Red Pill Rhymes: The Iliad

(Yes, this is a poem, so it qualifies as a Red Pill Rhyme.  Plus, I couldn’t think of a catchy alliterative term for Red Pill Stories.)

I figure there are many reasons that schools stopped teaching the classics: incompetence (of both teachers and students), modernism, shifting time to leftist indoctrination, and so on.  But one reason had to be the increasing influence of feminism, and the discomfort caused by the red pill truths about men and women in these classic stories.

For those who don’t know the story, here’s a summary.  First, the backdrop is the Trojan War, which starts when three goddesses are challenged to a beauty contest and Paris, a prince of the city of Troy, is appointed as judge.  The goddesses shamelessly parade naked before him and promise him various worldly favors, thus nicely demonstrating the vanity and social competitiveness of women as well as the power of the neg.  Paris picks Aphrodite, who rewards him by making Helen, the wife of the Spartan king Menelaus and the most beautiful woman in the world, fall in love with him (though she repeatedly calls herself a whore, so it’s not clear that it was all that involuntary) and he carries her off to Troy.  Though wife- and daughter-stealing is not unusual at this time, the Greeks take umbrage and assemble a massive army from the various Greek city-states, which sails to Troy, pillaging along the way, making Helen famously “the face that launched a thousand ships.”

As The Iliad opens, the war is entering its tenth year, and the Greeks are gradually winning.  Along the way, they’ve acquired many “bride-prizes”: women taken in battle from the losers and portioned out to the various Greek kings and commanders.  Agamemnon, leader of the Greek forces, has taken a girl who turns out to be the daughter of a priest of Apollo, who persuades Apollo to send a plague upon the Greeks in retribution for this sacrilege.  Agamemnon whines for a while, then finally agrees to give the girl back, but because he’s supposed to be the Big Cheese, he can’t not have the best bride-prize in the army, so he insists on taking the bride-prize of Achilles, the greatest Greek warrior (presumably his girl was the second hottest).

This gets Achilles extremely pissed off, to the point that he pulls himself and all his own troops out of the battle and sulks in his tent while the Trojans begin to get the upper hand and kill lots of his fellow Greeks during his absence.  Achilles even asks his mother, a sea goddess, to talk Zeus into helping the Trojans kill Greeks so they’ll have to come crawling to him.  They do, and Agamemnon offers to give the girl back plus some bonus prizes, but by then Achilles is so furious he still refuses to fight.

So we already have a big red-pill truth: Women Ruin Everything.  Women started the war in the first place, and now because of men fighting over prize-girls they barely know, so many men are dying that they’re wading in blood.  Achilles demonstrates history’s worst-ever case of Oneitis; though it’s mainly his pride that’s damaged, he whines about losing the girl like she was the great love of his life.

But here’s the part I knew I had to write about here.  When Achilles’s mother Thetis convinces Zeus to help the Trojans hurt the Greeks, that pisses off Zeus’s wife Hera, who’s partial to the Greeks and still mad about losing the beauty contest.  So she starts nagging Zeus about favoring this other goddess — whom she saw kneeling and hugging his knees while she begged for his help — and basically going all fishwife on him.  Zeus responds:

  • And Zeus who marshals the thunderheads returned,
  • “Maddening one … you and your eternal suspicions —
  • I can never escape you.  Ah but tell me, Hera,
  • just what do you do about all this?  Nothing.
  • Only estrange yourself from me a little more —
  • and all the worse for you.
  • If what you say is true, that must be my pleasure.
  • Now go sit down.  Be quiet now.  Obey my orders,
  • for fear the gods, however many Olympus holds,
  • are powerless to protect you when I come
  • to throttle you with my irresistible hands.”
  •                                                       He subsided
  • but Hera the queen, her eyes wider, was terrified.
  • She sat in silence.  She wrenched her will to his.

As soon as I read that, I knew there’s no way any modern liberal teacher would let that anywhere near her classroom.  Zeus tells her to sit down and shut up — and she does it, and wrenches her will to his.  She doesn’t just obey; she changes her will to align with his.  It goes on with her children consoling her and convincing her to work back into Zeus’s good graces.  After a while she’s smiling and happy, and the part ends with:

  • And Olympian Zeus the lord of lightning went to his own bed
  • where he had always lain when welcome sleep came on him.
  • There he climbed and there he slept and by his side
  • lay Hera the Queen, the goddess of the golden throne.

That’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to my eye.  No one’s sleeping on the couch or running off to her mother’s.  Of course, it’s not permanent; Hera returns to being a harpy and trying to manipulate him again later in the book.  And we get another red-pill truth: Zeus lets her get away with too much because she wears him down and he gets used to it, so he doesn’t always put her in her place fast enough.  But there’s enough red pill there — and not just on socio-sexual relations, but on things like politics and war as well — that I can see why kids have to be kept away from it.  Teachers would probably rather read Huckleberry Finn in class — with the original scary Word — than read this stuff.

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “Red Pill Rhymes: The Iliad

  1. Greek mythology is chock full of “Red Pill truths.” I mean you can’t read something without stumbling over a couple of them. Of course, you have to actually read the unabridged, properly translated and non-edited editions to get that. The various children’s and PC versions of these myths take out all the important messages.

  2. Don’t knock “Huckleberry Finn”. Awesome book in its own right. Twain scares a lot of progressives, because if you read him you realize he’s not nearly as progressive as moderns like to pretend. I have a collector’s edition of the book that includes a lovely temper tantrum at the end by some sort of female liberal college professor who was very upset because Huckleberry Finn didn’t match the liberal talking points she was promised it would. It was great.

  3. I’m pretty sure we read the abridged version of The Iliad and The Odyssey senior year of high school. Keep in mind we were a conservative, private religious high school. Man, wish I knew about the red pill in the 2000’s. It would’ve saved me so much trouble.

  4. I am always amazed at the ending of The Odyssey: Odysseus has had a somewhat difficult time getting back from Troy, what with The Cyclops, The Sirens and Calypso, as well as having to slay the suitors. When he finally reveals himself to Penelope is she pleased to see him? Certainly not, and she makes him woo her all over again.

  5. I couldn’t think of a catchy alliterative term for Red Pill Stories

    Red Pill RePublications?

    Since you’re holding up blue pill falsities for ridicule, you could call it Red Pillories. [rim shot]

  6. Great article. Yes, the Iliad is truly a man’s book. Basically everything that a man will experience in life (at least used to) is in there: love, jealousy, joy, grief, triumph and defeat.

  7. Excellent post, but I disagree with one point. Achilles does not have “one-itis”. He’s pissed not because he loves his war prize (she’s just a piece of ass to him), but because he’s been dissed by Agamemnon. If he has one-itis for anyone, it’s for Patrocles. Some “scholars” have tried to read a homoerotic subtext into the poem based on that …

  8. Escoffier, that’s true. He whines a lot about how much he cares for Briseis, but when Agamemnon agrees to give her back (unplundered) plus about a hundredfold in other gifts and he still refuses, it becomes obvious it’s really about his wounded pride.

    On the Patroclus love, I’m saving that for another post.

Comments are closed.