The Sounds of Sirens; "Odyssey" 12.

184-91
Author(s): B. Pauline Nugent
Source: College Literature , Fall, 2008, Vol. 35, No. 4, Homer: Analysis & Influence (Fall,
2008), pp. 45-54
Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press

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 The Sounds of Sirens;
Odyssey 12.184-91

B. Pauline Nugent

The enduring popularity of the Siren B. Pauline Nugent is a professor

episode in Homers Odyssey bears wit in the Modern and Classical
ness to the timelessness of the Greek
Languages Department at
classic in general and to the bewitching
charm of this adventure in particular. These Missouri State University,
birdlike women have captivated the art world
Springfield, MO, where she
from earliest time, but often without any evi
dence from Homer or his mouthpiece, Circe, teaches Biblical Hebrew, Greek

to support such avian illustrations. Perhaps and Latin.

one of the more famous and popular illustra
tions may be the Attic red-figure stamnos dis
played in the British Museum collection
(E440), and dating to the 5th century B.C.E.
There, one of the Sirens is seen plunging to
her death, in support of an earlier story found
in Lycophron's Alexandra (712-15) that pro
claimed the suicidal end of the Sirens when
their song was resisted. The Attic black
oinochoe, housed in Berlin s Antikensammlung
Staatliche Museen (Nr. 253), and dated to the
late 6th century B.C.E. may be one of the
more intriguing illustrations. That artist has

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46 College Literature 35.4 [Fall 2008] B. Pauline Nugent

allotted a double set of arms to Odysseus, one set dutifully tied to the mast
and the other gesticulating, as he addresses the Sirens. But it is the late
Corinthian black figure aryballos, preserved in the Boston Museum of Fine
Arts (01.81.00) and dated to the second half of the 6th century that comes
closest to a graphic illustration of the Homeric text.1
However, artistic fascination with the Odyssey in general and the Sirens
in particular is by no means limited to graphic artists. Music and literature,
especially poetry, find their inspiration in that Pierian Spring. Indeed, each
successive generation discovers anew a voice in Homer that speaks to its own
heart and finds in that ancient epic a special resonance with the specifically
novel circumstances peculiar to its modern world condition. It is this irre
sistible attraction that calls each new class of students, however initially recal
citrant, to resonate with the personalized story they find in the ancient bard.
The poet s ability to charm, enchant and bewitch his audiences has never
dimmed with the passage of time. Even in our sophisticated 21st century we
may learn from the ancient Greek master how to resolve today's human con
flicts: how to repatriate our soldiers successfully upon their returning from a
modern day Trojan War?yet another veritable East/West conflict?how to
forgive even our deadliest enemies who destroyed those dearest to us, and
how to live peacefully in a civilized, global society. However tempting and
timely these many themes may be, the present paper will limit its scope to a
close reading of the story of the Sirens, a brief reflection on the role and nat
ural charm of music in ancient and modern times, and a discussion of the
liminal aspect of these intriguing passages. But first, let us consider the text
itself and the remarks of some prominent Homeric scholars ? propos the
present topic.
Homer provides three versions of the story of the Sirens. First, there is
the prediction of Circe, who tells Odysseus, upon his return from the
Underworld, that his next encounter will be with the Sirens.
Your next encounter will be with the Sirens, who bewitch everyone who
approaches them. There is no homecoming for the man who draws near
them unawares and hears the Sirens' voices: no welcome from his wife, no
little children brightening at their father's return. For with their high clear
song the Sirens bewitch him, as they sit there in a meadow piled high with
the moldering skeletons of men, whose withered skin still hangs upon their
bones. Drive your ship past the spot, and to prevent any of your crew from
hearing, soften some beeswax and plug their ears with it. But if you wish
to listen to it yourself, make them bind you hand and foot on board and
place you upright by the housing of the mast, with the rope's ends lashed
to the mast itself.This will allow you to listen with enjoyment to the Sirens'
voices. But if you beg and command your men to release you, they must
add to the bonds that already hold you fast. (Od. 12 39-54)

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 B. Pauline Nugent 47

In this passage, Homer puts the Greek word thelgein, bewitch, on the lips
of Circe, using it twice in the space of five lines (Od. 12. 40-44), and noting
that the instrument of bewitchment is their shrill, high-pitched song. That
dread goddess indicates how Odysseus is to survive this entrapment, advising
him that there is no escape except by avoidance, since those temptresses lure
to their death all who approach them and listen to their song. It is unnerv
ing to hear Circe tell her host that there is no homecoming for the one who
listens to the Siren's song. After all, what is the Odyssey, if not a nostos, a.
homecoming? It is impossible not to recall that this is the same hero who
earlier refused the boon of immortality offered by Calypso in order to return
home to his mortal wife, Penelope, and son,Telemachus.There, he gave utter
ance to the deep desires of his heart, telling that goddess: I long to reach my
home and see the day of my return. It is my never failing wish (5. 220-21). One
marvels at the instability of human affections and the debonair attitude that
now indulges selfish passion for knowledge and excitement. The references
to the gruesome images of death link this passage to the Nekyia in Book 11
as well as to the opening lines of the proem to the Iliad. In the former
instance Odysseus himself speaks about the eerie clamor of the dead and the sheer
panic that turned him pale, as he hastens to escape (11. 633-34), while the lat
ter reference to the desecration of the unburied dead (J/. 1.4-5)?later grue
somely illustrated in Sophocles' Antigone?would seem sufficient evidence to
dissuade even the fabled Odysseus from approaching these songsters. How
one might enjoy oneself, terpomenos, under such dire circumstances and
bound hand and foot to the mast, calls for a wild stretch of the imagination.
The second account of the Sirens occurs after Odysseus leaves Circe and
sets out on his voyage with the friendly escort of a favorable wind, courtesy
of that liminal goddess. The eerie calm of the waters that subside upon the
approach of Odysseus' ship, contrasts starkly with the turmoil in his soul and
prompts him to share the prophecies of Circe with his companions. He
notes that it is only proper that they too should be warned, regardless of the
ominous or propitious outcome of their next encounter.
"It is not right that only one or two of us should know the prophecies that
the divine Circe has made known to me, and I am going to pass them on
to you, so that we may all be forewarned, whether we die, or escape the
worst and save our lives. Her first warning concerned the Sirens with their
divine song. We must beware of them and give their flowery meadow a
wide berth, but she instructed me alone to hear their voices.You must bind
me very tight, standing me up against the step of the mast and lashed to the
mast itself so that I cannot stir from the spot. And if I beg and command
you to release me, you must tighten and add to my bonds." In this way I
explained every detail to my men. (Od. 12.154-65)

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48 College Literature 35.4 [Fall 2008] B. Pauline Nugent

This second account reflects a reasonable summary of the goddess'

prophecy, even though the Greek text speaks of ta hekasta, which leads the
reader to expect a fuller accounting of each detail. But Odysseus knows his
men only too well to describe the gory details of the skeletons in the mead
ow and their own possibly impending fate. The danger he notes comes from
the song of the divine Sirens. Here Homer uses the adjective thespesios to
describe the Sirens. Now, while this word may translate as wondrous, marvelous,
or excellent, its derivation is significant. It comes from theos, meaning god, and
epos, signifying word. When the adjective is used of the voice, according to
Liddell and Scott, it is proper to render it divinely sweet. Another possible ren
dition is ineffable or unutterable, both terms that may happily apply in this
instance, as we shall later discuss. However, in the Greek text it is the Sirens,
and not their song, who are so described. The contrast that the poet estab
lishes between the halcyon conditions at sea, thanks to Circe's intervention,
and the turbulence in the depth of Odysseus' soul as he addresses his com
rades, foreshadows a similar setting in the Aeneid when the Roman hero,
Aeneas comforts and encourages his crew after the storm at sea, feigning hope
on his countenance and burying fear deep in his heart: spem vultu simul?t, pre
mit altum corde dolorem (Aen. 1. 209). Unfortunately, Odysseus lacks the vision
and assurance of hope that Aeneas enjoyed and therefore he cannot console
his followers with the promise of future joy as does his Roman counterpart
in that memorable lineiforsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit (Aen.l. 203).
We now come to the third and final account of the Sirens. Almost imme
diately after informing his comrades of the dangers of these singers,
Odysseus' ship draws near to the island of the Sirens. Their access to this mys
terious place is marked by ominous signs, not unlike those experienced dur
ing their earlier approach to the land of the Cyclops. There, a thick fog and
gloomy darkness hid their entrance, and some god must have guided them
through the murky night that rendered it impossible to see (Od. 9. 143-46).
Here, the wind dropped, some power lulled the waves, and a breathless calm
set in (12. 169-70). Both mysterious entrances signify danger and the need
for divine intervention. However, it is clear that these goddesses, who know
everything that happens on the fertile earth, appear to be less than sure of the
approaching ship, for it is only when the sailors come within shouting dis
tance of the shore of their island that the Sirens become aware of Odysseus'
presence and break into their shrill, clear song:
"Draw near, illustrious Odysseus, man of many tales, great glory of the
Achaeans, and bring your ship to rest so that you may hear our voices. No
seaman ever sailed his black ship past this spot without listening to the
honey-sweet tones that flow from our lips, and no one who has listened has
not been delighted and gone on his way a wiser man. For we know all that

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 B. Pauline Nugent 49

the Argives and Trojans suffered on the broad plain ofTroy by the will of the
gods, and we know whatever happens on this fruitful earth." This was the
sweet song the Sirens sang, and my heart was filled with such a longing to
listen that I ordered my men to set me free. But they swung over their oars
and rowed ahead, while Perimedes and Eurylochus jumped up, tightened
my ropes and added more. However, when they had rowed past the Sirens
and we could no longer hear the sound and the words of their song, my
good companions were quick to clear their ears of the wax I had used to
stop them, and to free me from the ropes that bound me. (Od. 12.184-200)

Here we actually encounter the voices of the Sirens. Not only do they
flatter Odysseus by addressing him as mega kudos Achaion, the great glory of the
Greeks, but the bard's meter in line 186 reflects the slow motion of the
approaching ship in the spondees of the first half of the line, followed by the
tripping dactyls in the latter half, denoting the fleet passing of the vessel.
Circe had painted a grim picture of the setting by placing the Sirens in a
meadow, surrounded by piles of rotting skeletons. Here there is no such
stench. All is pleasant, flattering and very tempting. For someone of
Odysseus' ilk, the promise of fresh information must have sounded irresistible.
This hero who had seen the cities of many people and learned their ways (Proem 3
4), would surely be enthralled with the prospect of such a possibility and the
dream of expanding his knowledge. It is no wonder that his heart wanted to lis
ten (12.192-93). Only when they had passed out of danger, that is, when they
could no longer hear and be deflected, either by the voices of the Sirens or
by their song, did the ship's crew unplug their ears and loose their leader.
Writing over half a century ago, W B. Stanford notes in The Ulysses
Theme (1954) that it was especially the promise of worldwide knowledge that
most enticed Odysseus to listen to the song of the Sirens, in spite of Circe's
warning. (1992,77-78). Homer, prolific in his use of epithets, showed that he
is also equally discriminating, for his use of an adjective to describe Odysseus
in this instance as a man of great intellectual curiosity, is a hapax legomenon in
the Odyssey. The bard uses many staid epithets to describe several of his
heroes. For instance, Achilles is styled poludarkes, or fleet-footed, even when
the athlete is immobile; Orestes is regularly deemed dios, even at moments
that are less than divine; and Hector is usually dubbed phaidimos, albeit in
some inglorious settings. Odysseus, who is frequently allotted the one-liner:
Diogenes Laertiade, polumechan' Odusseu', is not assigned that honorable appel
lation here. Instead, Homer uses a singularly distinctive adjective to describe
the hero at this juncture, thus highlighting the significance of the moment
for Odysseus. Upon approaching the realm of the Sirens, the hero is imme
diately identified by the songsters, who call him by name and address him as
poluainos, "greatly praised" or "widely famous." This compound adjective is
reserved in the Odyssey exclusively for Odysseus and thus it helps to empha

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50 College Literature 35.4 [Fall 2008] B. Pauline Nugent

size the uniqueness of his encounter with the Sirens. It is also conceivable
that the description contains a subliminal reference to the hero's appetite for
new tales about his own heroic virtues. After all, the Sirens promise to sing
the songs of Troy?the arena where our hero displayed his manly qualities,
his arete, and provide worldwide coverage of all that takes place on the glob
al scene. Stanford provides a quotation to this effect from Sir Ernest Barker,
who speaks very tellingly of the nature of Greek inquisitiveness:
To be Greek was to seek to know: to know the primordial substance of
matter, to know the meaning of number, to know the world as a rational
whole_To one school... it means an aesthetic ideal... to another, how
ever, it means an austere thing, which delights in logic and mathematics;
which, continually wondering and always inquisitive, is driven into philos
ophy, and into inquiry about the why and the wherefore, the whence and
the whither, of tragedy, of the State, indeed, of all things. (Barker qtd. in
Stanford 1957, 75)
Even the biblical text comments centuries later on the native curiosity of the
Greeks. St. Luke remarks in the Acts of the Apostles that: the one amusement the
Athenians and the foreigners living there seem to have is to discuss and listen to the
latest ideas (17.21). Hence, it is not surprising to find that Odysseus has a def
inite interest, not only in his own glorious story of heroism at Troy, but like
wise in all global events of general or personal interest. In other words, the
Sirens promise to emulate the BBC World Service of the 21st century; and
that attraction proved to be an irresistible allurement for the Greek hero
whose intellectual inquisitiveness surpassed even that of his countrymen
(Stanford 1992, 77). It was clearly an enviable opportunity, well worth the
risk, regardless of Circe's ominous predictions.
Cicero is among the ancient classical writers who reflected at some
length on this Homeric passage. In his De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum, he
speaks of the nobler aspects of the human mind and our innate love of learn
ing and of knowledge. The orator writes:
For my part, I believe Homer had something of this sort in view in his
imaginary account of the Song of the Sirens. Apparently it was not the
sweetness of their voices or the novelty and diversity of their songs, but
their profession of knowledge that used to attract the passing voyagers; it
was the passion for learning that kept people rooted to the Sirens' rocky
shores. This is their invitation to Ulysses. Homer was aware that his story
would not sound plausible if the magic that held his hero enmeshed was
merely an idle song! It is knowledge that the Sirens offer, and it was no
marvel if a lover of wisdom held this dearer than his home. A passion for
miscellaneous omniscience no doubt stamps a person as a mere dilettante;
but it must be deemed the mark of a superior mind to be led on by con

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 B. Pauline Nugent 51

templation of high matters to a passionate love of knowledge." (De Finibus

5.18.49).
In Archery at the Dark of the Moon, Norman Austin notes that the Sirens
promise Odysseus memory, total and intact, a mind liberated from the barri
ers of past and future, and thus a mind that transcends time, and that
Odysseus alone is privileged to endure this transcendent temptation, and he
escapes only by being tied to the ship's mast (1989,138). However, Pucci in
The Song of the Sirens, speaks of the destructive nature of the Sirens' promised
song, and says,
A sort of self-destructive nostalgia compels these old heroes to dwell in the
memory of their splendid and grievous past. The Sirens with their specific
Iliadic diction appeal both to Odysseus s literary complacency and to his
nostalgia for his glorious deeds: that is why the Sirens' song would bring
Odysseus out of the Odyssey to rot on their island. (Pucci 1998, 5-6)
At the end of the same essay, Pucci concludes:
Finally, the Sirens prove to be blind to that which occurs before their eyes:
these singers that have the same knowledge as the Muses of the Iliad are
really turned to the past, live in a spatial and temporal remoteness that is
frightening, since their musean memory becomes forgetfulness of the pres
ent, and spells only to grief, pity and death. (Pucci 1998, 5-6)

Something the last three commentators?Cicero, Austin and Pucci?

have in common is a hint at the liminality of the Sirens and their song.
Cicero speaks of the superior mind being led on by contemplation of high mat
ters to a passionate love of knowledge, as opposed to those who merely display a
curiosity for prosaic, mundane matters. Austin speaks of a mind that transcends
time, and notes that Odysseus is singularly privileged to endure this transcendent
temptation. Finally, Pucci refers to the frightening remoteness of the Sirens in
time and space and their ability to induce in their hearers a forgetfulness of
the present that leads ultimately to destruction and death. The connection of
these elements with the song of the Sirens that has not been pursued by
Homeric commentators, offers another plausible insight into the attraction
the episode of the Sirens holds for its readers. But before examining this
issue, we need first of all to consider the power music has to transport its
hearers beyond their ordinary reality into the realm of the numinous. Next,
we must reflect on the indispensable role of music both in the educational
system of Greece and in the general cultural understanding of its citizens.
Let us begin with Homer's own description of music. As Odysseus is
finally about to reveal his identity to his host at the court of the Phaeacians,
he begins by launching into praise for the resident bard Demodocus and for
his gift of music:

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52 College Literature 35.4 [Fall 2008] B. Pauline Nugent

King Alcinous, most illustrious of all your people, it is indeed a lovely thing
to hear a bard such as this, with a voice like the voice of the gods. I myself
feel there is nothing more delightful than when the festive mood reigns in
the hearts of all the people and the banqueters listen to a minstrel from their
seats in the hall, while the tables before them are laden with bread and meat,
and a steward carries round the wine he has drawn from the bowl and fills
their cups. This, to my way of thinking, is perfection. (Od. 9.3-11)

Already here, right at the beginning of Greek literature, we find the gift
of music identified with the gods. It is presented as something beyond ordi
nary human power to attain, and is generally considered as a blessing of the
deity. Earlier, in Odyssey 8, Homer had described Demodocus as the divine
bard, explaining, that the gods gave him the special gift of delighting our ears with
his song. (43-44). A little later in the same context, Demodocus is led into the
banquet hall and is accorded the reverence due a divinity. Homer writes: The
squire now came, leading their favorite bard, whom the Muse loved above all others,
though she had mingled good and evil in her gifts, robbing him of his eyes, but granting
him the gift of sweet song. He is given the seat of honor?a silver-studded chair
with its back to one of the great pillars?the recognized seat of honor?and
allotted the best in terms of refreshments. Before requesting the song of the
Wooden Horse, Odysseus expresses his ultimate admiration for Demodocus,
saying, Either Zeus' Child, the Muse, or Apollo must have been your teacher. For it is
remarkable how accurately you sing the tale of the Achaeans'fate (Od. 9. 487-90).
But Homer is not unique in the classical world in witnessing to the
power and divine origin of music. Euripides' chorus sings in one of his plays,
let me not live without music (HF 676), and Sophocles' chorus in the Oedipus at
Colonus bemoans the final fate of mankind, which is further compounded by
the absence of music: The Deliverer comes at the last to all alike?when the doom
of Hades is suddenly revealed, without marriage song or lyre or dance?even Death
at the last (OC 1221-23). Happy moments, by contrast, are always accompa
nied with dance and music. Music was credited with divine origins and mysterious
powers and was the pivot of relations between mortals and gods. It was central to pub
lic religious observance, and to such semi-religious occasions as weddings, funerals and
harvests. (Hornblower and Spawforth 1996,1003).
But music was not a newly found interest for the Greeks. Its predomi
nance in the educational system is well established by the time Plato wrote
the Republic. In speaking of the best education for the guardians of the State,
Plato remarks: What then is this education? It seems really hard to find one better
than our own, which long time has discovered. That is, in short, gymnastic for the body
and music for the soul (Resp. II. 376e). While writing the Laws, Plato remarks
that a lack of musical training was the equivalent to a lack of education (Leg.
654a-b).The rationale for the Quadrivium of the Middle Ages can be traced

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 B. Pauline Nugent 53

back to the Greeks.2 Indeed, the entire Liberal Arts Program of the Middle
Ages has its basis in antiquity. Thus it is evident that to the Greek mind music
was a natural inheritance, almost an inalienable right.
Let us now consider the power of music in today's society. As in the days
of the musician Orpheus, music still has power to soothe the savage beast, to
allay anxiety, and to connect with the divine through contemplation. This is
not a particularly Christian quality, but rather a basic human characteristic,
whether one thinks of the Buddhist mantras, Sufi silences or Gregorian
chants. All practices are intended to move the human spirit to union with its
divine source. Given the thorough training in music that was part of the
Greek curriculum in the schools, it is not unrealistic to surmise that the same
liminal quality was familiar to the Greeks of Homer's day. This reaching
beyond merely mortal boundaries to the great beyond, to the source of life
beyond the Halls of Hades?while always precarious and not for those of
unstable mind?may yet describe another quite common human quality. In
the fourth century of the present era, St. Augustine described quite accurately
this experience of human longing when he wrote: You have made us for your
self, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee (Confess. 1.1.10-11).
A similar restlessness is surely characteristic of Odysseus, who always seeks
that which lies beyond his grasp. It is the story of his adventures, of his
intrigues, of his wanderings. Even when he reaches his home in Ithaca, he
cannot rest, but seeks further adventures. The encounter with the Sirens
reflects this same unfulfilled desire for more: more knowledge, more experi
ence, complete and profound fulfillment. The charm of the music was a nat
ural, instinctual call to reach out yet again in hopes of finding the illusive sat
isfaction that always evaded his grasp. This, I argue, was the true charm of the
Sirens; not their beauty, nor their omniscience, not even their elusive female
charm to which he was such a ready prey, but simply the ever hopeless hope
of breaking through the bonds of mere human possibility. Once again,
Homer, the master storyteller, has captured something of the essence of the
human spirit that has endured throughout our history, and that draws us,
consciously or subliminally, ever onward to reach that fulfillment beyond our
grasp that is our destined goal.
In closing, we may add one extraneous linguistic note that furthers
Homer's relationship to the 21st century. If we read the Sirens passages very
carefully, we search in vain for the words of their song, because, like the music
of Phemius in Odyssey 1, and the songs of Demodocus in Odyssey 8, the
Sirens' song remains unsung. At best we are given a mere summary, a brief
description of the content, some contradictory facts, but never the text itself.
Hence, with a slight shift from one liquid consonant to another (r to I), we
may readily rename this essay "The Sounds of Silence" thus assigning the

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54 College Literature 35.4 [Fall 2008] B. Pauline Nugent

more primeval passage a more modern designation. However, such a title

reflects no empty silence, but rather a pregnant stillness that music alone can
contain and communicate when the burden of the message is beyond the
power of words to endure or interpret. Such is Homer's Song of the Sirens.

Notes

1 For a fuller and quite intriguing treatment of the Sirens in art, see Beth Cohen,
The Distaff Side: Representing the Female on Homer's Odyssey, (Oxford: University Press,
1995), especially chapters 5 and 10, from which I derived the details expressed here.
2 The Quadrivium or Four Ways, of the Middle Ages consisted of arithmetic,
geometry, astronomy and music.

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Campbell, James M., and Martin Maguire. 1994. The Confessions of St. Augustine:
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Cohen, Beth, ed. 1995. The Distaff Side: Representing the Female in Homer's Odyssey.
Oxford: The University Press.
Hornblower, Simon, and Anthony Spawforth, eds. 1996. The Oxford Classical
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Pucci, Pietro. 1995. Odysseus Polutropos: Intertexual Readings in the Odyssey and the
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- 1998. The Song of the Sirens: Essays on Homer. Lanham, MD: Rowman &
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