The morality of the Homeric age is such as we may expect to find among
a people which has only partially emerged from barbarism. Crimes of
violence are very common, and a familiar figure in the society of this
period is that of the fugitive, who "has slain a man," and is flying
from the vengeance of his family. Patroclus, when a mere boy, kills
his youthful playmate in a quarrel over a game of knucklebones--an
incident which may be seen illustrated in one of the statues in the
British Museum. One of the typical scenes of Hellenic life depicted on
the shield of Achilles is a trial for homicide; and such cases were of
so frequent occurrence that they afford materials for a simile in the
last book of the _Iliad_.
Where life is held so cheap, opinion is not likely to be very strict
in matters of property. And we find accordingly a general acquiescence
in "the good old rule, the ancient plan, that they may take who have
the power, and they may keep who can." Cattle-lifting is as common as
it formerly was on the Scottish border. The bold buccaneer is a
character as familiar as in the good old days when Drake and Raleigh
singed the Spanish king's beard, with this important difference, that
the buccaneer of ancient Greece plundered Greek and barbarian with
fine impartiality. A common question addressed to persons newly
arrived from the sea is, "Are you a merchant, a traveller, or a
pirate?" And this curious query implies no reproach, and calls for no
resentment. Still more startling are the terms in which Autolycus, the
maternal grandfather of Odysseus, is spoken of. This worthy, we are
informed, "surpassed all mankind in thieving and lying"; and the
information is given in a manner which shows that the poet intended it
as a grave compliment. In another passage the same hero is celebrated
as an accomplished burglar. So low was the standard of Homeric ethics
in this respect; and even in the historical age of Greece, want of
honesty and want of truthfulness were too often conspicuous failings
in some of her most famous men.
Even more shocking to the moral sense is the wild ferocity which
sometimes breaks out in the language and conduct of both men and
women. The horrible practice of mutilating the dead after a battle is
viewed with indifference, and even with complacency, by the bravest
warriors. Even Patroclus, the most amiable of the heroes in the
_Iliad_, proposes to inflict this dastardly outrage on the body of the
fallen Sarpedon. Achilles drags the body of Hector behind his chariot
from the battlefield, and keeps it in his tent for many days, that he
may repeat this hideous form of vengeance in honour of his slaughtered
friend. When the dying Hector begs him to restore his body to the
Trojans for burial he replies with savage taunts, and wishes that he
could find it in his heart to carve the flesh of Hector and eat it
raw! And Hecuba, the venerable Queen of Troy, expresses herself in
similar terms when Priam is preparing to set forth on his mission to
the tent of Achilles.
Turning now to the more attractive side of the picture, we shall find
much to admire in the character of Homer's heroes. In the first place
we have to note their intense vitality and keen sense of pleasure,
natural to a young and vigorous people. The outlook on life is
generally bright and cheerful, and there is hardly any trace of that
corroding pessimism which meets us in later literature. Cases of
suicide, so common in the tragedians, are almost unknown.
In one respect, and that too a point of the very highest importance,
the Greeks of this age were far in advance of those who came after
them, and not behind the most polished nations of modern Europe. We
refer to the beauty, the tenderness, and the purity of their domestic
relations. The whole story of the _Odyssey_ is founded on the faithful
wedded love of Odysseus and Penelope, and the contrasted example of
Agamemnon and his demon wife is repeatedly held up to scorn and
abhorrence. The world's poetry affords no nobler scene than the
parting of Hector and Andromache in the _Iliad_, nor has the ideal of
perfect marriage ever found grander expression than in the words
addressed by Odysseus to Nausicaä: "There is nothing mightier and
nobler than when man and wife are of one mind and heart in a house, a
grief to their foes, and to their friends a great joy, but their own
hearts know it best."[1]
[Footnote 1: Butcher and Lang's translation.]
Hospitality in a primitive state of society, where inns are unknown,
is not so much a virtue as a necessity. Even in these early times the
Greeks, within the limits of their little world, were great
travellers, and their swift chariots, and galleys propelled by sail
and oar, enabled them to make considerable journeys with speed and
safety. Arrived at their destination for the night they were sure of a
warm welcome at the first house at which they presented themselves;
and he who played the host on one occasion expected and found a like
return when, perhaps years afterwards, he was brought by business or
pleasure to the home of his former guest. Nor were these privileges
confined to the wealthy and noble, who were able, when the time came,
to make payment in kind, but the poorest and most helpless outcast,
the beggar, the fugitive, and the exile, found countenance and
protection, when he made his plea in the name of Zeus, the god of
hospitality.
V
This frankness and simplicity of manners runs through the whole life
of the Homeric Greek, and is reflected in every page of the two great
epics which are the lasting monuments of that bright and happy age. As
civilisation advances, and life becomes more complicated and
artificial, human activity tends more and more to split up into an
infinite number of minute occupations, and the whole time and energy
of each individual are not more than sufficient to make him master in
some little corner of art, science, or industry. A vast system of
commerce brings the products of the whole world to our doors; and it
is almost appalling to think of the millions of toiling hands and busy
brains which must pass all their days in unceasing toil, in order that
the humblest citizen may find his daily wants supplied. To give only
one example: how vast and tremendous is the machinery which must be
set at work before a single letter or post-card can reach its
destination! This multiplication of needs, and endless subdivision of
labour, too often results in stunting and crippling the development of
the individual, so that it becomes harder, as time advances, to find a
complete man, with all his faculties matured by equable and harmonious
growth.
Very different were the conditions of life in the Homeric age. Then
the wealthy man's house was a little world in itself, capable of
supplying all the simple wants of its inhabitants. The women spun wool
and flax, the produce of the estate, and wove them into cloth and
linen, to be dyed and wrought into garments by the same skilful hands.
On the sunny slopes of the hills within sight of the doors the grapes
were ripening against the happy time of vintage, when merry troops of
children would bring them home with dance and song to be trodden in
the winepress. Nearer at hand was the well-kept orchard, bowing under
its burden of apples, pears, and figs; and groves of grey olive-trees
promised abundance of oil. In the valleys waved rich harvests of wheat
and barley, which were reaped, threshed, ground, and made into bread,
by the master's thralls. Herds of oxen, and flocks of sheep and goats,
roved on the broad upland pastures, and in the forest multitudes of
swine were fattening on the beech-mast and acorns.
And the owner of all these blessings was no luxurious drone, living in
idleness on the labour of other men's hands. He was, in the fullest
sense of the word, the father of his household. His was the vigilant
eye which watched and directed every member in the little army of
workers, and his the generous hand which dealt out bountiful reward
for faithful service. If need were he could take his share in the
hardest field labour, and plough a straight furrow, or mow a heavy
crop of grass from dawn till sunset without breaking his fast. Nothing
was too great or too little to engage his attention, as the necessity
arose. He was a warrior, whose single prowess might go far in deciding
the issue of a hard-fought battle--an orator, discoursing with weighty
eloquence on grave questions of state--a judge, whose decisions helped
to build up the as yet unwritten code of law. Descending from these
high altitudes, he could take up his bow and spear, and go forth to
hunt the boar and the stag, or wield the woodman's axe, or the
carpenter's saw and chisel. He could kill, dress, and serve his own
dinner; and when the strenuous day was over, he could tune the harp,
discourse sweet music, and sing of the deeds of heroes and gods.
Such was the versatility, and such the many-sided energy, of the Greek
as he appears in the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_. And as these two poems
contain the elements of all subsequent thought and progress in the
Greek nation, so in the typical character of Odysseus are concentrated
all the qualities which distinguish the individual Greek--his
insatiable curiosity, which left no field of thought unexplored--his
spirit of daring enterprise, which carried the banner of civilisation
to the borders of India and the Straits of Gibraltar--and his subtlety
and craft, which in a later age made him a byword to the grave
moralists of Rome.
In the _Iliad_ Odysseus is constantly exhibited as a contrast to the
youthful Achilles. Wherever prudence, experience, and policy, are
required, Odysseus comes to the front. In Achilles, with his furious
passions and ill-regulated impulses, there is always something of the
barbarian; while Odysseus in all his actions obeys the voice of
reason. It will readily be seen that such a character, essentially
intellectual, always moving within due measure, never breaking out
into eccentricity or excess, would appeal less to the popular
imagination than the fiery nature of Pelides, "strenuous, passionate,
implacable, and fierce." And on this ground we may partly explain the
unamiable light in which Odysseus appears in later Greek literature.
Already in Pindar we find him singled out for disapproval. In
Sophocles he has sunk still lower; and in Euripides his degradation is
completed.