FINDING ITHACA, AND SENSE IN PARMENIDES B1.3: THE HOMERIC MEANING OF ΕΙΔΩΣ

Abstract

A close reading of the contexts of several Homeric passages reveals that Homer often uses εἰδώς with ironic force. This realization sheds light on several passages discussed herein, including: 1) Homer's description of the location of Ithaca, which is shown to be Odysseus’ strategic lie that directs the Phaeacians to the local stronghold (nearby Dulichium), and 2) the manuscript reading of Parmenides B1.3, which is shown to harbour no internal conflict even if its εἰδότα φῶτα (‘one who knows’) is in a state of confusion (ἄτῃ), because εἰδότα can signal incomplete or confused knowledge, or even a lack of it. Other literary clues in Parmenides B1 are shown to support this reading.

I. INTRODUCTION

Parmenides B1.3 has attracted well over two dozen emendations.¹ The suggestions invariably concern a stretch of text which all manuscripts of Sext. Emp. Math. 111 (where the opening lines of Parmenides’ poem are quoted) agree contains this sequence of letters: καταπαντατη(ι).²

Why have Parmenidean scholars emended the text? From 1912 until Coxon's 1968 report,³ the correct reading of MS N, πάντ᾽ ἄτη, was erroneously understood to be πάντ᾽ ἄστη. Coxon himself, however, emended the text (returning to Heyne's⁴ suggestion of κατὰ πάντ᾽ ἄντην).⁵ Subsequently, a number of scholars have proposed more emendations.⁶ Yet, aside from arguing against prior emendations (including ἄστη) or stating that the text is corrupt or incomprehensible (for example Scaliger: ‘locus corruptus’;⁷ Karsten: ‘obliteratam lectionem … versus mutilus et sine sensu’⁸), not everyone has given reasons for emending the text. Among the few who go into details, Fülleborn is the first to address the meaning of the manuscript:⁹

Ne cui forte in mentem veniat, legere ἄτη, quasi illud, quod idem Sextus appellat τὰς ἀλόγους τῆς ψυχῆς ὁρμάς τε καὶ ὀρέξεις.

Let not the reading ἄτη occur to anyone, as if [meaning] the very thing that Sextus calls ‘the irrational urges and impulses of the soul’.

Fülleborn's injunction has proven persuasive, yet ἄτη does not point to an irrational urge or impulse of the soul (like the desire to indulge in a tempting vice) but to a matter of faulty judgement—often arising from (misleading) external sources of information—that usually leads to ruin.¹⁰ If, then, ἄτη does not mean τὰς ἀλόγους τῆς ψυχῆς ὁρμάς τε καὶ ὀρέξεις, Fülleborn's injunction does not apply.

In 1976 Tarrant reconsidered the manuscript reading and concluded:

adequate sense can be made of the line reading δαίμονος, ἣ κατὰ πάντ᾽ ἄτη (Ἄτη or Ἄτῃ, ἄτῃ) φέρει εἰδότα φῶτα⋅ The alternatives which I have bracketed make no great difference to the significance of the line, and it would be the task of editors to make the tricky choice between them.¹¹

Unfortunately, Tarrant did not explore the range of possibilities more fully, and instead proceeded to argue for associating personified Ἄτη with the δαίμων. This left his view vulnerable to uncharitable readings. For example, in 1982, Cordero responded to Tarrant's case for the manuscript reading, saying:

Les datifs tombent l'un apres l'autre, car si la Déesse, reprise par ἣ guide κατὰ πάντα, on ne peut admettre sa répparaition, dans le même vers, en tant que Ἄτη et à un cas different. En ce qui concerne le nominatif, s'il est certain qu'il reprend δαίμων (nonobstant la position insolite de l'apposition, qui serait ainsi apposition d'une apposition). Le contenu du passage serait contradictoire en l’égard du poème entire: ce n'est pas, en effet, un μοῖρα κακὴ (qui serait synonyme de Ἄτη), mais Thémis et Diké qui conduit le char.¹²

Despite Cordero's efforts to include all the options, his argument only works in a limited way against the personifications. For even if we accept the personified nominative, the ‘unusual’ word order would simply suggest that the phrase κατὰ πάντ᾽ applies to Ἄτη and does not serve as a part of the predicate; that is: ‘the divinity who, as Delusion in regard to all things, conducts a man who knows’ instead of ‘the divinity who, as Delusion, conducts a man who knows through all things’ (reading κατὰ πάντ᾽ with φέρει) or ‘a man with knowledge about all things’ (reading πάντ᾽ or κατὰ πάντ᾽ with εἰδότα).¹³

If we read the dative as personified and pointing to another god, then we could have a dative of advantage (Smyth §1481; ‘the man is conducted to Delusion, or for her’) or a dative of association (Smyth §1523) either with the goddess (‘the divinity who, along with Delusion, leads a man’) or with the man (‘a man accompanied by Delusion’). The non-personified dative could easily be a dative of accompanying circumstance (Smyth §1527, that is, ‘in a state of confusion’).

As to the ‘contradiction’ Cordero mentions:

1. 1) If retaining or restoring the reading of a manuscript in a single location contradicts one's entire understanding of an emended text, then one's understanding is predicated on that emendation, and accommodating or salvaging that interpretation is not the responsibility of those who remain true to the manuscript reading—it is incumbent upon those who emend to make a case against the manuscript, not on those who read the manuscript to accommodate the meanings of alternate readings.

2. 2) Despite what the goddess says in her greeting, it is not at all clear that Themis and Dike are in support of the narrator's journey—Themis was not mentioned in the proem, and Dike appears to have been tricked into opening the gate.¹⁴

3. 3) μοῖρα κακή is more frequently understood a fate leading to death,¹⁵ while ἄτη is more closely associated with deception or delusion (especially in Homer),¹⁶ so the goddess's ‘assurance’ at Parmenides B1.26 amounts to saying ‘You are not dead or about to die’. This, then, contains no assurance that the κοῦρος is not deluded or otherwise in very bad or difficult situation (as mortals often are when they have dealings with the gods, and as her need to reassure him suggests). Too often scholars have confused Parmenides’ goddess with a benevolent Judaeo-Christian angel bearing divine revelations; the Greek gods are not reliably benevolent.¹⁷

We may, then, set Cordero's objections aside, conclude that the manuscript reading, as Hulsz and Berruecos concede,¹⁸ has meaning, and take up Tarrant's invitation to make the ‘tricky choice’ between ἄτη, Ἄτη, Ἄτῃ and ἄτῃ. Yet ἄτη does not stand alone in signalling deception and confusion at the outset of Parmenides’ poem. For example, the first line (ἵπποι ταί με φέρουσιν ὅσον τ’ ἐπὶ θυμὸς ἱκάνοι) points to what Hera tells Zeus about her horses at Il. 14.307–9:

ἵπποι δ᾽ ἐν πρυμνωρείῃ πολυπίδακος Ἴδης

ἑστᾶσ’, οἵ μ’ οἴσουσιν ἐπὶ τραφερήν τε καὶ ὑγρήν.

νῦν δὲ σεῦ εἵνεκα δεῦρο κατ’ Οὐλύμπου τόδ’ ἱκάνω

And the horses which will carry me over fertile land and water, stand on the far side¹⁹ of the heights of Ida with its many springs, but now, due to you, I have come down from Olympus, here to this spot.

The audience knows that these lines are a lie because they know that Hera got to Ida on her own power (Il. 14.225–30, 14.280–93), and that she has no intention of visiting Oceanus and Tethys. Her goal is to seduce Zeus,²⁰ and this, in turn, is intended to serve as a distraction until Sleep overpowers him while Poseidon breaks the rules, bringing death and defeat to the Trojans. All of this succeeds, and temporarily thwarts the will of Zeus. This is not a minor incident, nor is it one which, with its elements of sex, intrigue, suspense and crime would have been unpopular (and so unfamiliar) to Parmenides’ contemporaries.

Additionally, the context has resonances with the word ἄτη since Hera's deception of Zeus here recalls the way in which she deceived him on the day Herakles was to be born.²¹ The generalized context, then, is one of a female divinity who deceives in an erotic context²² in an attempt to challenge the established world order.

Yet this allusion to Hera does not tell readers everything they need to know. As the reader discovers a few lines later, the με in line B1.1 is not Hera or Parmenides’ goddess but the κοῦρος, so the allusion is muted by displacement, and its net effect was probably to set readers on their guard, and raise the possibility—not the certainty—of divine mischief.

We can see, then, that the text is already operating on several levels. The allusions to Homer point toward divine disobedience and deception, while the surface narrative involves the mundane details of a chariot ride. When words begin to signify more or something other than their ‘normal’ dictionary meaning, we find ourselves in a setting that is ripe for irony. Mourelatos²³ laid significant groundwork for understanding Parmenides as making deliberate use of ambiguity and irony, and Cosgrove ([n. 1], 29–30), speculating that Parmenides may be using irony here (though not reading a form of ἄτη), develops a sound and interesting interpretation of the proem.²⁴

Reading Parmenides as employing irony and other forms of ambiguity does not reduce one's interpretative options. Indeed, owing to the nature of irony, it also allows one to continue reading the text's non-ironic significations. That is, one may continue to explore the surface text or choose to dive beneath the surface to explore what may be revealed through irony. Those who fear, like Cordero, that the inclusion of ἄτῃ will disrupt their understanding of the text may understand it in one of the following innocuous ways:

1. 1. As applying to the road, which, at B1.27, is said to be far from the paths of men (τήνδ’ ὁδόν ἦ γὰρ ἀπ’ ἀνθρώπων ἐκτὸς πάτου ἐστίν), and so one would expect it to be in a state of ruin (ἄτῃ) or overgrown. It could, then, be the less trodden path of the select and enlightened philosophers.

2. 2. As applying to the εἰδότα φῶτα, but in a fairly benign way: the κοῦρος is a wise man (εἰδότα φῶτα or even εἰδότα φῶτα κατὰ πάντ᾽) who, nevertheless, is bewildered by his current situation, a temporary condition²⁵ which becomes clarified once the goddess explains the reasons for his journey (χρεὼ δέ σε πάντα πυθέσθαι, B1.28–30) and which, as her need to explain indicates, he did not know at the time described in B1.3.²⁶

Other readings are possible. The inclination, so prevalent among scholars, to read the text as meaning one thing, and one thing only, must be combatted. The text is far more interesting than that.²⁷ The aim of the remainder of this paper, however, is to address the more difficult case of a non-trivial understanding of how an εἰδότα φῶτα can be in a state of confusion (ἄτῃ).²⁸ And, in particular, to demonstrate that the conditions expressed by εἰδότα and ἄτῃ are not the polar opposites they have been taken to be. In order to do this, we will look to how Homer uses the participle εἰδώς.

II. HOW DOES INVESTIGATING HOMER SHED LIGHT ON PARMENIDES?

As Mourelatos and Coxon note,²⁹ almost ninety-nine per cent of Parmenides’ vocabulary is either strictly Homeric or based upon a Homeric model. Although it may be fashionable to regard Parmenides as using Homeric diction and the poetic form merely as a decorative touch, or, as Mourelatos ([n. 23], 39) put it, ‘[to use] old words, old motifs, old themes, and old images precisely in order to think new thoughts in and through them’, one is not in the position to draw such a conclusion until one has exhausted the search for meaning along traditional lines. As Kerferd observed, one of the primary guiding principles for interpreting Parmenides should be ‘to put oneself in the position of the destined reader or hearer’.³⁰

Parmenides’ intended audience—that is, his contemporaries—were members of a culture steeped in Homeric poetry.³¹ Consequently, they could not have helped but understand the text (at least on first reading) as being laden with Homeric meanings and allusions.³² If we want to know what Parmenides meant, we should begin by attempting to become similarly familiar with Homer, Hesiod, The Homeric Hymns and related works.³³ A start can be made by investigating particular words not only by looking at the lexicons but also by investigating the contexts in which a given word or phrase occurs.³⁴ Sometimes one finds meanings which the lexicographers have overlooked.

In the case of εἰδώς (the masculine perfect active participle of *εἴδω), we have a fair sense of what *εἴδω means (something in the spectrum that ranges between seeing and knowing, whether physically, mentally, or spiritually), and many interesting things have been said about it,³⁵ but the suggestion that the word may sometimes carry an ironic sense of ‘not seeing or knowing adequately’,³⁶ or ‘mistakenly thinking that one sees or knows’ does not appear to have been adequately explored.³⁷ Yet there are a number of passages where this ironic meaning is readily apparent.

III. HOMER'S IRONIC AND NON-IRONIC USES OF ΕΙΔΩΣ

With Homer we have many cases of the participle εἰδώς that show no signs of irony (Il. 2.718, 3.202, 4.196, 206, 218, 310, 5.245, 6.438, 7.278, 12.350, 363, 13.665, 15.525, 679, 17.325, 23.665, 709, 24.88; Od. 1.37, 2.38, 170, 188, 4.460, 696, 711, 5.182,³⁸ 250, 6.12, 7.157, 8.584, 9.428,³⁹ 12.188, 14.288,⁴⁰ 15.557, 20.288, 22.361, 24.51, 442). It is peculiar that all of these instances are in the nominative singular.⁴¹ Other forms of the word (for example εἰδότα, as Parmenides uses it), however, tend to show ironic force. Homer uses such forms sixteen times (Il. 2.720, 823, 5.11, 5.549, 5.608, 9.345, 10.250,⁴² 360, 12.100, 15.527; Od. 3.277, 9.281, 12.156, 13.113, 296, 17.248).

Another group involves negation (which is closer to an ironic use than to a positive use). These occur with any of the forms of the participle εἰδώς. If we bear in mind that Parmenides uses οὐδὲν as the direct object for εἰδότες at B6.4, these passages are not insignificant. They are Il. 11.710 (οὔ … εἰδότε), 15.632 (οὔ … εἰδώς), 17.5 (οὐ πρὶν εἰδυῖα), Od. 1.202 (οὔτ᾽ … εἰδώς), 2.231 (μηδὲ … εἰδώς), 4.534 (οὐκ εἰδότ᾽), 4.818 (οὔτε … εἰδώς), 5.9 (μηδὲ … εἰδώς) and 9.215 (οὔτε … εἰδότα).

We will focus on the sixteen non-negated passages. While it is not necessary to demonstrate that all of them show irony in order to establish that the word was frequently used ironically, nevertheless, by investigating each in turn, we may discover to what extent Parmenides’ readers would have been inclined to understand εἰδότα φῶτα ironically (that is, as ‘one who mistakenly thinks he knows X’ or ‘one who does not know X adequately’). Such a reading will make it easy to understand how an εἰδότα φῶτα could be confused or deluded (ἄτῃ).

a. ‘Knowing’ how to fight

There are seven cases which refer to knowing how to fight; four (Il. 2.823, 5.11, 5.549, 12.100) involve a formulaic line applied to a pair of fighters (μάχης εὔ εἰδότε πάσης ‘both knowing well all modes of fighting’), while a fifth uses a variant (δύο φῶτε … εἰδότε χάρμης ‘two men who knew the thrill of victory’⁴³). Two of these instances (2.823, 12.100) apply to the same pair (Archilochus and Acamas); 5.11 refers to Phegas and Idaeus; 5.549 refers to Orsilochus and Crethon, while the variant line, 5.608, refers to Anchialus and Menesthes. For all their knowledge about warcraft, none of these fighters ranks with the principal fighters on either side. How, then, do they fare in battle?

Archilochus is killed by Ajax (14.463) and Acamas by Meriones (16.342). Nine lines after we learn that he ‘knows how to fight well’, Phegas is killed by Diomedes (5.18–20). Idaeus was headed for the same fate a few lines later, but Hephaestus saves him from death (5.23–5). Hector kills Anchialus and Menesthes, even as we are told that they can fight well (Il. 5.608).⁴⁴ And Orsilochus and Krethon have already been slain by Aeneas (5.541–2) by the time we are informed that they can fight well (5.549).

Clearly, in these contexts, ‘knowing’ (εἰδότε) how to fight does not do any of these men any good. Their limited knowledge is not sufficient to lead them to success, or even to save their lives. And the phrase is never used of anyone while they are being successful in battle. They are much like the ‘experts’ whom Socrates encounters: they think they know something, but, when put to the test, their failings become apparent.⁴⁵

Whether we are talking about Socrates’ or Hector's adversaries, overcoming opponents whose knowledge is sufficient to make them a true challenge is worth far more than defeating unskilled pretenders. It is not clear where each of these men's ‘knowledge’ lies on the spectrum ranging from utter ignorance to slightly inadequate knowledge, but it is likely that Homer is trying to acknowledge the fact that they would have been successful if they had not faced heroes of the highest rank. It turned out, however, that they did face such heroes and, when they did not run away, their shortcomings became fatally apparent.

b. εἰδώς vs εἰδότ- in the same context

There are two instances where both the nominative εἰδώς and a form of εἰδότ- appear in close proximity and are applied to closely related subjects. In both cases, the text is more informative when one reads the nominative singular as non-ironic (signalling true or adequate knowledge), and the form with the stem εἰδότ- as ironic (signalling inadequate knowledge).

The first instance occurs when Dolops is said to know how to use a spear (αἰχμῆς ἐῢ εἰδώς, Il. 15.525), but two lines later he is said to εὖ εἰδότα θούριδος ἀλκῆς.⁴⁶ In the fight that follows (15.528–38), Dolops thrusts his spear into Meges’ chest, which is protected by his breastplate, and ducks so that Meges’ spear only cuts off his helmet's plume. Then, as they square off for a second round, Menelaus unexpectedly comes from behind and strikes down Dolops (15.539–45). The rapid change from εἰδώς to εἰδότα (15.525–7) foreshadows the course of the fight: Dolops did, in fact, know how to use his spear well (αἰχμῆς ἐῢ εἰδώς), but he still did not know how to defensively navigate the confusing rush of battle (εὖ εἰδότα θούριδος ἀλκῆς).

In another case, Philoctetes is described as τόξων ἐῢ εἰδώς (2.718), while his men are described as τόξων ἐῢ εἰδότες (2.720). This may be an unavoidable shift from singular to plural, but non-ironic εἰδώς would single out Philoctetes, who bears the fateful bow of Herakles, while ironic εἰδότες would suggest a contrast in his men's archery skills.

c. Insufficient knowledge

When Odysseus and Diomedes go on their spy mission in Iliad Book 10, they discover Dolon and give chase, trying to keep him penned in and running toward the Greek ships. This is not a very effective way of giving pursuit, and Homer breaks off into a simile before Diomedes, concerned that a Greek from the camp will get credit for capturing or killing Dolon, changes tactics and, rushing at him, captures him. The simile reads (Il. 10.360–2):

ὡς δ᾽ ὅτε καρχαρόδοντε δύο κύνε, εἰδότε θήρης,

ἢ κεμάδ᾽ ἠὲ λαγωὸν ἐπείγετον ἐμμενὲς αἰεὶ

χῶρον ἀν᾽ ὑλήενθ᾽. ὁ δέ τε προθέτῃσι μεμηκώς

And as when two dogs with jagged teeth, who εἰδότε hunting, press after a young deer or hare, always and constantly, through a wooded area, and it flees ahead shrieking

The key lies in the phrase ἐμμενὲς αἰεί which recurs a few lines later (10.364) when Homer applies the simile to Odysseus and Diomedes as they pursue Dolon.⁴⁷ The point is pursuit—constant pursuit—not capture. For Odysseus and Diomedes, this is their plan until they get close to the ships. The dogs, however, lack any such plan, and perpetual pursuit is not the mark of good hunting. By using the ironic form εἰδότε when describing the dogs, Homer tells the reader that these are young, inexperienced dogs who have lots of energy but do not yet know how to use it effectively—they have exuberance, not skill. They think they know how to hunt (εἰδότε θήρης), but they only know how to chase.⁴⁸

At Od. 12.154–7, Odysseus addresses his men, saying that it is important that they know (χρὴ … ἴδμεναι) Circe's prophecies about their journey home, so that, knowing (εἰδότες) them, they can either die or escape death. He then gives them an edited version, leaving out any mention of the Clashing Rocks, Scylla, Charybdis and Thrinacia (compare Circe's prophecy, 12.39–141, to Odysseus’ report, 12.158–64; see also 12.222–5). Evidently, εἰδότες does not mean knowing the full story, even though that is what Odysseus’ men are led to think they know.

d. In the know

Several examples show evidence that Homer's aristocratic elites are aware of the ironic force of εἰδώς and use it to say a bit more than they would like to openly admit. For example, at Od. 9.281, Odysseus, reporting on his extended battle of wits with Polyphemus, says: ‘He did not get by me, I who εἰδότα many things.’ This is Odysseus’ comment, after the fact, on an exchange he had with Polyphemus, who had asked where Odysseus had left his ship. Odysseus, attempting to hide the truth and stir up some compassion, replied that Poseidon sank their ship. Without another word, Polyphemus eats a couple of Odysseus’ men (9.279–98). What kind of sense does this make? Why did Odysseus’ words provoke that response? And how does this reveal that Odysseus was εἰδότα when he told this lie?

The answer lies, as Odysseus later found out, in the fact that the Cyclopes are the children of Poseidon (9.412). Polyphemus’ reaction, then, was pragmatic: my father was trying to kill these men, so I am free to finish what he started. If Odysseus had known this, he would have concocted a different story. In hindsight, then, Odysseus must regard either his ‘cleverness’ or his ignorance as the source of the problem, and so ἐμὲ … εἰδότα πολλά should not so much be read as a proud boast but as tinged with undertones of regret, and so have the force of ‘me and my big mouth’.

A second case of this sort occurs at Od. 3.277. Nestor uses εἰδότες when he reports that he and Menelaus regarded one another as dear (φίλα εἰδότες ἀλλήοισιν). This looks like a non-ironic usage, but why does Nestor feel the need to say this? We do not get a similar comment on his relationship to Odysseus or Diomedes and, after ten years of comradeship, why should he feel a need to point out that they are on good terms with one another?

A closer look at the context suggests that the relation between Nestor and Menelaus was actually rather strained. Nestor reports that, as the Greeks were leaving Troy, the sons of Atreus⁴⁹ called a meeting which nearly led to armed conflict between the Greeks (Od. 3.141–52). Nestor then says that, after a night of resentful brooding (νύκτα μὲν ἀέσαμεν χαλεπὰ φρεσὶν ὁρμαίνοντες | ἀλλήλοις, 3.152–3), half the Greeks, including Odysseus, Diomedes and himself, left the following morning (3.153–60). Although Menelaus was advocating for an early departure, Nestor does not mention him in this group. A reader might, however, be excused for reasonably concluding that Menelaus went with them, since Nestor reports that half the host remained with Agamemnon (3.155–6), and one would presume that Menelaus would not want to associate with them. Upon reaching Tenedos, Odysseus and some unnamed others turn back, while Nestor and Diomedes press on to Lesbos (3.160–7). At this point, Menelaus reappears in Nestor's narrative as arriving afterwards (ὀψέ, 3.168) and catching up (ἔκιχεν, 3.169) as Nestor and Diomedes consider their options regarding the long journey ahead. It does not appear that they were waiting for him, and it now looks as if they left Troy without him—leaving him behind to carry on his foolish and potentially deadly quarrel with Agamemnon. When they reach Sunium, Menelaus’ pilot, Phrontis, dies; although Menelaus is eager to sail on (ἐπειγόμενός περ ὁδοῖο, 3.284), he has to take some time to bury Phrontis (3.278–85). Apparently, the ‘goodwill’ (stated right here, 3.277) that Nestor felt for Menelaus did not extend to waiting for him or assisting him with the hasty burial of his pilot. The whole sequence, then, suggests that Nestor is veiling the fact that he and Diomedes were doing their best to rid themselves of Menelaus (whom, owing to the divisive quarrel with Agamemnon, they regarded as a troublemaker). If so, φίλα εἰδότες ἀλλήοισιν points to these underlying tensions and means something more like ‘politely tolerating one another (while harbouring deep resentment)’ or ‘pretending to be friends’ rather than genuinely ‘regarding each other as dear’.

A third such case may occur at Il. 9.345, when Achilles, having just said that Agamemnon deceived him (νῦν δ᾽ ἐπεὶ ἐκ χειρῶν γέρας εἵλετο καί μ᾽ ἀπάτησε), says: ‘Let him not tempt me, I who know well’ (μή μευ πειράτω ἐῢ εἰδότος). As with Parmenides B1.3, the lack of an object leaves what is ‘known’ unclear. The context allows at least these options:

• • I know that he can trick me

• • I know him well = I know he is up to something = I am onto his tricks = he cannot trick me

• • I know how to get the better of him

• • I know some inside information (namely Thetis’ deal with Zeus)

• • I know what I am doing

Homer and the reader, however, know that this is Achilles’ last chance for a trouble-free outcome, since his rejection of Agamemnon's offer sets the stage for the death of Patroclus. Since Achilles does not know this, whatever he does know (or thinks he knows) is of little consequence. The use of εἰδότος here, then, signals a significant area of ignorance.

If Achilles is aware of the ironic implications of εἰδότος, the lack of an object and his abrupt change of topic (ἀλλ᾽ Ὀδυσεῦ, 9.346) may be accounted for: in his anger, he accidentally utters the fateful word, but then, realizing this, he checks himself from stating the object of εἰδότος in an attempt to avoid making a false or hubristic claim. And, apparently, he believes this is sufficient. He cannot, however, unsay it, and so may remain marked, by his own words, as both deceived and doomed.

e. Knowing ‘better’

At Od. 13.296–7, Athena, revealing herself to Odysseus after he tries to lie to her, says that they both know cunning tricks (εἰδότες ἄμφω κέρδε᾽). This would seem to be true enough, and her suggestion to change the subject (μηκέτι ταῦτα λεγώμεθα, 13.296) would then amount to something like calling a truce, lest they get into a pointless competition of piling one lie on top of another. She goes on, however, to brag that she has always been at his side (13.300–1), and, when Odysseus catches her in this lie (13.316–23), she confesses that she had to refrain from helping him out of respect for Poseidon (13.341–2), which is probably about half true.⁵⁰ Odysseus is wise enough not to press her into recalling further details.

It is true that we are dealing with two inveterate liars, but the root sense of κέρδος is ‘profit’ or ‘gain’, so the sense we are dealing with here is not mere cunning or lying (that is, lying for its own sake) but lying for the sake of gaining an advantage. In the sequence that starts with Athena's appearance at 13.221, Odysseus and Athena demonstrate not only a virtuosity of deceit but also a keen eye for spotting deception, but where does all this get them? What do they gain?⁵¹

If we apply these questions to the larger picture, what advantage has Odysseus, the ‘best’ of all men in cunning, gained? Here he is, disoriented on the beach of his own land, ten years after the war at Troy has ended. He has lost his ships, his men and his trophies of war. He would be destitute, and still far from home were it not for the generosity of the Phaeacians. At his home, suitors consume his property while plotting to kill his son, marry his wife and take over his kingdom. Lesser men than he have been living peacefully at home for years, while his ‘cleverness’ has managed to lengthen the duration of a relatively simple trip from Troy to Ithaca into a ten-year ordeal. And what advantage has all her cunning won for Athena, who boasts herself to be famous among all the gods for wisdom and cunning (13.298–9)? Why, if she is so clever on the divine level, could she not find a way around Poseidon's anger? Why is she repeatedly unable to deceive Odysseus? Why does Mentor⁵² peculiarly serve to inspire her renewed interest in Odysseus? And why, looking forward, is neither of them able to come up with a plan to get rid of the suitors? It is Penelope who proposes the contest with the bow and so gets a weapon into Odysseus’ hands.⁵³

Odysseus and Athena, however, are not unintelligent. They know that they are clever—and they are—so they must also recognize the frustrating inefficacy of their cleverness. Odysseus said as much earlier to the Phaeacians when telling them about his disastrous exchange with Polyphemus. Now Athena, weary from playing pointless games that she still cannot quit playing, says essentially the same thing to Odysseus with the sarcastically⁵⁴ tinged εἰδότες ἄμφω κέρδε᾽: ‘Both of us surely know some tricks, don't we?’⁵⁵

f. ‘Knowing’ where Ithaca lies

At Od. 13.96–112, Homer describes the harbour of Phorcys at Ithaca. It features a natural breakwater and a point of anchorage where ships can drift unmoored in the calm water.⁵⁶ The Phaeacian sailors, however, row right past the point of anchorage and hit the coast with enough speed to run half the boat onto the shore (13.113–15). Why would they do that when arriving at rocky Ithaca? By way of explanation, Homer says they had prior knowledge (πρὶν εἰδότες, 13.113). This, however, does not fit well with other information we have been given about the Phaeacians and their ships.

At Od. 8.555–63, for example, Alcinous reports that the Phaeacian ships do not require pilots or even have steering oars; instead, they pilot themselves by knowing the thoughts of men (αὐταὶ ἴσασι νοήματα καὶ φρένας ἀνδρῶν, 8.559). That is, the ships know where they are going, not the sailors—each ship has, in our parlance, an automatic pilot with built-in GPS navigation, plus mind-reading capabilities. They probably also power themselves.⁵⁷

Apparently, an important step in the process of conveying passengers on these ships is for the passenger to be cast into a deep sleep (7.318–21, 13.73–89). Once Odysseus falls asleep (13.79–80), he remains asleep until well after the Phaeacians depart Ithaca, so Odysseus is not available to tell the Phaeacians where they are when they arrive there. It is also not likely that the Phaeacians know much about Ithaca from their own experience, which seems to be restricted to the bounds of the southern Mediterranean Sea (to the exclusion of the Ionian and Aegean Seas in particular). Indeed, at 7.321–6, Alcinous tells Odysseus that the most distant land any of the Phaeacians have seen (ἴδοντο)⁵⁸ is Euboea. Lastly, even though Odysseus gives a detailed description to the Phaeacians of the location of Ithaca (Od. 9.21–7), it is not likely to be of much help because, as numerous scholars⁵⁹ have discovered, the directions he gives do not lead to Ithaca. This has universally been taken as a Homeric flaw despite the fact that the directions do not come from Homer's mouth but from Odysseus’, and that Odysseus announces, just before giving these directions, that he causes trouble for everyone through his deceptive cunning (ὅς πᾶσι δόλοισιν ἀνθρώποισι μέλω, 9.19–20). In other words, ‘I am that guy who deceives everyone; now here is how you can get to my house.’ Why should we think that ‘you’ is not included in ‘everyone’? And surely it is reasonable to conclude that, just as he lied to the Cyclops to protect his men, his ships and the goods thereon, he now lies to the Phaeacians, directing them to Dulichium, the local stronghold, from whence came at least half of his ships (Il. 2.631–7) and 52 of the 108 suitors (Od. 16.247–51), instead of Ithaca, which supplied only 12 ships and 12 suitors, and which is where his wife, son, father, dog and home are. Odysseus knows that, if he can reach Dulichium, he can travel to Ithaca very easily, and it is always best to play it safe.⁶⁰

He describes this ‘Ithaca’ to the Phaeacians as being χθαμαλή (either ‘low-lying’ or ‘close to the mainland’⁶¹—either of which can apply to present-day Leucas which we may identify with Dulichium⁶²). If the Phaeacians understood χθαμαλή as meaning low-lying, they may have been anticipating that they were in a gently sloping bay (such as that at the modern resort town Vassiliki—a place where running a ship aground would be a safe practice) when their ship brought them instead to the harbour of Phorcys.⁶³ The ship, knowing better,⁶⁴ would have stopped at the spot which was appropriate for dropping anchor; the Phaeacians, thinking that they knew (εἰδότες) the place from the lie Odysseus had told them earlier (πρίν), hastily grabbed their oars and foolishly scraped half the length of the ship (ὅσον τ᾽ ἐπὶ ἥμισυ πάσης 13.114) up onto the rocky shores of Ithaca. Reading εἰδότες with ironic force helps explain their behaviour, and serves as a significant clue that Odysseus’ directions were a lie.

4. CONCLUSION

This investigation into Homeric precedents of εἰδότ- reveals that a reader well versed in Homeric turns of phrase would sense potential irony when encountering this stem. This understanding helps make sense of the puzzle surrounding the location of ‘Homer's’ Ithaca, as well as that of the manuscript reading of Parmenides B1.3. In the case of the location of Ithaca, the directions given are Odysseus’ strategic lie which lead to nearby Dulichium. With respect to Parmenides’ poem, even if⁶⁵ the word ἄτῃ in B1.3 also describes the εἰδότα φῶτα, it would simply highlight the ironic potentialities of εἰδότα, since an εἰδότα φῶτα would readily be understood as a man who mistakenly thinks he knows what he needs to know, that is, he is deluded (ἄτῃ). This would lead the ancient reader not to reject the line (as modern scholars have done) but to develop a curiosity as to the limits and nature of this (potentially misguided) knowledge and, perhaps, a determination not to fall into the same difficulty.

We have also discussed Parmenides’ use of the word ἄτῃ at B1.3 as adding a reference to Hera's deception of Zeus in Iliad Book 19, and as supplementing and reinforcing the allusion in B1.1 to her deception of him in Iliad Book 14.

While some scholars may balk at the idea that the recipient of the goddess's revelations is not a heroic man of wisdom but, perhaps, a deluded pretender, we must recall that the goddess calls him a young man (ὦ κοῦρ᾽, B1.24) and that line B1.3 may only describe his condition before he learns what the goddess has to teach. His condition at that time should be one of potential wisdom, not enlightenment. Such a change in perspective need not, then, radically undermine most interpretations of what follows. The κοῦρος of the proem is either 1) Parmenides himself when he first followed a train of thought that led him to the revelation that follows, or 2) each reader as they are conveyed or initiated along the same path, or 3) a fictional character who undergoes such a transformative experience, or 4) some combination of these. On these readings, for example, Cosgrove's suggestion that the line indicates that the young man was following the typical course of the Presocratic physilogoi (with inadequate perspicacity) before being blindsided by the goddess's revelations would fit well with this understanding of the line.

And unforeseen transformation seems to be an important aspect of the process. Indeed, who would imagine that the goddess's peculiar, two-part speech (with all of its intricate content) came next if all that survived of Parmenides’ poem was the proem's description of the chariot ride (B1.1–21)? On its surface, at least, the proem is designed to capture the interest not of initiates and philosophers but of those who love fast-paced action stories, surprise-twists of plot, exotic or fantastic locations, seductive and bewitching goddesses and, in short, narrative (rather than didactic) poetry. To use Lucretius’ image, it is the honey on the lip of the cup of medicine, a lure to draw in unsuspecting minds. Such persons who picked up Parmenides’ text or heard the proem, and thought they knew (εἰδότες) what was coming next were surely in a state of confusion (ἄτῃ), just as are those who (like modern scholars) expect the poem to be didactic and find themselves first taken on a wild chariot ride—both end up (for opposite reasons) with their expectations challenged, wondering what is going on. The reading ἄτῃ … εἰδότα φῶτα, therefore, suits both the context and the reader's experience.

We have, therefore, found meanings for the manuscript reading that accord with 1) the various ways in which the line can be construed, 2) the Homeric tone of the poem's vocabulary, 3) the nature of divine revelation in Greek myth, 4) the allusion in Parmenides B1.1 (and so in B1.25) to Hera's deception of Zeus and 5) several prominent interpretations of the proem. On these counts, then, it is very likely that Parmenides wrote B1.3 exactly as the manuscripts have it:

δαίμονος, ἣ κατὰ πάντ᾽ ἄτῃ φέρει εἰδότα φῶτα

which we might translate in a variety of ways, some of which are:

1. A. The way of the divinity that⁶⁶ carries a man who thinks he knows⁶⁷ through all things in a state of confusion;⁶⁸

2. B. The way of the divinity that carries a man who thinks he knows completely⁶⁹ down to ruin;

3. C. The way of the divinity that, with/to/for Delusion about everything, leads a man who thinks he knows.