24.22–63

Apollo protects Hector’s corpse with a golden shield, while the rest of the Olympians look on. The iterative verbs continue: they “kept pitying” Hector (23), “kept urging” Hermes to steal the corpse (24). Attention from Olympus often marks a major turning point in Homeric epic (cf. Il. 1.33–52; 2.1–34; 11.1–50; 15.1–76; Od. 1.63–95; 5.1–42), and we should be alert for movement in the plot. In this case, Achilles’s continued attempts to abuse Hector’s dead body spark dissension among the gods as they argue about whether to intervene. Zeus will eventually step in to quell the debate, and his response will move events toward the final resolution in Achilles’s hut.

That the gods assemble on the twelfth day in response to Achilles’s behavior marks his extraordinary stature. Heroes regularly convene assemblies of citizens or warriors, an act that signifies authority over those assembled. The convening often occurs after the hero passes a sleepless night, punctuated by some kind of visitation, a dream sent by a god or the god in disguise, serving as a goad to action (e.g., Il. 2.1–83; Od. 20.1–53). Here the power dynamics are reversed, as a sleepless mortal causes a divine assembly. Once again, we see the narrative pattern, “Everyone did x, except…,” this time used of the gods. All the gods were urging Zeus to intervene, except Hera, Poseidon, and Athena, who consistently support the Greeks against the Trojans.

The gods’ motives as they quarrel over what to do about Achilles seem remarkably mundane: Hera and Athena hate the Trojans because they lost a beauty contest (28–30); Hera refuses to help Hector because she did not nurse him; Poseidon holds an even more obscure grudge (21.441–60). We are reminded again that Homeric gods are not in charge of the universe because they occupy a higher moral plane than mortals, but because they have more power and never die. It is mortals who exercise moral agency in the world of the poem, making choices in the face of inalterable necessities, fate, divine will, and the fact of human mortality. Zeus will move events toward a resolution that valorizes a particular way of behaving in a world ruled by these necessities, but his motives no less private than those of the other gods. He loves Hector for the excellent sacrifices he offers to the gods, not because Hector upholds certain standards of behavior that reflect an overarching moral code.

Apollo’s angry retort to Hera and Athena, while no less personal, points toward the poem’s eventual resolution. They are σχέτλιοί, “merciless,” and δηλήμονες, “destructive” (33). Though Hector has made excellent sacrifices to the gods, they refuse to save his corpse so his loved ones can give him a proper burial. Instead, they want to help Achilles, who is ὀλοός, “destructive” (38), whose feelings are not ἐναίσιμοι, “just” (40) and his mind is not γναμπτὸν “flexible” (41). He is like a lion, whose savage hunger drives him to attack the flocks of men. He has “destroyed pity,” ἔλεον … ἀπώλεσεν, and has no αἰδὼς, “shame” (44). The harangue ends with what looks like proverbial wisdom: Other men may have lost loved ones, siblings or sons; they mourn their loss and then let go of grief, for the Fates have given to mortals an enduring heart. But Achilles has not let go, dragging the dead body of Hector around the tomb of his friend. In his fury, “he abuses the dumb earth” (κωφὴν … γαῖαν, 54).

We have heard a strikingly similar reaction to Achilles’s stubborn pride before, from Ajax, one of three warriors sent to convince Achilles to return to the battle in Book 9:

διογενὲς Λαερτιάδη πολυμήχαν᾽ Ὀδυσσεῦ
ἴομεν: οὐ γάρ μοι δοκέει μύθοιο τελευτὴ
τῇδέ γ᾽ ὁδῷ κρανέεσθαι: ἀπαγγεῖλαι δὲ τάχιστα
χρὴ μῦθον Δαναοῖσι καὶ οὐκ ἀγαθόν περ ἐόντα
οἵ που νῦν ἕαται ποτιδέγμενοι. αὐτάρ Ἀχιλλεὺς
ἄγριον ἐν στήθεσσι θέτο μεγαλήτορα θυμὸν
σχέτλιος, οὐδὲ μετατρέπεται φιλότητος ἑταίρων
τῆς ᾗ μιν παρὰ νηυσὶν ἐτίομεν ἔξοχον ἄλλων
νηλής: καὶ μέν τίς τε κασιγνήτοιο φονῆος
ποινὴν ἢ οὗ παιδὸς ἐδέξατο τεθνηῶτος:
καί ῥ᾽ ὃ μὲν ἐν δήμῳ μένει αὐτοῦ πόλλ᾽ ἀποτίσας,
τοῦ δέ τ᾽ ἐρητύεται κραδίη καὶ θυμὸς ἀγήνωρ
ποινὴν δεξαμένῳ: σοὶ δ᾽ ἄληκτόν τε κακόν τε
θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσι θεοὶ θέσαν εἵνεκα κούρης
οἴης: νῦν δέ τοι ἑπτὰ παρίσχομεν ἔξοχ᾽ ἀρίστας,
ἄλλά τε πόλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τῇσι: σὺ δ᾽ ἵλαον ἔνθεο θυμόν,
αἴδεσσαι δὲ μέλαθρον: ὑπωρόφιοι δέ τοί εἰμεν
πληθύος ἐκ Δαναῶν, μέμαμεν δέ τοι ἔξοχον ἄλλων
κήδιστοί τ᾽ ἔμεναι καὶ φίλτατοι ὅσσοι Ἀχαιοί.

Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus,
let us go; for I do not think that an end to this dispute
will be accomplished by argument on this mission. We should 
quickly tell this story, not a good one, to the Danaans,
who sit there awaiting it now. For Achilles
has made savage the proud-hearted spirit in his chest.
He is hard, and does not consider the love of his companions,
with which we honored him beside the ships, above all others.
He is pitiless. Surely another man has received a blood price 
from the killer of his brother or his dead child.
And the guilty one, having paid the price, remains in the country,
while the heart and manly soul of the one bereft are curbed,
when he has taken the price; but the gods have placed in your chest,
Achilles, a relentless and evil spirit on account of one girl
alone; we have offered to you seven outstanding girls,
and much else besides; make the spirit within you gracious,
and respect your own house; we are under the same roof with
you, out of all the multitude of Danaans, and we want above all others
to be the dearest to you and most cherished of all the Achaeans.

Iliad 9.624–42

The speech repays close study. Both rebukes come at similar points in the poem’s thematic structure, when we were expecting Achilles to “return.” In this case his refusal to reenter the fighting comes after a quarrel with Agamemnon over his injured pride. In Book 24, the stakes are considerably higher, after Achilles has surged away from ordinary human experience in his pursuit of vengeance over the death of Patroclus (19.205–14). The charge against Achilles in both speeches is the same, a lack of compassion for the suffering of others, an inability to see beyond his own grievances. He is σχέτλιος (“hard-hearted,” 630; cf. 24.33), νηλής (“pitiless,” 632; cf. 24.44). Unlike other men who have suffered the loss of someone dear to them grieve and then move on, but not Achilles (9.632–37; 24.46–52).

Ajax is, after Patroclus, the Greek warrior most concerned with the welfare if his fellow warriors. In Books 13–15, he singlehandedly holds off the Trojans for an entire day when the rest of the premier fighters have withdrawn from the fighting because of injury. In Book 17, he stands guard over the corpse of Patroclus, preventing the Trojans from capturing it and stripping off Achilles’s armor. In the first half of the poem, Patroclus is isolated alongside Achilles, unable to distance himself from his friend’s excesses. Ajax is his surrogate during the embassy scene in Book 9, zeroing in on Achilles’s most destructive and self-destructive character defect and reminding us of its cost. Patroclus himself will reappear at the beginning of Book 16, begging Achilles to return to battle and save his friends, who are being pushed back against the sea by the Trojans (16.1–45). His innate compassion finally overcomes his loyalty to Achilles, whose anger is αἰναρέτη, (“cursed,” 33), who is νηλεές, ( “pitiless,” 32; cf. 9.632). Achilles refuses again to fight but agrees to let Patroclus impersonate him by wearing his armor. Like his refusal of the embassy in Book 9, this rebuff prevents a “return” that we expect, given the grave situation on the battlefield. What we get instead is a “pseudo-return,” of the armor of Achilles but not the person, which marks at the same time a second “withdrawal,” which in turn leads to Patroclus’s death (cf. 16.200–9).

The structural and thematic parallels between Book 9, Book 16, and Book 24 mark parallel moments in the story, when the cost of Achilles’s pride becomes so destructive to him and others that it prompts a plea by another for him to reconsider the balance between personal honor and the welfare of friends. Apollo in Book 24 becomes the third figure to make the same argument, but now Patroclus has died, sacrificed to Achilles’s pride, prompting a third withdrawal and even more grievous devastation for Achilles in the loss of his friend. His response has implications well beyond the purely personal.

Achilles’s pursuit of Hector in Books 20–22 is relentless and savage. By the end of Book 20, he has become a killing machine:

ὡς δ᾽ ἀναμαιμάει βαθέ᾽ ἄγκεα θεσπιδαὲς πῦρ
οὔρεος ἀζαλέοιο, βαθεῖα δὲ καίεται ὕλη,
πάντῃ τε κλονέων ἄνεμος φλόγα εἰλυφάζει,
ὣς ὅ γε πάντῃ θῦνε σὺν ἔγχεϊ δαίμονι ἶσος
κτεινομένους ἐφέπων: ῥέε δ᾽ αἵματι γαῖα μέλαινα.
ὡς δ᾽ ὅτε τις ζεύξῃ βόας ἄρσενας εὐρυμετώπους
τριβέμεναι κρῖ λευκὸν ἐϋκτιμένῃ ἐν ἀλωῇ,
ῥίμφά τε λέπτ᾽ ἐγένοντο βοῶν ὑπὸ πόσσ᾽ ἐριμύκων,
ὣς ὑπ᾽ Ἀχιλλῆος μεγαθύμου μώνυχες ἵπποι
στεῖβον ὁμοῦ νέκυάς τε καὶ ἀσπίδας: αἵματι δ᾽ ἄξων
νέρθεν ἅπας πεπάλακτο καὶ ἄντυγες αἳ περὶ δίφρον,
ἃς ἄρ᾽ ἀφ᾽ ἱππείων ὁπλέων ῥαθάμιγγες ἔβαλλον
αἵ τ᾽ ἀπ᾽ ἐπισσώτρων: ὃ δὲ ἵετο κῦδος ἀρέσθαι
Πηλεΐδης, λύθρῳ δὲ παλάσσετο χεῖρας ἀάπτους.

As an inhuman fire rages through the deep valleys 
of a parched mountain, and sets the thick woods ablaze,
and the blustering wind lashes the flames along,
so he swept everywhere with his sword, like something more than mortal,
attacking and slaughtering; and the black earth ran with blood.
As when someone yokes wide-browed bulls
to crush the white barley on the well-made threshing floor,
and quickly the grain is stripped beneath the feet of the bellowing oxen,
so the single-foot horses under great-hearted Achilles
trampled the corpses and shields; and the axle underneath
was all splashed with blood and the rails of the chariot,
struck by the drops of blood thrown from the horses’ hooves
and the rims of the wheels. The son of Peleus drove on,
straining for glory, his hands covered in bloody filth.

Iliad 20.490–503

The frenzy mounts as Achilles mows down Trojans, throwing so many corpses into the river Skamander that the water’s flow is blocked and the river floods over its banks. The god of the river protests:

ὦ Ἀχιλεῦ, περὶ μὲν κρατέεις, περὶ δ᾽ αἴσυλα ῥέζεις
ἀνδρῶν: αἰεὶ γάρ τοι ἀμύνουσιν θεοὶ αὐτοί.

O Achilles, your strength is greater, your deeds more violent
than all men’s; for always the gods themselves protect you.

Iliad 21.214–15

Achilles’s destructive rage has reached superhuman—or perhaps inhuman—proportions. Blocking the flow of the river with corpses equates him with a common figure in ancient Mediterranean myth, the chaos demon who disturbs the regular rhythms of nature, whose final defeat is often a feature of creation myths. Zeus conquers Typhoeus, a storm god, to establish the rule of Olympian gods; Apollo founds his oracle in Delphi on the rotting corpse of Pytho, a monster serpent. In the final words of his speech attacking Achilles, Apollo issues a warning:

μὴ ἀγαθῷ περ ἐόντι νεμεσσηθέωμέν οἱ ἡμεῖς:
κωφὴν γὰρ δὴ γαῖαν ἀεικίζει μενεαίνων.

Great though he is, let him take care not to anger us; 
for he in his fury he disfigures the dumb earth.

Iliad 24.53–54

Though γαῖαν may simply refer to Hector’s remains, the phrase could also carry a more cosmic significance, if the chaos monster is present.

Hera gets the last word in the dispute. Her answer to Apollo, that Hector cannot be given equal status with Achilles because he was nursed by a mortal woman, takes us circling back to the poem’s opening scene, when the quarrel with Agamemnon prompted Achilles’s first withdrawal. Nestor, trying to broker a truce, offers the following distinction there:

μήτε σὺ τόνδ᾽ ἀγαθός περ ἐὼν ἀποαίρεο κούρην,
ἀλλ᾽ ἔα ὥς οἱ πρῶτα δόσαν γέρας υἷες Ἀχαιῶν:
μήτε σὺ Πηλείδη ἔθελ᾽ ἐριζέμεναι βασιλῆϊ
ἀντιβίην, ἐπεὶ οὔ ποθ᾽ ὁμοίης ἔμμορε τιμῆς
σκηπτοῦχος βασιλεύς, ᾧ τε Ζεὺς κῦδος ἔδωκεν.
εἰ δὲ σὺ καρτερός ἐσσι θεὰ δέ σε γείνατο μήτηρ,
ἀλλ᾽ ὅ γε φέρτερός ἐστιν ἐπεὶ πλεόνεσσιν ἀνάσσει.

Do not, great though you [Agamemnon] are, take back the girl,
but let her go, since the sons of the Achaeans gave her to him as a prize;
nor should you, son of Peleus, wish to clash with the king,
since never equal to the rest is the portion of honor
of the scepter-bearing king, to whom Zeus gives glory.
Even if you are stronger, since the mother who bore you is a goddess,
still, he is greater, since he rules over more people.

Iliad 1.275–81

Underneath the surface differences between the two passages lies the same fundamental question: how to evaluate a human life, as inborn greatness is weighed against achievement won by outstanding action. After all the suffering and death on the battlefield, that question now arises again, at the heart of the poem’s coming resolution.

Further Reading

Nagler, M. 1974. Spontaneity and Tradition: The Oral Art of Homer, 172–173. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.

Redfield, J. 1975. Nature and Culture in the Iliad, 212–213. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press.

Schein, S. 1984. The Mortal Hero: An Introduction to Homer’s Iliad, 114–115. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Van Nortwick, T. 2008. Imagining Men: Ideals of Masculinity in Ancient Greek Culture, 77–79. Westport, CT: Praeger.