The Absence of Mercy in Homeric Morality

By Francis Bartus

Posted 12/17/05

Homeric poetry contains a world of parallels. Within The Iliad and The Odyssey, one can cite countless examples of books and events that parallel each other—from the similar deaths of Antinoös and Agamemnon, who both die feasting, to Agamemnon’s microcosmic theft of Briseas from Achilleus, which reflects Paris’ theft of Helen from Menelaos. In many ways, the epics themselves parallel one another. Both poems revolve around the lives of men who have been dealt an injustice; Agamemnon stole Achilleus’ rightly won battle-prize, and the suitors are consuming Odysseus’ possessions as they court his wife. Yet in Book 21 of The Iliad and Book 23 of The Odyssey, both of these men get their just revenge. Achilleus’ aristea comes on the day he returns to war—righteously angry at the death of his friend Patroklos—battling the immortal river Xanthos for life and limb. Odysseus’ comes at long last, when he carefully reveals himself to the suitors—patiently waiting until his trap is set to spring on each of them. Doubtlessly, each of these men wins glory for themselves by slaying their enemies. However, each of the two heroes possess qualities that might dissuade them from indulging in the slaughter of innocents; Achilleus, the glorious and godlike, would kill no man whose death would not bring him glory. Odysseus, the cunning and careful, possesses far too much self-restraint to indulge in the slaughtering of innocents. Yet upon exacting their final revenge, each of these men is granted the opportunity to contemplate the death of relatively innocent, unarmed men. On the banks of the river Xanthos, Achilleus discovers across a man, Lakaon, whom he captured and enslaved earlier in the Trojan war. He immediately recognizes him and acknowledging that he is unarmed, mercilessly proceeding to kill him. Similarly, Odysseus finds himself faced with Leodes, the suitor’s diviner. Though this man has done Odysseus little wrong, the hero finds no mercy for him and brutally slays him. These two episodes, which closely parallel one another, call into question the Homeric concept of heroism and justice, stretching it beyond the boundaries of modern moral convention.

Clearly, the most out-of-character incident occurs at the hands of Odysseus, the self-restraining hero. When he arrives in Ithaka, Odysseus does not rush home to take his vengeance immediately on the suitors: he waits, disguises himself as a beggar, and indeed, suffers the insults and physical attacks of the suitors in his own household. Even when he kills Antinoös, he refuses to reveal his identity. Yet when he finally takes his revenge on the suitors, he pulls out all the stops. In fact, when the battle begins, the narrative lapses into a familiar rhetorical style—reminiscent of the battle scenes of The Iliad. For the first time, one hears echoes of the Trojan war:

Once again the suitors aimed at them with their sharp spears,

and threw, but Athene maid vain most of their casts…

Then the company of wise, devious-devising

Odysseus threw their spears into the mass of the suitors.

This time Odysseus, stormer of cities, struck down Eurydamas;

Telemachos hit Amphimedon… (Odyssey: 22, lns. 272-284)

And so on. These passages parallel The Iliad immensely, following the familiar pattern of spear-cast followed by spear-cast:

…brilliant Achilleus uplifted

the Pelian ash spear, but the warrior Asteropaios

threw with both spears at the same time, being ambidextrous…

Throwing second Achilleus let fly at Asteropaios

with the straight-flying ash spear in a fury to kill him (Iliad: 21, lns. 161-170)

Odysseus and Telemachos’ pitched battle with the suitors departs from Odysseus’ usual method of encounter, in which Odysseus exhibits his cleverness rather than his physical prowess. However, despite the book’s resemblance to The Iliad, Odysseus retains his characteristic brilliance when he coordinates his men to block off the exits and trap all the suitors unarmed. Thus, even in this moment of heated battle, Odysseus retains the key characteristics which define his personality throughout the course of the epic: his brilliance, exemplified by his clever battle-planning, his humility, represented by his beggar disguise, and his self-restraint, evidenced by his decision not to rashly inform the suitors of his identity right away. Yet none of these characteristics manifest themselves when he slays nearly-innocent Leodes, who begs for mercy:

Leodes rushed in and caught the knees of Odysseus,

and spoke to him in winged words and in supplication:

‘I am at your knees, Odysseus. Respect me, have mercy;

for I claim that never in your halls did I say or do anything

wrong to any one of the women, but always was trying

to stop any one of the other suitors who acted in that way.

But they would not listen to me and keep their hands off evil.

So by their own recklessness they have found a shameful

death, but I was their diviner, and I did nothing;

now I must fall, since there is no gratitude for past favors.’

Then looking darkly at him spoke resourceful Odysseus:

‘If you claim to be the diviner among these people,

many a time you must have prayed in my palace, asking

that the completion of my sweet homecoming be far off

from me, that my dear wife would go off with you, and bear you

children. So you cannot escape from sorry destruction.’

So he spoke, and in his heavy hand caught up a sword

that was lying there on the ground where Ageolaos had dropped it

when he was killed. With this he cut through the neck at the middle,

and the head of Leodes dropped in the dust while he was still speaking.
(Odyssey, 22: lns. 310-329)

Here, Leodes differentiates himself from the rest of the suitors—indicating that he did his best to dissuade them from their reckless behavior, yet Odysseus remains unmoved. Surely this passage highlights Odysseus’ physical superiority to Leodes, but it does nothing to indicate his intellectual superiority—or indeed, his moral superiority to the selfish suitors. Perhaps this moral superiority is unnecessary—perhaps the hero should be entitled to his revenge, even on the unarmed and mostly innocent; regardless, Odysseus crosses a clear moral boundary when he slays Leodes, disturbing the narrative and calling his motivation into question. The most disturbing line in this passage is the last: “and the head of Leodes dropped in the dust while he was still speaking.” Nothing could Odysseus’ heretofore unprecedented brutality clearer.

Similarly, Achilleus has his moment of revenge in Book 21 of The Iliad, battling on the banks of the river Xanthos against the Trojans who killed his dear friend Patroklos. Unlike Odysseus, Achilleus is known chiefly by his strength and prowess as a warrior, and his quest in The Iliad consists mostly of self-glorification rather than self-definition. Nonetheless, one must pause and consider the fearsome brutality with which he slays Lakaon, a man who he had once captured and who now escaped slavery to return to battle at Troy. When Achilleus discovers Lakaon, he is unarmed and unarmored, having swum his way out of the swirling river Xanthos:

…the other in terror came near him

in an agony to catch at his knees, and the wish in his heart was

to get away from the evil death and the dark fate. By this

brilliant Achilleus held the long spear uplifted above him straining to stab…

Lykaon with one hand had taken him by the knees in supplication

and with the other held and would not let go of the edged spear

and spoke aloud to him and addressed him in winged words: ‘Achilleus,

I am at your knees. Respect my position, have mercy upon me.

I am in the place, illustrious, of a supplicant who must be honoured…’

‘Poor fool, no longer speak to me of ransom, nor argue it.

In the time before Patroklos came to the day of his destiny

then it was the way of my heart’s choice to be sparing

of the Trojans, and many I took alive and disposed of them.

Now there is not one who can escape death, if the gods send

him against my hands in front of Ilion, not one

of all the Trojans and beyond others the children of Priam.

So, friend, you die also. Why all this clamour about it?

Patroklos also is dead, who was better by far than you are.

Do you not see what a man I am, how huge, how splendid…?’

So he spoke, and in the other the knees and the inward

heart went slack. He let go of the spear and sat back, spreading

wide both hands; but Achilleus drawing his sharp sword struck him

beside the neck at the collar-bone, and the double-edged sword

plunged full length inside. He dropped to the ground, face downward,

and lay at length, and the black blood flowed, and the ground was soaked with it.

(Iliad, 21: lns. 49-119)

Achilleus departs far less from his character in slaying unarmed Lakaon than does Odysseus, but this scene, too, fails to gel with the rest of his battle scenes. Ultimately, Achilleus does battle to gain glory for himself, which is why he cannot resist choosing a glorious death over a long, unsung life. Yet somehow slaying an unarmed man seems below him. Lakaon is a son of Priam, deserving of the respect that goes along with that title. Achilleus would have gained more glory if he allowed Lakaon to defend himself, fighting for his life in the arena of battle. Yet he strikes him down on the banks of the Xanthos like cattle, throwing his body into the river to consummate his angry revenge. Two particular elements add to the poignancy of Achilleus’ mercilessness. First, Lakaon states clearly that he is at Achilleus’ knees, a gesture of deference and supplication. Then, as Achilleus’ sword descends upon him, he spreads his hands wide in a gesture of utter helplessness. Homer utilizes these rhetorical gestures to enhance the impact of Achilleus’ decision, further increasing its overall moral significance in the epic.

Both of these passages, though they occur in different contexts and involve very different characters, cast a critical light on Homeric morality. Presumably, these acts must be considered justified by the poet—otherwise, they would disturb the narrative unnecessarily. Only now, in retrospect, does one pause to reflect on the moral quandary that Homer’s heroes set forth, and happen across two possible explanations. The first of these explanations is intertwined with the implicit class distinctions of Homer’s narratives, in which the life of a hero—a powerful man favored by the gods—is more valuable than the life of a mere son of Priam or a lowly companion of the suitors. Achilleus declaration, just before he kills Lakaon, that Patroklos was “far better” than Lakaon, confirms this possibility, as does Achilleus’ reminder of “how huge, how splendid” he is in comparison to Lakaon. The second explanation involves the righteousness of the hero’s revenge. Perhaps, in this case, their motivations are so righteous and so ordained by the gods can behave outside the usual boundaries of moral character and good taste. By this reasoning, since Zeus and Athene smiled upon the revenge of Achilleus and Odysseus, they become mere vehicles of godly vengeance, rather than selfish purveyors of violence for personal reason. This approach is far more forgiving, as it allows one to rationalize Odysseus’ actions as a form of collective punishment for the suitor’s disrespect of the code of hospitality. In Achilleus’ case, one 7u12ksdmight excuse his revenge as collective punishment for the Trojan’s selfish choice to take what did not belong to them. Regardless of the rationale, the human twinge of these two passages persists; the vivid imagery of the Lakaon’s blood soaking the ground and Leodes’ head dropping in the dust while he continued to speak does not facilitate moral forgiveness.

Despite their many differences, Achilleus and Odysseus both stretch the Homeric battle-code beyond modern heroic and moral conventions. Even though one might attempt to justify the deaths of unarmed supplicants in the context of winning greater glory or taking a just and righteous revenge, these two explanations seem to fall flat. Thus, though both glorious epic heroes possess many notable virtues, mercy is not among them.