The Problem of Suffering (Prompt 2)

"Job" deals with the problem of human suffering at its extreme. Satan tests the faith of Job by causing him to undergo heightened physical and psychological pain.

By the end of "Job," the protagonist learns to retain faith in God no matter what circumstances may prevail. Faith must be enough for human existence. Job learns this lesson; we can speculate that a similar message was to be conveyed to the Bible's readers.

For this story addresses a question we in fact do not have the answers to: why do we suffer? Also why do some live healthily? In today's world, we focus on what we consider 'concrete' - physical and psychological health, drastic events, etc. - to explain our circumstances. But a group such as the Israelites without scientific innovations as ours, one moreover without regard for science, would need a different explanation to rely on.

The idea that God causes all and that we do not have the capacity to understand Him can be seen as a reasonable explanation. It is comforting in that we attribute realities to another's responsibility. For instance, one who believes something or someone else to have caused his failure remains confident in himself. God is also a pleasing explanation in that it addresses all that humans cannot control. Amazing and terrible things happen because there is no rhyme or reason to God's actions: Job says, "He leads priests away stripped, and overthrows the mighty. He deprives of speech those who are trusted, and takes away the discernment of the elders. He pours contempt on princes, and looses the belt of the strong. He uncovers, the deeps out of darkness, and brings deep darkness to light. He makes nations great, and he destroys them: he enlarges nations, and leads them away. He takes away understanding from the chiefs of the people of the earth, and makes them wander in a pathless waste. " (Job, 12:19, 12:24). Attributing responsibility along with order (or disorder) to God allows humans to understand their limits.

Job's Questionable Rewards for Faith (Prompt 8)

In "Job," the character of Job suffers for losing faith in God. Though Satan causes his pain, God establishes that if He wanted He could prolong it. For God does not owe any man any kind of blessing: He asks the rhetorical question, "Who has given to me, that I should repay Him?" (Job, 41:11). God believes that humans must be indifferent to suffering - and anything else, for that matter - because faith is all they need.

When Job finally "repent(s) in dust and ashes" for not having faith in God, however, God does reward him (42:6). "...the Lord restored the fortunes of Job" and later "blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning; and he had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels" etc. (42:10, 42:12).

If God does not owe anything to man, why does Job deserve a reward for having faith in God? Should not rewards be as meaningless as suffering, in the face of God?

These are unanswerable questions that result from a confusing, hypocritical solution. What we can investigate, however, is why the author felt the need to end Job pleasantly. He must have felt the need to sacrifice the alternative, logical ending - Job regains faith in God and either continues to suffer or does not, but that does not matter because the human experience only depends on faith - for good reason.

"Job" stresses obedience to God and indifference to all else, at the same time as it presents incentives as material as camels for obedience. For as a set of beliefs created by humans and for humans, they must appease humans. "Job" comes to finally promote faith not only with material incentives; by relieving Job's pain in the end, it also associates suffering with godlessness and health with faith. Faith alone will not suffice for the readers of the Bible; health and other rewards must be at stake as well.

God's Motives in Job (Prompts 3 and 4)

At the beginning of "Job," God sees Job as "a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil" (Job, 2:3). Thus He sees no reason to test Job's faith, until Satan proposes to do so.

Satan warns God of Job, "touch his bone and his flesh and he will curse thee to thy face" (2:5). Satan thus sees imperfection in Job, which he can exaggerate under the circumstances of pain.

Satan's hypothesis proves later to be true, when Job rejects God for causing him to undergo so much pain. Job thereby loses faith in God as supreme, and in His actions and judgments as correct. God therefore is proved wrong by Satan. "Job" is a triumph for Satan in that he demonstrates that God's assumption is false, as well as in that he finds one of his deviant qualities in man. Satan successfully fills these two goals.

God, on the other hand, has no motive in "Job." He nevertheless gets his confidence taken away; there is a sinner in someone He highly regards. The fact that God, unlike Satan, had little curiosity in Job's faith points to God's confidence. God feels no need to defend Job for this reason, and is happy letting Satan do the 'dirty work' of trying to find in him a fault: "Behold, he is in your power; only spare his life" (2:6). The lack of a plan in "God" prepares Him for a grand criticism when error is found.

So when Job proves to defy God, it is not only an affront to His power but also His own knowledge. God has upheld someone to be faithful when he is not; He has also cockily assumed someone to be on His side when he is not. Satan's attack on God reveals faultiness in humans and faultiness in Him as well.

God Creates a World of Binaries Until Man Exists

In Genesis, a world is created on many pairs of items. In each pair, one item either opposes, or is deemed "good" (1) better than the other, which lacks the same modifier. For instance, He starts with the heavens and the earth; then He creates the opposing duos of night and day, light and darkness, evening and morning. God and humans present another hierarchical pair: God is more powerful than and must be obeyed by men and women. These binaries provide structure to the world, clarity for our understanding of the origins of what we experience every day.

This binary thinking, while useful in a rough perception of nature, is challenged when applied to humans, in the Adam and Eve story.  The first humans have the two options of eating from the tree of knowledge, thereby disobeying God and receiving the punishment of death, and keeping themselves from eating it, respecting God and living forever. Eve has committed the first deed and not the second. There exist the possibilities of living in or outside of the Garden of Eden, and they will be banished to the second. But this basic manner of thinking cannot apply to something so ephemeral as morals, and the author(s) must have been aware of this. For the most disobedient force was the snake; consequently it receives the worst punishment. The snake has a singular, simple, malicious motive. In Eve however, there are several sources of motivation: she believes the snake, she is hungry, and she desires the state of wisdom the snake claims the tree offers. Adam does not have the same motivations for eating from the tree of knowledge; he only has trust in his companion (2, 3). God is then forced to deviate from his binary treatment and create new categories, as his belligerent subjects represent to Him differing levels of moral turpitude. There now is God, supreme and to be obeyed, men, who disobey Him and receive adequate punishment, women, who disobey Him even more than men do and receive the same punishment plus that of childbirth, and the serpent, who commits the worst crime and receives the worst punishment.

The initial method of classifying items into two quickly loses applicability in Genesis. As soon as God or the author(s) attempt to define the origins of men and women, new levels of definition must be added. For as a text written by humans, the author(s) have a limited understanding of nature, and a far more complex one of mankind. Genesis describes the origins of the world with simplicity, in binaries, for we have so little in common with foreign creatures, plants, dirt, sea and sky; a text by, for and about humans, Genesis then must detail its definition of them.

Lysistrata's Scheme (Prompt 5)

Lysistrata tries to establish peace between the Greek poli by exploiting men's sexual desires. All the other women of "Lysistrata" at first have doubts whether her plan will work, and whether they are strong enough to participate. But after the women hear Lysistrata out and remind themselves of the hardships war causes them, they decide to work with her. Even though the women express cowardice in the beginning, and several find themselves giving in to their sexual desires later on, thereby undermining Lysistrata's efforts, they all nevertheless achieve mutually held goals. The women agree with Lysistrata's plan and carry it out with success.

On the other hand, the men disagree with Lysistrata's plan until the very end for two main reasons. (1) They doubt that peace can and should prevail. It is understandable that a world without war might be hard to imagine for the characters of "Lystistrata," especially the men, if they have spent many years at war without clear success. But by refusing to believe that peace could be established, the men demonstrate a lower level of intelligence next to their female counterparts, who do believe it. For by the end, Lysistrata and the other women prove the men wrong by doing what was unthinkable to them.

(2) The other reason that motivates - more so than their inability to foresee peace - the men to respond adversely to Lysistrata's scheme, is sexism. The men hate the idea and reality that the women manipulate them and gain power, even if it produces the universally acceptable result of peace. The women, however, understand their position in society to be inherently different than that of the men, but nevertheless equally vital. The rationale of sexism might seem completely inferior compared to the rationale of peace to the reader of today. But even if understood without knowledge of how the audience of "Lysistrata" might have treated the two genders, the men's chauvinism comes off as weak compared to the women's desire for order. For throughout the play, the male characters display themselves to be disorganized and inept. For instance, in preparation for an attack on the women, the men blow on coals for the fire to rise but repeatedly send smoke back into their faces (152). They are unprepared and unable to learn from their mistakes. And of course, ultimately, their notion that women cannot overpower men is refuted, as the women successfully manipulate them into establishing peace against their will. Contrary to what they believe, the men are in fact not as powerful as the women. But more than sexism's ultimate falseness, the hierarchy of the universal and timeless value for peace over violence succeeds in rejecting sexism. For instance, the argument between the Magistrate with his men and Lysistrata highlights this association of violence with sexism and peace with equality. When the Magistrate expresses surprise at the fact that the women triumph over his bowmen, Lysistrata says: "Did you think...that women couldn't have any stomach for a fight?" (159). The Magistrate responds to her rhetorical question with a joke, demonstrating his dedication to chauvinism: "They certainly do - any time a tavern-keeper tries to cheat them!" (159). This clash over gender differences is immediately followed by a clash of perspectives on war and peace in general, represented in the preceding skirmish. Stratyllis backs Lysistrata, claiming "we only want to stay demure at home doing no harm, disturbing not a twig" (159). The Men are then only able to respond by trying to get them to stop talking, thereby attempting to reassert their power: "Monsters, enough! Our patience now is gone" (159). The men's commitment to chauvinism keeps them from accepting peace; the women's dedication to peace leads them to refute sexism and rule in the world of "Lysistrata". By associating the men with failed sexism and violence, as well as the women with prevailing gender equality and peace, the "Lysistrata" upholds the main character's scheme over the men's.

The Role of Alcibiades in the Symposium (Prompt 4)

Alcibiades contrasts with the other men at the symposium in many ways. Clearly, Alcibiades differs from the others in manner: drunk, he makes an emotional, confused and insulting speech. Meanwhile, the other men at the symposium have decided to refrain from heavy drinking in order to share insights in respectful, sober conversation.

Parallel to the respective behaviors of Alcibiades and the other men of the Symposium are the directions of their speeches. Phaedrus, Aristodemus, Pausanias, Socrates, Agathon, Aristophanes and Eryximachus have dedicated their symposium to the understanding and praise of Love. Each gives his own opinion of what Love is and how one should praise him, adding on to or modifying the view of another. For they share the common goal of making sense of the foreign and praise-worthy concept of Love. Alcibiades, however, does not have the same aim in his speech. Sharing his simultaneous "praise" and "reproach" of Socrates, Alcibiades haphazardly admits a range of personal emotions to his audience rather than answer a philosophical question (75). The relative aimlessness of Alcibiades' speech, next to the other men's, can be assumed to have resulted from an intoxicated state of mind. But it also reflects Alcibiades' comparably foolish decision to get drunk: he prefers the vulgar pleasures of alcohol, as well as the weakened mental state it entails, to his peers' sober search for an answer to a philosophical question, and the enlightened state to which it leads.

This lack of direction in Alcibiades' speech, foiled against the preceding speeches of the men at the symposium, points to inferiority in him as valuing vacancy over enlightenment. The subjects themselves that Alcibiades addresses - his disdain and love of Socrates - further highlight his deficiency. While the men of the Symposium speak of Love, a god who resides above men and enables their success, Alcibiades discusses Socrates - though a great philosopher, a single mortal man. Thus, Alcibiades focuses on a much more low-level topic than his peers. For in the world of the Symposium, value is placed on large, meaningful concepts over individual mortals. For example, one who truly loves beauty pursues it in all its forms, not just in one body, as Socrates claims Diotima says, just before Alcibiades' speech. "A lover...should love one body and beget beautiful ideas there; then he should realize that the beauty of any one body is brother to the beauty of any other...When he grasps this, he must become a  lover of all beautiful bodies, and he must think that this wild gaping after just one body is a small thing and despise it" (57-58). Diotima then proceeds to say that the pursuit of beauty in all bodies is then a 'small thing' compared to beauty in its essence, or in all its forms. Alcibiades, revealing his emotions towards one man, Socrates, is caught up at a primary level then, according to Diotima. By placing Alcibiades' speech after Diotima lays out what should be valued and what should not, the Symposium encourages the reader to understand him as inferior to the other men, in that he values the individual mortal over the immortal concept.

The Purpose of the Introductory Dialogue (Prompt 1)

In Plato's Symposium, several philosophers have a friendly conversation about the significance of the god Love. A man named Aristodemus once relayed this discussion to Apollodorus who does the same in the Symposium to another man named Glaucon. Finally, Plato passes on the same ideas to the reader via the Symposium. Thus, the meaning of Love at the core of the Symposium is interpreted by philosophers, then Aristodemus, then Apollodorus, then Plato, then us. This multitude of frames around an idea of truth about Love points to the importance of interpretation in the Symposium.

Each thinker - Phaedrus, Pausanius, Eryximachus, Aristophanes, Agathon, Socrates, Diotima, Alcibiades - has his own opinion of the nature of Love. Each man's view of Love may have components of another's, for they agree on certain points, but is in its entirety unique. The distinctive nature of each philosopher's thoughts on Love often motivates them to reject each other's ideas or modify parts of their own. Nevertheless, each philosopher remains convinced of a unique, composite view on Love.

Thus, we begin with multiple, varied interpretations of the same concept of Love. In relaying such views to Glaucon, Aristodemus and Apollodorus can both be assumed to influence them: it is highly doubtful that they remembers each man's speech, especially if the conversation took place years ago when they were all "still children" (2). Plato, then, has the ability to alter Apollodorus' version and Arisodemus' version as well as all the ideas of the philosophers. As readers, we have the freedom to accept or reject (parts of) Plato's ideas about Apollodorus' ideas about Aristodemus' ideas about the philosophers' ideas.

This filtering of ideas ideas through various interpretations - that the Symposium emphasizes so with multiple layers and the Introductory Dialogue - does not insinuate that there is no one true essence of Love. It rather suggests that one meaning of Love (and of any subject, for that matter) is unattainable, and that all Love can do for us is found in these honorable attempts to understand it. The process of comprehension - not the arrival at one definition - is the focus of the Symposium.

In Apollodorus' story in the Introductory Dialogue, one character Agathon seats himself next to Socrates so that he "may catch a bit of the wisdom that came to (him)" (5). But Sophocles responds: "How wonderful it would be, dear Agathon, if the foolish were filled with wisdom simply by touching the wise" (5). The physical action of 'touching' is not enough to gain wisdom; it takes thought and time. Similarly, the meaning of Love cannot be simply transmitted to the philosophers, then Aristodemus, Apollodorus, Plato and us. Meaning, like wisdom, is ephemeral, existing only in men's attempts to attain it.

The Role of Aegeus in "The Medea" (Prompt 8)

If you were thinking Medea's simply crazy or a horrible person, the interaction between her and Aegeus might be one of several moments in the play that would make you reconsider. For Aegeus proves such a kind and understanding character that we cannot but seeing the same qualities in Medea as long as they are "old friend(s)" (80). Aegeus genuinely cares about how Medea feels; he sympathizes with her, offers her advice and help in the form of a place of refuge. Especially against Medea's unfaithful husband Jason, Aegeus appears kind: he is a faithful friend and does not treat her as a barbarian like Aegeus does. At this point, we do know Medea to be violent and not completely truthful, hiding her plans from Aegeus and her future victims, but we can also see positive qualities in her personality: she values marriage, her children, and faithfulness, and she can think for herself and defy gender roles. The close friendship between Medea and Aegeus only makes her more likable.

The fact that Aegeus is not only a nice man but King of Athens is also significant. We know that the Athenian audience would have liked and respected the character of Aegeus just like they would in real life. That such a trustworthy, highly-regarded character can not only associate with Medea, but support her and sympathize with her, would have made the audience wonder if they should do the same just as it made me. Aegeus says, "Indeed, Medea, your grief was understandable" (83). When Medea tells Aegeus she will be exiled from Corinth, Aegeus responds with astonishment: "Banished? By whom? Here you tell me of a new wrong" (83).When Aegeus sees Medea, he is unaware of her plans to murder her family, the princess and her father in order to spite her husband Jason. But if not only Medea herself and the Chorus, but the King of Athens - whose opinion we are supposed to trust - all think her grief is "understandable" and her impending exile "wrong," then it is highly unclear how we should think of Medea. She is at once a devious, ruthless murderer and an unlucky, mistreated, sane woman.

Clytemnestra and Athena (Prompt 8)

Both Clytemnestra and Athena are exceptional women in that they deviate from common roles of female goddesses and mortals. As the goddess of war, Athena is imbued with characteristics more often associated with male characters. But Athena, unlike Clytemnestra, is accepted and even revered because she embodies only positive characteristics associated with women and men.

Clytemnestra is, of course, imbued with the deviousness associated with many other female characters in Ancient Greek literature (Calypso, Circe, Hera, Aphrodite). But her acquisition of certain "male" traits and abandonment of certain "female" traits is the last straw for Clytemnestra.

A willingness to avenge the wrongly dead (as we see in her son Orestes) takes over Clytemnestra and even leads her to hold and use a sword, unlike any other woman. The unfaithfulness we see when Agamemnon arrives in his chariot with another woman has also been adopted by Clytemnestra, with Aegisthus.

One trait associated with femininity Clytemnestra abandons is submissiveness. She refuses to appease Agamemnon after killing Iphigenia, even though that was considered necessary. Clytemnestra also relinquishes all motherly qualities, highlighting her distance from Orestes, which adds justification to his matricide. Apollo claims, "The mother is no parent of that which is called / her child, but only nurse of the new-planted seed / that grows" (158). By shedding herself of the roles of mother and wife, as well as by assuming the role of an avenger, Clytemnestra rebels and later receives an adequate punishment for non-conformity. Clytemnestra and Athena are similar in their atypical combination of female and male characteristics. But while the most acceptable traits of both genders manifest themselves in Athena, the least acceptable characteristics present themselves in Clytemnestra.

A Revealing Final Conversation (Prompt 5)

In "The Libation Bearers," both Orestes and his mother, Clytemnestra, experience a range of revealing emotions before their imminent conflict.

Even though Apollo has encouraged Orestes to avenge his father and ensured his safety from punishment, Clytemnestra's son still has doubt. In the last minute, Orestes needs extra assurance of his friend, asking "What shall I do, Pylades? Be shamed to kill my mother" (124). For even though Apollo, as well as Pylades and the Chorus see Orestes' revenge as necessary and just, he has also to fathom the law against matricide and its curse. Orestes is conflicted, not only because of his horrible duty, but because of two forces that cannot be reconciled. Nevertheless, Orestes later gains the courage to carry out the deed with dignity: "Yes, this is death, your wages for my fathers fate" (126). Orestes must leave behind qualms, and instead choose a side and justify it. Orestes is an impulsive, uncertain character.

Clytemnestra shows a greater range of emotions than Orestes - not just from hesitant to certain. Clytemnestra first is portrayed as weak, sad and motherly: "Oh take pity, child, before this breast / where many a time, a drowsing baby, you would feed" (124). Clytemnestra's technique moves from innocent and miserable, to somewhat guilty and logical, partially blaming "destiny" for Agamemnon's death (125). As death approaches, Clytemnestra changes her manner to angry and cold: "Take care. Your mother's curse, like dogs, will drag you down" (126). As Clytemnestra's death becomes more and more apparent, she almost becomes less fearful. Clytemnestra's motherly and innocent affectations fade, while she accepts more and more blame for killing Agamemnon. As well, Clytemnestra's feeling of distance from her Orestes turns into a feeling of hatred for him. In her last conversation with Orestes, as Clytemnestra accepts fate feelings of hatred for her son and pride in the murder of her husband are expressed.

What's So Bad About Clytaemestra? (Prompt 4)

Kassandra, Agamemnon, Chorus, I hear you: Clytemnestra is a terrible woman. She kills Agamemnon upon his return from so many years at war, she is unfaithful with Aegisthus, and she likes the idea of taking over Argos with him once her husband is dead. She appears to feel no remorse for her actions, and it doesn't help that she speaks like a crazy murderer: "That man is Agamemnon, my husband; he is dead; the work of this right hand that struck in strength of righteousness. And that is that" (81).

But I don't know if I see Clytemnestra as such a bad person as Kassandra, Agamemnon and the Chorus do. Nor should we make the assumption that, given the historical and social context in which "Agamemnon" was written, Aeschylus saw and described Clytemnestra to be as horrible as the characters see her. Outside of her power-greed and lust, her motives for killing her husband are legitimate: she wishes to avenge her daughter, whom Agamemnon "slaughtered like a victim...to charm away the winds of Thrace" (81). I would also argue that this is her main motive, as she mentions revenge for the death of her daughter first and more often than the prospects of going off with Aegisthus and attaining power.

Perhaps I am biased, because I just do not understand the idea that Iphegenia had to die. I not only am not living in the social and historical time of "Agamemnon," fully grasping the notion that her sacrifice was necessary for favorable winds, but I am not a spiritual person. But Clytemnestra doesn't get it either, so I don't think I'm crazy. How could Agamemnon kill his own daughter, so innocent, so precious to Clytemnestra and presumably her siblings?

I feel as though I am not supposed to feel this sympathy for Clytemnestra: nobody in "Agamemnon" nor "The Odyssey" has anything nice to say about her, and she is imbued with a certain selfishness, which manifests itself in her cheating with Aegisthus and her hopes of power in Agamemnon's place. Also, it is not out of the question to assume I am supposed to hold certain gender biases, classifying Clytemnestra as just another devious woman, such as Calypso, Circe, Hera, and Aphrodite.

But perhaps it is exactly this conflicted feeling that Aeschylus intended. Maybe one aspect that made this play so popular is the complexity of our 'villain.' What would you do if someone killed your child? On the surface, Clytemnestra is a caricature of a villain, a devious woman. Beneath the surface, however, Clytemnestra may have the same love for family that we would have, whether we would like to admit it or not.

Penelope's Masculinity (Prompt 6)

We all know that women are inferior to men in the worlds of "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey." When we think of why they are considered inferior, we might look at the fact that there are more instances of women being devious or selfish than there are of men: Circe, Calypso, Aphrodite, Hera, Clytemnestra provide the major examples. They really are selfish. But women in "The Odyssey" are often not defined by their immoral actions; they simply are inferior because they are women. Helen, for instance, is blamed for the Trojan War and labeled a horrible woman for that reason, even though it was truly Paris' lust and selfishness that started the conflict. It is merely the fact that Helen is a woman - in fact, the epitome of woman-ness, since she is the most beautiful woman - that means that she deserves disrespect, as well as more blame than Paris. Somehow, women in these epics are inherently second-class, no matter what they do.


However, Penelope may provide an exception to this rule. The suitors criticize her for being "cunning" (21), leading them on and tricking them. But at no point in "The Odyssey" does anything the suitors say have any gravity - we are never expected to believe them or side with them for a second. No, Penelope is pretty perfect. She is loyal, beautiful, kind, generous, and intelligent.


Perhaps the main reason, however, why Penelope is so perfect - almost at a man's level - is that she has certain qualities associated more with men than with women. She definitely does not have the bad qualities more associated with women, of being devious, cunning, and selfish. Instead, Penelope is strong, and a good fighter, like a man. For she really does hold the fort while Odysseus is away, cleverly putting off marriage to one of the suitors at home, and never giving up on her husband. In Book 23, when Penelope apologizes for not welcoming Odysseus on sight, she demonstrates her toughness: "I armed myself long ago against the frauds of men, impostors who might come - and all those many whose underhanded ways bring evil on!" (436). Not only does Penelope use the word "armed" to describe her self-protection, but here she recalls how she was able to successfully stay above these men's tricks. Penelope essentially did her part in fighting in the war at Odysseus' palace. Though Penelope does not perform the manly tasks of holding a sword and actually killing the suitors as the men in her family do in "The Odyssey," she does what all she can to help, within the confines of her femininity. It is Penelope's acting in as much of a masculine manner as possible, that makes Penelope the exception to the rule that all women are inferior. In "The Odyssey," women are innately second-class to men, unless they are able to exhibit certain "masculine" characteristics - it seems specifically bravery and strength in conflicts.

Telamachos' Role in the First Books of The Odyssey (Response to Prompt 3)

Rather than begin with a familiar character such as Odysseus, The Odyssey starts off with his son Telamachos.

In the first few books of The Odyssey, everyone wants a slice of the Odysseus pie but Telamachos. His mother constantly grieves Odysseus' loss, obsessed over whether he is dead or alive, while the suitors courting her are interested in their estate. Telamachos barely remembers Odysseus as he left ten years ago. Telamachos feels so disconnected from Odysseus that when asked whether he is his son, he replies: "My mother says I am his son; I know not surely" (8). Telamachos is only curious about the condition of his father as long as it worries his mother and means that suitors freeload in his house. Telamachos has inherited a major problem in which he personally has no emotional stake.

On top of the pressure of his mother and the suitors, Telamachos must strive toward the ideal of Orestes. Nestor tells Telamachos the story of how Agamenmon's son nobly "killed the snake who killed his father" (44); he then generally advises Telamachos to do right by his father in a similar way.

One might think these forces bring Telamachos down, making him simply the unlucky shadow of his father. But Telamachos is his own person, with his own desires and sadness. Internally, Telamachos has always wanted to have a father in his life. Having a reputable, glorious, wealthy father has not sufficed. Telamachos says: "I wish at least I had some happy man as father, growing old in his own house - but unknown death and silence of him that .... they call my father" (8). We will have to read further in order to see how Telamachos' internal conflicts play out and whether the many high expectations of him are met.

The Significance of the Interaction Between Hektor and Andromache in Book 6 (Prompt 9)

In Book Six of "The Iliad," Hektor goes to see his wife Andromache and their son before returning to battle. Andromache begs Hektor to stay with his family and avoid death, while he is compelled to go back to fight.

Andromache is not irrational or blinded by emotion, as other women are portrayed to be in the world of "The Iliad." Andromache simply wants to stay away from the immediate threats of battle, and moreover, she wants to remain with her husband to the very end. It is Hektor, rather, who comes off as naive, effectively committing suicide by returning to the war. Andromache has to remind him: "Oh, my wild one, your bravery will be your own undoing! No pity for our child, poor little one, or me in my sad lot - soon to be deprived of you!" (148).

Even though Hektor claims he understands Andromache - "Lady, these many things beset my mind no less than yours" (149) - it still seems that family is not as important to Hektor as kleios. He fears dying "of shame" and evading battle "like a coward" (149).

Hektor does suggest he is fighting for his family's sake - "Let me be hidden dark down in my grave before I hear your cry or know you captive!" (150). But the more important motivation for Hektor is glory. Like so many men in "The Iliad," Hektor strives to achieve kleios, which entails skill and bravery in battle. The Trojan War provides Hektor the opportunity to attain this goal. Hektor has two options: he can stay by his family who needs him more than ever, or he can die in battle in order to gain a glorious reputation among other men. Hektor chooses the latter because he is more committed to the rest of the Argives than to his wife and son.

This interaction demonstrates several discrepancies between male and female attitudes in the world of "The Iliad." In the face of war, men accept the fate of death while women strive to avoid it. Though war is destructive and terrible for both men and women, at least the male characters have the opportunity to achieve kleios. The most any man can hope to attain is a reputation of fearlessness and prowess in battle; the most any woman can strive to have is the unity of her family.