Table of Contents
The Polities of The Odyssey
In the previous article, I outlined what an economic approach to reading Homer’s epic, The Odyssey, might look like. I also noted that what most strikes me about The Odyssey is Homer’s treatment of comparative political regimes. Looking at the wide variety of regimes Odysseus encounters is the focus of this article.
Given that human behavior, at least in The Odyssey, can be understood in terms of the non-standard assumptions described in my previous essay, what are then the possible states of affairs? Which polities might we look to for arranging human interactions and maintaining political order? Utopia is not readily achieved, not only because of material constraints, but also because human behavior is too restless and too desirous of alternative states of affairs. A straightforward order based on political virtue is also beyond human grasp, again because it clashes with the nature of human beings as we understand them. What then might fit with a vision of humans as restless, intoxicating, deceiving, and self-deceiving creatures? The travel explorations of The Odyssey can be understood as, in part, an attempt to address this question.
I will now consider the major and some of the minor polities described by The Odyssey, roughly in the order they appear in the story.
Pylos and Sparta
Ithaca aside, the first two polities we encounter are through Telemachus. After he leaves home to find news of his father, he stops first in Pylos [Book 3]. His arrival in Pylos and later Sparta will foreshadow the later narratives of Odysseus. Telemachus meets a king (Nestor), is welcomed into a court as a stranger, feasts on meat, is asked to tell his personal story, and other details which mirror many of Odysseus’ stories. The parallels here are obvious and deliberate.
Compared to the later narratives of Odysseus, what is striking about Pylos is how little we understand of it. Much of the talk with Nestor is about how Aegisthus murdered Agamemnon, and how Telemachus hopes to take comparable revenge on the suitors of Penelope. The account is Telemachus-centered, and we receive little insight into how Pylos works. It seems to be an orderly kingdom with steady rule, but we do not get a sense of Telemachus viewing it with the eyes of an inquisitive traveler as we experience with Odysseus.
Later in The Odyssey, when we look back upon Pylos, it doesn’t seem quite so peaceful and sparkling. In Book 15, Telemachus encounters Theoclymenus, who is on the run and taking refuge from Pylos, because powerful men there wish to kill him. Theoclymenus admits that he killed “a man of my own tribe.” [15: 274] It is not obvious who is in the right from the tale of Theoclymenus, but Telemachus lets him board the ship as a guest and allows him to travel onwards [15: 280-282]. Perhaps Telemachus has learned not to trust the polity of Pylos anymore, and that his original understanding of it was flat and lacking in insight, revised after he has now seen more of the world.
A second possible episode of ex post realization about Pylos comes in Book 16, when Penelope is reunited with Telemachus in Ithaca. She exclaims: “Telemachus! Sweet light! I was so sure that I would never see you anymore after you sailed to Pylos secretly, not telling me, to get news of your father.” [17: 41-44] On the one hand, Penelope simply may have been distraught because Telemachus disappeared without warning. Yet she ends up aware of where Telemachus visited, and her words suggest some note of danger for the foreigner visiting Pylos, again the notion of dangerous foreigner visits being a recurring theme in the narrative. Perhaps we are being told that Pylos really isn’t so much safer than the other locales portrayed in The Odyssey.
Returning to the narrative of Telemachus’ visit, from Pylos the sons of Nestor take Telemachus to Sparta, to set him further on his journey [Book 4]. In Sparta they go first to the house of Menelaus, the King, and again there are features of the story that reflect the adventures of Odysseus, such as a feast, an introduction to a king, the inhabitants of Sparta processing the introduction of a stranger, and other elements.
Once again, this polity seems well-ordered, but it doesn’t quite seem happy. As described by Robert Schmiel “the mood… is one of melancholy remembrance” and “domestic strife beneath the surface.” There is, however, prosperity. Early in the encounter we are told that: “Neighbors and family were feasting gladly under the king’s high roof.” [4: 16-17]. We also hear from Telemachus that the halls of Menelaus are “as full of riches as the palace of Zeus on Mount Olympus!” [4: 74-75]
Helen, the Queen (and closely tied to the origin of the entire war), opts for intoxication for the group. At the ceremonies “Helen… decided she would mix the wine with drugs to take all pain and rage away, to bring forgetfulness of every evil.” [4: 220-223] Arguably this is a deliberate contrast with Ithaca. Both polities have been deeply scarred by the war. Ithaca has fallen into unruliness and civil war, whereas Sparta has returned to order, but with sadness, and it is an order kept in place by powerful intoxicants. It is not obvious that Sparta is to be preferred, as it seems to offer less genuine and authentic lives. We are told that Helen is familiar with powerful magic drugs from Egypt, and that these narcotics are “some good, some dangerous,” [4: 231] a statement leaving open the possibility that Sparta has erred in its reliance on intoxication. The reader is not entirely surprised when, later in the book, Telemachus expresses his desire to return to Pylos [4: 590-600]. His apparently effusive praise of Sparta does not seem entirely positive, such as when he notes, “You have made me stay too long.” [4: 599]
There is perhaps a parallel between Odysseus’s conversation with King Alcinous and how Telemachus talks with the King who is keeping him resident, Menelaus in Sparta. In this back and forth, Telemachus does not show himself to be much of a storyteller. Menelaus tells him he does not wish to keep him there [15: 70-80], echoing the language of King Alcinous with Odysseus. Telemachus simply asserts that he wishes to go home [4, 590-600; 15: 88-92]. He doesn’t have much in the way of tales to tell, or any of Odysseus’ mixed feelings about returning home. He lacks both curiosity and the narrative art. This is perhaps related to his relative lack of resources in imagining how the suitors might be vanquished, as he is fundamentally passive in his approach.
In sum, the polities of Pylos and Sparta are shown as wealthy and orderly, yet not entirely successful. Pylos is a black box that appears less attractive with time. Sparta is sad and has chosen intoxication, rather than continued conflict, to deal with the legacy of war.
Ogygia, or the polity of Calypso
We encounter the traveling Odysseus in Book 5, when he is stranded on the island of Ogygia, better known as the home of Calypso. Early on we read that “Calypso forces him to stay with her.” [5: 14]. Yet as the portrait of Ogygia proceeds, it has many comforts, at least superficial ones. The island has a “scent of citrus and of brittle pine,” with a “luscious forest” and “a ripe and luscious vine,” and springs of sparkling water. It has “sights to please even a god.” [5: 60-74]. Calypso claims to have a better body than Penelope and she is ageless [5: 211-214]. Odysseus also has regular sex with Calypso, a goddess, and she sings and weaves with a shuttle made of gold. Calypso offered him immortality if he would stay [5: 136-137].
“The first lesson of the polities explained by Odysseus is that there is no utopian answer as to how men should live, as the lack of scarcity is experienced as intolerable. This illustrates Odysseus valuing his discovery process and quest, rather than simply wishing to maximize the level of his material consumption.”
Yet Odysseus is far from happy, “sobbing in grief and pain,” [5: 83] and “longing to go back home” [5: 152-153]. The first lesson of the polities explained by Odysseus is that there is no utopian answer as to how men should live, as the lack of scarcity is experienced as intolerable. This illustrates Odysseus valuing his discovery process and quest, rather than simply wishing to maximize the level of his material consumption. Calypso seems to recognize this when she utters, “Odysseus, son of Laertes, blessed by Zeus—your plans are always changing.” Odysseus never seems daunted that his journey back to Ithaca will involve a lot of danger along the way [5: 221-224]. Unfortunately, Odysseus’s exit from Ogygia does not proceed smoothly, though he ends up swimming to safety on Phaeacia, to which we now turn.
The polity of Phaeacia
In Books 6-8, the reader encounters a new polity, Phaeacia on the island of Scheria, again as mediated through the travels of Odysseus. This narrative is one of the central episodes of the book, and the Phaeacians receive the best-developed portrait of any civilization besides Ithaca. They are the main plausible alternative to the homeland of Odysseus.
At the beginning of Book 6 we are told that the Phaeacians formerly inhabited Hyperia, “a land of dancing.” But their neighbors, the Cyclopes, kept looting them, and they were driven out to this new home, “a distant place,” which you can take as one description of what I earlier called a deglobalized setting for the story.
No longer could the Phaeacians specialize in dancing; they built a wall around the town and built temples to the gods. They describe themselves as “much beloved by the gods.” [6: 203] As we learn more about the Phaeacians, they seem at first remarkably normal, perhaps the first (ostensibly) normal polity we encounter in The Odyssey. They do not care for archery but prefer “sails and oars and ship” [6: 270-271] and they love to cross the ocean. We are told that, “The people in town are proud….” [6: 273]. The Phaeacians seem skilled, orderly, patriotic, and full of vigor and love of life. Odysseus is very positively impressed by his initial stroll through town [7: 44-47]
But as the narrative proceeds, cracks show in the façade. Odysseus himself offers commentary on Phaeacia. Immediately after waking he sees the beautiful girl Nausicaa; he wonders what kind of place he has landed in, and he asks: “What is this country I have come to now? Are all the people wild and violent, or good, hospitable, and god-fearing?” [6:119-121]
When Athena describes the Phaeacians to Odysseus, she gives him instructions for entering town: “But you must walk in silence. Do not look at people, and ask no questions. People here are not too keen on strangers coming from abroad.” [7: 30-34] As Odysseus moves toward town, Athena pointedly addresses him as “Mr. Foreigner,” [7:48] perhaps to remind him he is not exactly in friendly territory. There is also more than a hint of arbitrary power, namely that to be able to leave the kingdom, the Queen must look kindly upon the visitor [7: 73-77].
The revelations continue as we learn that the origins of this polity lie in incest and violence. The King and Queen it turns out are uncle and niece, and “No woman is honored as he honors her.” [7: 68-69] Furthermore, the line of ancestry involves a king, Eurymedon, who ruled over “the Giants,” and killed them, and was killed in turn [7: 56-60]. It is a bit like a science fiction horror movie where what first seems to be a paradise is revealed as a dystopia. That the Phaeacians had their origins near the Cyclops no longer seems like such a coincidence. The reader starts to wonder if there is any polity with noble origins—it would seem not.
The attitude of the Homerian texts toward slavery is never clear. Nonetheless, we learn a bit later that “The King had fifty slave girls in his house;” [7:104], again a sign of hierarchy and domination.
Odysseus finally decides to reject the polity and the life of the Phaeacians. The King makes him a generous offer to marry his daughter and become the King’s own son, and he offers Odysseus a home and wealth to boot [7: 313-316]. But Odysseus is not interested, and he decides to move on, stating merely that he wishes to reach his home [7: 334].
Yet Odysseus does not immediately begin his voyage. King Alcinous decides to inaugurate a festival in his honor, cooking a feast and packing the halls and porticoes with people [8: 50-62]. After feasting and the lyre, there are contests in every sport, designed to show the visitor, Odysseus, that the Phaeacians are “the best at boxing, wrestling, high-jumping, and sprinting.” [8: 100-104]. There is a periodic insistence that visitors are free to come and go, but suddenly instead of leaving Odysseus is caught up in a long celebration and series of contests. The Phaeacians come across as passive-aggressive, insecure, and wanting guests to leave on the terms set by the Phaeacians themselves, namely a recognition of Phaeacian superiority, but done in a manner which raises doubts about that same superiority.
Once the option of the games and competitions are presented, Odysseus demurs, stating that he wishes to return home [8: 150-160]. In turn he is taunted by Euryalus [“… the best in all Phaeacia, after Laodamas” 8: 114-117]; who tells him he is ignorant of athletics and a mere sailor [8: 159-165]. Odysseus responds that Euryalus is arrogant and decides to compete, and with the help of Athena he fashions a decisive victory [8: 166-200]. Odysseus continues to showcase his talents, causing the Phaeacians to stress how good they are at sprinting, ships, the feast, the lyre, dancing, and “hot baths and bed.” [8: 245-249]. Odysseus is then given gifts and allowed to leave.
In sum, what are we to make of the Phaeacians? They have arguably the most normal society and government in all The Odyssey. It is not destroyed, wracked with war, ruled by ogres, or caught up in imprisonment. It is a society with some very real strengths—most of all sailing and the storytelling of the lyre—and a number of weaknesses, including a certain mysteriousness and passive–aggressive arrogance, combined with some rather unpleasant origins. It seems to insist that its ways are better than those of other societies, but Herodotus later will tell us such a presumption is quite normal and that all cultures, one way or another, hold a similar attitude.
The most striking fact about Phaecia is that Odysseus does not desire it, and he is not tempted to stay there, even in a story where unwise temptation is a major theme. It is an “insiders only” option, less hospitable to outsiders than it pretends to be at first. It seems that for the curious, the ordinary polity simply is not very alluring.
The Lotus Eaters
With Book 9 we return to tales of the more directly bizarre. Odysseus, in response to the musical and poetic narratives of the Phaeacians, responds with his own tale, one of imprisonment.
On the tenth day of Odysseus’s tale, he tells of landing on the island of the Lotus Eaters [9: 84-85]. The Lotus Eaters seem to be passive, they enjoy their fruit, and they hand this fruit out to visitors. Those who taste the fruit in turn become passive and show no desire to leave the island. The visitors forget home altogether, another example of intoxication. Odysseus—at least by his own account—shows no sign of temptation. In fact, he drags his men back, pushes them under the ship decks, and ties them up to prevent them from returning to the Lotus Eaters.
This model of the polity doesn’t receive much treatment in the story. Virtually everyone wants it, it seems to make people happy, and it must be forbidden. Perhaps there is just not that much more to be said. Nothing heroic happens in this society, and no one has any prospect of achieving fame or historic renown. As with Odysseus’s eventual rejection of life with Calypso, the utopian is being taken off the table, and at the very least is not a tempting permanent option for Odysseus.
The Cyclopes
Odysseus and his crew then sail along to the anarchistic community of the Cyclopes, where “They hold no councils, have no common laws, but live in caves on lofty mountaintops, and each makes laws for his own wife and children, without concern for what the others think.” [9: 112-115] Here, we get a look at anarchy as an option.
But the anarchy we observe is not very impressive. The Cyclopes have no boats or ships, and no capacity to build them, and thus their island remains poor rather than turning fertile. There is a very good harbor, but no explicit reason offered as to why boats are not built—is it a lack of desire or simply that there is not enough cooperation in the society of the Cyclopes? Or is the problem a lack of division of labor, as it is stated that there is “no shipwright among them”? [9: 125-126].
It also turns out that the polity of the Cyclopes is far from stable or secure. For instance, it is easy pickings for Odysseus and his men to use their ships to grab goats from the island for purposes of food.
The rest of this story is well-known. One Cycloeps imprisons Odysseus and kills two of his men and eats them. He asserts along the way that he is stronger than Zeus and does not fear him.
Odysseus nonetheless manages to defeat the Cyclopes. He tells him his name is “Noman,” and later manages to poke the Cyclopes in the eye with a hot spear, while the Cyclopes is drunk on wine. The Cyclopes screams that “Noman” is killing him, but his compatriots do not respond, waving off the problem by asserting that “no man” is killing him. This deliberately stupid construction serves as a parable for the broader lack of cooperation in the society of the Cyclopes. For all their brute physical strength, the Cyclopes are ultimately not formidable adversaries, and they are not capable of imprisoning the men of Odysseus in the manner that Circe or the Lotus Eaters might attempt.
The polity based on pleasure does not work, and now we learn that the polity based on pure autonomy does not work either. The Cyclopes tries to throw a rock at the ship of Odysseus and his men, while the ship is leaving the vicinity of the island, but a lone person throwing a rock just does not have enough violent destructive power to stop the escape.
Aeolus, the closed polity
The “floating island of Aeolus,” introduced in Book 10, is well-loved by the gods and protected by sheer cliffs and an impregnable wall [10:1-4]. Twelve children live in the ruling palace, six boys married to six girls, who are in fact their sisters. With their parents, they feast at a never-ending banquet, a surfeit of plenty. It is stressed that the husbands and wives love each other [10: 1-12], and once again we are introduced to what is possibly a utopia.
Aeolus does not hold the main scene of action for long, but we do learn that Odysseus is made to stay there for a month [10: 15]. After he leaves, a blast of wind returns him and his ship back to the island. Aeolus shows his anger at Odysseus, calls him a “nasty creature,” and demands that he leave the island. He also calls Odysseus a man “deeply hated by the gods,” a description which is arguably true.
Aeolus is the ultimate closed polity, it is a very small mini-paradise, and it does not brook much interference from outsiders. It is an example of how a happy and stable polity has no scale, no future, and no real ability to interact with the outside world. It is also based on the practice of incest, which deviates from the norms elsewhere.
Laestrygonia
Next in the book comes Laestrygonia, a town on the cliffs [10: 80-82]. There is a deliberate hearkening back to the Cyclopes. There is talk of herds, the inhabitants are giants, and the king grabs one of Odysseus’s men and eats him. The Laestrygonians also threw boulders from the cliff at the ships of Odysseus. Odysseus and his ship sail away, but with many crew members lost and perhaps eaten [10: 126]. This whole account does not change the story much, so if we read parts of The Odyssey as a catalog of polities, it seems to be suggesting that the world of the Cyclopes (and perhaps many of the other strange island societies) are not entirely aberrations, but rather they represent general patterns which will be repeated, albeit with differing details, around the known world.
Circe of Aeaea and her seductions
The bulk of Book 10 covers the arrival of Odysseus and his remaining men in Aeaea, the home of “the beautiful, dreadful goddess Circe” [10: 136], and this is one of the best-known sections of The Odyssey. Circe can turn men into pigs, and she does this with the crew of Odysseus. She does this with “potent drugs,” another form of (involuntary) intoxication.
Odysseus doesn’t seem to mind this. He goes to bed with Circe, albeit under the condition that she swears an oath that she will no longer make plans to hurt him. There is no hint of actual intoxication in this segment [10:336-348], yet perhaps the reader wonders whether Circe exerts some kind of intoxicating influence simply through her beauty, power, and magic. At one point in the book, Odysseus even suggests that the men stay with Circe, “eating and drinking,” with “food enough to last forever.” [10: 423-428; the men rebel against this suggestion]. Again, we see that Odysseus is a wanderer, determined to take in as much of the world as he can, not just a loyal guy who just wants to return to his home and wife.
Odysseus, however, eventually decides to leave, and Circe requires him to visit the underworld, to which I will turn shortly. As for the polities in Aeaea, there are two and they are intertwined. The first is the bed of Circe and living under her rule, and the second is the life of the pigs, who are fed “some mast and cornel cherries,” which pigs like [10: 243-245]. Nonetheless, these porcine lives are experienced with the minds of men. This is intoxication of the body rather than the mind, and it is not presented as a pleasant prospect.
The gloomy city of the Cimmerians
At the very beginning of Book 11, before the entrance to the Underworld, there is a further (very brief) description of yet another polity, namely the Cimmerians. We learn only that the land is “covered up in mist and cloud,” never sees the sun, and it is dark and gloomy and God never looks upon it [11: 12-19]. It is difficult to infer much from this very brief description, but arguably the Cimmerians reflect a kind of default assumption about polities: if nothing happens, they simply will not shine or prosper. The implied question may be to what extent do the other polities portrayed succeed in doing better than the Cimmerians?
The Underworld
Book 11 presents the tale of Odysseus to the underworld, one of the most-discussed sections of The Odyssey. This is another polity where everyone is sad and indeed, they are dead. Under Odysseus’s own account: “Other dead souls were gathering, all sad; each told the story of his sorrow.” [11: 542-543] Earlier, Achilles had said that he would prefer to be a workman on a peasant farm, rather than to “rule as king of all the dead.” [11: 489-491] He mentions that “numb dead people live here, the shades of poor exhausted mortals.” [11: 475-476]
That is obviously not an inspiring picture, but once you get past the fact that everyone (but Odysseus) is dead, it is striking how normal and matter of fact the Underworld is. It is the one place where Odysseus has honest, non-confrontational, and matter of fact, non-strategic conversations. No one is trying to drug him or enslave him, nor does he face any particular temptation. There is plenty of talk about- the rest of the world, most of all women, being full of cheaters and liars. It is also the place where Odysseus can ask his mother how matters are evolving in Ithaca. He receives correct and to the point answers [11: 170-203], which is more than what you can say for the broader tradition of Greek oracles. His deceased former crewman, Elpenor, also gives him some pretty clear answers as to how things are going in Ithaca, while criticizing Odysseus for leaving his men and his son Telemachus [11: 66-69].
In sum, Homer’s portrayal of the Underworld is making a broader statement about artifice. The only time artifice and deceit disappear are in the land of the dead; they are inevitable in the various polities and lands of the living. The more you think about it, yes, the Underworld is sad, but it is sad for reasons that go well beyond the obvious reflections on human mortality.
Ithaca
Ithaca itself—after Odysseus’s return—is the final polity considered in the story and one of the most important, dominating the latter part of The Odyssey, of course being “home” as well.
One way of understanding Ithaca is through a relatively objective lens. Recall that when Odysseus wakes up there, he does not at first know where he is. His initial descriptions of the place are less than flattering. His initial thoughts are skeptical, mostly as an expression of his own temperament and experience: “Are those who live here violent and cruel? Or are they kind to strangers, folks who fear the gods? Where can I carry all my treasure? And where can I go wandering?” [13: 200-204]. Odysseus then segues into wishing he were still in Phaeacia [13: 204-205], perhaps suggesting Ithaca is not so superior after all, and that Odysseus does recognize the merits of other polities, one lesson he has picked up from his travels and his curiosity.
As the narrative progresses, it becomes increasingly clear that the most fundamental feature of Ithaca is war. In the last book of The Odyssey, the polity is locked into a cycle of ongoing revenge, consistent with the broader portrait offered in The Iliad, an entire story about violent conflict.
Besides war, Ithaca is marked by a radical lack of trust. For instance, in Book 14, Odysseus-in-disguise remarks to a swineherd that he sees he will not be trusted [14: 394]. The swineherd in turn replies that he would receive local renown if he pretended to befriend the new stranger but instead took him inside his home and then murdered him [14: 403-407].
The lack of trust is so fundamental that even Odysseus and Penelope do not trust each other. Telemachus reports that “She [Penelope] does not refuse the awful prospect of remarriage.” [16: 126-127]. Odysseus has no trouble understanding this point, and he makes it clear that Penelope is not to be trusted, not “until we have determined the women’s attitude,” lumping her in with the slave girls [16: 305-307]. Odysseus has wandered for a full twenty years, so it is hardly a surprise that he is not entirely welcome. He notes later that he knows that when he is dirty and dressed in rags, Penelope will neither acknowledge him nor treat him with kindness [23: 114-115].
If we consider Penelope’s behavior with the suitors, this lack of trust should not surprise us; in fact, we might wonder whether anyone should trust her. Antinous describes her behavior to Telemachus as follows: “She [Penelope] is cunning. It is the third year, soon it will be four, that she has cheated us of what we want. She offers hope to all, sends notes to each, but all the while her mind moves somewhere else.” [2: 90-95]. Nor is Telemachus especially loyal to his father, or what he thinks might be the memory of his father. He is a mediocre man, weak, and steered by the course of events rather than taking charge. In the scene of the last banquet, the real views of Telemachus shine through. He lets on that his father may be “lost far from Ithaca” rather than dead; in any case, it is time for his mother Penelope to pick a new husband. He, Telemachus, expresses his intent to provide a lavish dowry [20: 338-345].
Odysseus is by no means an innocent bystander in this picture. Eupeithes, father of the slain suitor Antinous, delivers a speech where he puts forward a not entirely untrue negative portrait of Odysseus: “This scheming man, my friends, has done us all most monstrous wrong. First, he took many good men off to sail with him, and lost the ships, and killed the men! Now he has come and murdered all the best of Cephallenia.” [24: 424-430]. He then shifts quickly to talk of revenge and raises the possibility that Odysseus will leave Ithaca again, this time with no choice in the matter.
A debate ensues as to whether a civil war should be pursued, and “more than half jumped up with shouts,” in support of Eupeithes and the idea of an ongoing conflict [24: 402-410]. The forces supporting Odysseus start to arm as well, and conflict appears inevitable [24: 495-496].
Finally, at the very end of the book, Athena intervenes and tells the Ithacans to stop fighting and to go their separate ways [24: 530-535], acting as a literal deus ex machina. She also tells Odysseus to stop the war, citing the will of Zeus, and he is glad to obey her [24: 543-549]. Athena makes the warring sides swear an oath of peace for the future.
What are we to make of this ending? Is it truly an enduring peace? Or are we left with the lesson that war is the natural state of mankind? For this reader, it is hard to avoid coming away pessimistic about the future of Ithaca. The principles of war seem to be stronger than the principles of peace.
Syria and Crete as coda
Within the final narrative of the return and revenge of Odysseus, there is another polity introduced, the island Syria, narrated to Odysseus by the swineherd Eumaeus [15: 390-485]. We are told that Syria has few inhabitants, but that it is “rich in sheep and wine and grain,” and lacking in famine [15: 407-408]. It sounds pretty good! The reader perhaps wonders whether the actual Syria, if it exists at all, is so wonderful. Syria seems to be a deliberate contrast with Ithaca itself. Syria was split into two provinces, with King Ctesius ruling over both, but “avaricious merchants”—the Phoenicians—came and created disorder. They worked through an untrustworthy Phoenician woman who worked in the house of the king; they seduced her with sex, arguably a contrast with Penelope. This all turns into a roundabout story of how Eumaeus came to Ithaca, namely on an escaping ship, which ended up shipwrecked, and Eumaeus was bought by Laertes as a slave. The lesson seem to be that even initially attractive polities are vulnerable, and fate can readily lead to a loss of freedom. Better polities are hard to find.
There is a second within-a-narrative polity, namely that of Crete, introduced when Odysseus-in-disguise is narrating his story to Penelope [19: 172-204]. Odysseus-in-disguise describes Crete as his homeland, a fertile island, and with many different people and languages, spread out across ninety cities. Odysseus-in-disguise tells a story of how (the ostensible) Odysseus arrived in Crete with his men, received a lavish and friendly welcome with no talk of suspicion, and on the thirteenth day (the ostensible) Odysseus and his men sailed on. Homer then immediately refers to this story as “lies,” [19: 205] and it is arguably the most fantastical polity of them all. Crete as described simply may not be real. It is a society with no trust problems, and Penelope’s response to the narrative is to mistrust whether it happened at all. She gives the stranger a test and asks him if he can describe the clothes and men of Odysseus [19: 217-220]. Odysseus-in-disguise gives a detailed and impressive response, referring to clothes Penelope had prepared for Odysseus before his departure. Of course, Penelope still should not be trusting this stranger, because he is not letting on his true identity as Odysseus.
There are many lessons we can take from this grand tour of epic polities. In my next and final article in this series, I will focus more om the politics and economics of some of these lands and consider the larger question of power in Homer’s narrative.
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Footnotes
[1] Available at the Online Library of Liberty: The Iliad and the Odyssey by Homer, translated by Thomas Hobbes.
Available for purchase: The Odyssey, by Homer, translated by Robert Fagles at Amazon.com.
[2] Schmiel (1972, p.470, referring to 4: 81-119].
[3] At this point there is even an appearance of a blind poet, a possible reference to Homer himself [8: 62-65].
[4] On the passive-aggressive nature of the Phaeacians, see Rose (1969).
*Tyler Cowen is the Holbert L. Harris Chair of Economics at George Mason University and serves as chairman and faculty director of the Mercatus Center at George Mason University. With colleague Alex Tabarrok, Cowen is co-author of the popular economics blog Marginal Revolution and co-founder of the online educational platform Marginal Revolution University.