Paul Schoffer

Senior Seminar: Odysseus—Duffy

Spring 2014

Facets of Odysseus’ Apologoi

Upon his arrival to the island of Skheria, the land of the Phaeacians, Odysseus undergoes

an archetypically mythic process of reintegration into the realm of the living. This begins with

the simile that likens him to the buried yet still burning coal that will gradually rekindle the fire

of life in him throughout the rest of the epic.1 Once he departs to Ithaca, the personal connections

with his nearest and dearest that form the constitutive aspects of his externally-perceived identity

as father, husband, king, and son must be restored through stretch of narrative in books 9-12,

known as the apologoi that occupies a fundamentally central position in the Odyssey, both

thematically, and in terms of its location within the epics’ entirety. These chapters are unique in

that Odysseus becomes the narrator, both to us as the external audience and to the internal

audience of the Phaeacians, whom he seeks to both entertain and instruct in proper hospitality

(xenia) in order to receive safe passage home from them (and us?). This section of narrative is

the source of the most fantastic and folkloric tales within the poem and it is not insignificant that

it is narrated by the hero himself, who, by telling his own tale (and thus controlling how he is

perceived), becomes an exaggerated representation of the typical (even mythic) epic poet within

his own epic. Homer’s main player thus circumvents the fourth wall as skillfully as he does those

of Troy and allows us to engage with and consider the narrative on multiple levels: First, the

apologoi deals directly with some of the fundamental themes of the epic—Odysseus’

homecoming (nostos), characteristic intelligence (metis), and (one which is especially relevant to

1 5.494-498. All passages of the Odyssey are taken from Stanley Lombardo’s 2000 translation.

his situation at the time) proper hospitality (xenia). Through the usurpation of the epic’s

narrative, the hero of the Odyssey thus gains control over his own destiny and transcends the

poem itself.

One of the aspects of Odysseus’ apologoi that is noteworthy and particularly relevant to

this discussion is the fact that the hero benefits personally from his own story through his

entertaining and didactic illustrations of fantastic encounters with “outsiders”. Indeed, it seems

that the most memorable episodes of the entire poem occur within his framed narrative, and it is

not a stretch to say that most people, when they think of the Odyssey, are more likely to recall the

Cyclopes, Lotus-eaters, or Sirens than the comparably lackluster journey of Telemachus to

Sparta and Pylos in the first four books.2 Odysseus’ tales have been shown to represent a more

folkloric and fantastic sort of mythic narrative in comparison to the rest of the Odyssey, and these

episodes bear the marks of more ancient mythic traditions that were apparently also among its

most popular scenes in antiquity, if the prevalence of their representation on surviving pottery is

a reliable indicator.3

The entertainment value of such exotic stories should not be overlooked, as this is one of

the main aims of his performance both to his Phaeacian hosts—the internal audience from whom

he seeks hospitality, guest-gifts, and safe passage, and to us, the external audience of the Odyssey

from whom Odysseus, and by extension, Homer, earns his eternal glory through the continued

study of and delight in his poem. For myths to survive in a preliterate society they must first and

foremost be memorable. It is by no accident that all of the Muses (representing the various arts,

among them epic poetry) are descended from the goddess Memory (Mneumosyne) and the

2 For more on this, see Most, 1989.3 Most cites F. Brommer, Odysseus. Die Taten und Leiden des Helden in antiker Kunst und Literatur. Darmstadt, 1983 and F. Müller, Dieantiken Odyssee-Illustrationen in ihrer kunsthistorischen Entwicklung. Berlin, 1913

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essence of what is readily memorable in art is that which is emotionally engaging. As the

Phaeacians response to Odysseus’ grand tale indicates, they have been not only engaged but

perilously captivated by the story he tells which as we find out, leads them to ruin. To add to this

irony, episodes within Odysseus’ story function as cautionary tales about just the sort of danger

Odysseus himself poses to the naïve islanders, and are quite instructive about the dangers of

excessively investing in narrative, the most immediately appreciable of which is his encounter

with the Sirens, who lure men to their deaths with their potent poetry. The ultimate consignment

to oblivion of the Phaeacians by Poseidon (for helping Odysseus) makes his treatment of them

seem rather twisted in hindsight, as he expends such effort on instructing them in the ways of

proper hospitality (xenia) and the ills that befall those who scorn such proper custom, yet they

themselves are doomed to be destroyed, or at least damned from all memory, not for shunning

the rules of hospitality, but for properly observing them.

The instructive, moralistic agenda indicated by the focus of his tales regarding xenia is

involved in almost every episode of Odysseus’ story in some form but, as he shows us, these

laws seem to apply when and where he wants them to. The first indication of this is present in his

description of his fleets’ first stop after leaving Troy—the island of Ismaros, where Odysseus

orders his men to join him in a piratical raid:

“From Ilion the wind took me to the CiconesIn Ismaros. I pillaged the town and killed the men.The women and treasure that we took out I divided as fairly as I could among all handsAnd then gave the command to pull out fast.That was my order, but the fools wouldn’t listen. (emphasis mine, 9.42-47)

It is somewhat perplexing that in his first story to the Phaeacians he both openly admits to piracy

and attributes no blame to himself for the men under his own command. In any case, his denial

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of responsibility is part of Odysseus’ own PR campaign that is ultimately aimed at winning the

favor of the Phaeacian lords and thus obtaining swift passage home loaded with gifts, after

having arrived on the island with nothing but a story. Through this story, Odysseus portrays

himself as a man of endless suffering (in a bid to inspire pity), but one who nonetheless manages

to survive and prevail by virtue of his characteristic intelligence or metis (that inspires admiration

and adoration). As the passage above indicates, (in line with many other such denials of

responsibility within the apologoi), Odysseus often clearly intends to minimize the degree to

which he is responsible for the deaths of his men and his faults in general. Of course, because

this stretch of narrative is told by him and him alone we cannot verify or refute anything he is

saying, but is not hard to see that he possesses both the motive and the means to construct his

story in such a way that maximizes his personal benefit and part of the way he does this is by

shifting blame off of himself and onto everyone else.

Zeus opens the epic with a focalizing (“mood-setting,” or “theme-establishing”) speech in

which he offers us a framework for considering issues of blame in the epic. The “recklessness”

(atasthala) that Odysseus’ attributes to his men is fundamental for our meditation on blame and

responsibility within the epic:

“Mortals! They are always blaming the godsFor their troubles, when their own witlessnessCauses them more than they were destined for!” (1.37-39)

As negatively contributing factors in the fates of men, this “recklessness” is a recurring motif

throughout the Odyssey, mostly within the apologoi itself, but most notably during the epic’s

finale, regarding the behavior of the suitors in Odysseus’ household. Our protagonist is not

exempt. Each subsequent example of such recklessness (or any of the other recurring primary

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motifs of the epic) provides for us another opportunity to reflect upon those that have already

been introduced, and our appreciation the individual episodes is increased through their

relationship with the others.

One such prominent example reveals itself upon Odysseus’ reception of a magic talisman

upon his arrival in the court of king Aeolus—a bag that is capable of sealing away adverse

winds, leaving only the favorable homeward wind to blow them safely back to Ithaca. The

captain’s anxiety seems great upon his realization that he will soon be home that he puts no

thought into informing his crew of the nature of the bag, and apparently not much else besides,

because they are quite suspicious of their captain, and assume that the mysterious bag contains

valuable treasure that Odysseus has ferreted away for himself. When they are within sight of

Ithaca, he claims to have fallen asleep, then oddly narrates what his men said about him (while

he was supposedly asleep):

“This guy gets everything wherever he goes.First, he’s freighting home his loot from Troy,Beautiful stuff, while we, who made the same trip,Are coming home empty-handed. And nowAeolus has lavished these gifts upon him.Let’s have a quick look, and see what’s here,How much gold and silver is stuffed in his bag.” (10.45-51)

Odysseus, in omitting important information to his crew, glosses over his own staggering failure

in leadership, and we find that he has a serious lack of regard in terms of their capabilities when,

rather than allowing them to take turns with him manning the helm of the ship, he does it all

himself, ceaselessly, for nine days. The inclusion of this in his story to the Phaeacians suggests

perhaps that he wishes to depict himself as being so preoccupied (even obsessed) with reaching

home that he didn’t even consider his crews’ regard of him, and that their greed is indeed what

ruined him, but if we scratch the surface we can paint a rather different picture of the episode.

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Already having seen that Odysseus does indeed concern himself greatly with the procurement of

material goods (during his raid on the Cicones), and knowing that his men are certainly not

wrong that he would get the lion’s share of any loot they come across (as any acting commander

of a military expedition or foreign embassy would) we begin to see that Odysseus’ failure stems

from simply failing to trust his men, both with steering the ship and even with information about

the bag of winds. (Odysseus himself is a ceaseless bag of wind, as he continues on his rambling

tale.)

Another way to read the episode is as a cautionary tale about curiosity—a Pandora’s box

sort of mythic motif that Odysseus is presented to the Phaeacians, and this is certainly an

interesting way to look at the story, and relevant given the themes of the epic as a whole.

Odysseus has already shown us that curiosity is dangerous, both on the Isle of the Lotus-eaters

and in their incursion into Polyphemus’ cave, but, as we discover, the Phaeacians do not take

these tales to heart, at least not in the way that matters. They fail to realize, just as Odysseus does

in the story, that they too, are in a situation where certain information is not being disclosed, and

their curiosity in his tale will wipe them from existence.

The islanders prove (as we discover) that they are essentially more concerned with the

entertainment value of Odysseus’ story than in its facticity. King Alcinous (very strangely, I

must add, given the content) praises Odysseus in such a bizarre fashion that it strikes us as

potently ironic, and it is difficult to discern whether Homer is winking at us here, or the king is

just intended to appear stunningly naïve:

“Odysseus, we do not take youFor the sort of liar and cheat the dark earth breedsAmong men everywhere, telling tall talesNo man could ever test for himself.Your words have outward grace and wisdom within,…I could listen until dawn.” (emphasis mine, 11.373-377, 386)

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Part of the irony, of course, derives from what is blatantly obvious to us, as an audience—

Odysseus is renowned for being a liar. The entirety of the apologoi is a series of tales that “no

man could ever test for himself,” and this is blatantly obvious to us because it takes place within

a distinctly mythic realm and outside of the “real” world represented by Ithaca.

In any case, Alcinous is either a dummy or has just been charmed out of his wits by

Odysseus’ siren song, and following this praise and the king’s request for an account of all the

heroes he saw in Hades, Odysseus capitalizes on his admiration, delivering a narrative coup de

grace of sorts, in recounting the very thing which will charm him even more, and launching into

increasingly exaggerated stories. Odysseus has his audience hook, line, and sinker, and he knows

it by the time he details his trip to Hades (known as the nekyia).

It is within the nekyia that our protagonist most blatantly instrumentalizes his narrative,

when we realize that he has completely free rein to pick and choose which characters of myth to

include, and his choices really indicate the aims his story at this point. As Odysseus points out to

queen Arete, “…I could not tell you/All the wives and daughters of heroes I saw./It would take

all night...”4 so instead he chooses the elements best suited for his own purposes, and this is

reflected in all of his character interactions in the nekyia. As Hades contains the souls of all the

dead who have ever died, he has quite a selection to choose from, as well. In considering the

episode as a whole, we realize that it could easily be removed from his entire story without

changing much, as he both leaves from and returns to Circe’s island with naught to show for it

but a prophecy and a story. The function of Teiresias (in considering the construction of the the

apologoi as a whole) could’ve easily been fulfilled by another prophet, but Teiresias is probably

the most renowned prophet of all Greek mythology and Odysseus’ choice of him (if the apologoi

4 11.337-339

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is sheer fabrication) is just one aspect of the self-aggrandizement he engages in during this

stretch of narrative.

First of all, he begins the series of encounters in Hades (after assuring the drunken

“casualty” Elpenor that he will bury him) with the dead prophet Teiresias, who is supposed to

guide the course of his heroic journey. Perhaps Odysseus intends to get business out of the way

early so he can focus on more sensational matters such as his next encounter with his pitiful

mother, dead from grief at her son’s absence. It seems like a strange way to begin the story until

we recall princess Nausicaa’s advice on how best to handle her parents back in book 6:

“Pass by [my father, king Alcinous] by and throw your armsAround my mother’s knees, if you want to seeYour homeland soon, however far it may be.If she smiles upon you, there is hope that you willReturn to your home and see your loved ones again.” (6.320-324)

Here we discover that, in the domain of the Phaeacians, the queen actually holds sway (unlike in

Ithaca), and the way Odysseus begins the nekyia indicates that he is taking advantage (for

personal benefit) of the queen’s clout on Skheria. By flattering her through beginning his account

with not only the tale of his own dear sweet mother, but an entire catalogue of praise- and

blameworthy women in an obvious bid to entertain her, he represents these figures of myth in a

specific way that just so happens to reflect on himself particularly favorably. One passage that

might catch the attention of anyone that has read Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannos (Oedipus Rex, as

it is known in Latin) is Odysseus’ account of his encounter with the mother of the legendary

king, Epicaste:

“I saw Oedipus’ mother, beautiful Epicaste,Who unwittingly did a monstrous deed,Marrying her son, who had killed his father.…Yet, for all his misery, Oedipus still ruledIn lovely Thebes, by the gods’ dark designs.But Epicaste, overcome by her grief,

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Hung a deadly noose from the ceiling rafters…Leaving behind for her son all of the sorrowsA mother’s avenging spirits can cause.” (11.275-285)

This passage is odd to us because of its departure from the story that we are familiar with.

Oedipus is not depicted as a blind wanderer, but in fact, still rules in Thebes. Coincidentally, this

version depicts a king Oedipus (known for his intelligence), who coincidentally suffers

endlessly, but still bravely forges ahead (and whose mother also happens to be dead). Sound

familiar?

If it is not clear by now that Odysseus completely instrumentalizes his narrative, then the

rest of the nekyia should do just that. At his most audacious he equates himself with Heracles

himself, the most preeminent of all heroes within the mythic tradition. We begin to see the

competitive aspect of storytelling—the reappropriation of myth for personal gain—as Odysseus

relates to the Phaeacians:

“…Then mighty Heracles loomed up before me—His phantom that is, for Heracles himselfFeast with the gods……He held his bow5

With an arrow on the string, and he glared around him,…Heracles recognized me at once. (emphasis mine, 11.630-645)

Odysseus displays prominently here, his tendency for self-aggrandization within the apologoi, in

equating the “hero of heroes” with himself. Odysseus is not Heracles. He is flawed in ways that

we as human beings can all recognize and Heracles strikes us as more god than man. The hero of

the Odyssey’s intention is clearly to appear “godlike,” and this fundamental human tendency to

boast of and exaggerate ones “great deeds,” is expressed explicitly in his tale.

However, as previously mentioned, the self-serving nature of Odysseus’ story is

counterbalanced somewhat, by the cautionary tales contained within. One such example is

5 Relevant, as Hercules is usually depicted with a club. The bow is Odysseus’ weapon. This passage is also foreshadowing the Mnesterophonia (slaughter of the suitors).

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Odysseus’ tales of the Sirens, who lure men to their deaths with tempting narratives.6 Circe

describes the dangers they pose to Odysseus and his men:

“…First, you will comeTo the Sirens, who bewitch all menWho come near. Anyone who approachesUnaware and hears their voice will never againBe welcomed home by wife and children…Row past them, first kneading sweet waxAnd smearing it into the ears of your crewSo they cannot hear. But if you yourselfHave a mind to listen, have them bind youHand and foot upright in the mast-step…Then you can enjoy the song of the Sirens [safely].” (emphasis mine, 12.38-55)

As discussed previously, Alcinous seems to indicate to us that he at least perceives Odysseus’

stories to be true, or at least considers their truth value irrelevant. As a gruff peasant in Akira

Kurosawa’s Rashomon, after hearing three completely contradictory accounts of the same event,

and about to hear a fourth, says, “I don’t care if it’s a lie… as long as it’s entertaining!”7 On a

relevant note, the Phaeacians also fail to perceive the irrelevance of their truth value in

interpreting his story allegorically, and either don’t put the thought into to doing so, or, to give

the Phaeacians’ more credit, perhaps they just don’t have the time to figure it out because

Odysseus is urging them to send him home immediately, and they feel compelled to comply.

One wonders if this is not also part of his strategy, as it wouldn’t be uncharacteristic of him to

realize that, given enough time, they probably would’ve put two and two together and realized

that the ominous prophecy about the destruction of their civilization refers to this guy, right here.

If we consider the passage above within the context of Odysseus’ encounter with the Phaeacians,

we realize that they don’t really have a crew to “tie them to the mast,” figuratively speaking.

They’re untethered, floating free in the echo chamber that total isolation from the rest of the

6 For an extended discursion on the Sirens’ song, see Pucci, 1998. 1-10.7 Akira Kurosawa. Rashomon. 1950.

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world creates, and their naïvete makes it easy for polumetis (“exceedingly clever”) Odysseus to

spin them an enjoyable but dangerous story, at their own expense, and for his own clear benefit.

In regards to the truth value of Odysseus’ tales, their dubious facticity is implied even

more explicitly upon his return to Ithaca, when he tells a series of clearly fabricated and

contradictory anecdotes regarding his return from Troy, known as the Cretan lies, and the details

of these stories echo many aspects of the apologoi, thus making it an even more futile exercise to

discern an authoritatively “true” version of the events, and this reflects on the nature of the epic

itself, epic poetry in general, and, most generally, every single narrative that has been, or will

ever be told, but this is especially relevant to the disciplines of history, and it is easy to forget

that the original audiences of the Odyssey may have indeed believed that the events of the

Odyssey had actually happened, and that the epic, in showing the way that the past can be

utilized to serve the needs of the present through his conflicting stories.

The poem clearly demonstrates, though, the problems inherent with establishing an

authoritative narrative at all, which is exactly what historians attempt to do, which is of course

has the potential to be as self-serving as Odysseus’ stories. As they say, “history is written by the

victors,” and despite the fact that the Odyssey resembles nothing close to what we would

consider a historical source, the poem nonetheless “holds a mirror up” to reveal the flaws of what

we consider “history.” The problem with history as “an agreed upon version of past events,” is

that everybody is not, not will ever be in agreement in terms of an authoritative version of past

events. We, like the Phaeacians and recipients of the Cretan lies in Ithaca, can only look at and

interpret the “evidence” we have (Odysseus’ stories in this case) in order to construct our own

version of past events, which can never be totally accurate. Perhaps we may even, like the

protagonist of the Odyssey, construct a variety of self-serving versions depending on our needs at

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the moment and the wishes, fears, and fantasies of our audience. A major constitutive part of the

glory (kleos) Odysseus earns in the epic is of course due to the skillful recitation of his

supposedly heroic deeds and he seems to turn storytelling itself into a heroic act surpassing even

the content of his stories, as it turns out to be the one feat that finally brings him safely home,

albeit at the expense of the people (formerly) favored by Poseidon.

Our pity for the Phaeacians is diminished somewhat if we consider how the tranquility of

life on Skheria is matched by its frivolity. It seems almost as if the Odyssey is showing us that

these islanders, who seem to be human in virtually every other way, really aren’t, because they

don’t suffer. The Phaeacians are depicted as unwarlike, and rather than competing in battle to

win glory (kleos) like the heroes of the Iliad do, and Odyseus almost expresses overt disdain for

their way of life when he is taunted and competes with Euryalus at discus-throwing in book 8,

but his disregard is especially shown once he has landed back in his homeland of Ithaca, where

he has once again fallen asleep on the return voyage, and upon waking, doesn’t recognize his

own country. In one of the most amusing passages of the Odyssey, he accuses the Phaeacians of

abandoning him:

“Those Phaeacian lords were not as wiseAs they seem, nor as just, bringing me hereTo this strange land. They said they would bring meTo Ithaca’s shore, but that’s not what they’ve done.May Zeus pay them back…Well, I’d better count my goods and go over them.Those sailors may have made off with some in their ship.” (13.218-225)

This passage can be interpreted in a variety of ways, but all of them depend essentially on

whether we want to read Odysseus as being paranoid about falling asleep, about people in

general, or both: According to a straightforward face-value interpretation of his apologoi, we

understand that he has reason to be afraid of falling asleep, as bad things tend to happen.

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Secondly, we know that he has trust issues with people in general anyway through his

interactions with Circe, Calypso, Polyphemus and his crew. Finally, we know that he is

preocuppied with stuff, and the thought of having any of the Phaeacians’ gifts to him stolen

clearly upsets him enough to start handing out indictments. This passage also makes his earlier

behavior in Alcinous’ court seem more manipulative and self-serving in hindsight than

previously, perhaps. There is also a degree of irony in comparing the Phaeacian Euryalus,

taunting of Odysseus, when he is accused of being materialistic in book 8. The hero is utterly

indignant:

“You know, stranger, I’ve seen a lot of sportsmenAnd you don’t look like one to me at all.You look more like the captain of a merchant ship,Plying the seas with a crew of hired handsAnd keeping a sharp eye on his cargo,Greedy for profit.” (emphasis mine, 8.174-179)

It seems his estimation wasn’t so far off the mark, after all, and the irony is compounded when

we learn of the ultimate fate of the Phaeacians.

The islanders’ divine favor and their easy living situation has clearly made them rather

soft, and Odysseus takes full advantage of this. Within the interactions between the two lies

hidden a basic fundamental truth of human existence—suffering makes you tough, but also

ruthless. Odysseus does take advantage of the Phaeacians, if we believe that he probably knows

(and doesn’t care) that the ominous prophecy related by Alcinous in book 8 (that I will discuss

shortly) refers to him specifically, but our pity for them is lessened because of their own

gullibility, frivolity, and weakness. This leads us to a fundamentally disconcerting aspect of

human nature—we seem to respect strength more than we pity the victims of the abuse of its

abuse.

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To digress for a moment, the word “content” as an adjective has come to mean “satisfied”

over time, and this is telling, as it signifies that such desires are contained. If one’s desires are

limited to what they already possess, they are by definition, content, but this is almost entirely

contradictory in regards to human behavior. Explorers, inventors, and conquerors throughout

history strike us as never content, just like our protagonist. He wants more, and this is depicted as

a fundamental cause of his problems but it is also what motivates him and the source of his

attachment to life. We may pass judgements on Odysseus regarding his conduct and character

but ultimately are left with the question—what tethers us to life if we are aimless as so many

characters in the epic are? Our life-affirming (and death-dealing) protagonist is placed in

opposition to them all—he has an aim, a purpose, a goal, a mission, and it is this sense of

purpose that enables one to truly live, but it is also the source of all human suffering, and the two

are inextricably linked.

Our ambivalent perception of a figure like Odysseus, with whom we able to

simultaneously loathe and admire, shows the degree to which such a figure reflects the way we

perceive ourselves on a fundamental level, and I think that our admiration of historical mass-

murderers such as Alexander the Great or Genghis Khan similarly reflects the intrinsic hypocrisy

of human morality just as our simultaneous admiration and revulsion of Odysseus does.

Our language reflects this as well. We term killings during peacetime “murder” but a

killing in a warzone suddenly becomes a “casualty,” (as if it should be something to feel “casual”

about.) We human beings seem to have a blatantly shameless tendency to marginalize and

dehumanize our enemies; those we deem to be in the wrong—in order to avoid crises of

conscience, just as Odysseus does. This is indicated partially in the complete lack of

characterization that he ascribes to his men. Instead, he mostly refers to them as an ambiguous,

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homogenous group who are “destroyed through their own recklessness,” and it is not difficult to

imagine a modern soldier attempting to explain away the death of an innocent caught in the

crossfire using an equivalent phrase.

The only two men that are specifically characterized by him are Elpenor, who drunkenly

falls from Circe’s roof (thus destroying himself through his own recklessness) and Eurylochus,

who incites the rest of the crew, with disastrous consequences, to feast on Helios’ cattle (thus

destroying them all through their own recklessness) despite extensive warnings from Odysseus

(according to him) not to do just this. Overall, he portrays his crew to the Phaeacians as foolish,

greedy, untrustworthy, and disloyal, and infers that they essentially deserved what they got in the

end, despite the blatant red flags within his story indicating his own guilt, and we as an audience

see, though the Phaeacians never seem to, that Odysseus is indeed partly responsible for their

deaths due to his phenomenally poor leadership.

The most significant reversals of him blaming the crew for their fate within the apologoi

occur in book 9, during their encounter with the cyclops Polyphemus. They arrive in the ogre’s

cave, but he is out pasturing his flock. Oddly enough, Odysseus admits his own recklessness for

once:

“My men thought we should make off with some cheeseAnd then come back for the lambs and kids,Load them on board, and sail away on the sea.But I wouldn’t listen. It would have been far betterIf I had! But I wanted to see him, and seeIf he would give me a gift of hospitality.When he did come he was not a welcome sight.” (emphasis mine. 9.215-221)

It is odd that Odysseus admits fault here for a few reasons: For one, this makes problematic a

view of the apologoi as being entirely self-serving, as Odysseus could’ve easily omitted this

detail and said that it was his men that wanted to remain in the cave, but the threat implied to the

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Phaeacians shown through the fate of Polyphemus (“this is what happens to bad hosts.”) would

make less sense as a result, and it could be said that despite his admission of fault and the loss of

six of his men in this episode, the story he gets to (credibly) tell to the Phaeacians here probably

has a net-gain in regards to their estimation of him.

While this first admission of fault is strange, the next is far stranger, as he admits to

Alcinous’ court information that could severely impede or even nullify his chances of going

home. Once they escape the cave and what’s left of the crew is leaving the island with a newly

acquired flock of sheep,8 Odysseus narrates that even “with my men/ Hanging all over me and

begging me not to,”9 he taunts Polyphemus:

“Cyclops, if anyone, any mortal manAsks you how you got your eye put out,Tell him that Odysseus the marauder did it,Son of Laertes, whose home is on Ithaca.” (emphasis mine, 9.500-503)

This ends being his greatest mistake in the entire epic, as Polyphemus now uses this new

information to invoke his father Poseidon to curse Odysseus and his men, and the curse dictates

the rest of the narrative. His curse calls upon the god to guarantee that Odysseus never reaches

home, but it has a caveat, oddly enough:

“Hear me Poseidon, blue-maned Earth-Holder,If you are the father you claim to be.Grant that Odysseus, Son of Laertes,May never reach his home on Ithaca.But if he is fated to see his family again,And return to his home and own native land,May he come late, having lost all companions,In anothers ship, and find trouble at home.” (emphasis mine, 9.526-533)

The only parts of the inclusion of this inclusion in Odysseus’ story that aren’t strange are that it

allows the rest of his story actually make sense, and implies that the Phaeacians are fulfilling the

8 For an in detail look reading of the Odyssey from an economic perspective, see Redfield, 2009.9 9.481-492

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prophecy, and thus bringing a conclusion to the curse, by sending him home. Despite Odysseus’

rhetoric that his men were destroyed through “their own recklessness,” we see here, that this

curse is a result of his recklessness, and makes him look entirely responsible for their

destruction. The fact that Odysseus touches on this but the Phaeacians do not point it out is

somewhat bizarre, especially in light of the apparent efficacy of the Cyclops’ curse so far

(according to the events of Odysseus’ own story) and the aforementioned ominous prophecy that

king Alcinous recounts in book 8.

Unlike the very specific prophecies that Polyphemus and Circe detail,10 Alcinous’ is

much more vague: he says:

“…I remember hearingMy father, Nausithous, say how PoseidonWas angry with us because we always giveSafe passage to men. He said that one dayPoseidon would smite a Phaeacian shipAs it sailed back home over the misty sea,And would encircle our city within a mountain.The old man used to say that, and either the godWill bring it to pass or not, as suits his pleasure.” (emphasis mine, 8.609-616)

Alcinous does indeed tell of this prophecy in advance, but he seems to never realize that helping

Odysseus to get home (specifically), “will be “the straw that broke the camel’s back,” even after

he sees the first part of the prophecy fulfilled in front of his eyes (arguably). He certainly doesn’t

realize it early enough to do something about it, as Polyphemus does, but even when Alcinous

remembers the prophecy the second time he seems to fail to make the direct, connection that it

was Odysseus that brought about the prophecy’s fulfillment, as he never mentions him

personally, but then again, he is not the sharpest tack in the box. It is intriguing that the second

version of the prophecy has a few notable differences:11 Alcinous says here that his father said

10 9.505-519, 12. 145-14811 13.178-190

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that Poseidon “Would be angry with us for giving safe passage,” and then he urges the

Phaeacians— “Let us all agree/ Never to provide safe escort/ To any man who comes to our

city,” in the hope that the second part of the prophecy will not come true, and they go to make a

fearful sacrifice to the god in hopes that this won’t happen, but we (as the external audience)

have just learned from Poseidon himself that this is indeed what he plans to do, and though we

don’t actually see it happen,12we know the god does not make idle threats.

To make another comparison between the Cyclops and Alcinous (besides that they are

both a bit dim witted), Odysseus does, in a sense, “blind” the king as well, but with his story

rather than an olive stake. His tale has the overall effect in not only alleviating him of scrutiny,

also earning him the king’s (perhaps undeserved) admiration that facilitates his expedient

homecoming laden with gifts, despite an ominous prophecy and evidence that Odysseus might

very well be connected to that prophecy.

So, we know that the apologoi ends up helping Odysseus economically and logistically, it

is also fascinating to think of how his storytelling might also be helpful for him (and by

extension veterans of war in general) psychologically and emotionally.13 Odysseus shows a

distinct tendency to avoid identifying himself at first, and in fact does not do so until book 9, and

seems to do so with great pains, after the blind bard Demodocus is able to stir deep memories

and wring tears from him with song—specifically, a song about him. It is this event that seems to

spur him to begin to tell his tale of all the pains he has endured—he finally has a chance to be

heard! We must remember that our protagonist has been bottled up on an island for seven years

after all, and I’m sure we all can understand how talking about old wounds helps them to heal.

(Menelaus in book 4 speaks of “delighting (terpomai) in lamentation,” with Telemachus) When

12 13.152-15713 For more on the modern Learned Helplessness Theory and it’s applicability to Odysseus’ depiction within the Odyssey, see Christensen, 2014.

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Alcinous finally urges him out of great curiosity to finally identify himself, Odysseus does so

seemingly reluctantly, knowing that some parts will be painful, but he quickly gains momentum:

“…You have a mind to draw out of meMy pain and sorrow, and make me feel it again.Where should I begin, where end my story?Heaven has sent me many tribulations.I will tell you my name first…I am Odysseus, great Laertes’ sonKnown for my cunning throughout the world,And my fame reaches even to heaven.” (emphasis mine, 9.13-24)

He goes on for three books, almost without rest, as if a dam has been broken. Many returning

veterans today, similarly, find talking about their painful and traumatic experiences extremely

difficult at first but eventually therapeutic, given the proper audience,14 and Odysseus does

indeed seem to find a similar sort of catharsis through storytelling, and never he never again cries

when his name is said out loud.

In conclusion, the Odyssey shows us its astonishing thematic and compositional

complexity throughout the epic, but within the apologoi in particular. When Homer “hands the

reins” to Odysseus, we can only imagine this effect would have on the audiences of the epic.

Odysseus begins his story:

“My Lord Alcinous, what could be finerThan listening to a singer of talesSuch as Demodocus, with a voice like a god’s?Nothing we do is sweeter than this,”15

Imagine an ancient audience of the epic hearing these words coming from a singer of tales right

in front of them, who is also asserting that nothing is better than what is going on right now. The

epic poet gains himself personal glory through Homer, who is doing the same through Odysseus,

who is, as a character of myth, gaining glory through the Homeric vehicle (or is it the other way

14 For more on this, see Shay, 2002.15 9.2-5

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around?). In any case, we see how Odysseus seems to ascend to a higher level of narrative, and

is brought to life. The stories within his apologoi also differ in style and content from the rest of

the narrative, which only adds to the effect.

The “embedded” narrative, functions on a variety of levels: First, it serves Homer,

compositionally, through the relationships of its various episodes with both each other and the

epic as a whole. It serves and is instrumentalized by Odysseus within his immediate context—

entertaining and instructing the Phaeacians, getting him from point A to point B, and as a means

of catharsis that helps him to regain his sense of self, and finally, it serves us, the new audience,

through our appreciation of the structural interrelation of the aforementioned elements, our

delight in the fantastic and hallucinatory characters and scenarios Odysseus encounters on his

journey, and through its cautionary tales about the dangers of identity loss, whether that identity

loss stems from drugs, sex, or narrative, the Odyssey instructs us how to “come home,” on

multiple levels, and thus to become the best men and women we were always intended, on a

deeply fundamental level, to be.

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SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

William Allan. “Divine Justice and Cosmic Order in Early Greek Epic” Journal of Hellenic Studies 126 (2006) 1-35.

Norman Austin. “Odysseus and the Cyclops: Who is Who.” in Rubino/Shelmerdine (ed.) Approaches to Homer. University of Texas Press, 1983: 3-37

Joel Christensen. The Clinical Odyssey: Learned Helplessness and Narrative Therapy. University of Texas at San Antonio, 2014.

Erwin Cook. “ ‘Active’ and ‘Passive’ Heroics in the Odyssey”. in Doherty (ed.) Oxford Readings in Classical Studies: Homer’s Odyssey. Oxford University Press, 2009. 111-134

Lillian E. Doherty. “Gender and Internal Audiences in the Odyssey” in Doherty (ed.) Oxford Readings in Classical Studies: Homer’s Odyssey. Oxford University Press, 2009. 247-264

Pura Nieto Hernandez. “Back in the Cave of the Cyclops. American Journal of Philology 121, (2000) 345-366.

Irene J. F. de Jong. “Between Word and Deed: Hidden Thoughts in the Odyssey.” in Doherty (ed.) Oxford Readings in Classical Studies: Homer’s Odyssey. Oxford University Press, 2009. 62-90

Glenn W. Most. “The Structure and Function of Odysseus’ Apologoi”. Transactions of the American Philological Association, 119 (1989) 15-30.

Sheila Murnaghan. Disguise and Recognition in the Odyssey. Princeton. Princeton University Press, 1987.

John Peradotto. Man in the Middle Voice: Name and Narration in the Odyssey. Princeton, 1990.

Pietro Pucci. The Song of the Sirens: Essays on Homer. Lanham: Rowman and Littefield, 1998.

James M. Redfield. “The Economic Man.” in Doherty (ed.) Oxford Readings in Classical Studies: Homer’s Odyssey. Oxford University Press, 2009. 265-287

Johnathan Shay. Odysseus in America: Combat Trauma and the Trials of Homecoming. Scribner, 2002.

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