Seminar: Odyssey I-VIII

I had an interesting seminar tonight. We discussed all things Homeric and such, moving from one point to the next—all intriguing, all good conversation. Then the concept of nostalgia emerged, and my mind dwelt on thoughts I never laid on the table. Both in the Iliad and Odyssey, the poet refers to the glorious past with men of such valor and magnificence, and projects the idea to his audience that the present has long been bereft of heroes, of godlike quality, and of such splendorous glory. But in the latter work, there is a clearer vision of two generations juxtaposed in the separate stories of Odysseus and Telemachus, and the poet illumines what it’s like for a man, even the son of a great hero, to live in the shadow of such heroism.
We will never be as great as the heroes of the past. Their circumstances and glory so exceed our own that we cannot fathom to be compared with them. But why are their stories so important? Why tell the tall tale? Why look up to the mountain’s summit from the valley’s deep?
I think the stories edify us and, in some way, amplify us. The heroes of our past are portrayed with no present equals, and yet we attempt to follow in their footsteps. We know they had no peer, but we must press on. We first encounter Telemachus as a pusillanimous wimp, cowering in the halls of his own home under unruly men, even skeptical of his lineage under the superhuman King Odysseus. But when he is encouraged to discover his father’s fate, he unavoidably learns more about his father’s greatness. And over the course of his small adventure, Telemachus becomes increasingly more like his father in wisdom and words and looks. He undergoes a transformation, now living in light of new revelation, accepting the stories people told him about his father. And thus with my own transformations. It is in the shadow of the mountain where I begin my climb.
The poet didn’t tell such stories to an unworthy audience, but to one ready to take hold of everything the past could offer, and to take old stories and turn them into new dreams. What once was, however glorious, cannot be now; but now is a time for greater things. O’Shaughnessy once wrote,

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;—
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.