July 18, 2024
In the fall, I will begin a new teaching position. My future students have been assigned Emily Wilson’s 2018 translation of The Odyssey for their summer reading. It’s been ten years since I taught the epic, so I dove right into the only translation written by a woman. I very much enjoyed Wilson’s use of plainspoken English, and hope my students will appreciate its accessibility.
But what I’d like to dive into today is the concept of “xenia,” which is at the heart of the story, and one which Wilson writes about at length in her introduction.
In ancient Greece, “xenia” can be thought of as the “guest-friendship” which results from proper hospitality. It means means both “stranger” and “friend,” an interesting dichotomy when viewed through the cultural lens of American English. We use “xenophobia” to mean the fear of foreigners. But after re-reading The Odyssey, I can see how a fear of strangers could simultaneously be viewed as a fear of [making] friends.
In an era before hotels and public transportation, the concept of hospitality and guest-friendship was a necessity. It was how travelers found lodging, food, and transport. Something unique about the hospitality in ancient Greece is that men who entered another’s home, and were taken care of properly, created a bond of “guest-friendship” (xenia) between their households that would continue into future generations. Strangers could arrive on one’s doorstep in any form – even beggars – and be taken in and properly cared for. In a sense, xenia was a networking tool. Elite families could connect with each other across the Mediterranean without having to go to war for dominance. Following the rules of hospitality avoided a world where men killed those who were different from themselves.
In The Odyssey, the absence of xenia causes violence. For example, the suitors that have overrun Odysseus’s house in his absence are bad guests. Uninvited, they “devour” and “waste” his food and wine, court his wife, and fail to repay him with gifts. Wilson suggests that the suitors are metaphorically eating Odysseus himself, by devouring his life. In ancient Greece, this breach of hospitality warrants the suitors’ slaughter, which Odysseus and his son do when he returns at the end of the epic.
Is it Gandhi that says you can measure a people by how they treat their weakest members? Well, in ancient Greece, you can measure a people by how they treat their guests. When Odysseus approaches the island of the Cyclops, he tells his men that he has to find out whether these inhabitants are “lawless aggressors” or people who welcome strangers. People who welcome strangers is strong enough criterion to signify that a people are “civilized”!
In The Odyssey, guest-friendship is created by a predictable pattern of behaviors. The guest is welcomed, washed by a slave woman (feet washed with oil), given a new clean tunic to wear, seated in a comfortable place, entertained by the palace’s musician or poet, and offered food and wine. Only after he’s eaten, is he asked to tell his story and why he is there. Then, he’s given lodging for the night, and when it’s time to leave, the host provides knowledge and gifts for the guest’s onward journey. “Pompe” which means “sending” is just as important a part of the hospitality as the initial receiving. Sometimes pompe even includes giving your guest a boat so he can get to where he’s going next.
I became aware, recently, of my weird obsession with hospitality when I overheard my six-year-old say to herself “I have to be a good host” during a playdate at our home, as she rushed to gather her bin of toys to share with her new friend. Penelope loves playing host at her birthday parties and playdates. She helps her friends put their shoes in the right place, shows them where the bathroom is, provides them with snacks when they’re hungry. We host long-term Airbnb guests such as students and traveling nurses, and Penelope loves to be the one to give the first tour of our home. Reading Wilson’s The Odyssey helped me put the pieces together on why I love to open my home to others and make them feel “at home,” and why I’ve passed this on to my daughter.
I taught in Turkey for four years. When describing what I loved about Turkey to my curious American friends, the word “hospitality” came up constantly. I was often invited into people’s homes and shops for a cup of tea when they learned that I was a foreigner. I was asked about myself (“tell us your story”), and afterwards, I was told to please return, that I always had a home there.
Even after living in the country for years, my dear Turkish friends looked after me as a foreigner. On an average morning at my school in Ankara, while I was worrying about my own needs being met, my Turkish colleague and friend, Rukiye, was at her home making coffee and preparing a morning snack for me. When she arrived at school, as my hallway neighbor, she came by my room every morning to say “Gunaydin,” (Good morning), give me a hug or kiss, ask how I was and how I spent the last evening. Then she would unload from a paper bag a cup of freshly made Turkish coffee and a handful of nuts carefully wrapped in a paper towel. Similarly, on my routine walk to my pigeonhole to check for mail, I would often find with the morning announcements a piece of homemade cherry-walnut bread wrapped in tinfoil. This meant my friend, Kivanc, had baked the night before.
Experiencing this Old World hospitality was monumental for me. But re-reading The Odyssey not only affirmed my appreciation of hospitality; I think I could amp up my own hospitality. I’d like to re-think the concept of “sending,” and the small opportunities for hospitality in encounters with strangers (that hospitality doesn’t have to take place only when hosting guests in my home).
I also envision the power hospitality has to transform a culture and community. What if we lived in a culture of xenophilia – the love of strangers. What if we were more curious about each other’s stories? What if we saw a stranger in need of hospitality as a possibility for friendship? What if that friendship lived on in our children for generations to come? What if we always sent people off with what they needed to get to their next destination? What if we thought of taking care of others as taking care of ourselves?
Caroline N. Simpson 