3.141–183

The separation would have major consequences, contributing to Agamemnon’s death and the extended wanderings of Menelaus in Egypt. The poet pauses to mark the moment:

"ἔνθ᾽ ἤ τοι Μενέλαος ἀνώγει πάντας Ἀχαιοὺς
νόστου μιμνήσκεσθαι ἐπ᾽ εὐρέα νῶτα θαλάσσης,
οὐδ᾽ Ἀγαμέμνονι πάμπαν ἑήνδανε: βούλετο γάρ ῥα
λαὸν ἐρυκακέειν ῥέξαι θ᾽ ἱερὰς ἑκατόμβας,
ὡς τὸν Ἀθηναίης δεινὸν χόλον ἐξακέσαιτο,
νήπιος, οὐδὲ τὸ ᾔδη, ὃ οὐ πείσεσθαι ἔμελλεν:"

"Then Menelaus was urging all the Achaeans 
to consider the voyage home across the broad back of the sea, 
but this did not please Agamemnon at all, for he wished to  
hold the men back and perform sacred hecatombs, 
so he could soften the dreadful anger of Athena,  
poor fool, who did not know that he would not persuade her."

Odyssey 3.141-46

The adjective νήπιος, “foolish,” (146), in the nominative singular and plural, occurs in the first position of the verse frequently in Homeric epic. As a “runover adjective,” the word provides an ironic comment on what has preceded. The word often describes children or young animals, and when the poet uses it of adults, his tone is acerbic, dismissive. If the passage highlights, as here, gods’ inscrutable purposes, then an analogy appears: gods are to mortals as adults are to children.

Irony arises from the fact that we, the storyteller’s audience, know things that the character inside the narrative does not, and can foresee unhappy consequences hidden from the actors in the story. The discrepancy creates an atmosphere of uncertainty and often dread, as we await the outcome. The modern literary term for this figure of speech is “dramatic irony,” because it appears many in Greek tragic dramas, but it is also common in Homeric poetry and fundamental to the view of human experience portrayed there. From this perspective, humans struggle to make their way in a world controlled by higher powers—all-powerful, all-knowing, immortal, ageless—whose purposes are unknowable. The gods want what they want and expect to get it, regardless of the consequences for mortals, who must do what they can in the face of such overwhelming forces. This dynamic is one reason that Greek literature continues to hold our attention. Though the carefree life of the gods is held up in the stories as the existence to which mortals aspire, it is finally meaningless and morally trivial, because nothing permanent can ever happen to the gods. Human life, by contrast, is characterized by the struggle to find meaning in the face of the unknowable and it, not the blissful existence on Olympus, becomes the arena of significant moral and ethical choice (see essay on Book 1.4–5).

After the first division in the Greek troops, “some god” (θεὸς, 158) calmed the sea and it was smooth sailing for Nestor and Odysseus as far as Tenedos, where they dutifully made holy sacrifices to the gods. But to no avail, as the capricious gods again intervened:

ἐς Τένεδον δ᾽ ἐλθόντες ἐρέξαμεν ἱρὰ θεοῖσιν,
οἴκαδε ἱέμενοι: Ζεὺς δ᾽ οὔ πω μήδετο νόστον,
σχέτλιος, ὅς ῥ᾽ ἔριν ὦρσε κακήν ἔπι δεύτερον αὖτις.
οἱ μὲν ἀποστρέψαντες ἔβαν νέας ἀμφιελίσσας
ἀμφ᾽ Ὀδυσῆα ἄνακτα δαΐφρονα, ποικιλομήτην,
αὖτις ἐπ᾽ Ἀτρεΐδῃ Ἀγαμέμνονι ἦρα φέροντες:

Coming to Tenedos we made sacrifices to the gods, 
heading for home. But Zeus was not yet planning a homecoming for us, 
a cruel god, who stirred up evil strife a second time. 
Then some men turned back and boarded the ship with oars on both sides, 
following Odysseus, wise and resourceful king, 
bringing comfort to Atreus’s son, Agamemnon.

Odyssey 3.159-64

Nestor attributes no motive to Zeus for this delay, and we can assume that it didn’t serve the poet’s purposes to say more. Rather, this intervention seems to fit the portrait of the gods in this scene as inscrutable, visiting suffering on mortals for their own mysterious reasons. These memories show Telemachus another lesson he must learn about his father and his world. The arrival at Pylos has modeled for him a healthy family and household, something he needs to understand if he is to exert leadership in the face of the suitors’ depredations. But Odysseus has not been in such a place for twenty years. War, with all its pain, suffering and violent death, has been his life, and Telemachus must come to terms with that experience, too. And unlike the orderly life in Pylos, where regular sacrifices to the gods and proper observance of the customs of hospitality ensure a serene community, the years at Troy have featured sudden reversals of fortune, often caused by unpredictable gods.

After the second rift, Odysseus headed back to Troy with his ships, while Nestor again sailed for home. Diomedes and Menelaus caught up with him and pondered over the best route west to Greece. Nestor, influenced by a portent the Greeks had requested, sailed across the Euboean Sea toward the mainland. He notes that he traveled σὺν νηυσὶν ἀολλέσιν, “with the ships clustered together,” (165), a hopeful sign given all the division that has preceded. Diomedes apparently joined him and would arrive safely in Argos. Menelaus was not so lucky, as we will learn in Book Four. Once Nestor parted from Diomedes, his firsthand knowledge of the fates of his fellow soldiers ended. From now on, he will pass on news that he has heard from others, including more about the dark outcome of Agamemnon’s nostos.

Further Reading

Thalman, W. 1992. The Odyssey: an epic of return, 35–36. New York: Twayne Publishers.