piccadilly kim

(originally from classical myth class in the spring 2006 semester)

Of all the Greek heroes, before this class I was most familiar with Hercules; Odysseus was second, probably due to Wishbone. I associated Hercules in particular with superhuman strength accompanied by an inordinately athletic body, and maybe curly Greek-godlike hair (I hadn’t pictured the beard, though!). More importantly, he was the good guy who’d go around doing good works for the populace. He’d live up to the description in Powell where "Tiresias foretold what … rebellious monsters, on land and by sea, would Heracles slay." I had tentatively similar thoughts of Odysseus, Theseus, and Jason. But when we studied them, I was quite disappointed to learn of their horrific flaws. Hercules "whirled his club down on the boy’s fair hair and shattered the bones beneath," Euripides writes. That’s not a line I expect to hear of a hero. The other three all gallivant around the Hellenistic world, flouting their marriage vows. (Hercules would, too, except he already killed his wife.) How do the heroes get off so easy?

I suppose the easy answer is simply that they’re heroes. They’re famous, and, besides, they do lots of other great things that surpass their minor murders. They’re above all that. Or are they? Hercules doesn’t face a Greek executioner, but he could have been killed in any of his twelve labors. But he wasn’t; he survived and came out the victor each time. And which is he remembered for now: child-slaying or labor-defeating? It seems that, though he paid tremendously for his sins, his punishment was actually a favor in disguise. He received glory and fame for what should have brought him pain and disgrace.

Then there’s Odysseus. I was most angry with him. Maybe it’s just that I’m single in the midst of the senior scramble, but I really sympathize with Penelope as she waits faithfully for twenty years. "I must endlessly feel the loss of an absent husband," she writes in Ovid’s Heroides, "Oh, I hope … that you, if you are free to return, do not choose to stay away." Yet, while she pines, he cavorts a year with Circe and seven with Calypso. Surely it was a man who decided to make Odysseus a hero. How does he get off so easy?

Perhaps now would be a good time to address the heroines. They’re certainly not a perfect lot either, but they tend to be remembered for their flaws whereas the heroes are not. What’s Medea do? She murders her children. What’s Hercules do? He courageously completes twelve labors. What’s Phaedra do? She falls for her stepson. What’s Odysseus do? He has lots of adventures after winning the Trojan war.

Again, how do the heroes get off so easy? Is it just because of Greek life – that infidelity was typical, and of course the heroes would have affairs, too? Or was it that the people could live vicariously through the heroes whose sins they coveted?

And how is it that the heroes don’t have any psychological pain about their misdeeds? Hercules doesn’t develop post-traumatic stress disorder; Odysseus doesn’t end up depressed. It’s hard to say what their consciences told them about extramarital affairs, but the heroes don’t strike me as the most guilt-ridden bunch imaginable.

Maybe it’s all just part of the job, being virile and excessively strong and prone to kill things like Nemean lions or Cyclopes or small children. Or maybe I’m a bit harsh on them. They’re only half god, after all.

It’s not that I want to discredit their good deeds – they are numerous, I admit. It’s just that these guys have gone down in history as heroes, but they did a lot of rather un-heroic things, too. It’s like finding out Santa doesn’t really deliver your Christmas presents – or worse, that he eats reindeer.