1

Forthcoming in Religion Compass

What is religious about the Iliad?

Margo Kitts

Hawai’i Pacific University

Key terms: Homer, Iliad, religion, violence, theomachy, hermeneutics, catachresis

Abstract: The disconnection between contemporary understandings and ancient

experiences of "religion," "theology," and the "supernatural" has plagued attempts to

understand Homeric imagination for more than a century. The chasm might be measured

by judgments that the theomachy of Iliad 20 and 21, for instance, must be "bad art,"

"black comedy," or represents a "comic agon" imitative of Near Eastern creation stories.

In other words, it is not to be taken seriously. This paper defends religious sensibilities in

the Iliad. It summarizes the problems of uncovering these sensibilities with an ear toward

some basic issues in hermeneutics: the difficulties posed by the poem's diachronic

development, conceivably over centuries, but more importantly difficulties internal to the

poem, such as fickle Muses and the world they open for us. Finally, the tools of poetic

extension and catachresis help to grasp the poem’s sophistication in representations of

divine violence.

A glance at the range of scholarly impressions of Homeric religion reveals a persistent

tendency to disregard it, on the one hand, along with an occasional tendency to revere it, on the

other.1 Disregarders construe Homeric religion as a capricious affair tangential to the appeal of

the Iliad, whose real drama is argued to revolve around distinct human personalities struggling

with fate: wrathful Achilles, tragic Patroklos, noble Hector, wretched Priam, weak Agamemnon,

wise Nestor, clever Odysseus, and so on. For some detractors, Homeric religion is a literary

artifice at best,2 at worst a curious amalgam of Greek rationality and savage superstition.

3

Defenders of Homeric religion counter with perceptive readings of divine dynamics in the plot4

and applause for the Homeric spirit.5 Naturally, criticism hinges on approach.

6 As Guthrie noted

half a century ago, most scholars of religion do not read Homeric Greek, whereas most

Homerists do not read religion,7 or hermeneutics. Happily, this is changing.

This essay aims to provide a short overview of religious sensibilities in the Iliad,

analyzed at three successively deepening levels of textual interpretation. The first is historical:

section one sketches the poem’s performance contexts and internal religious assumptions. The

1 All translations herein are by the author.

2 E.g., Calhoun 1939, Dietrich 1983, Pucci 2002, Louden 2006.

3 E.g. Vico 2002:85, 108-109; Calhoun ("the effects range from the comic, vulgar and ridiculous to the sublime

(1937:11-12)). 4 Whitman 1958, Heiden 1997, Lateiner 2002, Lefkowitz 2003, Turkeltaub 2007.

5 Nietzsche 1872, Harrison 1927 (1962), Murray 1955.

6 Burkert 1985:1-7.

7 Guthrie 1950:23-26.

2

second is narratological: it explores the musical artifice in the focalization of various

perspectives on the gods within the poem, as well the likely perceptions of the audience outside

of it. Section three examines the representations of gods in battle and the poetic techniques

which evoke the suspension of disbelief. Poetic extension and catachresis are argued to invite

perceptions that elude linguistic categorization and immerse an audience in the poetic reality of

divine violence. This essay is built on the supposition that conceptual tools restricted to rituals,

doctrine, group dynamics or historical studies are too blunt for grasping religious sensibilities in

the Iliad. Poetic tools, on the other hand, reach beyond the text into its imaginative sources.

Performance contexts and internal religious suppositions

Understanding the Homeric poems is complicated, first, by their age. Both epics are

arguably as old as the Bronze Age,8 possibly stemming from unwritten Mycenaean praise songs

9

and containing formulae reaching deeply into the Indo-European nebulae,10

or, alternatively,

stemming from lays composed in the Greek colonies of Asia Minor during the so-called Dark

Age and borrowing themes from earlier epics further east.11

Whatever the initial sources, the

epics are thought to have matured into lengthy oral poems performed in recitative registers,12

a

distinct metrical style (dactylic hexameter), and a specialized art-language with formulaic

sequencing and traditional themes.13

Since Snodgrass,14

we have dated the crystallization of

these poems to the 8th

century BCE, a watershed for a panhellenic identity fostered by rising

populations and intensified networks of communication and trade among emerging city-states all

around the Mediterranean Sea.15

Shared institutions such as the Delphic oracle, Olympian games,

and poetry competitions enhanced this panhellenic identity,16

variegated locally by the adoption

of eponymous heroes by some city-states.17

Panhellenic poetic and athletic competitions were

conceived as devotional rituals for the gods.18

The exterior context is thus culturally and historically complex, which makes all the more

astonishing the seeming unity of the poems in the matter of pantheon and cultural traditions, for

Achaians, Trojans and allies alike. From an internal perspective, the Iliad is overwhelmingly

religious. It is constructed around institutions supported by gods, the actions, personalities, and

constraints of these gods, and the restrictions on human autonomy imposed by divinely

authorized fate.

Institutions

8 Latacz 2004

9 Ford 1997.

10 Watkins 1978, Nagy 1990a:7-35.

11 Morris 1997; Bryce 2008.

12 Nagy 1990b:41, Ford 1997:401.

13 Ford 1997; Nagy 1990b:17-51.

14 1980:11-48.

15 Alternatively, the poems continued to evolve beyond Classical times (Nagy 1990b).

16 See, e.g., I. Morris (2005).

17 See Coldstream (2003:341-413), Snodgrass (1980:38), Nagy (1990a), Lateiner (2002), Guthlein (2008) and

Seaford 1999) for different aspects of eponymous heroes and hero cult. 18 Malkin 2003:61-63; Heiden 1997:232.

3

The institutions supported by gods typically include marked speech acts (prayers, curses,

invocations of Muses) and deeply rooted cultural conventions such as hospitality, honoring

suppliants, sacrifice, and oath-making, which stem directly or indirectly from the oikos, that is,

the home and the hearth, the heart of the Homeric social unit. The cultural depth of these

institutions is supported by formalized ritual scenes hallowed by religious formulae, relatively

fixed behavioral sequences, and remote etiologies, sometimes shared with the Near East.19

Divinely decreed institutions and the emotions which stem from them are deemed essentially

civilizing, designed to soften the wild hearts of men – so scold Nestor and Apollo at points of

crisis (9.63-6420

; 24.44-4521

).

Gods too honor these institutions, mostly: For instance, Zeus swears an unretractable oath

to Thetis that he will manipulate the war so that the bruised dignity of Achilles will be avenged

(1.505-527), and Hephaestus shows sympathetic hospitality to Thetis as he prepares Achilles'

immortal armor (18.389ff). Yet, divine will may also subvert those institutions when humans try

to honor them. For instance, Aphrodite ignores the Trojan-Achaian truce, constructed by oath,

when she plucks Paris from the battlefield and deposits him at the bed of Helen (3.373-382), and

Zeus and Athena make Trojan Pandaros shoot the first arrow to violate the same truce (4.92-

104). Of course these subversions have their reasons:

The gods, fate, and its effects

Subversions of divinely authorized conventions usually serve the ultimate plan of Zeus,

and also of fate. Fate (αἶσα) is deeply etched into the scheme of events, whether stemming from

Zeus or from a deeper source. Literarily it is supported by contrafactuals throughout the poem –

"And now [Menelaus] would have dragged [Paris] and won unending kudos, had not Aphrodite

daughter of Zeus at once noticed …" (3.373-374); "At that point the Argives would have made

their return beyond fate, had not Hera instructed Athene …” (2.155-156); and "now [Hector]

would have dragged the corpse and won unending fame, had not swift footed Iris come rushing

from Olympus …" (18.165-166). Occasionally the force of fate is captured in expressions of

divine regret: Zeus would like to save his son Sarpedon from the murderous hands of Patroklos,

but to avoid disturbing fate and unleashing a clash of meddling parent-gods, must settle for

spiriting away the corpse and weeping down divine tears of blood (16.459-461).

Those who deny religious themes in the Iliad miss the fact that the constraints of fate and

the unsurpassable will of Zeus pervade nearly every critical juncture of the action.22

This is twice

illustrated by the tipping of fateful golden scales (at 8.69-72, 22.249), but clear elsewhere too.

The wrath of Achilles is said to fulfill the masterplan of Zeus in the fifth verse (1.5), the wrath of

Apollo initiates the plan soon after (1.8-10), then Hera plants the thought in the mind of Achilles

(1.55) to call the assembly from which the quarrel begins; Athene stops Achilles from killing

Agamemnon right then and there (1.194ff); later Zeus and Hera conspire that the Achaian-Trojan

truce be violated and the war resume (4.60-80), and so on. Along the way auspicious portents

signal meaningful destiny: on the third morning Zeus sends Eris to raise a mighty shout among

19

Kitts 2011. 20

"Without clan, without law, and without hearth is he who loves chilling civil strife." All translations are by the

author. See discussion in Kitts 2005:57-61. 21

"So Achilles destroys pity, and has no shame, which hurts men but also helps them." 22

Heiden 1997:224-225. Some events, however, are due simply to blind human folly,e.g. 2.73.

4

the Achaians, so that war will seem sweeter than returning home (11.3-15); then he sends down

tears wet with blood from the aether, because he was about to send many mighty heads to Hades

(11.53-55); later he extends terrible moil and toil over fallen Patroklos for an entire day (16.400-

401), to honor him; and Athena is sent as a purple cloud to stir up strife over his body (17.544-

552). The mingling of divine forces in battle is constant: Ares, along with queenly Enyo (battle

personified) and Kudoimos (the din of battle), leads the Trojans, flitting one moment in front,

one moment behind Hector (5.590-595); Apollo too leads the Trojan hosts (15.306-311) while

Poseidon (14.383-387) and Athene (20.94-98) similarly mingle with the Achaian.23

Notwithstanding occasional attempts to thwart the will of Zeus by Poseidon and Hera, or

just plain human folly,24

the cosmic plan and its effects are overwhelming in the Iliad, which is

one reason why Heiden,25

Lefkowitz,26

and Turkeltaub27

decry scholarly tendencies to disregard

the poem's deep religious sentiment. Even as poetic devices, the gods and fate must have

resonated with ancient audiences, and borne some similarities to notions they entertained in their

own lives. Otherwise, the audience would have seen the poetic action, with gods intervening in

every aspect of it, as simply comic.

It is not comic. This is because divine engagement provides more than a driver for

action; it provides perspective. The songs and their subjects emanate from Olympus, in part

because the Muses emanate from there, but also because much of the action is focalized through

the hearts and minds of divine spectators,28

who simultaneously participate in the action. The

Patrocleia, for instance, is focalized through the sorrowful eyes of Zeus,29

who oversees the last

moments of both Sarpedon and Patroklos. His grief is symbolized not only by his own tears and

anguish but poetically extends into the anguish of Sarpedon's fellow Lycians and Trojans, and

Patroklos' Achaians, as well as into the grieving immortal horses, whose teary manes trail in the

dust. Zeus pities them (17.426-447), and so do we, because we hear the Patrocleia from his

perspective. The Muses call Patroklos a fool (νήπιος, 6.686) – he is yet another

uncomprehending mortal. But they address him in second person (16.692-693), a sign of

endearment, before he is about to die. This emotionally wrenching quality of the Iliad, of course,

makes it great art. As Ricoeur would say, the text opens its world for us, and we unite it with our

own, as presumably did ancient audiences too.

Human autonomy?

Part of the beauty of the Iliad is that, fate and the will of Zeus notwithstanding, human

autonomy is never completely stripped of meaning, even when the result of any one human

decision is predetermined. Achilles makes a sincere choice to obey Athene when she

discourages him from killing Agamemnon in Book 1. We, the audience, know the cruelty in her

promise of three times the riches to come, given the sacrifice of Patroklos which ultimately will

23

Poseidon runs in front of the troops at 13.345-55, 13.434-45, 13.554-56, 13.563-64, 14.384-401; Ares at 5.590-95;

Apollo at 15.306-11; Athene 20.94-98; even Hector, resembling Zeus, does so at 11.61-64. 24

See note 22. 25

1997. 26

2003. 27

2007. 28

Pucci touches upon these various spectator roles (2002). 29

Heiden 1997:226.

5

impel Achilles to fight, win those riches, and then face death. When forced to reckon with this

deceit and the terrible irony in the way Zeus fulfilled his mother's wish (that the Achaians pay

dearly for dishonoring her son), Achilles blames himself. He is culpable for the loss of Patroklos

and the many others subdued by godlike Hector while he was away (18:102-103). He does not at

that point rail against the gods. Similarly, Hector, cruelly misled by a disguised Athene in his

final confrontation with Achilles, ultimately stands up to fight, only to learn that his brother was

not in fact there with a helpful spear. Hector immediately grasps that he was tricked by Athene

and that the gods are calling his death (22.297-299), but he heroically faces his fate (22.303-

305), at least briefly.

At the end, of course, Achilles does lament the unfairness of it all, speaking to Priam on

behalf of us all: "So the gods have woven it so that wretched mortals live in grief, while they

themselves are uncaring" (24.525-526). And yet, we know that Zeus does care: "[Mortals] are a

concern to me, though they perish" (20:21). It is this pendulum of care and its seeming absence

that underpins the emotionality of the Iliad, from the introduction of myriad cares imposed upon

the mighty Achaian souls sent to Hades (1.2-3) to Zeus' tears of blood (11.53-55; 16.459-461) to

the implicit care for Hector's white bones and the sema poured around them (24.799-801) at the

very end.30

The Muses poetically offer divine and human care as some small compensation for

the lack of human autonomy and for the constraints of fate.

Musical artifice and its problems

According to the poem, these perspectives on fate and its constraints do not come to us in

a direct way. It is true that, as a knowing audience, we are privy to the divine machinery from

the fifth verse: it is all “to fulfill the plan of Zeus.” But what we learn is mediated by the Muses

and singers. Famous to Hesiod as whimsical reporters of both truths and lies (Th.27-28), the

Muses in the Iliad are said to see truth, whereas singers hear and report, but do not see or know it

(2.484-486) – a visual-aural contrast which persists in remarks about truth and tales in both epics

(e.g., 20.202-204; Od. 4.831; Od.8.49131

).32

So how are these indirect reports of singers to be

fully trusted? Can we be sure that the reported truths are not musical sleights of hand?

According to Heiden, the point of hearing Homeric singers was never actually about

grasping truth, but rather about releasing ourselves to enchantment.33

In the Odyssey, singer

Phemios, like the Muses, knows enchantments of mortals (βροτῶν θελκτήρια, Od. 1.337), and

singer Demodocus conjures his story so vividly that he is deemed divinely inspired (8.499).

Making it seem real is an art: Demodocus sings "as if he were truly there, or got it from

someone else who was" (Od.8.491).

30

On the overwhelming theme of care and lack of care in the Iliad, see M. Lynn-George (1996). 31

"as if you had been present yourself, or heard it from someone who was" And in Aeneas' refusal to parlay with

Achilles about their ancestors: these are heard matters, but not witnessed directly by each other

ὥς τέ που ἢ αὐτὸς παρεὼν ἢ ἄλλου ἀκούσας. For the complications in direct vs. indirect reporting of stories within

the Iliad, see Ford 1997:410. 32

Ford 1997. On an extended theme, Turkeltaub discusses the Homeric association of vision with life and loss of it

with death (2007:51, note 2). 33

1997:222.

6

To complicate our grasp of this musical artifice, the Muses conjure the story differently

for the various audiences whose reactions are reported within the poems. On the one hand,

songs34

are known to exalt the enduring fame (κλέος) of gods and men (Od. 1.338), and to please

them both.35

In the Iliad, the pleasing nature of song is illustrated when Achilles pleases his

spirit with songs of the glorious deeds of men (9.186-189), when a boy on Achilles' shield sings

a fine lay of Linos, while his companions dance, stamp in beat, and shout (18.570-572), and

when the Achaians sing paeans to appease Apollo in the first book (1.472). We remember that

songs performed at panhellenic festivals were ostensibly sacred offerings, gifts of piety to the

gods.36

But in the Odyssey, kleos-proclaiming songs about Troy profoundly disturb Penelope

and Odysseus (Od.1.335-346; 8.521-536). They cannot bear to hear, presumably because they

are too close to the subject. In contrast, the next generation of audiences (Ithacan suitors too

young to have fought at Troy; Phaeacian sailors who prefer dance to battle) delight in these

songs.37

Responses within the poems are thus layered, pending generations and involvement with

the events captured in the songs.

Trusting the Muses will always require a leap of faith because of the gulf between the

worlds of heroes and their audiences. We hear repeatedly that mythical heroes enjoyed a now-

lost proximity to the gods and were capable of superhuman feats inconceivable for "the sort of

mortals there are now" (Nestor (1.271-72), Diomedes (5.302-4), Ajax Telemonios (12.381-85),

Hector (12.449-51), Aineas (20.285-87)). Occasionally we hear of even mightier generations,

such as Heracles (19.113-137) and Poseidon's Siamese twin sons who once fought Nestor

(11.709-710, 750-52).38

Panhellenic audiences presumably experienced some synchronicity

between their world and the bygone world of these heroes, but the epic's spell was effective in

part because there was a gulf. That gulf mandates the suspension of disbelief, which in turn

enables audiences to submit to enchantment by singers inspired by Muses.

That gulf extends to us, of course. As an audience we no longer experience directly a

proximity to the gods and we no longer hoist boulders which are impossibly large. But what we

lose in virtual reality, we gain in artistic perspective. As Gadamer put it, we withdraw into

aesthetic judgment “when we are no longer open to the immediate claim of that which grasps

us.”39

We listen for art. Hence the adage: "the gods spun ruin for men so there would be song

for those who came after" (Od. 8.579-580).

Gods in battle, poetic extension, and catachresis

That artistic perspective is also a theological perspective – not a theological argument,

but a vision. There is a certain irony in this. Estranged from the world of heroes and yet

captivated by the song, we are granted continuously visions of gods in action, visions which

most heroes never see and special heroes only rarely.40

For instance, Achilles' new shield is too

34

And of course there are numerous types of song in evidence. See Ford 1997. 35

Although gods may earn kleos by deeds as well (e.g. 7.451-53). 36

Heiden 1997. 37

See discussion in Ford 1997:413-414. 38

The artwork for the twins is discussed in Snodgrass 1997. References to bygone generations and their stories are

discussed in an exciting way by Mackie 2008. 39

1976:5. 40

Turkeltaub grades the stature of heroes by how they perceive theophanies (2007).

7

dazzling for mortal eyes within the poem (19.14-17), but ours behold Eris/Strife and

Kudoimos/Din of Battle consorting together, and destructive Ker/death, holding a newly

wounded man, an unwounded man, and dragging a dead man through the melee by the foot.

Around her shoulders she wore a garment stained with human blood (18.535-538). In the same

scene, Ares and Athene, conspicuously beautiful, enormous, and clad with weapons and gold,

lead away from harm the fleeing people, who are somewhat lesser in stature (ὑπολίζων) (8.516-

519). Off the shield mortal vision is shrouded by mist (ἀχθύς); so we are told when Athene

removes that of Diomedes (5.127-128) so that he may witness gods in battle.41

The Muses

remove it for us. The audience sees gods modulating their shapes and voices to engage with

heroes,42

darting about with the speed of a man’s thought (15.80-83) or as comets (4.75-78).43

Along with the Muses, we enjoy an omniscient view of these events.

As for the heroes within the poem, arguments have been made that only first generation

children of gods actually recognize gods face to face,44

but this does not preclude other

generations from experiencing the presence of the gods. This happens when, for instance,

Poseidon moves out screaming as loud as nine or ten thousand men entering warlike strife with

Ares, and instills great strength into each heart of the Achaians (14.148-152). Then, do any

warriors actually see Apollo when he leads Hector and the Trojans, wearing a cloud over his

shoulders and holding the panic-inducing aegis (15:306-310)? Yet the fray was terrible,

especially when, looking under his brows, Apollo shook the aegis and screamed terribly,

bewitching the hearts in the Danaan chests, so they forgot their courage and ran. That is how

Apollo bound kudos to Hector and the Trojans on that day (15.320-327).

It used to be argued that these extraordinary scenes featuring gods in battle were, politely,

"thought processes in Homer which do not coincide with our own."45

Famously, Snell

understood Homeric emotions as overwhelming forces acting externally to the actors,46

and thus

perceived as foreign, autonomous entities. Today, however, we are less inclined to dismiss

ancient people's experiences as quite so foreign,47

despite our apparent hermeneutic gulf, and

considering too the sociotheological approach to religion, which takes seriously the epistēmē, as

Foucault called it, of religious actors.48

However much our own epistēmē may differ, we may

enlist two tools to help bridge the perceptions of Homer's audience and our own. These are

poetic extension and catachresis, which are related.

Poetic extension is felt throughout the Iliad when emotions or experiences transcend

articulate speech and must be insinuated through events. So, for instance, Achilles’ wordless

grief upon discovering the death of Patroklos in Book 18 is extended into his self-laceration, hair

tearing, and facial disfigurement to the screaming, chest-pounding, and collapsing of the captive

women, all the way to the wailing and breast-pounding of the Nereids who erupt from the sea

onto the beach among the Myrmidons. For a full 59 verses (18.22-81), the wordless grief of

41

And Poseidon pours a temporary mist over the eyes of Achilles, while Aeneas is whisked away (20.321). 42

Clay 1974. 43

Dietrich has a good list of theophanies (1983). 44

Turkeltaub 2007; Pucci 2002. 45

Dietrich 1983:59. 46

Snell 1982:31, Dodds 1951:14. 47

See Cairns 2003: 17, 24. 48

See Juergensmeyer and Sheikh, 2013.

8

Achilles is poetically extended, right through the keening sea-creatures. Elaine Scarry taught us

that extreme pain may elude articulation in forms other than wordless screams or figurative

analogy.49

In the poem psychological pain is poetically configured through Achilles’ actions and

inarticulate surroundings.

But the most remarkable form of poetic extension in the Iliad is catachresis, defined as

the mixing of metaphors and personalization of objects and contexts, and ultimately the

dissemination of meanings by poetic connotation. Rather than evidence of disowned emotions

(per Snell, for instance), or just lazy figuration, catachresis is a poetic strategy to make

comprehensible dimensions of experience which elude other forms of discourse, as Aristotle

recognized.50

We already know that Achilles is distressed, but when that emotion is extended

into his spear, described as pikra, "bitter, aggrieved" (22:206), yearning "to sate itself on human

flesh” (21.167-168), we grasp his injury in a way that becomes virtual. The imagination evoked

by catachresis bends categories of perception and reaches into a preverbal understanding for

which spears, in this case, are phenomenological extensions of the self.

Catachresis and poetic extension are apt explanations for how it can be that, as early as

the first day of battle, distressing animus between the Trojans and Achaians is figured as Ares

rousing one side, Athene the other, and Terror, Fear, and insatiably desirous Eris/Strife, planting

her head in the sky and striding over the earth, increasing the groaning of men (4.439-445).

Another example might be the imminent cholos and mēnis (anger and fury) of Ares, which are

figured as Ares’ horses Terror and Panic, about to descend into battle along the god to avenge his

mortal son (15.119-22). Rather than exterior forces acting upon characters, these poetic

extensions should be understood as sensory expansions of the characters’ experiences into the

vaster poetic world, all predicated on the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

But the outstanding example is the theomachy in Books 20 and 21. There, Achilles

reenters battle and the frenzy is so extended into the cosmos that divinities dominate it. Zeus

releases the gods to fight, Eris arises, Athene and Ares scream across the plain, and the great

gods arouse human opponents to break out in heavy strife (20:48-55). Dissolution of the gulf

between human and divine worlds seems complete when Zeus thunders from above, Poseidon

shakes the earth and mountains, the streams and human cities tremble, and Hades leaps in fear

lest the world break open and the houses of the dead be exposed (20.55-56). Book 21 continues

the chaos and sound effects in parallel spheres, human and divine. "Trojans fell in[to the river]

with a great clatter, and the steep streams brayed/ The river banks shrieked loudly back and

forth, while [Trojan victims] swam here and there with a cry/Being rolled around in the eddies"

(21:9-11); "Then the gods " … fell together with a great clatter, the wide earth brayed/ The great

heavens resounded back and forth, and Zeus heard,/ Sitting on Olympus, and he laughed his

heart/ in delight, when he saw the gods coming together in strife" (21.387-90). The parallel

clattering, braying, and resounding worlds dissolve into a surreal unity when Achilles slays so

many Trojans that the river god pursues him roaring, spewing black foam, logs, pebbles, and

mud, hoping that Achilles will be buried in slime and his bones never recovered (21.305-321).

The vivid imagery and sound effects connote sensuous immersion in an unstable world on the

49

Scarry 1987. Agamemnon's wound as birthing pains (11.267–272) is discussed by Holmes (2007). 50

Holmes 2007:59.

9

brink of destruction, a theme frequent in war literature from Homer through the Bible into our

own day.

We needn't conclude from passages like these that the Iliad reflects such an excess of

figuration that the poetic intention is comic (as some have argued), despite the sinister laugh of

Zeus. 51

Instead we may presume that the ancient poetic strategy of catachresis accomplished for

Homer what it accomplishes for perceptive audiences today, which is to provide intuitions of

experiences which collapse categories in language. In this era of trauma studies and violent

imaginaries, we are increasingly aware that some experiences, such as terror, pain, and the

uncanny, intrude into awareness at a level beneath discursive signification.52

By these god-in-

battle scenes, the Homeric Muses (or their impersonators) elicited intuitions of the cosmic

disequilibrium discharged by extraordinary violence.

Conclusion

The Iliad is a war poem thoroughly permeated with religious elements, from sacred

institutions to the implications of divinely decreed fate to heightened experiences of battle,

sometimes figured as divine engagements. Musical artifice opens up a world of divine

epiphanies known to selected heroes and to us, its power predicated on our willing suspension of

disbelief. Using tools such as catachresis and poetic extension, we may grasp the Iliad's

theomachies not as bad art or as a perversion of lofty religious experience, but rather as figuring

the way that Terror, Strife, and the Din of Combat may march through our experiences still.

51

Notice that Biblical and Near Eastern allusions to a Chaoskampf, wherein cosmic powers collide on earth, are

never dismissed as comic (Fishbane 2003; Day 1985; Ortlund 2010; Noegel 2007), even when the biblical god

scoffs would-be foes (Ps. 2:4-6), or Leviathan laughs at the lance which tries to kill him (Job 41). Rather, it is

sinister amusement. Likewise, the frivolousness of goddesses boxing each other's ears and boasting might be

compared to the frivolous wager of Yahweh with Satan at the trial of Job. The contest is sport, except to Job, who

doesn't die but wants to (Job 3). In short, to expect "religious" narratives to reflect something lofty and just is to fail

to notice how persistent is divine indifference to human suffering in Near Eastern religious sensibilities. 52

On these elusive experiences consequent to trauma or terror, see Crapanzano (2004: 91) and Strathern and Stewart

(2006: 7, 13). For a summary of literary approaches to religious violence, see Kitts (2013).

10

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