Day 45: The Limits of Good Advice

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καὶ μὲν τοῖσιν ἐγὼ μεθομίλεον ἐκ Πύλου ἐλθών,
τηλόθεν ἐξ ἀπίης γαίης· καλέσαντο γὰρ αὐτοί·
καὶ μαχόμην κατ' ἔμ' αὐτὸν ἐγώ· κείνοισι δ' ἂν οὔ τις
τῶν, οἳ νῦν βροτοί εἰσιν ἐπιχθόνιοι, μαχέοιτο.
καὶ μέν μευ βουλέων ξύνιεν πείθοντό τε μύθῳ.
ἀλλὰ πίθεσθε καὶ ὔμμες, ἐπεὶ πείθεσθαι ἀμεινον.
μήτε σὺ τόνδ' ἀγαθός περ ἐὼν ἀποαίρεο κούρην,
ἀλλ' ἔα, ὥς οἱ πρῶτα δόσαν γέρας υἷες Ἀχαιῶν.
μήτε σύ, Πηλεΐδη, θέλ' ἐριζέμεναι βασιλῆι
ἀντιβίην, ἐπεὶ οὔ ποθ' ὁμοίης ἔμμορε τιμῆς
σκηπροῦχος βασιλεύς, ᾧ τε Ζεὺς κῦδος ἔδωκεν.
εἰ δὲ σὺ καρτερός ἐσσι, θεὰ δέ σε γείνατο μήτηρ,
ἀλλ' ὁδε φέρτερός ἐστιν, ἐπεὶ πλεόνεσσιν ἀνάσσει.
Ἀτρεΐδη, σὺ δε παῦε τεὸν μένος· αὐτὰρ ἐγώ γε
λίσσομ' Ἀχιλλῆι μεθέμεν χόλον ὅς μέγα πᾶσιν
ἕρκος Ἀχαιοῖσιν πέλεται πολέμοιο κακοῖο."

τὸν δ' ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη κρείων Ἀγαμέμνων·
"ναὶ δὴ ταῦτα γε πάντα, γέρον, κατὰ μοῖραν ἔειπες
ἀλλ' ὅδ' ἀνὴρ ἐθέλει περὶ πάντων ἔμμεναι ἄλλων,
πάντων μὲν κρατέειν ἐθέλει, πάντεσσι δ' ανάσσειν,
πᾶσι δὲ σημαίνειν, ἅ τιν' οὐ πείσεσθαι ὀίω.

And certainly I consorted with these, coming from far Pylos,
From a distant land, for they themselves called me there,
And I myself did battle; but none of the mortal men
Who live now on earth would fight with these.
And of course those men hearkened to my counsels
And would heed my word. But obey this, since the better man hearkens to;
And you, do not deprive this one so brave of the maiden,
But let it be, since the sons of the Achaeans
Gave the prize to him first. And you, son of Peleus,
Do not seek to strive with the king in antagonism,
Since never has a scepter bearing king, to whom Zeus
Gave glory, received a similar share of honor.
And even if you are the stronger, since a goddess mother bore you,
But this one is more powerful, since he rules over many.
And you, son of Atreus, check your rage; moreover I beg it,
For Achilles' sake, give up this rage, against one who is a mighty bulwark
For all the Achaeans against evil war."

And in reply, the lord Agamemnon addressed him:
"Surely old man you have spoken all this as is fitting,
But this man desires to be above all others, certainly
He wishes to hold sway over all, and to rule all,
And to command all, I think there is one who does not obey.


An amazing scene on so many levels. First, we see the limits of wisdom, if such a thing can be said, or least of good advice. Nestor starts telling the two clashing heroes that better men than they have followed his advice so these two better do it. And he proceeds to tell them exactly what to do. One can talk all one wants about Nestor's beautiful counsels and his supposed magical ability with words, but the fact is here that this personification of ancient wisdom does not succeed, and in fact fails miserably, for Agamemnon returns straightaway to his quarrel with Achilles the moment that the old king is done speaking. One could think of better ways that Nestor could have handled the situation, such as telling a story from his youth about how such a petty conflict had destroyed a vast enterprise, but he did not do that since he was a king and not a poet. There is a certain haughtiness to his position here: I am recognized as the wisest of the wise, and have always been recognized as such by better men than you two, so you had better do what I say. How would one expect two exceedingly proud men who have just been quarrelling to react?

Time for a random historical meandering here: I was thinking over this whole experience of haughtiness and arrogance and how they are unmistakably condemned in this poem, and I was comparing them in my mind with the tales of the Israelites in the Hebrew Bible, some of which was written contemporaneously with the Iliad and the Odyssey, where those who exhibit these same qualities find equal censure. While I was mulling this over in my mind I started to ponder those late Bronze Age stellae, or monuments, left behind by the monarchs of that time, above all by the pharaohs of Egypt where by reading them one would think that Pharaoh had destroyed an entire enemy army all by himself. These things would be set up if the battle was a draw, such as Kadesh, or even if it resulted in a defeat. The king would smite an entire enemy army and wipe them from the face of the earth, only for that army to magically reincarnate the next year and for the king to smite them once again. The kingdoms of the Bronze Age fell suddenly, at the beginning of the twelfth century B.C. and I wonder if some memory of their collapse as a condemnation for this arrogance transmitted to Homer's age and on into the classical world that was to follow? For one never sees this open display of ridiculous bombast among the great powers again on a consistent basis, not even by the Romans whose empire made these Bronze Age "great kings" look like petty tribal warlords in comparison.