Homer and the School of Rhapsodes
Inspired by Nagging Students
Dreamt by Rabbi Ben Scolnic
Edited by Altay Coskun
“Which is older, the Torah or Homer’s epics?” Rabbi Ben was asked by the smartest – and nastiest – of all his students. Joshua was in the habit of asking questions whose answers he already knew. A month ago, Joshua had been bribed by his fellow student Simon to wrap up the Rabbi in a conversation for the entire hour of the lecture, since Simon had once more failed to do his prep reading. No big feat for Joshua, who feigned some interest in the Athenian tyrant Peisistratus. He knew quite well that the Rabbi was taken all in by this figure, after he had been entrusted with the translation of a newly discovered book scroll (now published among the Unheard Voices of the Past). This time, Ben had to be more cautious and should not take the bait. But while he was still thinking about a brief authoritative answer, to get started with his actual class, Joshua followed up: “And which author influenced the other – if they took note of each other at all?”
“Brilliant questions,” Ben responded, after taking a deep breath. “I think that the Torah is older, perhaps by one or two centuries.” “But are not at least most scholars in agreement that the Iliad was written around 730 BCE?” Joshua replied. “And do not many elements, such as the seven-day cycle, point to a date after the Babylonian Exile (587/86-539 BCE) for Genesis?” he doubled down.
To which Ben responded, after a sigh: “Fair enough, the tradition of the Torah was in flux for several centuries, and some elements may be late. But we should assume regardless that the main tradition of the Israelites had been developed by the times of king David (ca. 1010-970 BCE) or by king Solomon (970-931 BCE) at the latest.”
Joshua was not giving up: “But, Rabbi, can we be sure that that Hebrew tradition – whatever it may have been at the time – was already written down? May there not have been a longer period of oral transmission – considering that written evidence from Judaea is so much later?” Ben was about to become irritated: “But what difference would it make, if that were the case?”
“Would we not be applying different measures to the Greek and the Judaean tradition? If the Iliad and Odyssey were written down in the late-8th century, should we not likewise assume that Homer drew on much older traditions, perhaps connecting him with the time of the collapsing Bronze Age?” Ben’s voice became sharper: “This sounds quite speculative to me, and equally invalid as to claim a continuous tradition from Adam and Eve to the composition of Genesis.”
“But that’s not my argument, Rabbi,” Joshua defended himself. “Is it not established that the extent and complexity of Homer’s epic presupposes a culture of rhapsody for several generations? Should we not assume that there were even schools training the most gifted of the youth to play the lyre or to rhythmically swing a staff (rhabdos) while reciting stories of old? Would they not need years of study to memorize hundreds, if not thousands, of rhythmically aligned word junctures?”
Ben understood he had lost this battle, and Joshua shamelessly indulged, extending his argument to the exploration of Serbo-Croatic rhapsody by Milman Parry, and ending with Demodocus, the ‘divine rhapsode’ at the head of a guild in the court of the Phaeacian king Alcinous (Odyssey 8.43–45).
Joshua had clearly piqued Ben’s interest. Could the stories of Troy be known to king David? Could the practice of rhapsody through light on the early development of the holy scriptures? Have we not underestimated the infrastructure of education in the early-1st millennium BCE?
Once back home, Ben googled rhapsody, and after clicking away the many entries on Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody that showed up first, he let himself be distracted by the fascinating album Symphony of Enchanted Lands of the symphonic metal band Rhapsody (1998). He was as intrigued by Epicus Furor as by Wings of Destiny. When the playlist had reached Unholy Warcry (Symphony of Enchanted Lands II, 2004), he was fast asleep.
Ben felt as swirled into the world of Homer, into Homer himself ...
-
S: We have a million questions.
H: Ask one.
S: Achilles?
H: Yes, that is an excellent topic. How shall we think about him? How shall we think about the whole Trojan War?
S: Should we think about Achilles as the most glorious, strongest, bravest warrior there ever was? Or as a petulant, selfish, spoiled child who sulks in his tent if he does not get his own way?
H: Achilles was the most glorious warrior there ever was, but I would not call him a child. He was an adult in conflict because he was forced to play a role that he did not really want to play. He did not die because he wanted glory so much. He did not die because he cared about Helen, or Greece, or winning the war. He died because he was so angry about the death of Patroklos. When we see him in Hades, do you remember what he says to Odysseus?
S: Odysseus calls him the most blessed man who ever was or ever will be.
H: Yes, but what Achilles says to him is that he would rather be a farmer on someone else’s land than a glorious hero and king in Hades.
S: But he has immortal fame!
H: I think he would rather have had many more mortal years. Where did that glory get him? Where did it get any of them? Where did it get Agamemnon? What was the result of the most famous war of all time? The destruction of a great city. Untold suffering. Death on the way home. Death when they returned home. What did all of that accomplish?
S: But you recount the details of all the fighting and destruction and make it seem so grand. Did you write the epic of war to say that war is terrible?
H: I think we must ask ourselves the most basic of questions: What are our lives for? Some place deep in my poems, there is an understanding that home and family are the goals of life. Listen to the poems of war, but live lives of peace. Let Odysseus do the wandering for you. Let him have Calypso and Circe, while you stay home. Better the fire of your own hearth than the fire of a burning city.
S: But the story of war is the story of history.
H: Only one kind of history. There is a better kind that needs to be written.