Slave, Servant, Surrogate: Eurykleia's Roles in Homer''s Odyssey

Slave, Servant, Surrogate: Eurykleia’s Roles in Homer’s Odyssey

          For some decades now – certainly since the publication of M.I. Finley’s The World of Odysseus in the early 1950s – the Homeric epics have been examined not only for the power of their myths but also for what they might reveal about real life in the ancient Greek cultures.  While it is difficult, perhaps, for most of us to acdcept the events detailed in the Iliad and Odyssey as “historical” documents, it is considerably easier to view the cultural attitudes reflected in these works as reflections of what could be termed the “memory” of the culture in pre-literate Greece before the eighth century B.C.E.  Furthermore, it can be persuasively argued, in the case of the Odyssey at least, that it survived over the pre-Homeric ages in part to simply remind listeners of what was and was not acceptable behavior.

            The society described in the Homeric epics can, therefore, be taken as the best mirror we have reflecting the society of the world that existed between the end of the Mycenaean civilization and the time of Homer – whoever he or she was or might have been.  One need not, incidentally, totally subscribe to Samuel Butler’s argument for a female author of the Odyssey to look to the poem for reflections of those virtues and qualities and rules of behavior required of and honored in the women of the Homeric family.  Apart from such “ambiguous” Odyssean women as Circe or Calypso, or certainly the Sirens, there are in the poem a number of carefully portrayed female characters.

            In addition to the faithful Penelope, the lovely Nausicaa and her powerful and fair-minded mother Arete and there is, of course, Helen as we find her in her post-Trojan War role as gracious hostess to

Telemachus and Pesistratos during their visit to Sparta.  Certainly, much could be said of each of these personalities as reflections, to some degree, of a woman’s role in the Homeric society.  It is, however, another woman in the poem, the old nurse Eurykleia, that I wish to consider for what her character might reveal about the roles of a woman – in this case a slave woman – in this Ithakan household.

            The great recognition scene in Odyssey 19 in which the old nurse Eurykleia uncovers the identifying scar on the leg of Odysseus is without doubt one of the most memorable in Western literature.  In its dramatic power alone the scene has few rivals in the poem.  Only those scenes, perhaps, detailing the blinding of Polyphemos (Od. 9) and Odysseus’ stringing of the bow (Od. 21) come close in comparison.

            Apart from the dramatic tension that the discovery of the scar generates, the action of the poem is driven along in several critical respects by the scene: notably the inevitable reuniting of Odysseus and Penelope, the eventual acts of revenge and retribution to be carried out against all guilty suitors and servants in the household, and the particular staging of the stringing of the bow are outlined.  Furthermore, this recognition scene is interesting for the role played by Athena in effectively diverting the attention of Penelope from an amazing scene: a scene that includes, in addition to what must have been an astonished gasp from the old nurse, the splashing of Odysseus’ leg into a basin which spills its contents over on to the floor, accompanied by a lengthy exchange of threatening whispers.  The scene is interesting in at least one other respect – the one on which I focus this paper: what it reveals about old Eurykleia herself and, by extension, what it reveals about individuals in her position of servitude in the poem and in the ancient world generally.  Such revelations are of particular interest because they tend to be inconsistent with traditional patterns of behavior depicted in Homer. 

            Like the inconsistent characterization of Telemachus in Odyssey 1-5 which focuses on developing social and political skills rather than testing his courage in battle as a basis for acquiring kleos, the characterization of Eurykleia is inconsistent with those of other slaves named in the poem.

            Having been purchased in her youth by Odysseus’ father Laertes and designated as a nurse, Eurykleia has obviously served the household of Odysseus for most of her life.  She is generally depicted in the poem as a servant, as in Book 1 when she puts Telemachos to bed, or when she is directed to run errands for Penelope or Telemachus or Odysseus.  At other times she acts as a trusted confidant for both Telemachus when he is leaving for Pylos and Sparta and for Odysseus himself when she discovers the scar.  Furthermore, since she has apparently nursed both Odysseus and Telemachus, and since Odysseus’ mother Antikleia appears in the poem only briefly as a shadow in the Underworld in Book 11, it has been suggested that Eurykleia also serves as a surrogate mother of sorts for both Odysseus and Telmachus.  That Eurykleia’s role as nurse is naturally very close to that of mother and their names – Antikleia and Eurykleia – are so similar further reinforces this point.

            We have, therefore, in Eurykleia, as my title suggests, a slave acting out multiple roles in the poem which, when examined carefully, might well provide a glimpse at least of a culture in transition, a world where a slave is still a slave but something more as well.

            M.I. Finley has observed that “the troubles of non-aristocratic herders, servants and peasants” were not fit subjects for “heroic poetry”; consequently, little is known of their day-to-day thoughts and feelings.  While no doubt this is generally true, both Eurykleia and Eumaeus, in this light, are clear exceptions to those in his observations. These exceptions could, of course, be attributed to the fact that, though they had, for apparently different reasons, fallen into slavery, they were both of noble birth.  They can, then, perhaps, be viewed as aristocrats who are simply victims of misfortune.

            In her marvelous work on women in classical antiquity titled Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves, Sara Pomoroy emphasizes the strong system of patriarchal values depicted in Homer, one in which “women were viewed symbolically and literally as properties – the prizes of contests and the spoils of conquest – and domination over them increased the male’s prestige.”[25]

            However, Pomoroy goes on to point out “women, free or slave, were valued (in the Homeric world) for their beauty and accomplishment.”  While male prisoners were either ransomed or put to death in the Homeric world, women and children were enslaved.  The picture given by Homer has apparently been confirmed by Mycenaean tablets listing large numbers of women and children, sometimes with their places of origin.

            We are informed of Eurykleia’s noble birth, as well as the level of respect awarded her at the end of Book 1 when she is introduced to accompany Telemachus to his sleeping quarters.  Curiously, we are informed that Odysseus’ father Laertes had purchased her “long ago when she was still in her first youth . . . and he favored her in his house as much as his own devoted wife, but never slept with her, for fear of his wife’s anger.”   Even here at her introduction into the poem, one finds, another instance of inconsistency.  When one learns that Eurykleia has been favored and respected in the household to the point that she has never been used by her owner for sexual satisfaction (a not uncommon outcome of the purchase of a young female slave) one somehow would like to learn that it was for reasons of genuine respect, rather than simple fear of Antikleia’s anger!

            Clearly, in the Homeric world a slave of either sex was actually the property of the master and was not permitted sexual relationships without the master’s consent.  In view of this fact, Pomoroy concluded “Eurykleia would have had to have given birth to a baby somehow, without incurring her master’s displeasure, for she became wetnurse to Laertes’ young son Odysseus, as well as, apparently, to his son Telemachus, and in her old age remained on affectionate terms with Odysseus’ family.” [26-27] The details of that life and those children of Eurykleia are not, however, as Finley has suggested, of particular concern in this heroic poem.  Slaves are seen as having no gods, no family lives, and no personal lives.  Those who do exercise personal whims, such as those servant women who cavort with the suitors, are put to death for their behavior, an act, ironically, which Eurykleia fully supports.

            Yet, after Odysseus’ return to Ithaka, the successful action of this poem – particularly his taking revenge on the suitors and reestablishing himself in his household – depends primarily on the roles played by the two most faithful slaves Eumaios and Eurykleia.  Sheila Murnaghan in her work Disguise and Recognition in the Odyssey suggests that while the recognitions involving Eumaeus and Eurykleia have often been read as devices for treating more important characters in the poems such as Telemachos and Penelope, it is possible to read the distribution of Odysseus’ recognitions “as a means of highlighting his dependence on the loyalty of his social subordinates.” [39] The tense moment of recognition by Eurykleia of the scar, she suggests, “dramatizes how much he needs to be able to rely on her and on others like her.”

            In reality, according to Murnaghan, the relationship between Odysseus and these two servants amounts to “a metaphorical kingship.”  Though neither is actually related to him by blood, she suggests, they both in the course of the action “lose their social inferiority as if it were a disguise like the one assumed by Odysseus.

            We learn that Eumaeus, who as a youth has been kidnapped and sold into slavery, had lived in Laertes’ house like a brother to Odysseus in their youth.  In Odyssey 15 in a response to the disguised Odysseus’ queries – a somewhat tender scene during which the old disguised beggar Odysseus pretends not to know the dear friend from his child, Eumaious recalls his relationship with Odysseus’ sister Ctimene to whom he was “only a little less favored.” However, when, says Eumaeus, “we had both arrived at our lovely prime, they gave her away for marriage . . . and for her were given numberless gifts; but the lady gave me a mantle and tunic . . . and sent me to the estate.  From the heart she loved me dearly.”

            The tone of these remarks, while clearly reflecting his acceptance of his lot as a slave, is also tinged with regret over the loss of simple social interactions which he valued in his youth.  “There is no sweet occasion now,” says Eumaeus, “to hear from my mistress in word or fact . . . and greatly the serving people miss the talk in their mistress’ presence, the asking of questions and eating and drinking there, then something to take home with them to the country – which always warms the hearts of the serving people.” [15.366 ff]  Clearly, here is a slave sharing his inner most feelings about his day to day existence.

            Yet, despite his early residence in the house of Laertes and Antikleia, Eumaeus has been relegated to the pig farm on the edge of the estate where he has served faithfully until Odysseus reappears at Odyssey 14.  Eumaeus has been deemed by Laertes and Antikleia a fit companion for their son Odysseus, but hardly a fit husband for their daughter.

            Likewise, it has been suggested that the account of Eurykleia’s history in Odyssey 1 which includes the naming of both her father and grandfather “makes it clear that she is Anticleia’s equal in social status and nearly her equal in position in the household of Laertes.” [Murnaghan 40] Such a view is reinforced in Odyssey 19 in the marvelous flashback which follows the recognition of the scar (reminiscent of a frozen frame in a film ) in which Eurykleia recalls the story of how the brave young Odysseus had acquired the wound while hunting a wild boar.  More important, for our purposes, is the preceeding recollection contained in the flashback detailing the actual naming of the infant Odysseus.  It is Eurykleia, not the child’s mother, who presents him to his grandfather Autolycus to be name.  It has been observed that “any reader of these lines who did not know otherwise would assume that Eurykleia was Odysseus’ mother.” [41]?

            That Eurykleai wields authority and influence in the household of Odysseus is made clear repeatedly.  A very interesting discussion of this aspect of authority was a subject of a paper by Helen Pournara-Karydas at out last gathering at St. Paul’s in which she argued that “Eurykleia has the authority to advise, praise and blame not only Telemachus and Penelope, but also Odysseus who, despite his harshness and seemingly unchallenged authority, in the end, always follows her suggestions.”  She also observed that while Odysseus chooses precisely when to reveal himself to everyone in the poem but Eurykleia who, of course, discovers him, an act which gives to her an element of power over him.

            From the moment she is introduced in the Odyssey Eurykleia is described as old and faithful, a loyal servant and nurse in the household of Odysseus, even a surrogate mother to two generations of males in that household.  Because of her loyalty and no doubt heroic efforts, the household has been held together for more than twenty years.  However, she remains a slave, and after she more or less presides over the reunion of Odysseus and Penelope in Odyssey 23 she vanishes from the poem.

            Near the end of Odyssey 23, set in the bedroom of Odysseus and Penelope, when Odysseus is reiterating to Penelope his instructions from Teiresias, Eurykleia and another servant are preparing with soft coverings the famous bed of Odysseus and Penelope. “Then,” we are told, “when they had worked and presently had a firm bed made, the old woman went away back to bed in her own place” [23.292] while the other servant Eurynome (who although named about whom we know little except she is faithful) actually carries the torch to guide the reunited lovers to their bed and to “their old ritual.”  This is the last we hear of the old nurse Eurykleia.

            When Odysseus has finished relating his instructions from Teiresias, Penelope replies: “If the gods are accomplishing a more prosperous old age, then there is hope that you shall have an escape from your troubles.” [23.286 ff]  The details of the troubles of Eurykleia, however, an individual of an even older age, have no place in the poem.  In contrast, we are given in the final scene a positive portrayal of old Laertes who has purchased Eurylkeia so long ago in “her first youth.”  Laertes has apparently abdicated his responsibilities to the household long ago and fled the estate for a distant farm to avoid the bother of the disruption to the household.  Eurykleia has, on the other hand, managed to muster the strength and fortitude over the years to hold the household together.

            Along with Eumaeus, she has for some reason remained loyal and faithful when she had more than occasion not to be.  Clearly, an unsettled household with an absent master is the perfect place for servants to grow more than a little shiftless and irresponsible unless there is a Eurykleia or a Eumaeus ( or, one recalls in the unforgettable Masterpiece Theater series “Upstairs, Downstairs”: A Mr. Hudson or a Mrs. Bridges) to sustain some semblance of order.  It is Eumaeus who hints at this condition when he, along with the disguised beggar Odysseus, encounters the old dog Argos in Odyssey 17. Argos is lying on a manure pile in a terrible mangy and tick-infested state, explains Eumaeus, in large part because the servants have neglected his care.  These conditions are natural and to be expected, says the swineherd, for “serving men, when their masters are no longer about, to make them work, are no longer willing to do their rightful duties.  For Zeus takes away one half of the virtue from a man, once the day of slavery closes upon him.”[17.320ff]  Yet, obviously he and Eurykleia are exceptions, having apparently maintained their complete virtue – in their twenty-year exercise of loyal servitude.

            These are unique characterizations in Homer, characterizations inconsistent with what has been portrayed as the traditional patterns of Homeric behavior.

            Such apparent inconsistencies and ironies in situation and characterization – variances from what might have long been assumed traditional patterns of behavior in that ancient world – have led the critic Charles Segal to suggest the Odyssey might well have been written in a time “when the heroic ideal [was] undergoing change and redefinition.”  A character such as Eurykleia – highly respected and valued, though still a slave – might be considered a further reflection of a redefinition of values, of an ancient elite culture bent on preserving a world founded on a caste system where subservient folks were meant to be used in all sorts of ways but also were expected still to know their proper place.

[This essay was originally presented to the 89^th Annual Meeting of the Classical Association of New England at Boston University, March 10-11 1995 whose central theme was “Women in the Ancient World: Life and Literature, History and Art.”]

End Notes

Finley, M.I. The World of Odysseus. Penguin Books, 1979.

Lattimore, Richmond, trans. The Odyssey of Homer. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961.

Murnaghan, Sheila. Disguise and Recognition in the Odyssey. 1987.

Pomeroy, Sarah B. Goddesses, Whores, Wives, and Slaves: Women in Classical Antiquity. Schocken Books: New York, 1975.

Segal, C. Homer’s The Odyssey, ed. H. Bloom (New Haven, 1988).

Odysseus in the Underworld: A Classic Mid-Life Crisis

Envisioning the Future and Valuing the Past

            Jacques Barzun, noted Columbia University historian and author of the still popular Teacher in America, commented in a recent address on the use of classics today.  “Obviously,” said Barzun, “the first service that a classic does is to connect the past with the present by stirring up feelings akin to those that once moved human beings – people who were in part very much like ourselves and in part very unlike.” (Barzun, p.1)  He goes on to suggest that studying the classics often loses its relevance, ending up “mere bookishness,” lacking in “imagination” which he defines as “making a successful effort to reconstruct from words on a page what past lives, circumstances, and feelings were like.” (Barzun, p. 11)

            There are, however, exceptions.  The epics of Homer, I would argue, provide myriad opportunities for glimpses into the thoughts and feelings of the ancients which, when imaginatively reconstructed and applied to our own lives, appear surprisingly familiar.  It is in this light that I propose to examine Odysseus’ venture into the Underworld in Book XI of the Odyssey as a classic mid-life crisis.  The depictions of Odysseus and the characters with whom he interacts in this venture present us an extraordinary array of feelings commonly associated today with those of adults at mid life.

            The psychologist Erik Erikson has suggested in the development of his theory of identity outlined in his Identity: Youth and Crisis that we truly know ourselves when we are able at a given point in our lives to value our pasts while realistically envisioning our futures.  When we are able to satisfy these demands forward and backward we are said to have identity, to use Erikson’s term.  Unlike Robert Frost’s hired man in his poem “Death of the Hired Man” we have “identity” when we are able “to look backward with pride” and “forward with hope.”  Conversely, say the psychologists, when we are, for whatever reasons, unable to comfortably envision our lives in both directions – as having a future as well as a past – we are said to be in a state of crisis.  In the modern consciousness, after adolescence it is at so-called “middle age” when individuals appear to be the most vulnerable to such crises.

            Of course, the epics of Homer contain memorable portraits of age extremes.  The contrast between the passion of youth and the wisdom of age is clearly distinguished in both epics.  Both the Iliad and the Odyssey abound in youthful portraits: Achilles and Patroklos, the Phaiacian athletes, Telemachos, Nausicaa, etc.  Likewise, there are in the epics unforgettable portraits of elders: Nestor’s attempt to end the friction between Achilles and Agamemnon; the touching outpouring to Achilles by his old tutor Phoinix; the appeal by old Priam for the body of his son Hektor; or Odysseus’ return to his old father Leartes.

            However, there is more to life than youth and old age.  One does not just leap from childhood to death’s door.  There is, in reality, considerable life in between – life devoted to marriage, family, children, aging parents, the protection of property, and reputation – life that is constantly assessed by the quality of past decisions and enriched by future possibilities – life whose conflicts are understood by competent therapists to contribute considerably to mid-life crises.  Because modern readers accept the notion of mid-life as a stage of our existence, those episodes of the Iliad and the Odyssey that portray the agony and doubt and tragedy associated with this state are particularly appealing.

            Odysseus could, of course, be viewed as an individual in a constant state of crisis throughout the Odyssey.  Throughout much of the epic his future is in doubt.  However, about midway in the poem in Book XI the cloud of uncertainty regarding his future is lifted.

            A brief examination of this venture reveals a conscious effort by the poet to address the universal need of his adult listeners to envision their futures by evaluating their pasts.

            Before proceeding, it might be apt to point out that by my perhaps fanciful calculations, Odysseus should be viewed as “middle-aged” upon his return to Ithaca.  Since when he embarks for Troy he has

already a wife and a child, he can be assumed to be at least twenty or so.  Therefore, after another twenty years of fighting and wandering, he can be envisioned as in his forties at least upon his return.

            Supposedly, Odysseus is directed by Circe to the Underworld in order to obtain directions home.  Critics, however, have long noted that this adventure serves not its alleged purpose – to receive directions home – but the storyteller’s intended purpose [Clarke. P. 58] – to provide Odysseus and his underworld contacts with news of what has happened, is happening, and will happen in the world of the living.

            During this visit, Odysseus both gives and receives information regarding the upper world.  Further, [and this is the major point] this adventure allows Odysseus the opportunity to review his past and, more importantly at this point in his life, to establish his future, thereby providing him with what all mortals seek but never obtain: knowledge of his future – his destiny.

            As directed by Circe, Odysseus meets with the blind prophet Teiresias and receives both assurance and advice – assurance that he will eventually arrive safely back in Ithaca and advice as to how to proceed when he arrives.  After he kills the suitors, he is to take an oar and walk inland until he meets someone who has never known the sea and mistakes his oar for a winnow-fan; then he must drive the oar into the ground and make sacrifices to his old nemesis Poseidon.  If this is done: “Death will come to you from the sea. In some altogether unwarlike way, and it will end you in the ebbing time of a sleek old age.  Your people about you will be prosperous.” [Lattimore: 134-37]

            It is through these extraordinary conversations and interactions between Odysseus and the members of the Underworld – conversations in which the shades of Hades hear and think and speak – that Homer provides us with some of his most powerfully human characterizations.

            Though Odysseus encounters many shades in the Underworld, some are singled out for specific revealing encounters that provoke Odysseus.  It is on these few encounters I wish to focus, because it is the sentiments voiced in these encounters – those with Antikleia, Agamemnon, Achilles, and Aias – that, in Erikson’s terms, assist Odysseus in reestablishing his identity.

            It has been suggested that Odysseus, by his very presence as a living being in the Land of the Dead, brings pain to all who see him and talk with him. [Griffin, p. 101] Unlike the souls with whom he interacts who have only their pasts to consider, Odysseus is also looking to the future.  Without exception, all of the shades with whom he comes into contact look at their pasts with regret and self-pity rather than with pride.

            Not one of the great warriors depicted in these encounters in the Underworld – including Odysseus – is able to take pride in his participation in the Trojan War.  The lovely Helen who [though manipulated by the gods] was the cause of it all, has become for Odysseus just another “vile woman,” and he bemoans the suffering and deaths of his companions who perished there.  After Odysseus has related to the gathering in the hall of Alkinoos his encounters with Teiresias, Elpenor, and Antikleia, there is a brief break in the storytelling after which Alkinoos inquires whether he has seen any of “his godlike companions, who once with you went to Ilion and there met their destiny.” [371-72]

“I would not begrudge you the tale of these happenings,” replies Odysseus, “and others yet more pitiful to hear, the sorrows of my companions, who perished later, who escaped onslaught and cry of battle, but perished all for the sake of a vile woman, on the homeward journey.” [380-84]

We learn here that there are no rewards in the afterlife for a hero.  There remains only the memory held by those alive in the upper world.  During his encounter with the shade of Achilles Odysseus tries to sooth the regret expressed by the “Son of Peleus” by calling attention to the honor bestowed upon him when he was alive and the “great authority” he now holds over the dead. [484-86] “Do not grieve, even in death, Achilleus.” [486] Achilles’ reply is that of a man who, now that it’s too late to matter, has his priorities in order:

“O shining Odysseus, never try to console me for dying.  I would rather follow the plow as thrall to another man, one with no land allotted him and not much to live on, than be a king over all the perished dead.” [489-91]

Every one of his fellow Achaians regrets his past and generally accepts responsibility for it.  They are reluctant to blame the gods.  Rather, they blame themselves, save Agamemnon, who characteristically blames his “sluttish wife” for his fate. [411]  And, since they are destined to remain shades in the Underworld forever, they have no future.  Or, do they?

In one respect many of the shades do have a future, the future that all mortals have, the future of their progeny.  The concern expressed here repeatedly by Odysseus and his former comrades is for the welfare of their families, particularly their children – in this case, of course, sons.  When Odysseus meets with his mother he has in mind the future welfare of his family:

“And tell me of my father and son whom I left behind.  Is my inheritance still with them, or does some other man hold them now, and thinks I will come no more?  Tell me about the wife I married, what she wants, what she is thinking, and whether she stays fast by my son, and guards everything, or if she has married the best man among the Achaians.” [174-79]

Wife, family, fortunes are Odysseus’ concerns, because he is looking to the future.

Agamemnon and Achilles, however, are left only to think of their sons – the only future they can envision.  “Tell me,” says Agamemnon, “if you happened to hear that my son was still living.” [458] Odysseus has no knowledge of Orestes, and the two are left “exchanging their sad words.”  Achilles requests information regarding his son Neoptolemos and his father “the stately Peleus.”  Although Odysseus has no knowledge of Peleus, he is able to relate an elaborate account of Neoptolemos’ brave actions both inside and outside the “Trojan horse.  Apparently, this sooths if not satisfies Achilles.  “So I spoke,” says Odysseus, “and the soul of the swift-footed scion of Aikos stalked away in long strides across the meadow of asphodel, happy for what I had said of his son, and how he was famous.” [538-40]

Among his former comrades encountered in the Underworld only Aias is unwilling to communicate although he apparently recognizes Odysseus.  He rejects Odysseus’ attempts at reconciliation and walks away angry still over his loss to Odysseus of the armor of Achilles.  In Odysseus’ mind, however, the armor has not been worth its cost, and he is filled with regret by Aias’ scornful reaction.  “I wish,” he says, “that I had never won a contest like this.” [548]

Nowhere in Homer, perhaps, are we given so vivid a depiction of a hero’s willingness to resolve an old quarrel and the everlasting bitterness which is the fate of an individual who stubbornly refuses to let go of the old baggage of his past.

The emotions expressed in these encounters have little to do with the gods and their will and power as they do in the Iliad and Odyssey generally.  Rather, they reflect the emotions and concerns common to all mortals.

The primary players in this drama are all looking toward both the past and the future.  However, it is Odysseus’ view that most concerns us, since he is the only player still functioning in the land of the living, the only character with a future.

Homer emphasizes in the opening words of the Odyssey that this is the story of a man.  “Tell me, Muse, about the man.”  It has been suggested that this focus “implies study of personality, of human relations, of the subtle psychology of man – a man in relation to other men and women, to his heritage, to his present environment, and to his destiny.” [Belmont, p. 49]

In Book XVIII Odysseus, awaiting his revenge in his own household disguised as a wretched beggar, humiliates a rival resident beggar named Iros and wins for himself a free meal.  Afterwards, he offers some advice to one of the least offensive of the suitors, a man name Amphinomous whose father and whose family Odysseus has respected in the past.  In a subtle attempt to persuade the young man to dissociate himself from the suitors, he urges Amphinomos to “listen and understand.”

“Of all creatures that breathe and walk on the earth, “says Odysseus, “there is nothing more helpless than a man is, of all that the earth fosters; for he thinks that he will never suffer misfortune in future days, while the gods grant him courage, and his knees have spring in them.  But when the blessed gods bring sad days upon him, against his will he must suffer it with enduring spirit.  For the mind in men upon earth goes according to the fortunes the Father of Gods and Men, day by day, bestows upon them.” [XVIII. 130-37]

Ironically, Amphinomos fails to heed this advice.  Perhaps he is too young to understand and, unlike Odysseus at this time in the tale, with ample spring still in his knees.  At any rate, he does not separate himself from the other suitors as Odysseus has urged, and is later killed by Telemachos in the slaughter.

We recognize the voice of experience in Odysseus’ observations.  These are the words of a man who has known suffering, a man who has literally “been th hell and back.”  Furthermore, we know these words reflect the confidence of a hero, made wise by his trials, who has returned to his home to fulfill his destiny.  The reader knows his adventures are nearing their end.

Jacques Barzun concludes his comments on the uses of classics today by reasserting that while scholarship can be brought in occasionally to shed light on a work, “a classic sheds its own light . . . And everything in it may be usefully related to the world and to the Self; it’s the role of the imagination to forge the links.”  Then, warning mildly of the dangers of proceeding in this imaginative realm, he concludes: “It is easy to talk nonsense and make false connections.  But the reward of reading with a humanistic eye is not in doubt: it is pleasure, renewable at will.  That pleasure is the ultimate use of the classics.” [p.12]

To consider the experiences of Odysseus in the Underworld as a successful passage through a crisis at mid-life may be a bit too imaginative, perhaps – playing fast and loose with the classics, so to speak.  Maybe.  Yet, for all but the most unthinking adult, mid-life provokes nothing if not a taking stock of the past in an attempt to ensure a future.  It seems clear to this reader that Homer’s depiction of Odysseus in the Underworld provides contemporary readers with brilliant models, even case studies, of familiar “feelings akin to those that once moved human beings” in the ancient world.

 [This essay was first presented at the 83^rd annual meeting of the Classical Association of New England at Miss Porter’s School, Farmington, CT, April 7, 1989]

Bibliography

Barzun, Jacques. “Of What Use the Classics Today? Perspective Vol. 1, No. 2. Council for        Basic Education.

Belmont, David E. “Twentieth-Century Odysseus.” Classical Journal 62 (1966): 49-56

Clarke, Howard W. The Art of the Odyssey. Englewood Cliffs, N.J. Prentice Hall, 1967

Dietrich, B.C. “The Spinning of Fate in Homer.” Phoenix 16 (1962): 86-101

_________ Death, Fate and the Gods. London: Athlone, 1965.

Erikson, Erik, Identity: Youth and Crisis. New York: Norton, 1968

Finley, John H., Jr. Homer’s Odyssey. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978

Frame, Douglas. The Myth of Return in Early Greek Epic. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1978.

Griffin, Jasper. Homer on Life and Death. Oxford: Clarendon, 1980.

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