Amy, if I were counseling someone partaking of a first read of the Iliad, or even a grizzled veteran of many readings, I would strongly recommend turning to Simone Weil’s essay, “The Iliad, or the Poem of Force.” I’m sure you’re familiar with it, but for other readers, she identifies force (”all is settled with the coercion of force”) as the center of the Iliad. You said “Even with its mythic elements Homer delivers a profound and truthful vision of the human condition.” Yes he does, and in the Iliad it is dark indeed. Weil said “The Iliad is the purest and loveliest of mirrors.” If it is, it’s as dark as the Aztecs’ Tezcatlipōca (“smoking mirror,” referring to the obsidian mirrors used by the Aztecs, who, it goes without saying, were familiar with “coercion by force.”)
Simplistic renderings often treat the Iliad as a heroic saga, but it is — at its core — a seesaw of retribution. It reminds me of Voltaire’s gibe: “I know I am among civilized men because they are fighting so savagely.” And, unlike the Commedia, the Iliad only provides literary glory and immortality; there is no consoling prospect of the glory and immortality of the Empyrean. That said, there are so many deep familiarities — expressions of vindictiveness and cruelty interspersed with tenderness and pity. Both offer profound treatments of love, justice, courage and yes, wrath. The antagonists in the Iliad are active participants in war’s cruel and absurd contradictions, and Dante, likewise, is an active participant in Hell’s.
Lest I leave the impression I read the Iliad as nonstop Thunderdome (I don’t), I was particularly taken by what Weil describes as “the friendship that floods the hearts of mortal enemies.” She describes it as the purest triumph of love, the crowning grace of war; “the distance between victor and vanquished shrinks to nothing.” Achilles and Priam have such an exchange. Dante’s tender interaction in Canto V of Purgatorio with my favorite character in the Commedia, his former foe Bonconte I da Montefeltro, is a case in point.
These epics depict two great human struggles: one of force, and one of faith. Weil notes “The Gospels are the last marvelous expression of Greek genius, the Iliad is the first.” The Gospels and epics are, to me, waves continuously shaping humanity’s coastline. Psalm 144:4 says, “Man is like a breath; his days are a passing shadow.” But during that breath, we can experience almost 3,000 years of genius and the profound impact of those waves. What a blessing.
Amy, if I were counseling someone partaking of a first read of the Iliad, or even a grizzled veteran of many readings, I would strongly recommend turning to Simone Weil’s essay, “The Iliad, or the Poem of Force.” I’m sure you’re familiar with it, but for other readers, she identifies force (”all is settled with the coercion of force”) as the center of the Iliad. You said “Even with its mythic elements Homer delivers a profound and truthful vision of the human condition.” Yes he does, and in the Iliad it is dark indeed. Weil said “The Iliad is the purest and loveliest of mirrors.” If it is, it’s as dark as the Aztecs’ Tezcatlipōca (“smoking mirror,” referring to the obsidian mirrors used by the Aztecs, who, it goes without saying, were familiar with “coercion by force.”)
Simplistic renderings often treat the Iliad as a heroic saga, but it is — at its core — a seesaw of retribution. It reminds me of Voltaire’s gibe: “I know I am among civilized men because they are fighting so savagely.” And, unlike the Commedia, the Iliad only provides literary glory and immortality; there is no consoling prospect of the glory and immortality of the Empyrean. That said, there are so many deep familiarities — expressions of vindictiveness and cruelty interspersed with tenderness and pity. Both offer profound treatments of love, justice, courage and yes, wrath. The antagonists in the Iliad are active participants in war’s cruel and absurd contradictions, and Dante, likewise, is an active participant in Hell’s.
Lest I leave the impression I read the Iliad as nonstop Thunderdome (I don’t), I was particularly taken by what Weil describes as “the friendship that floods the hearts of mortal enemies.” She describes it as the purest triumph of love, the crowning grace of war; “the distance between victor and vanquished shrinks to nothing.” Achilles and Priam have such an exchange. Dante’s tender interaction in Canto V of Purgatorio with my favorite character in the Commedia, his former foe Bonconte I da Montefeltro, is a case in point.
These epics depict two great human struggles: one of force, and one of faith. Weil notes “The Gospels are the last marvelous expression of Greek genius, the Iliad is the first.” The Gospels and epics are, to me, waves continuously shaping humanity’s coastline. Psalm 144:4 says, “Man is like a breath; his days are a passing shadow.” But during that breath, we can experience almost 3,000 years of genius and the profound impact of those waves. What a blessing.