PhDTK
A new edition of Rush’s famous album, Moving Pictures, was released recently. I received a vinyl edition from the Rush website with a bonus: a lyric sheet of one song from the album, a facsimile of Neil Peart’s handwritten sheet. The sheet was chosen randomly. I did not know which song I would receive. Check the inner sleeve. What do I find? “Witch Hunt,” appropriately enough.
Graham Hancock’s website has recently published two articles discussing mushrooms in Christian art. One, by Tom Hatsis attacks the topic of mushrooms in Christian art by means of a review of Jerry Brown and Julie Brown’s The Psychedelic Gospels. The other, by Jerry Brown, is a defense of the topic of mushrooms in Christian art and of his and Julie Brown’s book.
Brown asked me to consult on some details of Hatsis’ claims about ancient and medieval art and history, and I am cited in his article. Hatsis’ discussion of “parasols of victory” (whatever they are) and “paradeisbaum” (misspelling of paradiesbaum) is a wall of factual errors, misinterpretations, and confused historical reasoning.
Hatsis brands himself “psychedelic historian,” but the mistakes in this article make that brand look especially superficial. He should be embarrassed by the mistakes and take it as a clue that he needs to spend more time with the material he claims to be an expert on, less time lecturing others about historical methodology.
Likewise surprising is that Hatsis focuses again on amanita, Allegro, and Plaincourault. Meanwhile, Some of us have been saying for years (that last link collects posts from 2016; search page on “Hatsis” and “Allegro”) that Hatsis’ presentation of the topic as only being about amanita, Allegro, and Plaincourault is overly-narrow. For our part, we have simply put amanita, Allegro, and Plaincourault to one side, in favor of psilocybe and turned up troves of mushrooms in art (see also the recent books by Gosso and Camilla in Brown’s article).
Hatsis’ and Brown’s articles together prove that Hatsis is irrelevant to the topic of mushrooms in Christian (and, it must be added, Hellenic) art. His promotion of himself as judge of others’ historical methodology is nothing but a cover for his own lack of experience and lack of imagination.
Hatsis has dug himself a deep hole. He has presented himself in multiple venues, social media, podcasts, and YouTube videos as a debunker of mushrooms in Christian art. “Debunker of Allegro” is a key part of the Tom Hatsis, Psychedelic Historian™ brand. Yet, when confronted, his argument collapses. He seems to know at some level that his position is weak, and so resorts to hyperbolic rhetoric about historical methodology and the threat posed by the topic of mushrooms in Christian art to the “psychedelic renaissance.”
Will Hatsis be trapped by his brand? Or will he retract? Brown’s article counters Hatsis’ at every turn and provides a broad vision of the field and its importance.
A note at the top of Hatsis’ article says that portions come from his forthcoming book, titled The Mushroom Heretic: In Search of the Psychedelic Christ. This book sounds like a very bad idea, and, unless the historical errors and overly-narrow conception of the field on display in his article are rooted out, liable to be a disaster and sower of confusion. But there’s still time for him to drop his facile debunking, broaden his understanding of the topic, and apply himself to the real work of answering the key question: to what extent mushrooms in Christianity?
If scholars want the field of historical psychedelic studies to “be taken seriously” they must stop artificially narrowing the topic and arguing over the same ill-formed, distorted conceptions of the topic. There is a wealth of exciting ideas to be considered and evidence to be found, examined, and questioned. The topic of mushrooms in Christianity (and Hellenism) has profound ramifications for our understanding of religion and history. Enough with these facile debunkers who seek only to promote themselves.
This page has quotations from select commentaries. In some I have added emphasis via underline to draw attention to particular phrases and ideas. My comments are in bold. For more information, including citations, see my page References for posts commenting on Homeric scholarship.
Note that the present page is a work in progress. I am currently working on sorting significant quotations and commenting on them. Perhaps in the future I will organize this page into an essay.
The vividness of Homeric poetry impressed itself on the audience like a divine presence:
“[T]he Iliad has repeatedly been compared to the most vivid and visual means of expression…. To the poet of the Iliad, and his early audiences, vividness was a sign of divine presence, a gift of the Muse. Homeric poetry was … a kind of epiphany.” (G&H 24)
Andromache fears the death of Hector and her own death in striking language (commenting on 6.411):
“σεῦἀφαμαρτούσηι: an arresting expression; Andromache provides the only parallel at 22.505. Forms of (ἀφ-)αμαρτάνω … mean ‘miss a goal or target’ rather than ‘lose something’ …. Andromache extends the use of this verb to personal bereavement: if Hector dies, her life no longer has a goal… χθόνα δύμεναι ‘sink beneath the earth’; no direct parallels but cf. [6.19], [6.281-2], 3.322, 7.131 (δῦναι δόμον Ἄϊδος εἴσω), 23.100-1 (ψυχὴ δὲ κατὰ χθονὸς…ὤιχετο).” (G&H 196)
The first expression implies that death of Hector will cause his wife to lose all sense of goal-directed action.
The second expression, “To sink beneath the earth”, as a description of dying alludes to the embeddedness of the local control system, normally perceived as separate and free to move, in the block universe.
Commenting on a snake simile used in the duel between Paris and Menelaus, 3.33-5:
“The man’s/Paris’ terror takes up three lines in an ABAB pattern: a panicky jump backwards (ἀπέστη, 33), trembling (τρόμος, 34), another retreat (ἀνεχώρησεν, 35) and pallor (ὦρχος, 35). There are only two snake-similes in the Iliad, but they are significantly placed, here in the first battle of the epic and in the last between Hector and Achilles (22.93-7).” (B 99)
The two snake similes in the Iliad are reserved for structurally important first battle and the significant last battle.
Commenting on 3.33, δράκοντα:
“[In the Iliad] the snake is always associated with Trojan discomfort and Greek success, and often connected with omens. At Aulis, a snake eating a mother sparrow and her eight chicks presaged (σῆμα, 308) the ultimate Greek victory (2.308-32). Snakes appear on Agamemnon’s armour, donned before his aristeia, both on the corselet, on which three snakes reared up ‘like rainbows … which Zeus fixes in the clouds to be a portent (τέρας) to men’ (11.26-8), and on the shield-strap with its three-headed snake (38-40). A snake, again a τέρας (12.209), appears in the battle by the ditch, gripped in the talons of an eagle but ultimately escaping; this acts as a warning to Hector not to advance too far, and is ignored (200-43). Finally, Hector is compared to a snake as he prepares for his last battle with Achilles (22.93-5). Furthermore, in the Iliou Persis, snakes killed Laocoön and a son in his vain attempt to alert the Trojans to the truth about the Horse (Arg. 1c); according to Apollodorus (epit. 5.18) Apollo sent them as a σημεῖον […]. It may be therefore that snakes were symbolically associated with the fall of Troy in the various traditions.” (B 99)
Troy’s fall is fated like the snake-shaped worldline. The snake causes trembling and fear [=unsteadiness of autonomous control power, fear at site of snake-shaped worldline, monocausal course, single possibility extending into the fixed future] and death.
Commenting on 3.57 λάϊνον … χιτῶνα
“‘you would already have put on a cloak/corselet of stone’, a striking and unique phrase, describing stoning, a communal punishment… The image develops the idea of the earth as a garment for the dead: cf. Aesch. Ag. 872 χθονὸς τρίμοιρον χλαῖναν ‘three-fold cloak of earth’, Pi. Py. 11.16 γᾶν ἐπιεσσόμενος ‘about to be cloaked in earth’.” (B 105)”
Whatever the truth about the phrase developing from the punishment of stoning, here we have a metaphor for embeddedness in rock used of death. The claim to autonomous control power is punished in the altered state, stoned and buried in the block universe, embedded in spacetime, trapped in the prison of perceptibles impressed upon the mind.
Commenting on 6.19, τὼ…ἐδύτην:
“‘they both sank into the earth’… Hades, as the abode of the deceased, was situated beneath the earth.” (G&H 82)
The abode of the dead agents is in the earth = rock = spacetime block universe.
Commenting on a striking expression for death at 22.212, ῥέπε δ᾽Ἕκτορος αἴσιμον ἧμαρ :
“instead of saying ‘Hector’s death-fate’ sank, the narrator turns to a much weighier expression ‘Hector’s day of doom’ sank. There are a number of such periphrases, including ‘day of freedom’ (ἐλεύθερον ἧ.), ‘day of slavery’ (δούλιον ἧ.), ‘day of return’ (νόστιμον ἧ.), and ‘day of orphanage’ (ἧ. ὀρφανικόν: 490).” (dJ 113-114)
“Animals in the Homeric similes are not usually under the control of human beings, and when they are, they may display a will of their own… cf. 11.558-62 (a stubborn donkey), and 20.403-5 (a bull that needs to be dragged to the altar).” (G&H 227)
A stubborn, resistant animal represents either the mind’s initial concept of self-control, one that resists control by another, or, in the proper context, may represent our inability to control directly our self-control.
“Warriors are often described as helpless at the moment of their death.” (G&H 81)
The warriors are “helpless” at the moment of death because death is a metaphor for the loss of the accustomed sense of personal control agency often described as “egodeath.”
“Adrestos’ fall symbolises defeat: in Homer, and more generally in Near Eastern and Mediterranean art and literature, victors typically stand on the chariot, whereas defeated warriors fall and lie next to the wheels.” (G&H 87)
The victor in the battle for cybernetic control stands in the vehicle.
A famous comparison spoken by Glaukos to Diomedes in Iliad, Book 6 likens the generations of humans to leaves. With this comparison, Glaukos illustrates that future outcomes are beyond individual human control. Diomedes had instead emphasized human choice in shaping the course of an individual’s life.
“Diomedes emphasised human choice, Glaukos likens human beings to leaves entirely at the mercy of the winds and seasons.” (G&H 117)
“For all that Glaukos boasts about his ancestors and feels he must not shame them ([6.206-11]), the overall effect of his genealogical account tallies with his opening simile: human fortunes are changeable and beyond individual control.” (G&H 118)
“Glaukos invests the story of Bellerophontes with great significance, but it is hard to see what conclusions should be drawn from it. At least two readings are suggested within Glaukos’ speech itself: that of his father Hippolochos, who uncompromisingly demands that Glaukos live up to the family’s glorious past (cf. [6.206-11]); and that implied by Glaukos’ simile of the leaves, which presents fate as variable and ultimately beyond human control (cf. [6.146-9]).” (G&H 120)
This page has quotations from select commentaries. In some I have added emphasis via underline to draw attention to particular phrases and ideas. My comments are in bold. For more information, including citations, see my page References for posts commenting on Homeric scholarship.
Note that the present page is a work in progress. I am currently working on sorting significant quotations and commenting on them. Perhaps in the future I will organize this page into an essay.
The narrative of the Iliad focuses on decisions made by Achilles and Hector, both involving death and knowledge of the fated outcome. The narrative shows how these two apparent decisions are not free decisions. Instead they result from undue self-confidence in both their own capability and in an expected future. Ultimately their decisions accord with Zeus’ plan.
“[Book XVIII] dramatises two major decisions by these central figures: both decisions determine the remaining action of the poem, at least as far as book 22. Achilles decides to accept his fate, avenge his friend, and die at Troy; Hector decides to remain outside Troy and do battle next day, confronting Achilles, which will in fact mean his own death.” (R 2)
“Thus book 18 presents us with two crucial decisions – that of Achilles to re-enter battle in order to avenge Patroclus, and that of Hector to keep his forces out on the plain and prepare to face Achilles in the morning. Both decisions are self-destructive. The difference is that Achilles knows this, and accepts the inevitability of death as a consequence, while Hector fails to see the fatal outcome of his decision, and indeed deludes himself with anticipation of still greater success.” (R 13)
“[Achilles and Hector] are alike in their mortality, which includes their inferiority to the gods and their undue confidence at crucial stages that they themselves are masters of their situations. ‘But always the mind of Zeus is greater than that of men’ (16.688, cf. 17.176). Both Achilles and Hector are in some sense favoured by Zeus, but the Olympian’s plans ultimately go beyond favours for any individual hero. This is part of a wider pattern: in the Iliad gods may care for mortals, but cannot or will not give them unbroken success, still less immortality.” (R 13)
Achilles had been deluded in thinking that he could withdraw from battle and allow the Achaean camp to be overrun without consequence for himself and his friends. Upon Patroclus’ death [death of close friend = death of individual self-control claim], his delusion disappears and he embraces his fated death, becoming as one already dead, though still living. Hector vacillates between foreseeing his fated death and anticipating victory (or, at least, the possibility of victory). Only at the moment of his death will he understand that his actions have been determined by Zeus’ plan.
“Admirable though Hector is in his sense of responsibility to Troy and family, the fact that we first see him in book 3 in a rage, justifiable though it is, is thus a sign of what is to come. The same insistence on having things as he wants them, which afflicts Agamemnon, Achilles and indeed to some extent Zeus, will manifest itself in him. For the four [sic] mortals, this insistence is more or less dangerous, and this examination of autocratic power is an important strand of the Iliad‘s political discourse. Only Zeus, reluctantly to be sure, accepts the need to avoid too great a conflict with those subordinate to him.” (B 16)
The main point is not so much autocratic power as it is control power itself. Hector, leader of the Trojans, is in a rage, insisting on “having things as he wants them”, i.e. upon seeing his will effected. The other mortal leaders Agamemnon and Achilles likewise face consequences for their insistence on fulfilling their wills. Only the divine Zeus is able to work out a stable sharing of power between his power and those he commands.
King Agamemnon and King Priam are contrasted in the way they describe the future of the war when swearing an oath in Book 3 to abide by the outcome of the duel between Menelaus and Paris for Helen:
“Agamemnon’s emphatic statement of intent contrasts with Priam’s fatalistic leaving of the outcome to the gods; and there is further irony in ἰσόθεος φώς (310): ‘like the gods’ he may be, but there is nothing he can do to alter what is to come.” (B 147)
I’m not sure about the irony of ἰσόθεος φώς. The commenter assumes that the gods could change what is to come. Agamemnon, king of the force attacking the city, may be likened to the force that overwhelms the mind’s defenses and claim to independent control power, while Priam, king of the city that will be taken, may be likened to the local control source about to be overwhelmed by a power coming in from outside, an elderly king near death.
Throughout the Iliad Hector is depicted vacillating between accepting his fated death and wishing vainly for victory.
In Book 6.485-93, Hector tells his wife Andromache that fate is inescapable:
“There is a shape to human life: nobody can escape fate (οὐ κακὸν οὐδὲ μὲν ἐσθλόν: [6.489, “neither a bad man nor a good one”]). This assertion may seem to contradict Hector’s earlier insistence on the difference between being bad… and learning to be good…; but the underlying thought… is the same: it is precisely because all mortals must die, and cannot escape fate, that they must behave well and do their duty.” (G&N 220)
“this collapse of social and moral categories comes as a shock after the careful distinctions drawn [earlier in Hector’s speech]. However, it is precisely because moral choices make no difference to Hector’s apportioned fate that they are of crucial importance to him as a human being.” (G&N 221)
From the above comments, Hector appears to try to reconcile fatedness with moral culpability. The commentators do not so much explain this apparent difficulty, as merely claim that there is no difficulty, actually.
Hector envisions Andromache’s future as a slave and as a living grave marker for him:
“[Hector] envisages Andromache’s future as a slave and as a living memorial to his glory [6.454-63], and then he breaks down, claiming that he had rather be dead than see Andromache dragged into slavery: [6.464-5].” (G&N 204)
“In her own speech Andromache saw her fate as intertwined with Hector’s… now Hector cannot disentangle his future glory from her suffering. At the end of his speech Hector no longer appeals to duty or glory as reasons for fighting but rather claims it is Andromache’s future suffering that drives him to death.” (G&N 209)
“Andromache functions as a σῆμα, a living memorial of Hector’s past achievements in war.” (G&N 211)
Hector posits that his wife (= thought receiver) will be a slave in the future (=coming control loss and seizure). This thought of her future slavery drives him to meet his fated death in battle. Andromache, his enslaved thought receiver frozen in spacetime, will be his grave marker. This fits with my interpretation of Homeric kleos as requiring the idea of being fixed in spacetime, and thus able to be described and memorialized. Hector’s vision of Andromache as the marker of his achievements in war is a tragic version of this idea. Hector’s actions are fixed in spacetime and thus capable of being described and remembered by others because his thought receiver has been enslaved.
Later, at the end of Book 6, Hector will have a more optimistic wish for the future. He wishes for peaceful drinking of mixed wine after victory in defending the city. This contrasts with his conversation with Andromache earlier in the same book. The following comment focuses on how the poet portrays the city of Troy as female space during the war (city under siege = female raptured by male = mind injected by control thoughts):
“The very solidity of the city in Iliad 6 emphasises, by contrast, the vulnerability of those who live in it…. In Iliad 6 the city is configured as a female space… By focusing on the women, the poet not only emphasises the trials of Hector… but also powerfully foreshadows the fall of Troy… it is a treasure, a prize for conquerors. Because the city is so starkly female, Hector’s final wish, at the end of book 6, seems especially unrealistic. He imagines that one day the Achaeans will sail home, defeated – and that the Trojan men will finally celebrate together, resolve all tensions between them and set up a mixing bowl for freedom ‘in the halls’ [6.526-9] – thus reclaiming civic space as their own.” (G&H 33)
Here, Hector imagines that the Trojans will celebrate victory with mixed wine. Hector imagines in the future a stable, peaceful drinking party with mixed wine, after the battle for the city. The mixed wine will celebrate the release/freedom that follows the altered state experience of entrapment.
Hector portrays the future as open and undetermined when he needs to raise his own morale or that of others (commenting on 6.526-9):
“Hector now briskly turns to action and dismisses his previous concerns: his final image of future peace is in stark contrast with the present reality…. It also contradicts Hector’s earlier visions of the future, esp. [6.447-9], but Hector now insists that he does not know what will happen (αἴ κέ ποθι Ζεύς: [6.526]; cf. οὐ γάρ τ᾽οἶδ᾽: [6.367]), and his predictions are in part designed to make the present bearable; cf. his prayer at [6.475-81] and 22.226-53, esp. 253, where Hector needs to believe in the possibility of victory in order to stop running away from Achilles.” (G&H 233)
Hector’s language can reflect his confused, vacillating attitude towards the future, (commenting on 6.527, ἐπουρανίοσι…αἰειγενέτηισι (“to the heavenly, everlasting [gods]”)):
“this unusual phrase, with two weight epithets, extends Hector’s wish into the next line. θεοῖς αἰειγενέτηισι is formulaic in the context of prayer (3.295-6, 20.104-5), sacrifice (3.295-6 Od 14.446) and libation (Od. 2.432), i.e. when the gods are imagined as accessible and beneficial; for the exact meaning of the epithet, which was debated also in antiquity… translate ‘everlasting’. The adjective ἐπουράνιος, which is here displaced from its normal position at the end of the line, describes the gods as awesome, unapproachable beings: it is not used in the context of prayer or sacrifice, but rather when human beings come into conflict with the divine; cf. [6.128-9, 131-2] and Od. 17.484-7. The unique combination of these two epithets may reflect Hector’s precarious state of mind, between hope and despair.” (G&H 234)
“Early audiences of Homeric poetry worshipped the heroes, typically at their tombs…but there is little reference to this practice in the Iliad: the poem forces us to contemplate the heroes’ death from their own perspective, not that of later generations.” (G&H 86)
The Iliad draws us into a vicarious experience of death.
Commenting on 6.46-50:
“The first of many battlefield supplications in the Iliad: they are always made by Trojans and are never successful…. We know that earlier in the war suppliants were sometimes captured alive and sold, or returned for a ransom…. In this episode, and in the course of the war, pity gives way to the brutal killing of suppliants.” (G&H 88)
In the Iliad, supplication on the battle field does not work. Supplication here means the surrender, with prayers, of one warrior to another. The surrendering warrior hopes to be captured and then released via ransom, in order to survive. This maps to the prayerful submission to the higher controller, and subsequent restoration of local control, now humbled. The ransom paid to effect release in the altered state of context will be giving up the claim to local, autonomous control power.
The Iliad instead shows the victor regularly killing the suppliant, representing the terrifying threat of the higher controller overriding and ignoring one’s prayers. This trend of ignoring the suppliant’s wishes will culminate in a related context when Achilles’ ignores Hector’s last request to deliver Hector’s body back to Troy for burial. The brutal pattern of ignoring suppliants will be resolved when godlike Achilles yields to King Priam’s supplication when he requests Hector’s, his son’s, body.
In this way the Iliad portrays the danger that the higher controller will ignore your prayerful supplication, but provides the closing example of godlike Achilles and King Priam as a positive model for how to conceive of the sequence of death of the childlike claim to autonomy, prayerful supplication, restoration.
This page has quotations from select commentaries. In some I have added emphasis via underline to draw attention to particular phrases and ideas. My comments are in bold. For more information, including citations, see my page References for posts commenting on Homeric scholarship.
Note that the present page is a work in progress. I am currently working on sorting significant quotations and commenting on them. Perhaps in the future I will organize this page into an essay.
Etymology of νέκταρ:
“The etymology of νέκταρ is disputed […], but it may be a compound of *nek– ‘death’ and *tṛh₂– ‘cross, overcome.” (B 158)
When are mixing bowls for mixed wine used in Homeric poems? (commenting on 6.528, κρητῆρα):
“mixing bowls unite the people who draw their drink from them. They are used for many different purposes: 3.295-6 (confirming a truce), 10.578-9 (thanksgiving after a successful expedition), Od. 3.393-4 (a drinks party in the house of Nestor), Od. 7.179-81 (welcoming a stranger) and 13.49-56 (after-dinner drinks in the house of Alcinous), etc.
Mixing bowls “unite” the people drinking in that they have a communal altered state experience. The examples of other uses of the mixing bowl in the Homeric poems suggest that the mixing bowl primarily signifies a positive, harmonious altered state experience and relations between drinkers, whether at the end of a struggle (such as a truce or potentially dangerous expedition) or at a drinking party.
Words for force, madness, and anger represent out of control action tending toward self-destruction.
Commenting on 18.264, μένος ἄρεος:
“‘the frenzy of war’. The essence of μένος is its dynamic force: it can refer to the energy or vitality of a human being, or to the violent motion of rivers, fire, wind, a spear in flight, etc. ‘As a quality of character or mood, μένος represents a furious urge to action that can tend eventually to frenzy and self-destruction’ (Clarke 1999: 111).” (R 150)
Altered state logic leads to ever-more energetic attempts to exercise control, leading to catastrophic control breakdown.
Commenting on 6.100-1 μαίνεται:
“a striking verb, especially at the beginning of the line. It refers to extreme energy (cf. μένος), which usually manifests itself in the form of battlefield frenzy…. It is often used in character speech, in order to spur the addressee into action.” (G&H 104)
Commenting on 6.389 μαινομένηι εἰκυῖα, spoken by the housekeeper to Hector, describing Hector’s wife Andromache:
“‘looking like a madwoman’…. Later, at 22.460, the poet describes Andromache leaving the house and running to the rampart ‘like a maenad’ (μαινάδι ἴση). One difference between the two descriptions is that the poet offers a precise likeness, whereas the housekeeper gives her subjective impression of Andromache’s behaviour: her words resemble verse-initial formulae of the type noun + εἰκυῖα (3.386, 19.350, Od. 2.383, etc.) which describe goddesses in disguise; and the verb she uses, μαίνεσθαι, features often in character speech, especially when the speaker wants to tell the addressee that a third party is out of control, and urgent action is needed…. Many scholars detect in the housekeeper’s words an allusion to Dionysiac religion…, but the implication is only spelled out at 22.460.” (G&H 188)
Relatedly, wine is depicted in one of Hector’s speeches as enervating the energy (μένος) needed for action in battle. Wine will paralyze him, leave him incapable of acting. This maps to the sequence in altered state experiencing of first feeling mad, unconstrained power before recognizing the fatal instability of being able to do anything, including violating one’s own self-will, leading to self-control paralysis and lock-up. Commenting on 6.265:
“According to Hector, Hecuba’s wine would make him forget his strength (μένος, ἀλκή) and hence compromise his vitality… μή μ᾽απογυιώσηις μένεος ‘lest you strip me of my strength’; an expression of intense physicality, cf. γυῖα ‘limbs’ and γυιόω = ‘paralyse’ at 8.402, 416 and Hes. Theog. 858. It evidently impressed ancient readers; cf. Pl. Crat. 415a. Forms of the verb (ἀπο)γυμνόω are likewise used, before the main caesura, to suggest the idea of emasculation: cf. Od. 10.301 (~ 341) μή σ᾽ἀπογυμνωθέντα κακὸν καὶ ἀνήορα θήηι, where the verb refers to actual, as well as metaphorical, nakedness…. Hector describes a typical effect of magic potions (φάρμακα): cf. Od. 4.219-27 and 10.233-6.” (G&H 153)
“Wine is a common and accepted way of restoring a man’s strength but it is also a notorious test of his restraint and social competence; cf. e.g., Od. 9.345-61, 14.463-6, 21.295-8.” (G&H 152)
[UPDATE, June 10th, 2023]: I have demoted the project of commenting on scholarship. Instead, I am proceeding with commenting on the texts themselves.
This page is an idea development and drafting page for the project of commenting on Homeric scholarship. I will add my excerpts from commentaries with my notes, ideas, interpretations, riffs, etc. As I begin to perceive distinct topics, I will split them off into separate posts. Eventually, this page will disappear, once I have sorted all the excerpts. For now, enjoy the work in progress, and either check back often to see the development or, if you are subscribed, wait for the new posts that will appear as I separate topics off.
References for posts commenting on Homeric scholarship; my comments in bold and emphasis with underline. See below the jump for detailed entries.
Altered state, loose cognition, psychedelics in Iliad
Fate, the gods, fixed future, determinism in the Iliad
Analogies for altered state, fixed future, control-loss in Iliad
Ahistoricity of the Trojan War and Homer
Last sorted into the above posts on 7 Jan 2022
Read the rest of this entry »This page has quotations from select commentaries. In some I have added emphasis via underline to draw attention to particular phrases and ideas. My comments are in bold. For more information, including citations, see my page References for posts commenting on Homeric scholarship.
Note that the present page is a work in progress. I am currently working on sorting significant quotations and commenting on them. Perhaps in the future I will organize this page into an essay.
Here is an example of a reductionist statement concerning fate in the Iliad. The author reduces the fated course of events in the Iliad and the Iliad’s theology to the political/social calculations of Zeus in managing the other gods:
“In the Iliad, the possibility of changing fate is always there, but fated events come about, not so much because they are fated but because other considerations make it politic for Zeus to allow them to do so: see in particular Zeus’s various discussions on the fates of Troy, Sarpedon and Hector with Hera and Athena at 4.30-68, 16.431-61, 22.167-85.” (B 147-8)
The reverse may be equally true: fate cannot be changed, but there are other considerations in Zeus’ discussions about the possibility of sparing Troy, Sarpedon and Hector. Much depends on what assumption we start with: whether fate in the Iliad can be changed or not.
That Zeus may want to spare any fated death or fall is not a sign that “the possibility of changing fate is always there.” Instead, Zeus is depicted like the person aware of the necessity of carrying out fated actions, even while lamenting them (at least in the case of the death of his son, Sarpedon in Book 16). Fate overrules his desires and intentions.
The comment is otherwise too elliptical to tell what the commentator intends us to take away from the three passages cited.
A comment on the same topic of the relation of the will and authority of Zeus to the other gods, Commenting on 18.356-368:
“The question of Zeus’s authority over the other gods, and the degree to which his will coincides with fate, has been endlessly debated…. Recently it has been argued that despite short-term conflicts among the gods there is an overall consensus leading to a just outcome of the war, namely the destruction of Troy; this consensus constitutes a divine plan orchestrated throughout by Zeus.” (R 168)
A roundabout definition of fate: fate is the consensus of the gods “orchestrated” by Zeus.
The following comments relate the perspective and narrative voice of the poet to the way fate and Zeus’ plan are presented within the world of the poem. The Iliad provides its audience with depictions of the fated suffering of mortals. The mortals in the Iliad are only at rare moments able to understand the fated nature of their suffering. The audience’s own limitations and fatedness are implied by the limitations and fatedness of the characters.
“The characters inside the poem have only a limited understanding of their own circumstances and have no sure knowledge of the future. The poet, by contrast, knows everything: his song follows the plan of Zeus and describes in painful detail what it entails for mortals. There is, then, a wide gap between the poet (and his audience), who know the future and the will of the gods; and the characters inside the narrative, who struggle, in their ignorance, with their hopes and fears (see, for example, [6.237-41]). There is just one character, in Iliad 6, who does share the perceptions of the poet, at least to an extent. At [6.357-8] Helen presents herself, Paris, and, indirectly, Hector as future subjects of song – and sees a link between her human suffering, the fate decreed by Zeus and the delight of future epic audiences…. Helen thus momentarily comes close to sharing the poet’s own vantage point and, like him, draws a connection between Zeus’ plans, human suffering, and poetry.” (G&H 6)
“The main effect of our knowledge, and of the characters’ lack of it, is a sense of tragic irony – a realisation that mortals have no sure understanding of the gods, or even of themselves. The Iliad enables us to see the limitations of humankind from the perspective of divine knowledge; but the spectacle is not simply entertaining, because the pain, suffering and uncertainty of Homer’s characters are ultimately our own.” (G&H 7)
“As Hector leaves the city and prepares to face the enemy, he depicts an unlikely image of future happiness …. This last wish clashes violently with what we know will happen to the Trojans and their city. The prophetic knowledge of the poet, together with the human frailty and uncertainty of his characters, provokes in the audience a mixture of pleasure and pain.” (G&H 8)
Here is another comment on the relationship between Zeus and the other gods and fate, commenting on 22.208-13:
“Zeus and the other gods accept fate (cf. 166-87) because they (ultimately) consider it beneficial to uphold the cosmic order, not because they are subordinate to it; they are often seen executing it (as here). Whether it is fate or the gods which are invoked largely depends on the context: ‘if stress is placed on the inevitability of an event, its importance in a character’s life-story or the need to endure it, fate is invoked; if the emphasis falls on an action’s power or strangeness, then it tends to be the work of a god’ (Janko 6). Scholars are divided as to whether fate in Homer is primarily a poetic device (‘what happened’ because of the demands of the tale or of tradition) or whether it represents a genuine religious concept.” (dJ 113)
Scholars are unsure whether or not Zeus and the gods are subordinate to fate or not. The above comment provides a neat way out: the gods are not subordinate to fate, but accept fate because fate ensures the cosmic order. The rest of the comment suggests that there are literary reasons for when the gods or fate are said to be the cause of an action.
The previous comment ended saying that scholars are divided about whether fate is a poetic device or a genuine religious concept. The following comment asserts fate in the Iliad is a poetic device, not a religious or philosophical concept. Let’s treat the following comment in more detail:
“On turning to the role of fate in this complex picture, it is important to avoid treating an epic poem as a philosophic argument. We can be sure that the poet did not have a fully developed and rationally justified position on fate and its relation to the gods: he was concerned with the dramatic effect in specific contexts.” (R 16)
It is obvious that an epic poem and a philosophic argument have different forms, i.e. there are conventions to each genre that would be out of place in the other. The commentator takes the genre differences to support an extreme position that the poet lacked a “fully developed and rationally justified position” on fate. Of course, the mere fact that the Iliad is an epic poem does not preclude the poet from having a fully developed and rationally justified position on fate.
The argument is essentially: the Iliad is an epic poem; therefore the poet lacks a developed and justified position on fate.
More productively we could say that we should not expect to read a detailed argument in the philosophic style about the role of fate in an epic poem, rather than the more extreme position that the poet lacks a “fully developed and rationally justified position” on fate.
That the poet is concerned with dramatic effect also does not preclude having a developed and justified position on fate.
From the human point of view things are relatively simple: fate is what happens to you. If it happens, it was your destiny; if it was not, it would not have happened. The one thing that is certain to happen sooner or later is death; hence a number of words for ‘fate’ in Greek also mean death (e.g. μόρος). Mortals normally do not discriminate between what is brought about by the gods and what is fated: from their point of view it hardly matters, since either way it is out of their hands.” (R 16)
A number of words for ‘fate’ in Greek also mean death because experiencing fatedness amounts to the death of the self conceived as a control agent, not the more banal reason given by the commentator that death is one thing that will happen.
Words for Fate in Homer
A definition of μοῖρα (fate, allotted share), commenting on 6.488 μοῖραν:
“a person’s fate, often envisaged as a powerful deity who shapes human affairs: 24.49; Hes. Theog. 904-6…. Etymologically, μοῖρα is one’s ‘share’ (cf. μείρομαι); it is closely associated with a person’s death as the limit of his or her share in life; cf., e.g., 3.101-2, Od. 2.99-100; Hom. Hymn 5.269; and Hes. fr. 35.4 MW. When Hector dies, that is his μοῖρα: cf. 22.5, 303.” (G&H 221)
Each human life is shaped into a particular worldline shape in the block universe. Each human worldline is given its share of the block universe. Another approach to the same concept: each human is given a share of control power, a portion of control power. Ego death is the limit/end of that share/portion of control power, the realization of the limited aspect of that control power.
The first approach above is a spatial approach, picturing the block universe and the worldlines contained within. The second approach is from the perspective of the individual who has recognized that his control power is but a share of control power itself.
Another commentator on μοῖρα at 18.119:
“here effectively ‘fate’, an impersonal force paired with the more personal vindictiveness of Hera. Greek ideas of fate or ‘one’s portion’ were flexible, sometimes purposefully vague [analogy and meaning switching, -cy]. One must distinguish the view of the poet (who can see the full picture of what ‘must’ happen – i.e. the plot of the poem and the constants of the mythical tradition) and the varied viewpoints of the characters, who rarely have insight into the future and even then can only see part of the picture. Often the context will dictate whether a character emphasises the freedom that fate permits [I don’t know what to make of such a confusing phrase, and the subsequent example does not seem to support it, –cy] (e.g. Hector at 6.487, no man will send me down to Hades ‘against my destiny, ‘ὑπὲρ αἶσαν’) or the compulsion which it imposes (as here or at 22.303, where Hector accepts his μοῖρα).” (R 121)
More on μοῖρα, commenting on 22.5 ὀλοιὴ μοῖρ᾽ἐπέδησεν (“deadly fate shackled [him]” – cy)
“μοῖρα is one of many Homeric words for fate, cf. αἴσα (61, 477) and πότμος (39n.). Since it usually pregnantly means ‘death-fate’, it is often accompanied by negative epithets, such as ‘forceful’ (5.629), ‘accursed’ (12.116), and ‘evil’ (13.602). The force of the metaphor ‘fate (or a god) shackling people (4.517; Od. 3.269; 11.292; 18.155-6) nearly always is still felt: whereas the other Trojans ‘did not dare to wait for each other outside the city and wall’ (21.608-9), Hector has to stay, since he is doomed to die at Achilles’ hands.” (dJ 61)
A rich, poetic expression, compactly portraying fatedness trapping the ego and killing it. This portion of the Iliad is the climax of the action of the poem, the point at which Hector is killed by Achilles.
A comment on a different word for fate, 18.329 πέπρωται:
“‘fate’ is man’s ‘portion’, what is provided (πόρω) or granted by the gods. Cf. 3.309, 16.441. Life as one’s portion seems to be the basic sense of a number of common expressions for fate in Greek (e.g. μοῖρα, αἶσα (‘measure’)).” (R 164)
Note the man’s dependency on the gods, as the local thought receiver depends on the hidden thought source. Man’s fate as his “portion” and “measure” may be visualised as the portion of the block universe alloted to the local thought receiver, as the measure of his thread-like worldline in the block universe.
Similarly, here is a comment on the same word at a different line, 22.179 πάλαι πεπρωμένον αἴσηι:
“‘long ago destined by fate’, sc. to die. The verb ἔπορον, ‘give’, ‘bestow’, in the perfect passive has the special sense of ‘to be given by fate’ = ‘to be destined’; cf. e.g. ἄμφω γὰρ πέπρωται ὁμοίην γαῖαν ἐρεῦσαι, ‘for it is fated that we both (Achilles and Patroclus) colour the same ground red’ (18.329).” (dJ 105)
This phrase implies the pre-existence of events.
Characterizing the gods of epic poetry:
“…gods are presented on their own, unwitnessed by mortals, on Olympus or elsewhere, conversing, quarrelling, bargaining with or sleeping with one another. Such scenes develop conceptions of the gods as characters with personality, involved in a society of their own – conceptions which are distant from the needs of ritual and cult. It is in these episodes that we probably see the poet at his most inventive in relation to the gods.” (R 18)
The gods of epic poetry overlap with the gods of ritual and cult, but are distinct in that they are developed as characters in a narrative with distinctive personalities and relationships.
References for posts commenting on Homeric scholarship; my comments in bold and emphasis with underline
Modern classical scholarship was driven initially by the “Homeric Question” in the German scholarly world. The Homeric Question questioned that there was any one poet who composed the Iliad and the Odyssey and lead to the question of how to account for the composition of the Homeric epics.
“More than once it has even been suggested that Homer never existed; a recent proponent of the view argues that he was the creation of a group of professional performers called ‘the descendants of Homer (Homeridai)’, who thus endowed themselves with a mythical forefather. The name Homer, not common in Greek, would be their reinterpretation of the designation ὁμηρίδαι, which originally referred to professionals singing at a *ὅμαρος, ‘assembly of the people’.”
(dJ 1, summarizing West 1999)
Discard the notion of a historical Trojan War. The quest for a historical Trojan War distracts from grasping the meaning of the myths.
“the question of the historicity of the Trojan War” is a “dangerous scholarly minefield.”
(B ix)
“All in all, history does not seem to offer much in the way of major events involving Troy that might have sparked a tradition of poetry about its capture: ‘there were battles in the Late Bronze Age in which both sides of the Aegean appear to have played a role, but we cannot say that Troy was on of the casualties of this conflict.”
(B 27)
“None of this rules out absolutely a ‘Trojan War’ of some kind, but the evidence for it is not strong. All in all therefore, it may be better to consider the Trojan War as the result of a highly complex and lengthy interweaving of literary traditions of various peoples, finally focussed on that city by the circumstances of the Greek migrants at the start of the Iron Age. Furthermore, there must be a question what difference to our reading of the poem it would make, if tomorrow evidence were produced that there was an actual Trojan War: there would remain many unanswerable questions as to how much was historical, where there was a Helen, and so on.”
(B 31)
The above is all well and good, but we would add that the essential driver of the creation of a “Trojan War” myth is the need to portray altered state experiencing. Altered state experiencing gives rise to mythology, story, art. The ultimate driver of the creation of the Trojan War story is the need to portray altered state experiencing. Other cultural and socio-political factors may contribute to the specific shape of the Trojan war story, but the main driving force is altered state experiencing.
The concept of the “Trojan War” develops from older Near Eastern traditions of the destruction of cities. These stories are analogies for destruction of autonomous control system:
“There are a number of stories about the destruction of cities in Near Eastern traditions. In Sumerian, we have the early Curse of Agade and five Laments, for Ur, Sumer and Ur, Nippur, Uruk and Eridu, which have a basic pattern of a divine decision to destroy the city, its abandonment by its gods with lamentation by its goddess, a storm sent by the main god Enlil representing the enemy assault and sometimes the prospect of its rebuilding. These laments are not however necessarily tied to actual events which can be supported by archaeological evidence: they were ‘a stylized representation of history that had a meaning of its own beyond the factual events, serving a didactic purpose’. Agade was not destroyed until several generations after the king held responsible in the Curse was dead, but the message that the king’s errors must be avoided is clear.”
(B 28)
The king = egoic control system. The king is cursed and his city destroyed: the egoic control system is unstable and thus destined to be undermined. The city is the king’s realm, which he governs with his commands. The destruction of the city is the ruin of the king’s claims to autonomous power in the altered state.
“The strong desire for characters in literature to have a real existence accounts for the reluctance that still exists to countenance the idea that the story of Helen of Troy is purely fictional, despite the improbability of a prince from a relatively minor Anatolian state conceiving a plan to enter with a group of companions a major Mycenean palace, in order to seduce and escape with the ruler’s wife.”
(B 32)
The above statement argues against a kind of naive historicism, the idea that there must be a “kernal of truth”, or some underlying factual basis, to the Trojan War story. A problem with “kernal of truth” approach to myth is how to determine what actually is factual. The above statement implies a broader argument about probability. It is unclear, however, what the author means by “real existence” and “purely fictional”. Helen and other figures have a kind of existence as representations of aspects of altered state experiencing. The implied strong distinction between “real existence” and “purely fictional” is ultimately unhelpful as an explanation of myth.
More on Helen:
“Helen, it is true, had an existence in religious practice and tradition. At Sparta, she was worshipped as a goddess, both as a young girl in a chorus of her contemporaries and as the wife of Menelaus, in which guise she seems to have overseen the transition of girls into womanhood.”
(B 32)
There is that word “existence” again. The author now seems to concede my objection to the implied strong contrast between “real existence” and “purely fictional” by attributing to Helen “existence” in religious ritual. A key question or avenue for analysis: what is the relation between the Helen of religious ritual in Sparta and the Helen of Trojan War literature? “Transition of girls into womanhood” implies initiation into dependent control in fixed future. Does the Helen of religious ritual tell us something about the Helen of Trojan War literature? With our monomaniacal interpretative paradigm, we can say both represent the discovery of dependent control in fixed future in some way. The work of criticism in this area is to work out the particulars of each manifestation without losing sight of the ultimate meaning, that of the revelation of dependent control in fixed future.
“Helen’s story is remarkably close to story-patterns found across the Indo-European area and beyond, and this might suggest that we are dealing with a Greek tale which has a long history before any potential conflict at Troy.”
(B 32)
“The patterns of Helen’s story thus have close parallels with those found elsewhere in Indo-European tradition. If there ever was such a person, her story has been heavily overlaid by traditional motifs, as is the case with figures in other traditions.”
(B 36)
Describing story-patterns is one aspect of the work of criticism, but must not be mistaken for identifying the ultimate, driving meaning of the Helen story, which is the altered state meaning. The kind of argument exemplified by the above two citations is partial, only partially succeeds in the partial task of arguing against naive historicism of myth. Arguing against historicism of myth is not a goal unto itself, but instead part of freeing the mind from the exoteric mindset.
Here is an example of the play of literary, narrative complexity that must be recognized in order to describe the way the Iliad represents the standard altered state revelation.
“there is a simultaneous, ‘double’ narration, in which the start of the war is mirrored in the narrative of the events which will bring it to its end. The first and last years are thus superimposed on each other, so that the Iliad gives the impression of starting at the beginning of the war, as one might expect in an epic about Troy, whilst actually narrating its end.”
(B 9-10)
Parallel elements in a variety of narrative situations, both small and large, implicate disparate characters and narrative events in the same distinctive logic of altered state meaning. Different characters and different narratives provide a variety of angles through which to portray altered state revelation and its impact upon different characters. A distinctive feature of the Iliad is the so-called double narration: although the Iliad is set at the end of the war, the events of the poem mirror the entire narrative of the war as a whole.
“The way the double narration works can be observed at the very opening of the poem. The dispute between Agamemnon and Chryses over Chryseïs is a structural parallel to the dispute between Menelaus and Paris over Helen: the Chryses-episode thus replicates in miniature the whole Trojan story. The subsequent quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles over Briseïs, whose name rhymes with Chryseïs, then reinforces the pattern. In each case, the taking of the girl leads to disaster, just as the taking of Helen did. The end of the war thus evokes here the seminal initial event.”
(B 10)
As a prime example, the beginning of the Iliad finds the Achaeans suffering following the taking of a girl [forcible seizure of ego/thought-receiver], and the subsequent taking of a girl from Achilles sets the core narrative in motion. This replicates Paris’ taking of Helen from Menelaus, leading to the Trojan War. The opening of the Iliad thus opens as one would expect a Trojan War epic to begin, with a taking of a girl, even if the Iliad only narrates a few days in the last year of the war. The Iliad’s portrayal of girl-taking suggests a criticism of enacting among human relationships the altered state forcible seizure of thought-receiver, by showing the suffering and disaster resulting from such imitations of divine seizure. We can thereby read the Iliad as critiquing the literalisation of myth and the effects of imitating altered state seizure on relations between mortals.
I have been working in private for a few months now on a project that supplements my posts on the Iliad and Odyssey, as well as the Homeric Hymns. My initial posts on the Homeric works were notes and interpretations, whatever came to me having to do with the altered state, pre-determined future, personal non-control, and psychedelics while doing a reread of a translation, with occasional reference to the Greek. To find my posts of this sort see the page linked in the header Greek and Latin Literature and Art. These posts amount to primary literary criticism using a new paradigm.
Since then, I have been reading the Greek closely. I had of course read sections of the Greek before in my schooling, but never with such focus. I have been interspersing reading only the Greek with reading the Greek with a commentary. In addition to deepening my understanding of Homeric language and style, the commentaries have been a spur to interpretation. I am using commentaries from the Cambridge Green and Yellow series because they are relatively inexpensive and relatively short. Remember that I do not have access to a university library, and I am not going to spend the rest of my life reading everything there is to read on Homer. Instead, take my engagement with scholarship in the spirit which I have intended: that of a non-academic literary critic and thinker working with a new paradigm. My goal in working with (some) academic scholarship is to distinguish the discussions most relevant to the altered state, pre-determined future, personal non-control, and psychedelics.
I am pulling out quotations from commentaries relevant to the above topics and further commenting on them. By doing so, I explore how to use scholarship written without the Egodeath Theory paradigm. Generally, I restate what the scholarship should be saying, if it had the proper focus on the above topics and proper understanding of them. Likewise, I aim to flesh out how to do literary criticism in light of the Egodeath Theory paradigm. I am identifying strands within existing scholarship and criticism that deserve to be amplified. All in all, this work is part of my larger task and calling of pushing the interpretation of the Classics forward into the new paradigm.
I have done enough work on this project in private that I feel confident in its worth. In addition to this reference page, I will have one post for development, where I will work up my interpretations based on the commentaries. As recognizable themes emerge, I will split off topics into separate posts. Ideally, I will also add relevant commentary to my posts on individual books and poems, but that is a “stretch goal”, requiring even more sorting.
Posts in this series (ongoing):
Development page for commenting on Homeric scholarship (work in progress page; eventually I will split sections of this page into individual topics, like the following posts)
Ahistoricity of the Trojan War and Homer
Altered state, loose cognition, psychedelics in Iliad
Fate, the gods, fixed future, determinism in the Iliad
Analogies for altered state, fixed future, control-loss in Iliad
The present post is an anchor for the other, forthcoming posts working with Homeric scholarship. In those forthcoming posts I will use abbreviations to refer to the specific commentaries I will quote from. This present post will have the full references. I am also collecting a bibliography of scholarship on Homer that sound relevant to the topics we are interested in: the altered state, pre-determined future, personal non-control, and psychedelics.
At present, I have completed my study of the Iliad and commentaries on five of its books: III, VI, XVIII, XXII, XXIV. I will refer to them with the following abbreviations of the author(s)’s names with page number:
To be added
To be added
Thanks to baby Pscyb for posing and thanks to Lady Pscyb for the suggestion.
cyberdisciple 
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