Reading Homer: An Amateur’s Account of the Iliad

Homer is disgusting. Homer is fantastic. Homer is horrible. Homer is sublime. Homer narrates horrendously blood chilling violence. Homer evokes beautifully appealing landscapes. Homer…

…to begin with, is marvellously contradictory!

Ok, before you start raising cudgels over the Homer question, let me clarify that I’m not talking of Homer. Here, for convenience’s sake, I’m going to refer to Homer and his (their?) creation (compilation?) Iliad as one and the same thing, inadvisable though it is…

There’s something magically inexplicable about Homer. Oh yes, how uncritical! But that’s true- at least for me! I find it difficult to ‘interpret’ Homer, and to a lesser extent all other Greek literature, in the standard ways taught us in English Hons.- in fact, I find it not just difficult but also demeaning to analyse Homer in any way. To analyse is to see through the text, to break the skilful illusion which the author weaves, spider-life, around it. Sometimes, I think it reduces Homer’s unparalleled majesty when you break him down into different ideologies and schools. I know why we do it, and why it’s necessary, but still…

The first thing which strikes one is the sheer size. By conservative estimates, there must’ve been around 99,000 men on the Achaian side, a 100 men to each of the 990 ships. Imagine! Imagine the colossal amount that would’ve been sent on their maintenance- there is a point in the tale when ships laden with good wine sail in from Lemnos to Ilium, all for the two sons of Atreus. Innumerable oxen and goats are routinely sacrificed, and then consumed- and daily at that. This is Greece (or from Greece), a sparsely wooded land of scanty precipitation and unfertile soil…clearly, Homer’s Heroic Greece was vastly different from, say, Classical Athens- a land much more rich and rewarding…

Then, as the Primal Parent of sorts of Western literature, Homer has everything, from predominant tragedy to occasional comedy and momentary romance. Yet, what impresses one the most is the terrifying violence narrated by him. So much so that one feels like throwing up, or throwing it out of sight as soon as possible. Nothing more ghastly, gory and sickening than Homer when it comes to the “dance of war”.

Consider this. A spear hits a warrior in the arse and come out from his navel. One hits another in the base of the neck and come out from his left eye, taking along his eyeball as the trophy: a fountain of blood spurts out from the now empty socket. Another is brought down to die an excruciating death as the merciless spear mines its way to come out of the crotch…

One could go on paraphrasing a seemingly endless number of gruesome incidents from that bloody catalogue of death, but I think this much is enough. The point has been adequately stressed…

On the other hand, His also fantastically beautiful. The picture he paints of Greece is magically alluring. A peaceful land, of wooded mountains, gurgling streams, gleaming lakes and white, shining cities. A land of mountain shepherds and country farmers, busy tending their sheep and bees; simple folk, unambitious, content, happy, at peace with the world. A world of merry dances and festivals, of good natured revelry and light fun…it is difficult, almost impossible, to associate this world and its denizens with high and noble personages, great heroes and god-ordained kings. Perseus, Agamemnon, and Oedipus seem to have little in common with these rustic folk!

Then there the entire ‘heroic’ discourse. A good warrior is one who establishes his arête by killing as many people as possible, without remorse or pity. When angry, Achilleus is as uncontrollable as a ferocious mountain stream: he comes down like doom for the village in the plain and breaks through the banks, sweeping aside many houses- a lifetime of hark work destroyed in the deluge (yes, yes! I am getting the epic simile thing!). Odysseus is, at his best, a malicious trickster, a dishonest, unconscionable manipulator of men and women- wily, sly and worst than the worst of foxes…take him for his word and you will suffer. Fielding’s acute observations on the skulls of military men very much apply to our Homeric Heroes- all action, no deliberation…

Opposed to this rashness of youth is the wisdom of grey-bearded Nestor, a second generation hero. Nestor is always there to guide his proud and generally rowdy “god-ordained” kings, to put them back on track and organise them, to ensure that the Achaians present as a unified front, not as the loosely knit clans as they are, each to his own…

Nestor brings us to another remarkable thing: the Heroic age. The entire heroic age seems to be condensed in just three generations! You have Tantalus and his notorious feast; then Pelops, his two sons Atreus and Thyestes followed by Atreus’ kids, Agamemnon and Menelaus and then kaput! The so-called invasion, the fall of Mycenae, the beginning of the Dark Age…these three generations (Tantalus was no hero!) touch about three Hesiodic ages: the end of the Bronze age, the whole of the Heroic one and the early beginnings of the last, ‘current’ Iron Age. Greek compression at its confusing best!

Finally, Homer’s Gods. The twelve Olympians, with “cloud-bearing” Zeus as their head, exercised great power over mortals without any accountability whatsoever. Well, all Gods do that, you might say. Right, all Gods do that, but not all of them are as fickle, as impulsive, as querulous, as licentious, in fact (which cannot be, because this is mythology!) as unbalanced (big, important word this!) as our motley gang of Olympians- and big daddy Zeus, as the head, is the worst. He’ll do what he wants and is quite blatant about his power- he routinely reminds his rowdy Gods and Goddesses (quite a paradox, eh!) of his power over them, to fling them down to Tartarus and to cage them therein forever more. His will is law, unchallengeable, immutable. If he wants a woman, he will have her by any means, even though she be his sister (and, at one time, mother Rhea). Incest is allowed amongst the Gods; it’s alright to rape your wife, sister, mother…

Yes, it’s so very tragic. That buggers like these should be Gods and not noble men and women like Penelope and Orestes is such a tragedy. Well said noble Pindar: “One is the race of Gods and of men; from one mother we both draw our breath. Yet, our powers are poles apart; for we are nothing, but for them the brazen Heaven endures for ever, their secure abode”…if only, if only we had been them and they us, we who are so much the better in our conduct, if only…yes, quite a tragedy, one which, as Kitto says, runs throughout much of Greek Literature, the tragedy of being men, strong and dignified, yet weak, mortal…

Homer’s Greece is very much a land of flux, not so much in economic and political flux as in a slow process of societal transformation, from semi-civilised barbarism to the balanced Classicism of Pericles. It is this spirit of flux, and so, imperfection, which Homer’s heroes embody. A tragedy, but much much more than that- Homer stands eternal, forever…

Wild Ducks

Why? Why did I go to that protest? How did it help me? Why did I fight with my parents and grandparents to be part of that demonstration? Did I think it would make a difference, would be an affirmative step forward towards positive change? Did I believe that it was my duty as a responsible citizen to register my disapproval of (rising) intolerance and extremism? To come forward and protest against infringement of my, and my fellow citizens’, fundamental, constitutional rights by groups with retrograde ideologies? To stand up for our right to do as we like and please, as long as it’s under the law?

Well, no, not really.

I don’t think protests of this sort make any effective change. A sustained number of them over a long period of time might just bring about some sort of change, but a single protest of, as this was, less than 25 people has, I think, no effect on either state policy or ideology. Protests in general don’t really affect things- when a rare one succeeds, the system soon reverts back to its old status quo in some new form. Protests of this sort, apolitical, essentially urban middle class, with high, lofty (and, to many, ambiguous) aims like civil liberties are nobody’s concern except few intellectual zealots in Universities and some sections of the largely inarticulate, indifferent urban middle class. Yes, a bunch of college students and young amateurs with simple placards standing silently in one inconspicuous corner of a bylane of a major artery make good centre page bylines and off-peak TV news, but that’s about it- five minutes on TV and then off the fickle public consciousness for the latest on Rakhi Sawant’s antics in some brand new reality show.

As far as fundamental rights and things like equality and liberty which the Indian Constitution and its solemn Preamble so magnificently announce and guarantee, well, everybody knows how the real world works. It’s all very nice and proper on paper, but when it comes to life in the real world, then there are people who are more equal, who are, by virtue of their might, of their ‘power’, first amongst equals. There will always be ‘big’ people and ‘small’ people; the big ones will always have their way with small ones, regardless of the political institutions of that particular society. Indian democracy is in itself a conglomeration of feudal parties, veiled patriarchies or one-(wo)man systems. Indian bureaucracy is a highly stratified structure where, given the rigid hierarchies, it’s almost impossible to have any sort of ‘democratic’ discourse…

The law too is different for different people. You can, of course, sight the odd example and cry yourself hoarse about its impartiality, but everybody knows how easy it is to get around our judiciary. If you have the resources, then it’s very easy to impose your will on people- for one, the state, wherever it’s strong and whenever it feels like it, does that regularly. One of our basic desires as a nation is to be above the law, to show people who we are (tu jaanta nahi main kon hun?): being romantic and claiming that nobody’s above it is just being delusional, not accepting reality as it is. Some people, in fact quite a lot of them actually, can get away with almost anything…

So, why did I go?

I think it was because I don’t wish to let go of my wild ducks.

We all need illusions in life, what Ibsen called “life lies”. For one, they make life incredibly and comfortably simple, give you aims and purposes which you otherwise might not even bother about. The idea that there is God, some divinity which sees that ‘good’ is rewarded and ‘evil’ punished, even if that be in the ‘afterlife’ as eternal glory or damnation, has held together the human race, given a majority of it the tolerance and patience to endure all sorts of sufferings which a minority, taking advantage of these beliefs, has inflicted, directly as well as deviously, upon it. Indeed, the very idea that there is an unchanging, (divinely) sanctioned, and so permanent, ‘good’ and ‘evil’ is one of the primary illusions of this race, as is the idea of monolithic identity: his(and her!)story is witness to umpteen catastrophes which have been consequences of changes which have shattered these illusions…

Our lives are full of all sorts of illusions, all of them vital in their own right. The truth might be something else, but we like to believe otherwise. We don’t know whether ghosts exist or not: science, or at least mainstream science, tells us that they don’t. Yet, most of us, in our heart of heart, do believe in them, not just because the idea is so deeply ingrained in our consciousness as individuals and a collective but also because (as Saurav said) it’s fun to believe in them. We know the knight-and-lady-in-distress idea is a romantic exaggeration, yet it appeals to a majority of us. Most of us get up early in the morning, rush to college, attend classes and go back home, all without knowing where we’re moving towards, or why we’re doing it all…

No, you’ll say: we want to get good marks, and a paying job- earn money and be happy. But then, that is absurd also- money and happiness don’t necessarily go together. Indeed, more often than not, the former doesn’t guarantee the latter. Even when they do, then happiness is usually a nice house with a decent garden, somewhere in a quiet suburb: a little paradise of one’s own to mellow away into the seventh age…yet, this too is a sort of an isolationist illusion- cut off from the hustle-bustle of the world, pretending that one’s own little sphere is immutable, happy in ignorance…

Ignorance, of course, is bliss. It really is, no pun intended. But then, knowledge suddenly thrust upon ignorance is one of the causes behind all tragedies. Desdemona didn’t know a thing about Othello’s suspicions, and so she died. Chamberlain thought Hitler wanted peace, and so came the Munich Agreement, and consequently the War. Nehru thought Hindi-Chini were bhai-bhai, but Mao didn’t, and the ’62 fiasco occurred… clearly, there must be a balance between ignorance and knowledge...

So while things like nationhood and nationality are ideas, they’re also ground realities which just cannot be ignored, as Ghosh seeks to do in The Shadow Lines. Ideas bind individual humans into groups: the idea of family, of belonging and of ownership. Ideas join together those small groups into organised societies- democracies, tyrannies, have what you will. They made Hindustan into the Republic of India, and they keep this Republic from sliding back into Hindustan. Everybody knows things don’t always work according to the ideal, yet the idea that a day will come when they will still continues to inspire and move us all…

I think all of us who went there know all of this: in our heart we all know that there are people who’re more equal. Yet, we, or at least I, wouldn’t have admitted that out there before the cameras and the journalists. Not just because it would’ve been bad publicity to have said that, but also because in spite of being fully aware of the ‘reality’-which is quite illusionary-I also realise the importance of upholding ideas, without which the whole superstructure of society would fall to pieces. Reality without the illusion of these ideas is a brutish beast: ignorance must be tempered with knowledge, reality must be softened with illusions.

And that is why I went to that protest.