Introduction: epic gods 2
In general, the epic poet Homer (ca. 800 BCE) appears to maintain a clear distinction between the human and the divine characters that populate the two epics ascribed to him, the Iliad and the Odyssey.3 In the world of epic, gods are conceived as anthropomorphic.4 What distinguishes them from humans is primarily their immortality: though vulnerable and sensitive to loss of privilege, epic gods are ever-living.5 In the human sphere, gods may choose to remain invisible or unrecognisable for humans, or to appear to them in non-human form.6 Though the ‘tribe of gods and that of earthbound men are never the same’ (οὔ ποτε φῦλον ὁμοῖον | ἀθανάτων τε θεῶν χαμαὶ ἐρχομένων τ' ἀνθρώπων, Il. V.441b-442), it is the gods' very resemblance to mortals that underscores the irreducible gulf between those ‘immortal and ageless’ gods who ‘live easily’ and the mortals for whom they ‘spin destruction’ (Slatkin, 2011, p. 319).
In the narrative of the Iliad and the Odyssey, encountering a god is an everyday experience. However, the ontological gap between mortals and deathless gods necessitates the emphasising of the discrepancy in alimentary, executive, and sexual norms between men and divinities in their encounters. When Achilles is impeded by Athena from killing Agamemnon (Il. I.193-221), his recognizance of the goddess results in immediate obedience.7 Patroclus’ encounter with Apollo (Il. XVI.789-849), on the other hand, has already been sealed by the former’s doom before the god reveals his identity, as is the case with Hector assisted by Deiphobus/Athena (Il. XXII.296-301).8 Odysseus’ encounter with Athena on Ithaca (Od. 13.226-330) is explicitly staged by the goddess as a hide-your-identity game which she, inevitably, wins (Richardson, 2006, p. 337).
Next to the epiphanies, the resemblance and exchange between gods and humans is equally expressed in the epithet ‘godlike’ and its cognates, which may indicate divine descent as well as human beauty and grace’s reflexion of the gods’ radiance.9 The latter is prominently brought to the fore in the epithet-verse αἰνῶς ἀθανάτῃσι θεῇς εἰς ὦπα ἔοικεν (‘she terribly resembles the immortal goddesses in her face’, Il. III.158), a unique expression describing Helen. In the Iliad and Odyssey’s depiction of the heroic age as an era when gods and humans of both genders mingled erotically and socially, but without bridging or annihilating the ontological gap between them, Helen alone appears to be the exception: a ‘human-nonhuman hybrid’ (Hughes, 2005). In the Iliad and the Odyssey, however, the poet seems reluctant to choose between her divine origin on the one hand,10 and her human appearance and demeanour on the other; Nagy (2016), among others, argues for a mortal Helen in Troy, and an immortal goddess in Sparta –with the Trojan Helen nonetheless referenced and recognised as a goddess.11 There are more characters in ancient Greek epic, of course, that seem, or prove, to combine both human and nonhuman characteristics and abilities. In the case of Helen, however, I will argue that the poet’s inability to clearly distinguish between the various personae 12 betrays his implicit predilection for Helen as a goddess in disguise in both the Iliad and the Odyssey, rather than a (supernatural) human being.
Homer’s Helen
In her 2005 ‘biography’ Helen of Troy. Goddess, Princess, Whore, Bettany Hughes argues against an originally divine Helen in Mycenaean cult. Unfortunately, there is no written or material evidence to support either this claim,13 nor hers that Helen must have been a formidable mortal woman.14 When Helen surfaces in literature, she figures prominently in early Greek epic, a genre that looks back at the cultural context of the legendary ‘heroic age’. In itself, and as the material fixation of some 500 years of orally transmitted narrative, Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey present their listening audience with a mixture of reminiscences and references that encompass elements inherited from both the Mycenaean and the Dark Ages, and from the early archaic age.15 Helen is piece and parcel of this mixture: she appears in both the Iliad and the Odyssey, and may have had a substantial role in the Cyclic poems.16 In the Iliad, Helen is presented by the poet as related to Zeus twice at her first appearance: she is not merely δῖα γυναικῶν (‘radiant among women’, Il. III.171)17 but also Διὸς ἐκγεγαυῖα (‘daughter of Zeus’, Il. III.199). Some verses further, Helen herself claims that Castor and Polydeuces are her full brothers (Il. III.237-238); in Iliad III.243-244, the poet claims the ‘earth already held both’, whereas the Odyssean poet (Od. 11.300-304) relates the version of the myth where they are alive in the netherworld in turn, sharing some form of part-time immortality. Either way, the epic poet emphasises Helen’s status as a heroine,18 and at least a semi-divine being –a species that gradually becomes rare in the heroic environment of epic (Slatkin, 2011, p. 319). In the Odyssey, Helen is explicitly described as wife and mother of mortals (Od. 4.12).
Allegedly, she caused the Trojan War19 (Il. II.161 and passim). Helen’s responsibility is regularly mitigated by reference to Aphrodite as the driving force behind what is reprehensible in her actions. Those around her reflect this ambiguity in their judgements.20 In Iliad III.156-160, the Trojan elders acknowledge her beauty as the reason behind the Greeks’ zeal, but wish to avoid their own downfall because of it.
Helen herself is ruthlessly severe in her self-blame.21 Those in power generally favour Helen despite the trouble her presence in Troy causes. Priam comforts her by putting the blame on the gods (Il. III.164-165).22 Hector equally responds to Helen’s self-blame23 with mitigating words, but he does not explicitly excuse her. He merely refers to her affection for him (φιλέουσά περ, Il. III.360), an impact of her personality comparable to her impressive beauty (cf. Il. III.164-158 above) and her sought-for knowledge (Il. III.161-244).24
The poet of the Iliad is ambiguous in his portrayal of Helen. He acknowledges her divinity, but none of his characters (including Helen) does or says anything that aligns her ancestry from Zeus. The unique epithet-verse αἰνῶς ἀθανάτῃσι θεῇς εἰς ὦπα ἔοικεν (‘she terribly resembles the immortal goddesses in her face’, Il. III.158) turns her first appearance in the Homeric epic into an epiphany.25 Her charm, beauty, and knowledge impress all bystanders, though she has a particularly strong effect on men. With the epithet Διὸς ἐκγεγαυῖα (‘daughter of Zeus’, Il. III.199) the poet of the Iliad emphasises her close link with divinity, but he does not claim immortality for Helen,26 thus seemingly designating her to the realm of humans, as do his characters.
One Iliadic passage in particular confronts the listening audience with Helen’s possibly larger-than-human condition: her direct confrontation with Aphrodite. The latter stages a rendez-vouz of her protégés Paris and Helen under debatable circumstances. On the one hand, she rescues Paris from defeat and death in a duel with Menelaus (‘for the woman’, ἀμφὶ γυναικί, Il. III.254), a duel meant to end the lingering war (Il. III.255-258, τῷ δέ κε νικήσαντι γυνὴ καὶ κτήμαθ' ἕποιτο· | οἳ δ' ἄλλοι φιλότητα καὶ ὅρκια πιστὰ ταμόντες | ναίοιμεν Τροίην ἐριβώλακα, τοὶ δὲ νέονται | Ἄργος ἐς ἱππόβοτον καὶ Ἀχαιί̈δα καλλιγύναικα, ‘may the woman and the possessions go with whomsoever proves victorious; and may we, the others, after swearing friendship and reliable oaths, dwell in fertile Troy, and they will return to Argos, pastureland of horses, and to Greece with its beautiful women’),27 by tearing the helmet’s strap when it threatens to suffocate the pulled-along hero (Il. III.375-383a). On the other hand, Aphrodite summons Helen to come to the room to entertain Paris. She goes disguised as a trusted servant Helen brought with her from Sparta, and tries28 to convince Helen by referring to what makes Paris sexually attractive. From the goddess’ appearance, however, Helen recognises Aphrodite (Il. III.396-398a, καί ῥ' ὡς οὖν ἐνόησε θεᾶς περικαλλέα δειρὴν | στήθεά θ' ἱμερόεντα καὶ ὄμματα μαρμαίροντα, | θάμβησέν, ‘but when she noticed the goddesses’ beautiful neck, | her attractive bosom, and her shiny eyes, she felt amazed).29 Aphrodite fails to elude Helen despite her effort to guile her:30 her disguise was not primarily meant to fool Helen with regard to identity, but to give her orders without others noticing their divine origin (Il. III.390 δεῦρ' ἴθ'· Ἀλέξανδρός σε καλεῖ οἶκον δὲ νέεσθαι, ‘Come with me: Paris summons you to return to your quarters!’). Given that Helen is aware of the divine identity of her addressee her response is remarkable: she refuses to obey the goddess’ words (Il. III.339-412) and suggests she takes her place (346-349, ἧσο παρ' αὐτὸν ἰοῦσα, θεῶν δ' ἀπόεικε κελεύθου, | μηδ' ἔτι σοῖσι πόδεσσιν ὑποστρέψειας Ὄλυμπον, | ἀλλ' αἰεὶ περὶ κεῖνον ὀί̈ζυε καί ἑ φύλασσε, | εἰς ὅ κέ σ' ἢ ἄλοχον ποιήσεται ἢ ὅ γε δούλην, ‘Go sit with him yourself, step beyond the way of the gods! | Refrain, I pray, from following your footsteps back to Olympus: | come on, worry about him from now on and guard him | until he makes you his wife or his slave.’).31 In the Iliad and the Odyssey, Helen is not the only one able to refuse a god’s orders,32 but her refusal is particularly headstrong, and without any backup from an immortal choosing her side. When compared to other Iliadic heroes and heroines confronting immortals, Helen is presented as remarkedly equal to Aphrodite.33 She has to give in and obey the goddess eventually, but even in doing so she claims her individuality and autonomy,34 also in her forced response to Paris.35 Subsequently, Helen seemingly moves around unseen, much like the gods do (Il. III.419-420). It remains unclear whether this invisibility is due to the goddess’ lead, or that it is in accordance with Helen’s wish to remain without reproach from the women of Troy.36 In his description of the hemitheos Helen, the poet of the Iliad carefully evokes both her human and her divine nature, leaving both open as a possibility, and without making a definite choice.37
In the Odyssey, the poet pushes Helen’s ontological ambiguity further by zooming in closer on the wondrous in both her words and her acts. Working from Monro’s Law,38 the Odyssean poet carefully circumnavigates the Iliadic episodes with mere references, and builds a new narrative along alternative and unexplored lines. The main characteristics that suggested Helen’s divinity in the Iliad remain visible throughout the Odyssey, though: a clear and comprehensive overview of past, present, and future events, a high level of self-centeredness with little regard for mortals, and an imperishable and eternal youth and beauty.
To start with the latter: after her return to Menelaus’ palace in Sparta, ten years have passed since the fall of Troy, but Helen has not lost any of her beauty nor her youthful appearance.39 In fact she does not seem to have aged much since she followed Paris to Troy, twenty years ago. For other characters in the Odyssey, the twenty-year period the epic looks back to is often referenced as an unpleasant interlude in the character’s pursuit of happiness: both Odysseus and Penelope feel that there happiness is delayed, possibly even irrefutably frustrated, by the Trojan War and its prolonged aftermath. Both also comment on their own and the other’s wasted years, prolonged hardship, and changed physical appearance: Penelope claims that she lost her beauty since, and due to, Odysseus’ departure for Troy. Speaking to Eurycleia she points out that Odysseus’ hands would be as aged as those of the unrecognised beggar by now (Od. 19.357-360). Helen, on the other hand, is as young and desirable as she was when she left Sparta for Troy.40 The ten years of war,41 and the troublesome return home left her unaffected.42 The Odyssean poet emphasises her unweaning beauty and liveliness, in contrast with Menelaus’ self-proclaimed decline: at her first appearance (Od. 4.120-121), Helen is compared to Artemis, the stock comparandum for female youthfulness and the pre-wedded state.43 The comparison is the more remarkable as she has been described as a mother earlier (Od. 4.13),44 and as a dutiful housewife immediately after her first Odyssean staging (Od. 4.134-135).45 Subsequently, she takes the initiative in both speaking (Od. 4.137) and responding to speech (Od. 4.184). Taking her place in the bed later, next to Menelaus, the poet calls her ‘peerless among women’ (Od. 4.305). When Peisistratus and Telemachus take their leave, Helen participates in the gift-giving, with special attention to her handmade textiles (Olson, 2015, p. 126) and Telemachus’ future involvement with women (Od. 15.125-128a). Only by now has she changed her approach of Odysseus’ son into that of a friendly, and elderly, mother-like figure. But this does not stop Telemachus from asserting that, in the future, he will pray to her ‘like a goddess’ (Od. 15.181, τῷ κέν τοι καὶ κεῖθι θεῷ ὣς εὐχετοῴμην) after her interpretation of an omen.
Another aspect that sets Helen apart from other mortal women in the Iliad, resurfaces in the Odyssey: her lack of regard for the trouble of others. In the Iliad, this inadvertency became painfully noticeable in her self-complaint, and in her perspective with regard to the end of the war: whereas all the Trojan women surrounding her face captivity, slavery, and loss of family with the fall of the city, Helen alone has the prospect of a return to a normal life after the Greeks’ victory.46 In the Odyssey, Helen has returned to Sparta with Menelaus, but she still combines her feelings of shame and regret with a sense of light-heartedness with regard to the feelings of others. Thinking back of the time she recognised Odysseus on a spying mission within the walls of Troy and having helped him to escape the city at the cost of many Trojan lives,47 she returns the Trojan women’s alleged hostility (Od. 4.259-264, cf. Il. XXIV.768-770). Nor are her own countrymen and her former husband safe for her whimsiness: ten years after returning home with her, Menelaus fondly recalls his wife’s potentially disastrous approach of the Greeks inside the Trojan horse, imitating the voice of every individual’s spouse (Od. 4.274-289).48 Again, Helen is easily exculpated –even after ten years the amazement over her marvellous scheme and ability is clearly more lasting than any grudge or lust for revenge. Helen herself actively mitigates any hard feelings or painful emotions through the use of drugs:49
ἔνθ' αὖτ' ἄλλ' ἐνόησ' Ἑλένη Διὸς ἐκγεγαυῖα·
αὐτίκ' ἄρ' εἰς οἶνον βάλε φάρμακον, ἔνθεν ἔπινον,
νηπενθές τ' ἄχολόν τε, κακῶν ἐπίληθον ἁπάντων.
ὃς τὸ καταβρόξειεν, ἐπὴν κρητῆρι μιγείη,
οὔ κεν ἐφημέριός γε βάλοι κατὰ δάκρυ παρειῶν,
οὐδ' εἴ οἱ κατατεθναίη μήτηρ τε πατήρ τε,
οὐδ' εἴ οἱ προπάροιθεν ἀδελφεὸν ἢ φίλον υἱόν
χαλκῷ δηϊόῳεν, ὁ δ' ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ὁρῷτο. (Od. 4.219-226)
At that moment Helen, daughter of Zeus, thought of something else: |
she added a drug directly to the wine that they drank, | to free them from
pain and anger, a means to forget all ill.| Whoso drank it down, when it
had been mingled in the bowl, | would not shed a tear from his eyes for a
whole day, | not even when his mother or father would die, | or rather
they would kill his brother or his son | with a sword, and he would
watch it happen before his very eyes.
The effectiveness of her wondrous treatment compares with the soothing effect of sleep sent by a goddess (e.g. in Od. 21.357-358).
This god-like ability points the way to two final characteristics that highlight Helen’s divinity against her seemingly human background in the Homeric epic: her omniscience and her contribution to immortality. Helen regularly speaks uninvited and her claim to parrhesia is commonly applauded. In her speeches, she always presents herself as very self-centred: she either talks about what she is, or what she did –her interest in others is not very long-lived (Boyd, 1998). Her knowledge, however, is such that the poet presents this character as a walking catalogue.50 In Iliad III.162-242 Priam invites her to elucidate him with regard to the Greek warriors fighting the Trojans in the plain between the city and the Greek camp. She helpfully answers his questions and regularly provides more information than asked for. In Iliad III.234-235 she claims to be able to continue her catalogue, only to turn attention to her two brothers whom she happens to have missed. In the Odyssey, she recounts some memories featuring Odysseus (and –inevitably– herself), but not before she claims to limit herself to only narrate a few ‘fitting’ fragments from a whole of knowledge that is too large to recapitulate or name completely (Od. 4.239b-241, ἐοικότα γὰρ καταλέξω. | πάντα μὲν οὐκ ἂν ἐγὼ μυθήσομαι οὐδ' ὀνομήνω, | ὅσσοι Ὀδυσσῆος ταλασίφρονός εἰσιν ἄεθλοι, ‘for I will list what fits the time: I cannot possibly tell everything, not properly distinguish how many challenges there are for enduring Odysseus’51). At other time, Helen is urged on by her heart to divulge her knowledge, as when she is sure she recognises traits of Odysseus (and even Telemachus) in the stranger at her table (Od. 4.140-145a). She even proves herself a prophetess: in Odyssey 15.172-178 she interprets the appearance of an eagle holding a goose in its talons as a sure sign of Odysseus’ successful revenge on his wife’s suitors, possibly even of his presence on Ithaca already.52
Helen’s likeliness to a goddess is most explicitly expressed in the Odyssey in the unique future treatment by the gods of her mortal husband on her behalf (Od. 4.561-569).53 Helen’s contribution to the future immortality of Menelaus is comparable to Ino’s moistening his lips with ‘sweet-scented ambrosia’ (ἀμβροσίην […] | ἡδὺ μάλα πνείουσαν, Od. 4.445-446a) as a means deployed by an immortal to make a mortal man equal to a god in his circumstances.
Helen’s divine shadow
In Homer’s Odyssey, both Helen’s appearance and her attitude testify to a strong self-consciousness (if not egocentrism) and a refusal to grow older. In her performance and her speeches, she shows herself as the centre of attention, a claim that is never disputed. As she acts and speaks, Helen is on a par with the gods, but without serious regard for mortals. Others speak reproachfully of her: Odysseus recognises Zeus’ hatred towards the Atrides in the workings of their wives Helen and Clytaemnestra (Od. 11.436-439), Eumaius (Od. 14.68-71) and Telemachus (having returned home safely, Od. 17.118-119) blame her for the death of many.54 Penelope rebukes Helen most of all: in her view, even her own detached behaviour vis-à-vis the unrecognised beggar is ultimately the result of Helen’s actions (Od. 23.209-224).55 Like his characters, the Odyssean poet has trouble distinguishing between the various personae of Helen.56 At times, she is described as a goddess, or as equal to a goddess, with regard to her words and her actions, then again her likeness to mortal women is emphasised. Homer, however, clearly sets her apart from other mortal, especially female, characters: she alone is capable of speaking as a male, an oracle, and every man’s best and fully exculpated friend. She alone masters the pharmaka that make humans forget pain and sorrow. She alone is insusceptible to the process of aging, and even instrumental in warding off the ‘god-given ending of one’s days’ (Od. 4.561-562) for those most closely associated with her.57 Homeric Helen is a goddess in disguise, rather than a supernatural human being.
Later tradition and reception acknowledges Helen’s working as a divinity, and subsequently –but more explicitly– proceeds from the suspicions fostered by the epic poet. His hints at the divine identity of the seemingly human character Helen have been reinterpreted as sure signs of her status as a goddess. A particularly telling instance, and one that sparked, as far as we can see, a complete tradition of its own, is Stesichorus’ Palinode,58 a literary revocation of what he had divulged on Helen in an earlier poem (Helen, fr. 187-191 Davies), and for which he had been blinded by the ‘goddess’ Helen (Pausanias III.19.11-13). Stesichorus aims to acquit Helen through an alternative version of her abduction involving not Helen herself, but a mere eidolon being taken to Troy.59 Regardless of the presentation of Helen in the poem itself, Stesichorus metatextual framing of Muse-like Helen puts her on a par with the agent divinities inspiring and manipulating epic and lyric poets. The poetess Sappho, leaning heavily on Homeric diction and concepts of the divine, includes Helen as an example in a series of programmatic statements on what is ‘most beautiful’ (fr. 16): as her gaze is the determining factor for ‘what one loves’, Paris is ‘most beautiful’ through her ‘beautification’ of him.60 Helen’s agency through mere physical presence is also commented on by Gorgias in his epideictic Encomium of Helen, a showpiece in which he defends the mythological character against accusations that she willingly caused the Trojan War. In Helen 31, he states that Helen may use her body as a weapon that gives her the power to lead many bodies in competition.61
Euripides’ Troades (415 BCE) and Helen (412 BCE) transfer the question of Helen’s identity to tragedy, and respond to the gratuitous, traditional view of her in, for example, Aeschylus’ Agamemnon 681-689, and 1455-1460.62 Acting as a character on stage, Helen is identified by Hecabe as ‘Cypris’ (Troades 983-988). In Helen, Euripides picks up on the version attested in Stesichorus and Herodotus: a god-made eidolon of Helen resided in Troy, whereas the ‘real’ Helen dwelled in Proteus’ palace in Egypt, waiting for Menelaus to come and collect her unharmed.63 A disturbing piece, Helen features a titular heroine who unresponsively takes part in a killing spree on her way to freedom, without much regard for the fate of fellow men (Jansen, 2012, pp. 328, 344-345). Her performance seems to emphasise the ‘schism expressing the contrast between reality and appearance and the unreliability of sensible knowledge’,64 a schism tied in with the discrepancies between the world of men and the realm of the gods.65 And a schism Helen herself brings to the fore by describing both herself and her life as a ‘marvellous thing’ (τέρας; Moles, 2019, p. 53):
ἆρ᾽ ἡ τεκοῦσά μ᾽ ἔτεκεν ἀνθρώποις τέρας;
γυνὴ γὰρ οὔθ᾽ Ἑλληνὶς οὔτε βάρβαρος
τεῦχος νεοσσῶν λευκὸν ἐκλοχεύεται,
ἐν ᾧ με Λήδαν φασὶν ἐκ Διὸς τεκεῖν.
τέρας γὰρ ὁ βίος καὶ τὰ πράγματ᾽ ἐστί μου,
τὰ μὲν δι᾽ Ἥραν, τὰ δὲ τὸ κάλλος αἴτιον. (Hel. 256-261)
‘Did my mother give birth to me as a marvellous thing for men? | For no
Greek or non-Greek woman | brings forth a white vessel of chicks, | in
which they say that Leda bore me for Zeus. | My life is a marvellous
thing, and so are my deeds, | in part due to Hera, and in part the
consequence of my beauty.’
The ‘god-made Helen’ is equally marvellous: in Euripides’ play she is the one to ‘confess’ and die (Helen 608-615) instead of the ‘real’ Spartan queen.66 The latter, yet again, refuses to grow old and die, and ends the play by sailing back to Sparta with her husband.67 Euripides does stage her death, however, in his play Orestes (408 BCE, four years after Helen). Here, Helen is ambushed by a vengeful Orestes (Ἑλένην φονεύειν· μανθάνω τὸ σύμβολον, ‘To kill Helen: I understand the watch word’, Orestes 1130) who blames her for the death of his father and the subsequent inevitability of him killing his mother, making him known as ‘matricide’. On Pylades’ advice, he decides to slit her throat so that he may be known as ‘the man who killed Helen, killer of thousands’ (Ἑλένης λεγόμενος τῆς πολυκτόνου φονεύς, Orestes 1142). The chorus wants to see the corpse first before they believe that she is dead (πρὶν ἐτύμως ἴδω τὸν Ἑλένας φόνον | καθαιμακτὸν ἐν δόμοις κείμενον, Orestes 1357-1358), but from the Phrygian slave’s account it remains unclear whether Orestes has actually plunged his sword into her body (Orestes 1472-1473).68 All he knows for certain is that there is no body to prove that the plan was successful (Orestes 1493-1497 πάλιν δὲ τὰν Διὸς κόραν | ἐπὶ σφαγὰν ἔτεινον· ἃ δ᾽ [ἐκ θαλάμων] | ἐγένετο διαπρὸ δωμάτων ἄφαντος, | ὦ Ζεῦ καὶ γᾶ καὶ φῶς καὶ νύξ, | ἤτοι φαρμάκοισιν | ἢ μάγων τέχναις ἢ θεῶν κλοπαῖς, ‘they turned again to the daughter of Zeus | to murder her. But [from the room] she | had disappeared straightaway through the house, | o Zeus, Earth, Day and Night, | be it by pharmaka, | by the tricks of sorcerers, or theft by the gods’).69 The last option proves right in the final lines of the play: Apollo appears as deus ex machina with Helen at his side, proclaiming her a goddess and as meant to be immortal, despite her being the deliberate cause of death of many (Orestes 1629-1643a, 1683b-1690).70 Euripides’ Apollo merely makes explicit what Homer has always fathomed.
Concluding remarks
For centuries, Helen of Troy has enchanted poets and artists. Gradually, she has grown into a divinity whose workings and appearance were definitely more-than-human and larger-than-life;71 she may originally have been a worshipped being in pre-Greek and Mycenaean times. The epic poet Homer wrestles with Helen’s identity. On the one hand, he places her in the human world, and subjects her to other humans’ wishes and mistakes; on the other, she clearly transcends their realm, and speaks and acts not only individually and authoritatively, but also selfishly –and with impunity. Women revile her, mesmerized men (including the epigoni) cannot help but forgive and foster her (Blondell, 2010a, p. 7), the gods and the poet reserve her a special place and future benevolent powers. Male humans cannot resist her charm and seductive power; nor can the epic poet.
Homer’s inability to clearly distinguish between Helen’s various personae betrays his conception of Helen as a goddess rather than a human being. Her wondrous presence and marvellous deeds beguile the composing poet as gods, and muses, beguile their mortal victims: Homer did not stand a chance. Reception pieces took their cue from Homer, but were less reluctant to succumb to the consequences of Helen’s immortal nature: they nonetheless reluctantly deal with her death, or turn it into an apotheosis. Reception in modern media, like film, equally stresses Helen’s elusiveness.72 They too rightly fathom what Homer felt –but did not make his characters say out loud in the Iliad– himself.