by Oswyn Murray
This clearly reflects a basic shift of emphasis in Greek agriculture away from animal husbandry, but the problem is how to date it. The Linear B tablets show that the Mycenean kings possessed large herds; and some scholars have seen the transition as occurring early in the Dark Age. But it seems more likely that it is a later phenomenon almost contemporary with Hesiod. Populations in movement tend to be pastoral rather than crop-growing; the animal bones found by tombs show that meat continued to be widely available for the funeral feast throughout the Geometrie period, and there are many terracotta fìgurines of domestic animals dedicated at early sanctuaries. But animals are wasteful in land-use. As the population began to grow, and men like Hesiod’s father moved into the uplands, animal husbandry gradually gave way to arable farming, until only the mountains were left for sheep and goats. It will have been the aristocrats who had the lands to keep to the old style longest; and it may also be that in Asia Minor pastures could be extended into the hinterland, in a way not possible in Greece and the islands. Homer and Hesiod between them record the transition.
The physical shape of the noble’s house provides the key to the relationship between production of wealth and its use to establish the social status of the basileus. Stripped of its heroic embellishments (so much easier to build in words than with the primitive technology of early Greece), it consists essentially of a courtyard, stables, perhaps a porch where guests might sleep, private chambers for storing wealth and weapons and for women’s quarters, and the great hall or megaron – a long room with seats round the walls and a central hearth. The master of the house may have his own private chamber, as Odysseus did, or he may sleep in the hall.
Archaeological evidence relates primarily to town settlements, and so to ordinary housing; but even these single room dwellings provide analogies to the wall seats and central hearths of the aristocracy, as if either the larger had grown from the smaller or peasants were imitating the nobility. The comparative absence of larger and more complex houses has worried archaeologists, and led many to try to relate the Homeric house across the Dark Age to the Mycenean palace. But such worries may be unfounded, for it seems that many of the nobles did not live in the towns; so that the fact that their houses have not been found is not surprising, for the countryside of Anatolia and even mainland Greece has been little explored. Essentially the oikos-economy is estate-centred and suggests a period when aristocrats lived separately from the community. The transition to city life was part of the same development whose effects have been seen in the social position of women and in agriculture. In these respects Asia Minor may well have been more conservative than mainland Greece, until the disturbances from the seventh century onwards, with the Cimmerian invasion and the attacks of Lydia, drove the Ionian Greeks into their coastal cities. Even then it seems that in some areas fortified farmsteads preserved a little of the old style of life.
Not all basilēes lived in the country: Alcinous’ house for instance is within the city walls (Odyssey 6 and 7). And two archaeological finds give reality and proportion to the poetic descriptions. At Zagora on Andros a housing complex of the late eighth century seems to belong together as a unit: it is prominently placed in the middle of the settlement near an open space and the site of a later temple. The main room in the complex is square and about 8 metres across, with a central hearth and benches along three walls. The eighth century settlement at Emporio on Chios is even more interesting. A primitive defence wall, which can hardly have been more than 2 metres high, ran round the hilltop, enclosing about 6 acres; the only two buildings within it were a later seventh century temple and, built into the wall and contemporary with it, a megaron hall 18 metres long, with three central columns and a porch supported by two more columns. Below the walls lay a village of perhaps 500 inhabitants; the larger houses were of the same megaron type with central columns and hearth, others had stone benches against the walls. Here perhaps is the roughly fortified residence of a loca1 basiletis, a refuge for his herds and for those living outside it, who must have regarded the owner of the main megaron as their leader. It was in such dim and smoke-fìlled halls as those of Zagora and Emporio that the poems of Homer were originally sung.
Early Greek society was not feudal: there was no class owing obligations to an arìstocracy in return for land, and no general serf population separate from the slaves, who were always recruited from outside the community. The various scattered forms of obligated servitude found later in Dorian communities like Sparta and Argos, or colonial cities like Syracuse, or in the static population of Athens, are not individual survivals of a general phenomenon, but special developments conditioned by the history of each area. Generally early Greece was a land of free peasantry, in which the distinction between aristocracy and people (dēmos) was a question of birth and life style, unencumbered by complex social structures.
In the absence of permanent ties of allegiance, despite the hereditary nature of the aristocracy, the establishment of personal status (timē) created a competitive society: status was important because activities such as warfare, raiding and piracy required the ability to attract supporters from outside the genos. It is for this reason that feasting and the entertainment of male companions (hetairoi) was an essential activity for the man of influence; it was this function of achieving rank by feasts of merit which the great hall served, and towards which the surplus production of the oikos was largely directed. For hetairoi seem to have been attracted by such displays of personal generosity, by the reputation of the leader and by ties of guest-friendship (xenia), more often than through marriage or blood connection.
Those who feasted in the great hall were men of the same class as their host. So Alcinous entertains the basilēes of Phaeacia, and Agamemnon the leaders of his contingents before Troy; even the suitors in Odysseus’ house are a band of aristocratic hetairoi merely outstaying their welcome. The feasting is reciprocai; the ghost of Odysseus’ mother in the underworld gives him news of Telemachus, who still ‘feasts at equal feasts’, ‘for all invite him’ (Odyssey 11.185f); Telemachus himself tells the suitors ‘leave my halls and prepare other feasts, eating your own belongings, going in turn from house to house’ (Odyssey 2.139f). Architecture and the activity of feasting are interwoven in Odysseus’ recognition of his own house: ‘Eumaeus, this must surely be the fine house of Odysseus: it would be easy to recognize and pick out even among many. There are buildings on buildings, and the court is well finished with a wall and cornice, and the double gates are well protected: no man could force it. And I see many men are feasting within, for the smell of fat is there and the lyre sounds, which the gods have made as companion to the feast’ (Odyssey 17.264ff). The emphasis laid on descriptions of feasting in the Homeric poems is no mere literary convention: it corresponds to a central feature in the life-style of the aristocracy, and the poetry of epic was already represented as the main form of entertainment at the feast. For Hesiod on the other hand the feast has a very different signifìcance: everyone brings their own contributions to a communal meal (Works and Days 72ff).
Two other characteristics of Homeric society helped to create the network of obligations which sustained the power of the nobility – the institution of guest-friendship and the role of the gift within it. Beyond his immediate geographical neighbourhood, the basileus could expect to be welcomed on his travels by men of the same class as himself: with them he would establish, or fìnd already established by his ancestors, that relationship between guest and host (both called xenos, the word for a stranger) which was especially sacrosanct, under the protection of Zeus Xenios: this was one of the epithets of Zeus related to his general role as guardian of those outside the community – guests, suppliants and beggars.
The stranger travelled empty-handed, but he was given not only board and lodging: everywhere he called he received also gifts (xeneia); indeed it is clear that this was the main purpose and profìt of peaceful travel. Menelaus and Helen travelled in order to amass great wealth and carne home
from Egypt bringing rich gifts from their hosts (Odyssey 4.78ff); Menelaus suggests to Telemachus that they should make a journey together through Greece, ‘nor will anyone just send us away, but he will give us one thing to take, some well-made bronze tripod or cauldron or pair of mules or a gold cup’ (Odyssey 15.82ff). Such gifts were due under all circumstances as a matter of honour, even for a one night stand: ‘there they stayed the night, and he gave them xeneia’ (Odyssey 3.490). Odysseus had typically turned the custom to his own profìt and was even prepared to ask for his due: he would have been back home long ago if he had not been keen to ‘collect wealth through travelling over many lands, for Odysseus knows about gain above all other men’ ; ‘he is bringing much good treasure, acquired by asking among people’ – ‘enough to keep a man and his heirs to the tenth generation’ (Odyssey 19.268ff).
Though Homer must exaggerate their worth, he shows that these gifts were always of luxury items, and particularly of metalwork, drawn from the treasures of the household – copper, gold, Silver, fine fabrics and wines, cauldrons, mixing bowls, tripods, decorated armour and swords. They may have been given before: Menelaus presents Telemachus with a mixing bowl which he had received from the king of Sidon (Odyssey 15.113ff). If the thing got out of hand, one could perhaps recoup one’s outlay by a levy among the people, as Alcinous suggests (Odyssey 13.14f). As with marriage gifts there is not usually a direct exchange involved: in the first instance it is an expression of competitive generosity. The immediate return is the pleasure of news and stories; but there is the creation of a link for the future: ‘choose a good present and the return will be worthy’ (Odyssey 1.318ff); ‘you gave those gifts in vain though you gave thousands: for if you had come to the land of Ithaca while he was alive he would have sent you away with good return for your presents and a worthy xeneia, as is right when someone begins it’ (Odyssey 24.284). An old guest-friend of Priam ransoms one of his sons (Iliad 21.42). There is the great scene when Glaucus and Diomedes meet in battle and establish their lineage: ‘then you are a guest-friend of mine of old through my father’, for their fathers had met long ago and gifts had been exchanged. The two heroes agree not to fìght, and cement their ancestral friendship by an exchange of armour in which Zeus took away Glaucus’ wits, for he accepted bronze for gold (Iliad 6.119ff: this is the only passage where direct gift exchange is mentioned). A breach of the rules of guest-friendship was indeed the main cause of the Trojan war: for Paris stole Helen from Menelaus on such a visit, and Troy is therefore doomed.
Though they may resemble primitive commercial transactions in the element of immediate or ultimate return expected, such gift relations are really a quite different mode even of regulating exchange in the societies and areas where they operate, as Marcel Mauss has shown. In the Homeric world their purpose is not primarily related to profìt or even ultimate benefit, but (like bridegifts and the feasting of peers) to the acquisition of honour, and the creation of a network of obligations.
The relationships thus established both enhanced the standing of the basileus within the community, and created a band of hetairoi who might be called on to enable him to engage in the traditional activities of cattle raiding and piracy. The first of these must have caused considerable trouble, since the private action of a group could easily lead to public reaction from aggrieved neighbours. The dangers of the situation are well brought out in the story told by Nestor of his reprisal raid against the men of Elis, which seems initially to have been a private family venture. But the spoils were publicly distributed to any of the Pylian nobility who had a claim against the men of Elis, with the fortunate result that, when the entire Elean forces attacked, there was enough support in Pylos for a full scale battle to ensue (Iliad 11.67off). It is not surprising that these land raids seem normally to have been somewhat minor and clandestine affairs, and are mainly referred to as phenomena of the past.
Sea-raiding was different. As Thucydides says,
In early times the Greeks and the barbarians of the mainland coasts and islands, as they began to voyage abroad on ships more, turned to raiding, led by men of power for the sake of their own profit and the support of the poor; they would attack and plunder the towns which were unwalled or composed of isolated settlements; they triade most of their living from this, having no sense of shame in the profession, but rather glorying in it.
(Thucydides 1.5)
He goes on to note that in Homer the questions traditionally asked of new arrivals are ‘Strangers, who are you? From whence do you sail the watery wastes? Is it for trade, or do you wander at random like raiders over the sea, who voyage risking their lives and bringing harm to foreigners?’ (Odyssey 3.71ff and elsewhere). Raiding was carried on in long boats with up to fìfty oars (pentekonters), single banked, and a primitive sail for running before the wind. They were rowed by the fìghting men, who would beach the ship by a settlement and rely on surprise for success. It seems to have been carried on primarily against foreigners, not Greeks: the aims were cattle, women slaves and other booty; the chief danger was in delay, allowing the natives to call in help and counterattack. The activity was normally regarded as honourable; only Eumaeus the swineherd, as a representative of a lower class and a different morality, has his doubts: ‘the blessed gods do not love evil deeds, but honour justice and uprightness in men: when fierce and hostile men go against a foreign land and Zeus gives them booty, and they have filled their ships and departed for home, even in the hearts of these men falls mighty fear of divine vengeance’ (Odyssey 14.83ff). Odysseus is more realistic, cursing his belly ‘which gives much evil to men, for whose sake benched ships are rigged out to bring harm to enemies over the waste sea’ (Odyssey 17.286ff). Booty was shared among the participants according to their standing: the ‘share of booty’ (geras) of a man is also his ‘share of honour’.
Though primarily and perhaps originally related to the interests of the aristocracy, the way in which these warrior bands might benefit the community is clear. Odysseus spins a long story about his imaginary life in Crete, which shows this. After the account of his upbringing mentioned above (p. 38), he describes how, in spite of his dubious birth and poverty, he had married a wife from a landed family because of his prowess. Nine times he led a fleet against foreigners, and became rich and respected; so that when the expedition set off to Troy, public opinion forced him to be one of the leaders. The expedition it seems was a public venture. When he returned he went back to sea-raiding on his own account: he found it easy enough to fill nine ships. The companions feasted for six days and then set off for Egypt. There the expedition carne to grief as a result of delay, and the troubles of its imaginary leader began (Odyssey 14.199ff).
There are other indications that the poet envisaged the expedition to Troy as a public one: a public fine is mentioned for those who refused to go (Iliad 13.669ff), and the feasting was at public not private expense: ‘dear leaders and captains of the Argives, who drink at public cost with the sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus, and each command your bands’ (Iliad 17.248ff; compare 4.3428ff). Institutionalized warfare was an area where the community had an interest in the maintenance of its aristocracy and their fìghting bands; the warrior might even be given a special grant of land by the people, a temenos (the word survives from Myceanean Greek, though its meaning may have changed): ‘Glaucus, why are we two especially honoured, with seats of honour and meat and full cups, in Lycia, and everyone looks on us as gods, and we possess a great temenos by the banks of the Xanthus, fair orchards and wheat-bearing fìelds? Now we must stand with the first of the Lycians and face fiery battle, so that the Lycians in their thick breastplates may say “Our nobles that rule in Lycia are great men, they eat fat sheep and drink the best honey-sweet wine. But they are powerful men, for they fìght with the first of the Lycians”’ (Iliad 12.310ff).
Homeric descriptions of fìghting are confused; but, combining them with the archaeological evidence from grave goods, it seems that warfare in the late Dark Age was heavi
ly dependent on the individual champion and his companions, who constituted almost a warrior class. Only they had the resources to acquire the metal for their equipment: the rest of the community seems to have been lightly armed with primitive weapons, and to have done little more than watch the duels of the nobility. They were armed with bronze cuirass, greaves and helmet, and shields in a variety of shapes, held from a central grip and made from leather or bronze plates. The primary offensive weapons were iron swords and two or more spears, which could be thrown and used for thrusting. If it is right to interpret the anachronistic chariots as horses, it would seem that the warriors rode to battle with a mounted squire, but fought on foot: the development of a true cavalry is later.
Oral epic created a heroic past for a particular group in society and glorified its values; since the Homeric poems established themselves as the bible of the Greeks, the ethic they portray had a permanent influence on Greek morality. It is essentially a competitive ethic, expressed in the words of Glaucus, ‘always to be best and pre-eminent over others, and not to shame the seed of my fathers’ (Iliad 6.208f). The moral vocabulary concerns principally success or skill: a good man is good at something, at fighting or counsel; the word aretē is closer to ‘excellence’ than ‘virtue’. It is a public attribute measured by the amount of honour (timē) given by others to a man; and timē itself had a physical expression in the geras or share of booty due to him. It was also an individualistic ethic: a man’s timē was his own concern, even the gods cared little for any timē but their own; the chief exception to this self-regarding ethic was the duty to help a friend.