I.4. The Feminine and the Warrior

As a poem of war, the Iliad places at the foreground an intense focus on friendship between companions, as well as between combatants. Yet it is also true that, while women are considered “others,” conjugal love is often evoked in the Homeric epic. Before attempting to locate the imprint of femininity on the heroic figure, we must first consider the ties that normally unite the warrior with the feminine world.

Love, philotēs, [1] between men and women clearly brings them together as happy complements: in the Iliad, men and women are drawn together by love. [2] Agamemnon states this explicitly when he swears that he did not approach the young Briseïs (Iliad 9.132–134):

Similarly, Achilles and Odysseus emphasize the importance of the feelings and bonds of marriage and the linking of two lovers united by the “pact” [4] of philotēs. Achilles, lamenting Briseïs, responds to Odysseus, who is trying to convince him to return to battle (Iliad 9.340–343): And when Odysseus formulates his best wishes for Nausicaa he describes a good marriage (Odyssey 6.180–185):

The principal masculine figures of each epic are characterized also by the quality of the bonds that unite them with their wives. To the examples of Achilles and Odysseus, Hector must be added. On two occasions, Andromache brings up the profound nature of the connections that join her and Hector. From the love that unites them, they have born a son, which she reminds him by speaking in the first-person plural (tekomen) and emphasizing their shared responsibility: “The child, of whom you and I are the unhappy parents, is as yet a mere infant” (Iliad 22.484–485 and 726–727). [7]

Hector is even described by Andromache as her parakoitēs ‘he who shares her bed’ (Iliad 6.430). The use of the masculine form of this compound is rare in the epic: “It expresses Andromache’s tenderness and love for Hector.” [8] Indeed, the bonds between Hector and Andromache are often mentioned in emotional terms. Yet the philotēs that connects Hector and Andromache is surpassed by the demands of the heroic ethic: unlike Paris, Hector places his duties as a warrior over his connection to his wife.

Shifting temporarily from the Iliad to the Odyssey, encounters with women are pivotal to the fate of Odysseus. [9] Aside from the daughter of the Laestrygonians (who is a giant), women both mortal and divine help him, more or less spontaneously, to find his way home. After detaining him, both Circe and Calypso provide judicious advice to help him carry out his voyage. It is primarily thanks to Nausicaa and her mother Arete that Odysseus is rescued by the Phaeacians. And finally, Penelope is the key to his return to humanity. Reconnecting with the male “bread-eaters” and having recovered with his wife the bonds of marriage, Odysseus is able to regain his full status as the king of Ithaca. Furthermore, Penelope does not appear again in the poem after the night of her reunion with Odysseus. Once Odysseus has recovered his true humanity, Penelope’s “restorative” function is no longer required. [10]

“Warriors,” writes Seth Benardete, “ought to believe that to be a woman is the worst calamity.” [11] The play of insults between combatants makes this claim persuasive. However, the use of the feminine to describe the conduct of a warrior is not uniquely pejorative. Two levels of meaning can be identified: one, wholly negative, where a man is compared to a woman trying to fight; the other, more acceptable, where certain positive qualities of women are attributed to men.

In the Iliad a series of insults uttered by the warriors themselves compare fighters to—or explicitly call them—women. The most significant of these is used by Thersites (Iliad 2.235), then Menelaus (7.96), to shame the Greeks in order to reawaken their courage; each speaker shifts from the masculine to the feminine form of the word “Achaeans”: The inversion could not be clearer.

Wanting to return home to moan like children and widows (Iliad 2.289–290); treating one’s enemy like a woman ignorant of war (7.235–236); [12] being transformed into a woman; being no longer anything but a cowardly young girl (8.162–163); [13] scratching an opponent with one’s arrows, as a simple woman would (11.389); [14] being like a “little girl that comes running to her mother, and begs to be taken up and carried” (16.7–8); [15] shouting insults at an enemy like an enraged woman instead of fighting with bronze (20.252–254); [16] being “as though I were a woman, when I had off my armor in battle,” that is, without armor, shield, helmet, or spear (22.124–125) [17] —all are considered forms of weakness that classify the warrior among the feminine and the cowardly.

To this list must be added the passages where an unskilled fighter regresses toward childhood. Arguing like children in the middle of the fray [18] or fleeing the battlefield to throw oneself into the arms of a spouse [19] also signifies an absence of masculinity. The warrior who flees to his wife for safety is rapidly diminished to the level of a child rushing into his mother’s arms.

Finally, and this is continuously characteristic of Paris, the man who is more “woman-crazed” (gunaimanēs, Iliad 3.9; 13.769) than he is a fighter is often likened to a young girl. [20] In any case, this man has no recognized place in the masculine world of the warriors in the Iliad, where there is only one possible course of action: to bravely confront one’s enemies on the field.

All of these references to feminine attitudes are the exact antithesis of the masculine conduct celebrated and valued by heroic ethic. In this context, femininity is negative, fundamentally inadequate to the world of a warrior; it would do well to be removed from the battlefield.

Women and the feminine in general characterize the inadequate warrior. Therefore, the most degrading comparisons to animals are those that include the female dog, the doe, the ewe, or the dove.

The comparison to the ewe is particularly meaningful because it functions on two levels. First, as females, these are weak animals; then, their bleating accentuates the impression of panic, disorder, and an absence of strength that the poet wishes to highlight. This is indeed the case in the following presentation of the two armies (Iliad 4.431–436):

The contrast is striking between the silence of the Greeks and the “bleating” of the Trojans. Here, silence is synonymous with masculinity and muddled noise with femininity. [22] In all of these instances, the females that are chosen are not distinguished by their courage. Having the heart of a doe, being dog faced, cowering like a dove: these, among others, are frequently used insults when the warriors are railing at each other. They are a far cry from the heroic lion.

Parallel to what has already been considered, a segregation exists, then, inside the animal world as well: the female can never serve as the heroic model. During the chariot race, for example, Antilochus excites the energy of his horses, wanting to pass Menelaus, who is racing with Aethe, Agamemnon’s mare (Iliad 23.408–409): In the human sphere as in the animal sphere, roles are clearly attributed to males and females. [24] Thus the place for females, both human and animal, is inside, where their role is to raise offspring. [25] The place for males is outside, in combat during times of war. In this sense, the feminine gender, when it is applied to men in combat, whether in human or animal form, is an insult marking weakness.

Even beyond the heroic comparison par excellence—that of the lion—it is the comparison to the male animal, the stud, that glorifies the warrior (Iliad 2.480–483, referring to Agamemnon):

The symbolic background of power relations between the sexes [26] therefore determines the male exchange of insults on the battlefield. While denying the masculinity of the adversary, the insult also detracts from his value.

There are few references to men leaving for war with the wrong equipment. A hero’s armor might be more or less beautiful or prestigious (his father’s weapons, weapons made by a divine hand), but it is usually essentially the same.

One passage from the Iliad, however, mentions a warrior whose armor is not fit for use in battle. His armor is like a woman’s dress. Too sophisticated, more decorative than functional, it is as useless, when facing the bronze of Achilles, as jewels for stopping a bronze spear (2.872–875): Amphimachus’ excess, linked with the delicate and refined nature of a woman’s adornments, is presented as explicitly feminine. The “weapons” of women are ineffective and inadequate in the context of war. In Aphrodite’s misadventure in Book 5, the brilliantly adorned goddess is immediately driven off by Diomedes. Is there, in Amphimachus, a pale reflection of the eminently feminine figure Aphrodite? One thing is for sure; when Amphimachus dies at the hand of Achilles, the gold in his armor is restored to the normal channels of war: the victor will claim the armor of his adversary. When armor takes on the literal qualities of women’s finery, the man who wears it can no longer remain a part of the community of warriors.

Positive comparisons to women are, of course, less common. The heroic ethic, closely centered upon the notion of masculinity, clearly shies away from favorably comparing men to women.

The undaunted tenacity of the Achaeans and the courage of the Trojans, who clash without either army being able to gain an advantage, are compared only once to the qualities of a woman (Iliad 12.433–435): This is an extraordinary comparison: the woman is labeled as alēthēs ‘truthful’ rather than careful, and the relationship between the balance and the truth is underlined. Commenting on this passage, Marcel Detienne writes: “If the female worker in the Iliad is described as alēthēs, it is almost certainly because she is holding a balance, the symbol and instrument of justice. This is further evidence of the close and fundamental association between the balance and the truth.” [27]

Furthermore, this woman holding the balance is associated with Zeus, who uses a golden scale to decide the fate of the two armies (Iliad 8.69–72); and beyond the relationship between the balance and the truth, it is also important to note the specific relationship that seems to exist between women and the truth. [28] It is significant that the woman of the simile occupies the position of judge and arbiter, acting as a kind of magistrate. [29]

The other undeniably positive aspect of women—their maternal nature—provides a second level of comparison that valorizes the warrior.

From the start, one point is worth attention: in the Iliad, certain warriors, including some of the greatest, have their mothers near them, close enough almost to speak with them. Obviously, the relationship between a mother and her hero-son is most perfect in the case of Thetis and Achilles. The “the son of lovely-haired Thetis” (Iliad 4.512; 16.860) is assisted by his mother from the first through the last book of the poem. On the Trojan side, Aeneas and Hector also meet with their mothers. [30]

The relationship between Aeneas and Aphrodite most resembles that between Achilles and Thetis. Aeneas is the most valiant of the Trojans after Hector. He engages in single combat with the principal Greek heroes: Diomedes in Book 5, Idomeneus in Book 13, and finally Achilles in Book 20. He is honored by the Trojans as Hector’s equal (Iliad 5.467–468), and even as a god (11.58). And his divine birth further adds to his prestige: his mother is Aphrodite, a goddess superior in rank to Thetis (20.105). [31]

Hector’s mother is a mortal. The possibilities for Hecuba to intervene are therefore limited: she can only encourage Hector to seek shelter and rest inside the walls of Troy or beg him to renounce his battle with Achilles.

Maternal love toward the major heroes is addressed almost exclusively in these passages, [32] and it is expressed by gestures that highlight the strong physical connection that unites a mother and her son.

Beyond the words exchanged, the body, in fact, speaks in particularly important ways during conversations between mothers and sons in the Iliad. Thus Thetis rushed to be with a weeping Achilles, sat in front of him, and “caressed him with her hand” (Iliad 1.361). Later, when he is weeping over the body of Patroclus, she hears his cries (18.35), comes near to assist him (18.70), and holds his head in her hands (18.71). [33] And finally, sitting near him again while caressing him lightly, she persuades him with affectionate words to relinquish Hector’s body (24.125–137).

In these three examples, physical closeness is clearly underlined by the poet: Achilles regains the tenderness and softness of a mother’s gestures toward a young child when Thetis is near him. Affectionate words and multiple reminders of parental bonds are also predominant in these dialogues between mother and son. [34]

The same is true for Aeneas, although the context that allows him to meet with his mother is different: Aphrodite is not there to console Aeneas, but rather to save him after he is wounded by Diomedes. Aphrodite’s intervention warrants a close examination (Iliad 5.311–316): First, note Aphrodite’s attentiveness as she watches over her son. To protect him, she performs a series of maternal actions: taking him into her arms, holding him against her bosom and navel. The arms of a mother are like a city wall: Aphrodite literally puts herself between Aeneas and the Greeks. She shields him with her arms. Additionally, the fold (ptugma, Iliad 5.315) in the garment where she hides Aeneas reinforces the idea of the depth in which she enfolds her son. This depth is like the symbolic security of a child near a mother’s womb. Aeneas is transformed back into a young child, incorporated within his mother’s body, hidden and cradled in her arms. When Aphrodite is, in turn, injured in the arm by Diomedes, she can no longer carry her son; she opens her arms and drops him (5.343).

The initial closeness of mother and son is itself the subtext for the conversations that certain heroes have with their mothers. In this respect, Hecuba and Hector are significant. When she meets him in front of the palace, Hecuba rushes and “[takes] his hand within her own,” she forcefully attaches herself to him (Iliad 6.254). Later, she will try to dissuade Hector from challenging Achilles by reminding him, through both word and gesture, of the maternal bonds that connect them (Iliad 22.80–83): Hecuba’s gesture is solemn: by showing her breast, a symbol of maternity, and by making reference to its nourishment and protection, she reminds Hector, just before his death, that he was once a young child, and that even the bravest warrior remains, in a certain sense, a child for his mother.

Thus, at the height of the war, the hero is curiously sometimes found in the situation of a child being protected by his mother. His masculinity, however, does not seem to be challenged in this scenario. Rather, a few splashes of femininity upon the heroic figure serve to bring the contours of his masculinity into sharper focus.

The theme of maternity, beyond even the mother-son relationship, functions on yet another level in the Iliad: it is used to describe the protection that a warrior can provide to a comrade who is injured or in danger. The hero then becomes a mother to his companion. Ajax and Teucer, like mother and son, fight in this manner (Iliad 8.266–272):

Ajax’s shield here is like the maternal womb, [36] or at least like the garment a mother uses to hide a child. Even if the comparison of the shield and the womb is only suggested, the image, which is clearly maternal, retains its force. In another comparison from Book 5, Ajax’s shield has the same function as Aphrodite’s peplos ‘garment’. To protect Aeneas, Aphrodite hides him in the folds of her radiant garments (Iliad 5.315); to protect Teucer, Ajax hides him under his radiant shield (8.272). The vocabulary and the movement suggested by these images are identical.

Elsewhere, Menelaus is compared to a mother, an animal here, protecting her young (Iliad 17.4–6): In this comparison, the poet clearly develops the theme of maternity: Menelaus is a mother, Patroclus a new-born calf. Is this a poetic way to emphasize Menelaus’ concern and the fragility of Patroclus? Or is it simply a way to say that Patroclus has just been cut down at the height of his youth? Patroclus is the only warrior who drifts a little from the purely warlike model of masculinity, without, however, transgressing its limits; Patroclus’ gentleness is mentioned both by a woman (Briseïs, Iliad 19.300) and his companions in battle (Menelaus, 17.671–672). [37] Without going so far as to claim that Patroclus occupies the place of a woman with Achilles, [38] there are certain peculiar aspects of his character worth pointing out. It is Achilles who calls him a “little girl” (kourē nēpiē, 16.7–8) [39] when he sees him lamenting the Achaeans’ misfortunes. During the embassy scene in Book 9, Patroclus prepares the libations and instruments of sacrifice, while Achilles cuts the meat (9.201–220). Patroclus also treats Eurypylus’ wounds. When the doctors Podalirius and Machaon are absent, Patroclus replaces them, using helpful pharmaka ‘drugs’ (11.844–848). In both the Trojan and Greek camps, women are never shown tending to the wounded. War is strictly the business of men, and in this sense Patroclus, the gentlest of the Greeks, represents the “positive” side of feminine virtues: food preparation, healing, tenderness.

If Patroclus is the less brutally masculine and more tender of the Achaean heroes, he is not likened to a woman (recall his aristeia ‘accomplishments’ in Book 16). Instead, he represents a positive tenderness and cannot at any point be considered a parallel to Paris.

As one final intersection of maternity and war, a mother’s suffering serves as a model to describe the endurance of a warrior. There is an intensely feminine suffering for a woman in labor or a mother who loses her children. The physical and mental pains of women appear in the Iliad as the extreme limits of suffering and, in this respect, can qualify the resistance of the warrior as positive.

In a recent study, Nicole Loraux shed light on a strange passage from the Iliad that compares the pain of the injured Agamemnon to that of a woman in labor (11.267–272): [40] Odunē should be understood here in the full sense of the term: the word refers to sharp, shooting, heavy, exhausting pain [41] —all characteristics of the pain of childbirth. In this way, “the masculine universe of the Achaean combatants … attributes the suffering of a woman in labor to the king of kings among the heroes.” [42]

In the same way, Achilles chooses to speak of feminine suffering to Priam to encourage him to stay alive. By reminding him that even the inconsolable mother and symbol of maternal suffering Niobe “had to think about eating” (Iliad 24.602), Achilles asserts that there is no greater pain than a mother’s suffering and presents Niobe as a valid model for men as well. We will return to this point at greater length in the third part of this volume.

₪

The foregoing mapping of heroism allows us to propose three levels of interpretation.

First, on the surface level of the text, there is a maximum separation between the world of warriors and the world of women, a distance clearly illustrated by even the geography of the Iliad: the open plain of Troy and the city of Ilion enclosed inside its walls. The young warrior within the ramparts loses his status as a hero if he is unable to maintain an established distance between his original sphere and that of Aphrodite.

Second, if we consider only the battlefield, we see that the feminine, far from being absent, is on the contrary clearly recognizable in more than one passage. On a primary level, femininity obviously serves as a foil: the most significant insults are those that compare the warrior to a woman or female animal, obvious symbols of weakness. On a secondary level, the feminine also emerges as a model in the surprising figure of the maternal warrior, the hero who endures pain like a woman giving birth.

Narrowing the field of observation still further to the heroic site par excellence, the body of the warrior, we find a more deeply complex relationship between his masculine nature and what would seem to be its absolute opposite: the world of women and love. There is a permanent slippage between the level of beauty that provokes fear and the level of beauty that awakens desire; the warrior’s body does not only emit warlike signals. At the most intense moments of war, the heroic and the erotic are joined in the hero’s body. It is at these moments that, by appropriating portions of positive femininity while maintaining a distance, the wholly masculine ideology of the Iliad constructs its heroic specificity.