As I was thinking this weekend about the Charleston massacre, and about the deep suffering of this world, I found myself drawn to the books I usually turn to in times of darkness. Not the cheery self-help books that line my bookshelves for happier times, but the books that delve into depths of human experience: the Psalms, Job, King Lear, Gilgamesh, the Iliad. Rereading Book 24 of the Iliad somehow always comforts me; the anguish of Homer’s story reassures me that the heartache of our times is neither new nor apocalyptic.
Book 24 is the final chapter of the Iliad. At this point, Achilles has killed Hector because Hector killed Patroclus, Achilles’ best friend, his soul friend. He has kept Hector’s body for twelve days and mutilates it daily by dragging it around the Greek tents. None of this assuages his grief or anger. Finally, guided by the gods, Priam, Hector’s father, also full of grief, arrives at Achilles’ tent to ask for his son’s body back. The scene that happens next is perhaps one of the most beautiful in all of literature.
Then Priam spoke to Achilles in supplication:
“Remember your father, Achilles. He is an old man
like me, approaching the end of his life. Perhaps
he too is being worn down by enemy troops,
with no one there to protect him from chaos and ruin.” (24.475-79)
Priam compares Achilles’ father to himself; he asks Achilles to imagine his (Priam’s) pain compared to Achilles’ father’s pain. It works:
With the words he stirred in Achilles a wild longing
to weep for his father. Taking the old man’s hand,
he gently pushed him away. And each of them sat there
remembering. Priam, crouched at Achilles’ feet,
sobbed for Hector; Achilles wept now for his father,
now for Patroclus. And every room in the house
rang with the sound of their mourning and lamentation. (24.24.498-504)
The two men, enemies through ten years of war, weep together for their losses. It is a moment of raw humanity. They do not attack each other; they do not continue the “kill for kill” mentality; they do not even insult each other. They suffer, side by side.
For all our many, many differences, it is grief that binds us, that strips us to the essence of what it means to be human: loss. The first noble truth of Buddhism states, “Life is suffering.” To be alive is to suffer loss. Even the word “Achilles” means “loss of a people.” The ancients understood. Loss is the ultimate reality.
No matter what we perceive as “other” (nation, culture, race, religion, sexuality), it is an illusion. These labels dissolve in the face of loss. We are one in our grief. But grief is not where our human experience ends:
After they cry together, Achilles lifts Priam from the ground and says,
“Unfortunate man, what grief you have had to endure!
Sit down on this chair, and let us both rest from out tears.
Heart-chilling anguish can do us no good.” (24.509-11)
In an incredible moment, Achilles acknowledges the grief of his enemy. The two men then eat together—for even in grief we eventually must eat—and then gaze silently at each other, which gives rise to another incredible moment: they appreciate each other.
Priam gazed at Achilles in wonder—how tall
he was and how handsome, like one of the blessed gods.
And Achilles gazed at Priam in wonder, admiring
his noble face and the brave words that he had spoken. (24.625-28)
Achilles and Priam, their anger and defenses broken by grief, see each other in the true light of understanding and connection. Achilles returns the body so Priam can bury it. Yes, the Trojan War will continue; the killing will continue; the worst pillaging is yet to come. But in this moment, there is empathy and compassion.
Even though we are wretched in our grief, it cleanses us and unites us. If we allow it to move through us, if we can survive it without lashing out again or pushing it away, we will arrive at the other side: wonder, connection, and even appreciation for that which we perceived as “other.” On this weekend of remembering fathers, of celebrating fathers, of national suffering and private suffering, we must not deny the sadness that sweeps our hearts but be present to it, so that at some point, we can emerge into compassion. Because ultimately, we are all one.
