Homer's Odyssey / A Commentary

by Denton Jaques Snider

The great sea with its tempests is now before them, heaving and tossing; after the attack upon the Ciconians we can well imagine that this storm has its inner counterpart in the soul of Ulysses. Does he not show within himself a deep scission—between his desire to return and his deed? At any rate he is borne forward; when he sought to round Maleia, the southern point of Greece (now Cape St. Angelo), and sail home to Ithaca, he was carried out to sea by the winds, beyond the Island Cythera, across the main toward the coast of Africa. Thus he is swept outside the boundaries of Hellas proper into a region dimly known, half-mythical; he cannot make the sharp turn at Maleia, inside the Greek world; he must go beyond it and there reach his final experience. Not simply physical is this description, else it would be a mere statement in geography; it is also spiritual and hence rises into poetry.

II.

Next is the land of the Lotus-eaters, where Ulysses and his companions arrive, after being driven helplessly "across the fishy deep" for nine days (this is a favorite number in Homer) by the hostile winds. The Lotus-eaters, "whose food is flowers" use no violence, but reach to the new-comers their plant, the lotus, to satisfy hunger. Whoever has once tasted of that pleasant food, straightway forgets home and the Return, and wishes to live always among the Lotus-eaters. The will is broken, all activity is sapped; the land of idlers it is, relaxed in a sensuous dream life, in which there is a complete collapse of volition.

Now the point is to connect this country with the Ciconians, or rather to see this internal condition evolving itself out of the preceding one. For the line of conjunction must be within, of the spirit; physically the two countries are far enough apart. In the first case, we have noted a state of external violence, which really means a destroying of the will. The Greeks assailed a quiet people, assailed its will; then they were beaten and driven off, they had their negative deed served up to themselves. Now what? There follows an internal collapse of the will, a logical result of their own conduct, which is hinted by their being drifted about on the seas, apparently quite helpless. No wonder that, when they touched land again, and obtained some food, they desired to stay there, and eat of the lotus. Yet it is the consequence of their own act; that wanton destruction of the Ciconian will is at bottom the destruction of their own will; they are really assailing their own principle—a fact which is to be brought home to them by a long and bitter experience.

But there is one man among them, who, though not guiltless by any means, felt the nature of the Ciconian act, and who has still some volition left in the right direction. "By force I led back to the ship those who had tasted of the lotus, and bound them beneath the oar-benches." The rest of the companions were ordered aboard, they obeyed; off they sail again on the hoary deep—whitherward? Thus Ulysses shows himself the man of will among the will-less, and solves his part of the problem among the Lotus-eaters, setting out for the new Unknown.

This people probably lived on the coast of Lybia according to Homer's conception, though the land is outside the clear Greek geographical horizon, floating mistily somewhere on its borders, half real, half fabulous, on the way to Fairyland. We enter more distinctly the inner realm of the spirit, as the outer realm of reality becomes less distinct and demonstrable. The Ciconians were an actual people, the conflict with them also actual, quite the Trojan conflict; but the Lotus-eaters form the transition to the Wonderland of the Odyssey.

As regards the lotus, several plants were called by that name; one is mentioned in a previous Book of the Odyssey (IV. 603) which was probably a kind of clover growing in the damp lowlands of Greece and Asia Minor, and utilized for grazing. Another sort was a species of lily which grew in the valley of the Nile. But the lotus of the present passage is generally considered to be the fruit of a shrub which yields a reddish berry of the size of a common olive, having somewhat the taste of a fig. This fruit is still highly esteemed in Tripolis, Tunis and Algiers; from the last named country it has passed over to France, and is often hawked about the streets of Paris under the name of Jujube, where the passing traveler will purchase a sample, and eat of the same, testing the truth of Homer's description, but probably not losing thereby his desire for home and country.

The Lotus-eaters have had a famous history; they have caught the fancy of poets and literary men who have sought in various ways to reproduce and embellish them. Among English-speaking peoples the poem of Tennyson on this subject is a prime favorite. But in Homer the Lotus-eaters are not an isolated fact, they are a link in the chain of a grand development; this inner connecting thought is the true thing to grasp.

Let us, then, penetrate the heart of the next movement of Ulysses. The Lotus-eater gave up family and country; "chewing the lotus, he forgot the return." His will vanished into a sensuous oblivion; he was indifferent, and this indifference was a passive destruction of the Greek world to which he was returning. But now in due order the active destroyer of that world appears; behold the Cyclops, the wild man of nature, truly a monster to the Greek institutional sense, being without domestic and civil order. Thus we mark the inner transition: the active principle of that which was a passive Lotus-eater is the Cyclops, a Polyphemus. The Trojan negative result, so deeply lodged in the soul of Ulysses and his companions, cannot remain mere indifference or forgetfulness; it must proceed to action, to virulent destructive action, which is now to be bodied forth in a fabulous shape. Only a few of the weakest companions of Ulysses were ready to become Lotus-eaters, and they were easily thrust under the oar-benches and carried away. Here there is a fresh conflict, altogether the main one of the present Book.

III.