22 Ancient Ideals
rulers and invariably distrusts rebels. Achilles puts his sword
back into its scabbard and gives way to Agamemnon—he will hand
over his prize.
He is humiliated in front of the troops. Now Achilles can no
longer confi dently claim to be what he thought he was, the best of
the Greeks. The fullness of pride he maintained up to this moment
is broken— he’s suff ered a wound to his sense of being and with-
draws from the armies into his tent. To the modern reader (the
reader who, in all probability, lives within the circumference of Self )
Achilles’ be hav ior can look childish: he seems to be suff ering from
what the psychologists would call wounded narcissism. But heroic
pride and modern- day narcissism are diff erent conditions. In the
Homeric poem, pride depends not only on one’s sense of self but
also on the judgment of one’s peers and on the sanction of Nature
and of the gods. It is the result of having done great deeds. To the
hero, pride is necessary for victory in battle— perhaps even for sur-
vival. When one possesses an epic unity of being, mind and heart
and body have merged completely. One does not need to think, per
se; after a certain point, one does not even need to plan. One goes
out onto the battlefi eld and acts. The warrior does with superb grace
and brutal instinct what he has been made to do.
When inner fullness disappears, the warrior is in danger. He’s
no longer one being united for action, but two: the man who acts
and the man who observes. After the encounter with Agamemnon,
Achilles’ unity of being, the warrior’s necessary grace, is broken.
He begins to doubt himself and to question his heroic destiny. He
begins, in short, to think. Homer renders this state by presenting a
dialogue between Thetis and Achilles in which Achilles expresses
his fears and frustrations. He has already chosen the short glorious
life— he’s already made his bargain. Will the gods betray him and
deprive him of the glory that’s rightfully his?