Book 3: The Lord of the Western Approaches

Guest Blogger Telémakhos

Our journey brought us to Neleus. There I spoke to Nestor, master charioteer, with my mentor at my side. He told us what had become of many Akhaians after the war but he had no news of my father. He suggested I travel to Meneláos in hope that he, as he has been abroad longer, will know something. At nightfall, the mentor dissolved into a seahawk and we knew at once that the daughter of Zeus had been in our presence. Nestor took me into his house graciously and the next day we had a grand feast, sacrificing a heifer with gilded horns to the glory of Athena. I left in company of Nestor’s son Peisístratos and we made quick time to Phêrai, moving on the next day. The kindness of these complete strangers was comforting but I’m beginning to feel very hopeless, or maybe the truth is finally coming out after being embedded in partial denial for so long. “…grievously though we miss my father, why go on as if that homecoming could happen? You know the gods had settled it already, years ago, when dark death came to him.” (The Odyssey 42). Part of me wants to believe but the facts and time work against this small hope. I can barely cling to it. I'm trying so hard to be strong (and I can't believe I'm admitting this) but it just feels like a front Pallas Athena helped me to put up, not my own... Where are you father?

Odysseus

Honor is obviously very important. One must be honorable to have any sort of worth in our society. “Athena liked his manners, and the equity that gave her precedence with the cup of gold, so she besought Poseidon at some length:” (The Odyssey 36). As shown here, it can also win one the favor of the gods. I would like to step back now, though, and wonder whether we depend too much upon honor. Niceties are necessary and kindness is great but we often focus our lives on honor. For example, my only son has abandoned his mother in search of the tiniest trace of me. Why? Does he really believe that I am alive? He said himself he did not. Telémakhos seeks to set things straight for in confirming that I am dead (or by some miracle alive) he can finally move on, burn my gear, give me a proper burial mound and the honor I deserve. But if I were dead anyway, why does it matter that much? Perhaps it is because of tradition, that it is the proper thing to do. These things left undone cause shame and dishonor to come to the neglector. But it is because we (society) have made it this way. If there was less misoneism in our world, we could follow our own ambitions without being tied down by old traditions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m honored my son is trying to find me, dead or alive, but perhaps he should realize that maybe he doesn’t need to give me proper honor to be able to move on with his life.