When Did Homer Write The Iliad And Odyssey

I’ve always been fascinated by ancient epics, and the debate about Homer’s authorship of 'The Iliad' and 'The Odyssey' is a classic rabbit hole. Most scholars agree that Homer, a legendary figure from around the 8th century BCE, is credited with composing these poems. However, there’s no concrete evidence he even existed—some argue the works were compiled by multiple poets over centuries. The oral tradition of storytelling in ancient Greece makes it tricky. Personally, I lean toward Homer as the primary author, but with layers of contributions from others. The depth and consistency of themes like heroism and fate feel too cohesive to be purely collaborative.

I still remember the thrill of reading the "Iliad" for the first time and stumbling into Diomedes' streak of glory — he bursts off the page. In Book 5 his aristeia reads like a masterclass in heroic excellence: courageous, ruthless in battle, and alarmingly effective. Homer gives him knife-edge clarity in combat scenes, a kind of focused ferocity that makes him stand out among the Greek warriors. What I love is how Homer balances sheer skill with the machinery of the gods; Diomedes is brilliant, but his success is inseparable from Athena's permission and guidance. He isn't just a one-note fighter, though. Homer humanizes him through moments that complicate the warrior ideal: he respects guest-friendship rules (that poignant exchange with Glaucus comes to mind), he shows tactical judgment, and he sometimes checks his own impulses. Despite slaying enemies and even wounding divine figures like Aphrodite and Ares (which is wild), he never struts into full-blown hubris. There's a humility beneath the armor. So Homer portrays Diomedes as one of the most compelling, multifaceted heroes: a near-peer to Achilles in technique and courage, yet different in temperament. He’s a reminder that Homer admired more than single-minded rage — he celebrated craft, honor, and the messy tension between mortal ability and divine intervention. Reading those scenes still makes me want to rewatch every skirmish in my head.

As someone who's spent years diving into ancient literature, I find 'The Iliad' fascinating not just for its epic battles but also for its timeless themes of honor and fate. The exact publication date is tricky since it was originally composed orally around the 8th century BCE, likely between 750 and 700 BCE, before being written down. It wasn't 'published' in the modern sense but transcribed onto papyrus scrolls centuries later. The earliest surviving fragments date back to the 3rd century BCE, found in Egyptian ruins. The version we read today was standardized by scholars in Alexandria around the 2nd century BCE. It's wild to think how this story survived millennia purely through oral tradition before being immortalized in writing. What blows my mind is how 'The Iliad' shaped storytelling across cultures. From Achilles' rage to Hector's nobility, these characters feel alive even now. The fact that we can trace its influence in everything from 'Game of Thrones' to modern war poetry shows how foundational it is. While we don't have a precise 'publication date,' its creation during Greece's Archaic period marks the birth of Western epic poetry.

As someone who's spent countless hours immersed in ancient epics, Homer's 'Iliad' has always fascinated me with its blend of myth and history. The Trojan War, as described by Homer, lasted for a staggering ten years. This prolonged conflict between the Greeks and Trojans wasn't just about Helen's abduction—it was a complex web of divine intervention, heroic pride, and political intrigue. What's particularly interesting is how Homer compresses most of the action into a few crucial weeks during the final year, focusing on Achilles' wrath. The decade-long siege showcases the brutality of ancient warfare while allowing for deep character development. The length also serves a narrative purpose, emphasizing the futility and exhaustion of war, making the eventual fall of Troy all the more impactful.

Okay, I get carried away by this question, because the 'Iliad' feels like a living thing to me — stitched together from voices across generations rather than a neat product of one solitary genius. When I read the poem I notice its repetition, stock phrases, and those musical formulas that Milman Parry and Albert Lord described — which screams oral composition. That doesn't rule out a single final poet, though. It's entirely plausible that a gifted rhapsode shaped and polished a long oral tradition into the version we know, adding structure, character emphasis, and memorable lines. Linguistic clues — the mixed dialects, the Ionic backbone, and archaic vocabulary — point to layers of transmission, edits, and regional influences. So was the author definitely Homer? I'm inclined to think 'Homer' is a convenient name for a tradition: maybe one historical bard, maybe a brilliant redactor, maybe a brand-name attached to a body of performance. When I read it, I enjoy the sense that many hands and mouths brought these songs to life, and that ambiguity is part of the poem's magic.

Homer's portrayal of the gods in 'The Iliad' Book 1 is fascinating because they feel so human. They squabble, take sides, and act out of pride just like mortals. Zeus is the king, but even he can't control everyone—Hera’s sharp tongue and Apollo’s vengeful arrows show how divided the gods are. Athena, though, stands out as a voice of reason, stepping in to cool Achilles’ rage. The gods aren’t just distant powers; they’re deeply involved in human drama, manipulating events like chess pieces. Their flaws make them relatable, but their power reminds us they’re anything but mortal. The way Homer blends divinity with pettiness is what makes Book 1 so gripping.

As someone who's spent years diving into ancient epics, Homer's portrayal of Paris in 'The Iliad' fascinates me because it’s so layered. Unlike other epics where Paris might be glossed over as just the 'abductor of Helen,' Homer paints him as a complex, flawed figure. He’s charming but cowardly, a lover but not a fighter—literally dodging combat with Menelaus. This contrast with Hector, his noble brother, highlights his inadequacies. Other epics, like the 'Cypria,' frame Paris more sympathetically, focusing on his divine mandate from Aphrodite. But Homer doesn’t let him off the hook. His cowardice and vanity directly fuel the Trojan War’s tragedy. Yet, there’s a weird relatability to Paris—his human flaws make him more than a villain. Later works, like Virgil’s 'Aeneid,' reduce him to a cautionary tale, but Homer gives him depth, making him compelling despite his failings.

Homer’s Aeneas in the 'Iliad' feels like a supporting character with untapped potential. He’s a Trojan prince, sure, but he’s overshadowed by Hector and Achilles. Homer gives him moments of glory—like when Poseidon saves him from certain death, hinting at a greater destiny. But mostly, he’s just another warrior in the chaos of Troy’s fall. There’s a raw, almost accidental nobility to him, like Homer’s teasing a story he never fully tells. Virgil’s Aeneas in the 'Aeneid' is a whole different beast. Virgil transforms him into this deliberate, almost mythic figure—the founding father of Rome. Every step Aeneas takes is heavy with purpose, from fleeing Troy to carrying his father on his back. Virgil’s Aeneas isn’t just a hero; he’s a symbol of duty and destiny. The contrast is wild. Homer’s version feels human, flawed, and caught in the moment. Virgil’s is a polished legend, sculpted to fit Rome’s grand narrative. The way Virgil retcons Homer’s casual mentions into a full-blown epic is masterful storytelling.