Some thoughts on weddings in a Tragic or Comedic cosmos
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There’s No Place Like Homer’s
It is no exaggeration to claim that in the world of thought, the civilization of the West is born in the Trojan War. Not the actual skirmish between hypothesized Mycenean city-states and the Troad that occurred in the 11th or 12th century before Christ—the conflict that destroyed one of the historical Troys—but Homer’s war, the conflict between Agamemnon and Priam, between Menelaus and Paris, between Achilles and Hector. Western Civilization gestated in the mysterious time during which the seed of that prior historical conflict grew into stories of heroes and gods, stories passed down for generations and preserved in memory through the “dark age” of Greece.
Homer is the spokesman for his culture, and almost the only spokesman at all, outside of Hesiod, from his time. With so little corroboration possible, much has been cast in doubt, including Homer’s very existence. But the Iliad and the Odyssey seem the fruits of a great mind working with many received materials.
He will give us a cosmos that pits unworthy gods against each other, with heroic but flawed mortals as their pawns. He will give us memorable scenes, characters, voices, events- and ask us what actions define an individual and a nation, how cities and heroes fall, and where, amidst the wranglings of justice, fate, fortune, necessity, and belief, the individual’s will has its sway.
What does Man Most Desire?
How do you sway men’s hearts? Certainly, that speaker will be most persuasive who offers that which man most desires.
“Power," says the practical and worldly tyrant. “Power is what men want most. Those who do not have it, want it, and those who do have it, want more of it. Since no man ever has enough of it, it is a language all understand. Every man would be a tyrant if he but had the strength or resources to be one, however meek he pretends to be. Give a man money, which is the commodity of power, and you will persuade him.”
“Only men who are fools want power and money beyond their material need,” say the grave and grey-bearded philosophers. “The wheel of fortune inevitably turns. Power and money can be taken away, and the man who thinks he has enough to be secure in it is the greatest fool. And even if a man remains in power, no man has ever gained enough to put off death. When the tyrant dies, another man enjoys his goods. And while he remains in power, he remains in fear. No, it is the good that cannot be taken away, and that steels a man no matter his fortune, that is most persuasive, ultimately. The truth is, what men want most is wisdom.”
“La! There is no man wise enough to avoid the madness of love,” say the sirens with a wink and a smirk. “He will give up his power, will spend his wealth, all he has, to possess for a few moments the Beauty that has caught his fancy. Perhaps a girl. Perhaps a beautiful statue or a beautiful ship. Once it has caught his eye, he will beggar himself to possess it. Where is his power then? He cannot even control his own pulse. And the philosopher? His wisdom is forgotten, and he acts the fool just like anyone else when he is under Beauty’s spell. Where is his mind? Doubtless, he thinks on ideal forms and heavenly bodies. The Orator stammers and the General is defeated should either enter into the presence of their Beloved. What men want most, whether they say it outright or not, is Beauty.”
Who is right? Notice, the question is not what should men want most. What do they “in the everything-flows-and-steady-go-of-the-world” as Seamus Heaney put it, actually want most? Such is the question that undergirds the Trojan war, and which the tales of the Trojan War, as told by Homer, are seeking to answer.
Though it occurs before the events of the Iliad, the Judgment of Paris is the root of the war and would have been well known to Homer’s audience. Though Homer waits until the last book of his epic to explicitly mention it, the Judgment and its implications, loom over the work.
The Judgment of Paris refers to a tale…once upon a time, the gods and mortals were gathered for the wedding feast of Thetis, a sea nymph, and a mortal, Peleus. Eris, the ultimate snubbed wedding guest, arrives uninvited, and throws the apple of discord, a golden bauble that reads “To the Most Fair,” into the crowd. She will reappear as an evil fairy some centuries later, still uninvited to the party to curse Beauty with death should she prick her finger on a spindle. Or is she the wicked queen offering poisoned apples to Snow White so that she can be dubbed “The Most Fair”? Both, perhaps. But I get ahead of myself.
The gods cannot decide who should get the apple and there are three rival claimants- Hera, shrewish wife of Zeus, and therefore the goddess of unappeasable Power; Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom; and Aphrodite, the goddess of erotic love and Beauty. Because the gods are capricious, they agree to find a mortal who will decide for them, and light on the shepherd-prince, Paris, whisking him away from the hills above Troy.
Paris, given the terrible job, (terrible, dear Sundry, because no matter who you choose, you make enemies of two gods, and vengeful ones at that, and only befriend one). As I was saying, given the terrible job, Paris chooses Aphrodite; a man prefers Beauty over Wisdom and Power thought the ancient Greeks. Or perhaps they were asserting that a young man will make such a choice, a youth in the grip of Beauty for the first time-and perhaps the implication is that power is more persuasive to a man of active and enterprising middle age, and wisdom more persuasive to the wizened. Perhaps.
Be that as it may, that Paris, due either to his youth or to his human nature, makes the choice he does is telling, nor is it the last time the choice will be given.
The Cause of the Wrath of Achilles
The Iliad opens with the war on Troy already in its tenth and final year. The Greeks, their ships lined on the shore, occupy the plain before the walls of Troy, but have little way of overcoming the defenses of the city directly. They resort to raiding the lands around Troy, putting pressure on King Priam to respond in some way. The Trojans, wisely, have retreated to the safety of their citadel, but must endure the rape of the countryside.
In one of these raids, Agamemnon has captured Chryseis, the daughter of Chryses, a priest of Apollo. Chryses asks for her back, but upon being refused, prays to Apollo to avenge him. Apollo, who among other duties can also cause pestilence, does so, and the Greeks start dropping dead. To alleviate this, Agamemnon seeks counsel, and is told he must return Chryseis, which he does reluctantly. He then demands that his prize be replaced by his Greek warriors with one of their distributed slaves, and chooses Briseis, the girl-slave of Achilles, to take as his own, thus mirroring the larger conflict between the Trojans and the Greeks. Homer here subverts the moral ground of the Greeks. It isn’t that they care that the institution of marriage has been dishonored in Helen’s absconding with Paris, but that one of our women was taken by one of their men.
Achilles, the greatest warrior of the Greeks, enraged at this forced return of booty honestly plundered, returns in sullen anger to his own tents, and refuses to fight any more on Agamemnon’s behalf. In the wake of this decision, the advantage of the Greeks is lost, and Hector, the great warrior of the Trojans, pushes their forces back, even to their ships.
By book 9, the Greeks are despondent, and are on the cusp of leaving when Agamemnon, somewhat humbled and in response to good advice, decides to try Achilles one more time, and see if an apology, the return of the girl, and the award of many other goods will sway him to return. For this mission, on the advice of Nestor, his oldest and most garrulous adviser, he sends three “diplomats”.
The Embassy To Achilles
There is Odysseus, the most clever of the Greeks and an easy choice for this role; his rhetoric should prove strongest. Next is Phoenix, the former tutor of Achilles. He is a figure of natural authority whose experience should prove persuasive. And last, there is Ajax. Ajax is a big lunk-a soldier who is not known for his eloquence but is a friend of Achilles.
Shockingly, Odysseus proves to be somewhat of a bore, just rehashing the speech Agamemnon made previously. It is the persuasion of power. If you come back, he states, you will get all these things that Agamemnon promises. The reader may have a sneaking suspicion that Odysseus does not wish to lend his wits fully to Agamemnon’s cause. In his response to Odysseus, Achille mentions his two-pronged fate—his mother has prophesied that he will either fight, die, and win great renown, or return home, live a long life, and fade into obscurity. He knows that if he goes back to the fight, he will never enjoy the gifts of Agamemnon. The promise of power rings hollow. Not even Agamemnon can offer the power to avoid death. Odysseus’s offer so enrages Achilles that he threatens to leave on the next day. Swing and a miss. Strike one.
Phoenix is next to speak and asks Achilles to recall that he too was in a position like this, once. But he took counsel, changed his mind, and he was wise to do so, and Achilles will be wise too if he relents now. The unrelenting man is chased down by Ruin but great heroes, greater heroes even than Achilles in the older generation, listened and did well and were honored.
Achilles listens, but responds that the honor that Phoenix promises, the honor due to wisdom like this, Achilles does not need. Achilles asks how a man of Phoenix’s wisdom can put himself at the service of a man like Agamemnon. Is that wisdom? Wisdom that only makes excuses for the Powerful is hardly a wisdom at all. And if that is wisdom, well, then Achilles still has the favor the most powerful, Zeus. Stay and side with me, offers Achilles. Phoenix does, and has failed as well. Strike two.
Ajax speaks then. He is readying to leave, as he sees little point in trying to soften a heart so hardened, and so speaks briefly, his only claim to say that Achilles should honor them, out of friendship. He makes a personal appeal, based on love, not a promise of later goods. Come back because we, your friends, want you back.
You get the distinct impression that behind Ajax’s words is a wealth of backstory, of real friendship between the two. Though no stories exist to explain the image, a scene of Ajax and Achilles playing a board game while they last out the siege gained a great deal of popularity and many imitators in 5th century Greece. Odysseus and Phoenix show fear for the Greek cause, but only Ajax reveals a personal desire for Achilles’ friendship. For Ajax, that is the greater loss.
What is remarkable is that for all his loutish ineloquence, Ajax is the one who comes closest to persuading Achilles and is the only one who gets a concession. Achilles says he will not leave for home and will rejoin for the sake of friendship if the Greek ships are in danger.
As before with Paris, Power (Hera) and Wisdom (Athena) are not persuasive. Even for the sake of friendship, Achilles remains largely unmoved. None of the offers work. Aphrodite’s offer, represented here by Achilles’ claim to Briseis, remains the victor, and so the original judgement is strengthened. Beauty it would seem is what persuades, according to the Greeks. But this is not the final word. For as we know, Achilles does re-enter the fray. Something will move him beyond the offer of Power, Wisdom or Beauty. But what could that be? That will be the question for a later Banquet.
Paris’s choice in our own day
It is clear that Homer did not arrive upon these three goods- Power, Wisdom and Beauty randomly. There are powerful attractions and powerful repulsions among them, and Man seems ruled by the force of them to a great degree. And yet as soon as Man draws closer to one, the forces of the other two reassert themselves. Paris chose Aphrodite, and gets Helen—but only for a while. In the end, Paris dies miserably, unloved and disrespected by friend and foe alike, and Power and Wisdom have their day, as Troy falls to stratagem and is destroyed, and Helen returns to her husband.
And so too modern man, in seeking one at the detriment of the others, falls prey to excess. The others will assert themselves in time. Even two together, without the third, will lead to a lessening of Man’s nature.
Power and Beauty are ephemeral, say the Philosophers. Man is a creature of the present, reply the Machiavels and Fliskmahoys. Wisdom and Power don’t move man’s heart, say the Poets. Man is ruled by his intellect, respond the Sages and CEOs. Man survives best without Beauty and Wisdom, say the Ubermenschen That man becomes a monster, say the Children and the Elders.
Reason, (ordered as it is toward Wisdom), the Appetite, (ordered toward Beauty) and Ambition, (ordered toward Power) each exist in relationship with the others. When those relationships are well managed, then Man is most himself.
A Local Row
Through a certain lens, the Trojan war is a world war, and has the scope not only of nations battling nations but involves the worlds of both gods and men. And yet, at the same time, it also a domestic dispute, and story of family loyalties. It is intimate as well as universal. The Irish poet Patrick Kavanaugh reminds us of this dynamic in his sonnet (a little poem) entitled “Epic” (a big poem):
I have lived in important places, times
When great events were decided; who owned
That half a rood of rock, a no-man’s land
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims.
I heard the Duffys shouting ‘Damn your soul!’
And old McCabe stripped to the waist, seen
Step the plot defying blue cast-steel –
‘Here is the march along these iron stones’
That was the year of the Munich bother. Which
Was more important? I inclined
To lose my faith in Ballyrush and Gortin
Till Homer’s ghost came whispering to my mind.
He said: I made the Iliad from such
A local row. Gods make their own importance.
Weddings-an end or a beginning?
One of the primary questions to ask whenever we enter into a new work, is whether the work exists in a Comedic cosmos or a Tragic Cosmos. The works of Homer, and indeed most works of pagan literature ultimately exist in a Tragic Cosmos. One can think of the excellent creations of Chuck Jones that display the absurdity of Cosmic justice awarding Good to the unworthy, while effort, virtue, even genius are inevitably vain, and come to nothing.
“Vanity of Vanities,” sayeth the preacher. “Meep, meep,” sayeth the Bird. I speak of course of the Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons.
The coyote occupies a tragic cosmos—the world is against him. Even the laws of physics undo themselves just to stick it to him. He is resourceful, patient, brilliant but it makes no difference. The universe is stacked against him, while that little brainless pipsqueak need never be clever or even aware. The universe takes care of him. Though these two characters occupy the same desert landscape, they occupy two different moral universes.
In pagan literature, stories begin with weddings. They are not idealized. Weddings are where the troubles start. The wedding of Peleus and Thetis, between the gods and mortals, is visited immediately by strife, a strife that will eventually inundate the known world. This is not uncommon—witness the Centaurs and the Lapiths, witness Oedipus and Jocasta. In the Ancient world, weddings exist in a tragic cosmos.
However, in later Christian stories, weddings become the fitting end. In fact, most comedies of the last two thousand years end in marriages. This is not accidental, or merely convenient, but deeply symbolic of the type of cosmos the characters inhabit. They get better than they deserve. Ancient Greek stories do not end with weddings. Things don’t get better. At the very best, there is a hard won re-establishment of the status quo—a return to the peace of the hearth. So Odysseus reunites with Penelope; so Menelaus takes Helen eventually back home.
I hope you enjoyed this Banquet! Don’t forget to check the archive for anything you may have missed!