Why is apollo angry in the iliad

They found him beside his lodge and black hull, seated grimly—and Achilles took no joy when he saw the two approaching. They were afraid, they held the king in awe and stood there, silent. Not a word to Achilles, not a question. But he sensed it all in his heart, their fear, their charge, and broke the silence for them: "Welcome, couriers! Good heralds of Zeus and men, here, come closer.

You have done nothing to me. You are not to blame. No one but Agamemnon— he is the one who sent you for Briseis. Go, Patroclus, Prince, bring out the girl and hand her to them so they can take her back. But let them both bear witness to my loss.

The man is raving—with all the murderous fury in his heart. He lacks the sense to see a day behind, a day ahead, and safeguard the Achaeans battling by the ships. Patroclus obeyed his great friend's command. He led Briseis in all her beauty from the lodge and handed her over to the men to take away. And the two walked back along the Argive ships while she trailed on behind, reluctant, every step. But Achilles wept, and slipping away from his companions, far apart, sat down on the beach of the heaving gray sea and scanned the endless ocean.

Reaching out his arms, again and again he prayed to his dear mother: "Mother! So he wept and prayed and his noble mother heard him, seated near her father, the Old Man of the Sea in the salt green depths. Suddenly up she rose from the churning surf like mist and settling down beside him as he wept, stroked Achilles gently, whispering his name, "My child— why in tears? What sorrow has touched your heart? Tell me, please. Don't harbor it deep inside you. We must share it all. And now from his depths the proud runner groaned: "You know, you know, why labor through it all?

You know it all so well. We raided Thebe once, Eetion's sacred citadel, we ravaged the place, hauled all the plunder here and the armies passed it round, share and share alike, and they chose the beauty Chryseis for Agamemnon. But soon her father, the holy priest of Apollo the distant deadly Archer, Chryses approached the fast trim ships of the Argives armed in bronze to win his daughter back, bringing a priceless ransom and bearing high in hand, wound on a golden staff, the wreaths of the god who strikes from worlds away.

He begged the whole Achaean army but most of all the two supreme commanders, Atreus' two sons, and all ranks of Achaeans cried out their assent, 'Respect the priest, accept the shining ransom! And shattered with anger, the old man withdrew but Apollo heard his prayer—he loved him, deeply— he loosed his shaft at the Argives, withering plague, and now the troops began to drop and die in droves, the arrows of god went showering left and right, whipping through the Achaeans' vast encampment.

But the old seer who knew the cause full well revealed the will of the archer god Apollo. And I was the first, mother, I urged them all, 'Appease the god at once! Agamemnon leapt to his feet and hurled his threat—his threat's been driven home. The other girl, just now, the heralds came and led her away from camp, Briseus' daughter, the prize the armies gave me.

But you, mother, if you have any power at all, rotect your son! Go to Olympus, plead with Zeus, if you ever warmed his heart with a word or any action. Time and again I heard your claims in father's halls, boasting how you and you alone of all the immortals rescued Zeus, the lord of the dark storm cloud, from ignominious, stark defeat.

Down he sat, flanking Cronus' son, gargantuan in the glory of it all, and the blessed gods were struck with terror then, they stopped shackling Zeus. Remind him of that, now, go and sit beside him, grasp his knees. All I bore was doom. Would to god you could linger by your ships without a grief in the world, without a torment! Doomed to a short life, you have so little time.

And not only short, now, but filled with heartbreak too, more than all other men alive—doomed twice over. Ah to a cruel fate I bore you in our halls! Still, I shall go to Olympus crowned with snow and repeat your prayer to Zeus who loves the lightning.

Perhaps he will be persuaded. But you, my child, stay here by the fast ships, rage on at the Achaeans, just keep clear of every foray in the fighting.

Only yesterday Zeus went off to the Ocean River to feast with the Aethiopians, loyal, lordly men, and all the gods went with him. But in twelve days the Father returns to Olympus. Then, for your sake, up I go to the bronze floor, the royal house of Zeus— I'll grasp his knees, I think I'll win him over.

With that vow his mother went away and left him there, alone, his heart inflamed for the sashed and lovely girl they'd wrenched away from him against his will. Meanwhile Odysseus drew in close to Chryse Island, bearing the splendid sacrifice in the vessel's hold.

Then tactful Odysseus led her up to the altar, placing her in her loving father's arms, and said, "Chryses, the lord of men Agamemnon sent me here to bring your daughter back and perform a sacrifice, a grand sacrifice to Apollo—for all Achaea's sake— so we can appease the god who's loosed such grief and torment on the Argives. With those words he left her in Chryses' arms and the priest embraced the child he loved, exultant. Rising among them Chryses stretched his arms to the sky and prayed in a high resounding voice, "Hear me, Apollo!

God of the silver bow who strides the walls of Chryse and Cilla sacrosanct—lord in power of Tenedos! If you honored me last time and heard my prayer and rained destruction down on all Achaea's ranks, now bung my prayer to pass once more. Now, at last, drive this killing plague from the armies of Achaea! And soon as the men had prayed and flung the barley, first they lifted back the heads of the victims, slit their throats, skinned them and carved away the meat from the thighbones and wrapped them in fat, a double fold sliced clean and topped with strips of flesh.

Once they had burned the bones and tasted the organs they cut the rest into pieces, pierced them with spits, roasted them to a turn and pulled them off the fire. The work done, the feast laid out, they ate well and no man's hunger lacked a share of the banquet. When they had put aside desire for food and drink, the young men brimmed the mixing bowls with wine and tipping first drops for the god in every cup they poured full rounds for all.

And all day long they appeased the god with song, raising a ringing hymn to the distant archer god who drives away the plague, those young Achaean warriors singing out his power, and Apollo listened, his great heart warm with joy.

The Archer sent them a bracing following wind, they stepped the mast, spread white sails wide, the wind hit full and the canvas bellied out and a dark blue wave, foaming up at the bow, sang out loud and strong as the ship made way, skimming the whitecaps, cutting toward her goal. And once offshore of Achaea's vast encampment they eased her in and hauled the black ship high, far up on the sand, and shored her up with timbers. Then they scattered, each to his own ship and shelter.

But he raged on, grimly camped by his fast fleet, the royal son of Peleus, the swift runner Achilles. Now he no longer haunted the meeting grounds where men win glory, now he no longer went to war but day after day he ground his heart out, waiting there, yearning, always yearning for battle cries and combat.

But now as the twelfth dawn after this shone clear the gods who live forever marched home to Olympus, all in a long cortege, and Zeus led their on. And Thetis did not forget her son's appeals. She broke from a cresting wave at first light and soaring up to the broad sky and Mount Olympus, found the son of Cronus gazing down on the world, peaks apart from the other gods and seated high on the topmost crown of rugged ridged Olympus.

And crouching down at his feet, quickly grasping his knees with her left hand, her right hand holding him underneath the chin, she prayed to the lord god Zeus, the son of Cronus: "Zeus, Father Zeus!

If I ever served you well among the deathless gods with a word or action, bring this prayer to pass: honor my son Achilles! And now the lord of men Agamemnon has disgraced him, seizes and keeps his prize, tears her away himself. But you— exalt him, Olympian Zeus: your urgings rule the world! Come, grant the Trojans victory after victory till the Achaean armies pay my dear son back, building higher the honor he deserves!

The Father sat there, silent. It seemed an eternity. But Thetis, clasping his knees, held on, clinging, pressing her question once again: "Grant my prayer, once and for all, Father, bow your head in assent! Or deny me outright. What have you to fear? So I may know, too well, just how cruelly I am the most dishonored goddess of them all.

You will drive me into war with Hera. She will provoke me, she with her shrill abuse. Even now in the face of all the immortal gods she harries me perpetually, Hera charges me that I always go to battle for the Trojans. Away with you now. Hera might catch us here. I will see to this. I will bring it all to pass. Look, I will bow my head if that will satisfy you. That, I remind you, that among the immortal gods is the strongest, truest sign that I can give.

So he decreed. And Zeus the son of Cronus bowed his craggy dark brows and the deathless locks came pouring down from the thunderhead of the great immortal king and giant shock waves spread through all Olympus.

So the two of them made their pact and parted. Deep in the sea she dove from radiant Mount Olympus. Zeus promises to help the Trojans not out of any profound moral consideration but rather because he owes Thetis a favor.

Similarly, his hesitation in making this promise stems not from some worthy desire to let fate play itself out but from his fear of annoying his wife. When Hera does indeed become annoyed, Zeus is able to silence her only by threatening to strangle her. Such instances of partisanship, hurt feelings, and domestic strife, common among the gods of The Iliad, portray the gods and goddesses as less invincible and imperturbable than we might imagine them to be.

We expect these sorts of excessive sensitivities and occasionally dysfunctional relationships of the human characters but not the divine ones. The clash between Achilles and Agamemnon highlights one of the most dominant aspects of the ancient Greek value system: the vital importance of personal honor. Both Agamemnon and Achilles prioritize their respective individual glories over the well-being of the Achaean forces.

Agamemnon believes that, as chief of the Achaean forces, he deserves the highest available prize—Briseis—and is thus willing to antagonize Achilles, the most crucial Achaean warrior, to secure what he believes is properly owed to him. Achilles would rather defend his claim to Briseis, his personal spoil of victory and thus what he believes is properly owed to him, than defuse the situation. Each man considers deferring to the other a humiliation rather than an act of honor or duty; each thus puts his own interest ahead of that of his people, jeopardizing the war effort.

Ace your assignments with our guide to The Iliad! SparkTeach Teacher's Handbook. What started the Trojan War? Why does Achilles refuse to fight for the bulk of the poem? Why does Zeus support the Trojans? Why does Hera defend the Achaeans? Why does Achilles finally rejoin the battle? Important Quotes Explained. Summary Book 1. Pride and honor were important principles to the Greeks, particularly because those traits involved public perception. Agamemnon thinks that Achilles, by calling the council and demanding that Chryseis be returned to Chryses, has challenged his leadership and impugned his honor.

Likewise, Achilles feels that Agamemnon's decision to take Briseis as a replacement for Chryseis is an affront to his honor and a public show of disrespect by the Achaian leader. Individual senses of pride and honor here blind the two warriors to the greater good. Their hubris — overweening pride — requires them to react in foolish ways, Agamemnon in taking Achilles' captive Briseis and Achilles in withdrawing himself and his troops from battle.

Homer once again shows that a noble human trait can be subverted by emotion into pettiness and irrationality. However, Achilles' decision to withdraw appears much more reasonable in Book I than it will later in the poem. He retains the reader's sympathy even though his decisions seem to be overreactions. A second theme introduced in Book I is the nature of the relationship between the gods and men. When Agamemnon refuses to give up Chryseis, Chryses prays to Apollo, who comes down to devastate the Achaians with his arrows, a symbolic representation of plague.

Later, angered by Agamemnon, Achilles starts to draw his sword to kill the Achaian leader. Athena intervenes and calms the overwrought Achilles, a symbolic representation of reason controlling the will.

Finally, Thetis, Achilles' goddess mother, goes to Zeus to ask for punishment on Agamemnon and the Achaians for their actions against her son.

Zeus nods in agreement, thereby initiating the series of Trojan triumphs that make up much of the first half of the work. Zeus' decision leads to a quarrel among the gods that humorously reflects the quarrel among the Greeks. Homer shows the gods in a variety of relationships with humans. First, in the instances of the destruction caused by Apollo and the forbearance produced by Athena, Homer is using the gods as dramatic, almost allegoric causes for natural events and actions.

Second, just as clearly, he also shows that the gods take an active role in human affairs. Apollo and Zeus both mete out a kind of rough justice, a justice that seems in both cases much harsher than the offense warranted. Third, the intervention of the gods also suggests an interrelationship between humans and gods that is related to the fate of humans.

At times, characters such as Achilles seem to have free will. At other times, the gods seem to control the destiny of humans. And, at other times, neither gods nor men seem to be in control of human fate — it simply is what it is.

An entirely different approach to the god and human relationship has been offered by psychologist Julian Jaynes in The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind Houghton Mifflin, Jaynes presents the idea that modern consciousness is of relatively recent origin and that earlier man had a bicameral mind, one chamber of which literally spoke to the other when decisions or thoughtful action was needed.

Jaynes sees the Iliad as a book dealing with pre-modern minds.