The Heroes of the Iliad by Nikolai Utkin

Available from Imperium Press

Book Length: 624 pages

The status of the Iliad is unparalleled in Western literature, because it sits at the foundation of the vaunted Western Canon. Despite the preeminent place of the Sacred Scriptures, they cannot be chronologically first in this Canon, owing to the simple truth that even the Old Testament was incomplete by the time this work was authored (roughly the 8^th century before Christ). On this alone the Iliad carries with it a great importance; yet this circumstantial fact coincides with the reality that the genius of Homer has not been eroded over the two millennia since the work was originally written. Rather, his genius is needed now perhaps more than it was ever needed before. As the eminent classical scholar Werner Jaeger once put it, “The Greek epics express, with an incomparable depth and fulness, the eternal knowledge of truth and destiny which is the creation of the heroic age—the age that cannot be destroyed by any bourgeois ‘progress’.”¹

Though Jaeger is essentially correct about the immortality of the heroic age, it is not the only age that cannot be destroyed by “progress”; the Age of Faith (the Middle Ages) also rightly qualifies. One does not even have to be a Catholic to observe this, given the otherwise inexplicable interest secularists have in that age—despite the many disgraceful lies they have been told about it—as fantasy themed media is always set in simulacra of that time. Western man senses in that age, as with the heroic age of Greece, something beautiful about his existence which modernity has made him forget. He thus longs for the spirit of his European civilization, as the Athenians longed for the True God with their monument dedicated to an “unknown god”. But we do not have to forget, nor we do not have to long; Homer, the “singing master of the earth” (Inferno, Canto I. 88)² as Dante called him, still speaks to us through the Iliad—if only we take the time to listen to him.

As with all other truly great authors, Homer was a master of characterization. His legendary personages are so vividly portrayed that one would be understandably mistaken for taking them to be figures lifted from the pages of history.³ There are, of course, many such examples fit for analysis. But for the sake of this review, I have found Agamemnon, King of the Greeks, to be a worthy subject. From the very beginning of the work, this man is portrayed as a controversial figure, given that the audience is thrust into the immediate aftermath of his decision to take Achilles’ spoils for himself. The best way to understand him, however, is not by reading what the poet says about him, but rather through paying close attention to what the poet records him as saying, and in turn what he has other characters say to him.

In Book II, for instance, he gives a lengthy yet rousing speech to the weary Greek army, beleaguered by nearly a decade of fighting, in which he says:

…First let each/See that his spear be sharp, and put his shield/In order, give to his swift-footed steeds/Their ample forage, and o’erlook his car/That it be strong for war; for all the day/Shall we maintain the stubborn fight, nor cease/Even for a moment, till the night come down/To part the wrathful combatants…

(II. 467-474)

Agamemnon’s ambitious perseverance is commendable, even if one disagrees with his cause. By instructing his troops to prepare themselves in all material things for yet another battle with the Trojans, he is also telling them that they must prepare their spirits. That is why following the list of the preparatory exercises he exhorts his men that “…for all the day/Shall we maintain the stubborn fight, nor cease/Even for a moment, till the night come down…” (II. 471-473). The fruit of diligence in preparation will be diligence in combat, diligence that will last even an entire day of fighting; this is his expectation. Reacting to these commands and his other words, Homer relates that “…the Argives raised a mighty shout” (II. 482) thereby indicating their enthusiastic approval. Thus the Greek warrior fights with wisdom, which enables him to utilize his weapons and steeds prudently, being a weapon greater, not less than these. For Agamemnon to have these expectations of his men is not of itself prideful (though his aim, the destruction of Troy, may indeed be) but the sensible intuition of a leader who knows the capabilities of his subjects and allies, and wishes to bring the best of these out of his men, moving them so that they may together achieve their common end.

No less important to the character of Agamemnon is what Nestor, the elder knight, says to him in Book IX. In a scene of a council similar to that which occurred in Book II, Nestor humbly requests the king to consider the importance of his state before giving him advice about how he ought to resolve his conflict with Achilles:

For thou dost rule o’er many nations. Jove/Hath given to thee the sceptre, and the power/To make their laws, that thou may’st seek their good.

(IX. 116-118)

Nestor begins by reminding Agamemnon of his duties to Jove (Zeus), the king of the pagan Olympic gods. This excerpt is one of several in this work, and one among numerous others, which illustrates that the ancients believed kingship to be of divine origin. The king is delegated the power to make laws for his community, with the “sceptre” being the symbol of this, for “their good”. Agamemnon thus is tasked with upholding the great expectation which falls upon himself by listening to Nestor’s appeal for reconciliation, or to suffer the implied wrath of the gods for going astray. It is therefore notable that despite the arrogance of the king which shows itself throughout the epic, he resigns himself to this request. Undoubtedly he does so out of respect for the gods, but also out of respect for the decorated elder; thus venerating the divine and honoring the old were held in high regard, and were connected in the morality of Homer. Evidently, this is a reminder of what St. Paul termed “the law written on men’s hearts” (Romans 2:15). For in these and other praiseworthy moral precepts found in Ancient Greece, one can find a remnant of the revealed religion which was given to Adam and Eve, but was corrupted (in the case of the Greeks and other Europeans) by the descendants of Noah’s son Japheth.

Homer was not only a master of characterization, but also a master of poetic analogy. All great poets who have followed have sought to likewise imitate him in this—thus in order to truly understand Western poetry, one must read Homer. One particularly striking analogy he utilizes is that of comparing the Greek and Trojan warriors to lions.⁴ This image is used consistently throughout the work, such as in Book V, where it is utilized to describe the actions of the Greek Tydides Diomed:

…As a lion who has leaped/Into a fold—and he who guards the flock/Has wounded but not slain him—feels his rage/Waked by the blow;—the affrighted shepherd then/Ventures not near, but hides within the stalls/And the forsaken sheep are put to flight/And, huddling, slain in heaps, till o’er the fence/The savage bounds into the fields again;—/Such was Tydides amid the sons of Troy.

(V. 165-173)

The condition of the wounded lion in this highly illustrative example is meant to elaborate upon the condition of Tydides as he is combating the Trojans. Thus in this single vibrant depiction, it is communicated to the audience that the Hellenic warrior fights with intelligence and savagery. At first, these two messages may seem to contrast in a manner that introduces disharmony, but this would be a superficial misinterpretation. In the tendency of the Western tradition which has followed Homer, poetic unity is created by juxtaposing two or more seeming contrary things. Lions are indeed like warriors; they are intelligent yet “savage”, as Homer terms the maned hunter. They utilize strategy in hunting, which Homer alludes to his other lion analogies—thus they are akin to warriors like Tydides. Yet these creatures are “savage” because they—lacking human reason—rely on base instinct and raw physical prowess for their survival. The “rage” of the lion who is wounded by the shepherd is thus simultaneously like and unlike Tydides’ fury. It is in this juxtaposition that one can find more depth for contemplating him than a simple explanation, such as, “Tydides was made more wrathful, not in spite of, but on account of his wounds.”

Coinciding with its immense aesthetic value, the Iliad has a moral quality to it which has a surprising relevance to the life of the Christian. Admittedly, there are—and this is to be expected of any work composed by a pagan author—also quite a few things that run contrary to Christian morals in this work, such as the habit of Hellenistic soldiers to take for themselves captured women as “wives”. Such defects as these are never described in the sort of gratuitous nature that one finds in the writings of post-Christian pagans, yet they are never condemned by the poet. They must be seen as the unfortunate byproducts of a pagan culture that did not yet know the light of Jesus Christ.

This being such, within this epic there are occasional flashes of light which seem to foretell, even among the horrors and glories of war depicted by it, the teaching of Christ. Perhaps the most striking is the peace made between Glaucus and the aforementioned Tydides Diomed in Book VI, even as fierce fighting rages around them. For after they relate their lineages, Tydides, a Greek, proposes to Glaucus, a Trojan, a sign that will mark their personal truce:

…Let us exchange our arms/That even these may see that thou and I/Regard each other as ancestral guests.

(VI. 302-304)

To the Catholic mind, this “exchange” calls to mind the seventh beatitude: “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9).⁵

If these pagans could set aside their national rivalries to make peace with one another, then should this not inspire us Christians to live better, possessing the fullness of truth in Christ and His Church? Indeed, much of the unfortunate quarreling which has set Catholic nation against Catholic nation throughout history could perhaps have been avoided had their leaders desired that their mercy not be outdone by unbaptized ancients who lacked the aid of divine grace and the sacraments. The French and Spanish, for instance, should have put aside their rivalries in the Early Modern period to confront the perfidy of England and the infidelity of the Turks—how much greater would Europe and the world have been had this happened!

Since, however, we can look back on them, the ills of these past ages are unchangeable by the nature of history; but their course is within our power to set right. But one does not have to be a ruler or a soldier to have the chance to be a peacemaker, as this lies within the ability of everyone. Let us make peace in our lives then, true peace, not the superficial “peace” the world knows and preaches.

Another moral lesson that can be garnered from the Iliad is that vainglory leads to ruin. This appears most evidently in the case of the young man Polydorus in Book XX, of whom Homer says:

…Yet, with a boyish pride/To show his swiftness, in the foremost ranks/He ranged the field, until he lost his life.

(XX. 518-520)

The wandering of this son of Priam on the battlefield—his “ranging”—is connected to his easily preventable death. By this, we ought to understand that inordinate curiosity makes us wander, as does a sinful desire to be regarded in the eyes of men, and so such impulses will lead us first to temporal ruin, and then eternal ruin, if not fought against. Had Polydorus fought his passions rather than the Greeks, his life would have been saved. Thus, we must mortify ourselves before seeking to combat our external enemies.

In closing, the Iliad ranks itself an essential text, for one cannot possess even an elementary understanding of Western Civilization without it. It falls upon every Western man, therefore, to read this book—or at least parts of it—once or more; us Catholics are no exception. One cannot truly begin to understand all the great writers who followed after Homer in the Western Canon, such as Dante and Shakespeare, without knowing the man who began it all. Readers may struggle with the prose of Bryant’s translation, but the “antiquated” complexity of his language rewards careful reading. But if one finds him too dense, one ought to read another worthy rendition in more of a contemporary English, such as the translations by Lattimore or Fagles. To reclaim the West, Western man must remember who he is; and therefore, he must know this story, as it stands at the basis of his tradition. He must therefore learn from the valor and the wisdom this tale holds.

1. Jaeger, Werner. Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture. Vol 1. Archaic Greece: The Mind of Athens. pg. 38.

2. I reference here John Ciardi’s translation.

3. There is the possibility that at least some of the Greeks and Trojans described by Homer were in fact based on historical personages, but this is uncertain. For further reading on the historicity of Troy, the following is suggested:

   Fitton, Lesley, and Alexandra Villing. “The search for the lost city of Troy.” The British Museum, 18 June 2019. www.britishmuseum.org/blog/search-lost-city-troy.

4. On this point, it is worth mentioning that lions were indeed once native to both Greece and Asia Minor before they were hunted down to extinction. Two intriguing articles on the subject are recommended to the intrigued reader:

   Combing, Beach. “The Last European Lion.” Beachcombing’s Bizarre History Blog. 29 June 2013. www.strangehistory.net/2013/06/29/the-last-european-lion/.

   Zimmer, Katarina. “The Last Wild Lions of Europe.” Sapiens.org. 4 Jan. 2022. www.sapiens.org/archaeology/lions-europe/.

5. For more elaboration on this beatitude, the following excerpt is given from the Catholic Encyclopedia:

   “The ‘peacemakers’ (verse 9) are those who not only live in peace with others but moreover do their best to preserve peace and friendship among mankind and between God and man, and to restore it when it has been disturbed. It is on account of this godly work, ‘an imitating of God’s love of man’ as St. Gregory of Nyssa styles it, that they shall be called the sons of God, ‘children of your Father who is in heaven’ (Matthew 5:45).”

   “The Eight Beatitudes.” Catholic Encyclopedia.

   https://www.newadvent.org/cathen/02371a.htm.