In his paper ‘The Terminology for Beauty in the Iliad and the Odyssey,’¹ Hugo Shakeshaft makes some interesting observations which are of particular interest to those attempting to find a conception of the good, the beautiful, and the ethical/virtuous in Ancient Greek political thought. If, as is stated, Aristotle did indeed borrow the word wholesale from Homer, it would only be prudent to return to Homer to see where it all started.

The fact of the matter is that any conception of beauty and the beautiful is as evasive and expansive as it was three thousand years ago, when Homer was composing his ballads and epics. However, in an exegetical sense Homer’s two epics provide a consistency and corpora that is hard to replicate in scope and size among the work of any other writer insofar as it is so foundational to the way in which we think of the world. Shakeshaft notes that “any reader of Homer will know that hardly ten verses go by without the appearance of one or other of these words or phrases.”². For two epics so deeply enraptured with war, exile, and voyage, it is astounding that the beautiful plays an important part in the lexicon of the work. One would expect instead an emphasis on the gruesome, sordid, and downright inhuman aspects of life and the uphill battle one fights to find one’s humanity in it. But, in my estimation, it is only telling that such a conception, whatever be its local usage and connotation, is fundamental to the narrative of the epic: if man cannot find the good, the just, and the beautiful when he needs it most, when can he? It is precisely when it is needed that the aesthetic world becomes intelligible.

However, I digress. I only intend to make a few furtive observations about the nature of beauty in the source from which we all inherit it: the Homeric epics. There are few texts with such an influential stranglehold over the works of both Plato and Aristotle. These epics are being constantly alluded and referenced, quoted and argued with, whether it be Aristotle in the Poetics or Socrates’ infamous screed in Books II–III and X of the Republic.

In an infamous essay, Paul Oskar Kristeller argued that art in the truest sense was an 18th century fabrication. Kristeller posits that because the terms ‘Art’ (with a capital A) and ‘philosophy of art’ were coined at that time, along with the contemporary criterion for studying aesthetics, there was no opportunity for the ancients to truly have ‘art’ or a significant conception of the terms being discussed.³ Indeed, such doggerel notwithstanding, it seems that Shakeshaft’s article will challenge the mettle of this argument, for while it may not be as explicitly philosophical — or “metaphysical,” as Kristeller taunts the older theories — as the one warranted by a philosopher but rather one suiting the applied, practical wisdom of the poet, the poet Homer did think of the manner in which he used the word ‘beauty/beautiful’ and its cognates and other conterminous entities. Shakeshaft argues:

“Rather than one word for ‘beauty’ and one for ‘beautiful’, Homer has three sets of alternatives which are conceptually interconnected yet distinguished by their various semantic and aesthetic idiosyncrasies: κάλλος and καλός; χάρις and χαρίεις; ἀγλαΐη and ἀγλαός. Yet, Homer’s terminology for beauty does not stop there for the simple reason that expressing beauty does not depend on an explicit word for ‘beauty’ or ‘beautiful’.”⁴

How could such a vast text that brilliantly articulates knowledge of the human condition and celebrates the heroes of yonder not have knowledge of the beautiful? Even if one accepts that the claims levelled by the Platonic Socrates — that Homer portrays the Gods as capricious and not as moral actors — I do not think that this detracts from the argument being made, namely, that Homer had some conception of the beautiful, and that it was consistent in the work. As far as we are concerned, this is what matters, and Shakeshaft shows that Homer carefully and consciously chose his words to suit the meaning. This, one would expect of any poet. But this is not enough for us: we must establish, as Shakeshaft does, the necessity of a clear, unifying thread that at the bare minimum permits multiple conceptions of the beautiful with some unifying factor(s). Furthermore, if it were only the singular usage of a word for ‘beautiful’/‘beauty’, we would find ourselves in a quandary, if only because a varied vocabulary is instrumental in articulating what is ostensibly a “protean beast.”⁵

Shakeshaft thus provides a brief excursus of the contexts in which the word and its cognates are used. καλός, kalos, is “one of the most common adjectives in the Homeric poems,” Shakeshaft notes, with a variety of objects, phenomena, and individuals receiving its grace.⁶. Most importantly for us, kalos is used to modify and describe actions, particularly in the two contexts that Aristotle uses its brother, kalon: first, as “well made,” and second, as beautiful in a more philosophical sense.⁷ Perhaps confounding the reader is the dual usage: the first meaning does not presuppose the second, and vice verse. It is used much in the same way that the word beautiful is used as a descriptor in the common parlance today: a beautiful bird, for example, would seem to be quite different from a beautiful action, an action that exemplifies grace and magnanimity.

Closely linked to usages of kalos is radiance. I do not think this to be unreasonable. Magnanimity, the sign of virtue, is quite literally having a large soul. A beautiful symphony draws one in. A beautiful painting leaves one motionless and suspended in its substratum. The magnanimous man, the kalon man, radiates brilliance and virtue. Analogously, Beethoven’s 6th draws crowds angsty for the bucolic countryside, and if you will excuse this sordid pun, it pastors to those who need it most. It radiates, too, its excellence and its beauty — though defining beauty itself then becomes tricky. Perugino’s Virgin and Child with Saints altarpiece at the Hood drew me in like a magnet; the figures in the sacra conversazione had such grace and brilliance that not even the demarcation of it by halos could begin to capture the radiance. Curiously, there is still doubt over who those figures are, but it is immaterial, methinks, to their radiance. Great men, I am sure Thomas Carlyle would argue, have radiance like no other: they emanate their greatness like ‘the brightness of Achilles.’⁸ Thus, in terms of effects, Shakeshaft notes, “desire and wonder stand out.”⁹

While kalos may in itself seem sufficient to describe the beautiful, Shakeshaft notes the existence of other terms. I am most interested in the following observation: “ In contrast to the sort of appearance that manifests ability, ἀγλαΐη is here used to denote a superficial kind of beauty.”¹⁰ Homer found it necessary to differentiate between that which is pleasing on the surface from a more pointed usage. I suspect that ἀγλαΐη is best represented by the femme fatale or any such stock literary figure that tends to look good, broadly speaking, but behind may or may not be a good person. Plutarch wondered whether Alexander won his massive empire through virtue or brawn; I would be curious to know whether he thought if the latter was the case, Alexander would merely be ἀγλαΐη and not kalon. Furthermore, because ἀγλαΐη is a “quality one loses,” it is best approximated by the “beauty” that the “modern cosmetic industry” hawks and peddles.¹¹

Shakeshaft has a brilliant section on allusions and inferences of the word and its corollary meanings and usages; however, for our purposes the above sketch ought to suffice. It is worth quoting his conclusion, though:

“The terminology for beauty in the Iliad and the Odyssey is profoundly rich: the expression of beauty is bound to a plethora of terms and phrases, physical properties and affects. … It is true that there is a danger in over-expanding the reach of beauty; the challenge for us is to be sensitive to ancient modes of aesthetic expression, to interrogate their relationships with one another, and to pursue their consequences for understanding ideas about beauty foreign to our own. For there is also a danger in shying away from beauty’s potential vastness and complexity in Homer. The poet envisages a world where beauty matters: the aestheticization of everything from people and gods to household objects and natural phenomena is an essential element of what elevates Homer’s mythical past above and beyond the historical present of the poem’s performance and reception.”¹²