While on the island of Ithaka on our pilgrimage to Greece, we had the chance to visit the ruins of the possible site of Odysseus and Penelope’s palace. There is no way to be certain that there was an historical Odysseus and Penelope, but Homer almost certainly visited this particular site. The setting and how it is situated line up perfectly with the text. Clambering around these ruins, I certainly wanted to believe this was their actual historical home.
In Homer’s tale, Penelope and her infant son stay home for the ten years that Odysseus is away fighting the Trojan war and for the following ten years that it takes him to return home. During that time, Penelope not only runs her household, but is also besieged by suitors, young men who seek to marry her as they presume that Odysseus is dead. Penelope uses her wits to hold them off, claiming she will choose one of them when she completes the burial shroud of her father-in-law. She weaves all day, but unravels the cloth at night. When Odysseus finally returns home, Penelope doesn’t initially recognize him, but eventually she welcomes him when he accurately describes their marriage bed.
Last week’s blog post focused on the meaning of the hero’s journey, but what of the heroine’s journey? Is Penelope the heroine in this particular story? Where are the heroines in ancient literature? Do we even need heroine stories? Shouldn’t the hero’s journey cover all genders if it is really a metaphor for the discovery of the self? The hero and heroine may come to the same discovery of self, but how they achieve it in classical Western thought is very different.
The hero sets out from home and is tested in strength, cunning, and daring. He must prove his worth and mettle as a man within these realms. Greek mythology and legends abound with hero stories that follow this trajectory—Perseus, Heracles, Theseus, and Odysseus being the most famous. Their adventures are specifically masculine and testosterone-laden.
We all, male and female alike, have to face “monsters” and trials. We are all called to make the journey to ourselves. But women are not expected to physically fight or even to leave home.
The heroine’s journey, as personified by Penelope, was not a journey, but a staying put, waiting for the return of her husband. Penelope’s discovery of her true self happens while she stays in one location, her home. She moves forward in her personal growth as she uses her wits to stall the suitors and wait for Odysseus.
Is this, then, the classical heroine’s journey? To find oneself while in the midst of taking care of hearth and home? That sounds heroic to me. Self-discovery while caring for everyone else.
Before patriarchal Greek mythology, there was worship of the earth goddess as bringer of life into the world. The remnants of goddess worship are seen in the Demeter and Persephone story and all rebirth myths. Not only did the goddess bring forth life from the earth, but she ushered in human life. Childbirth was a revered, but dangerous endeavor. The heroine’s journey of birthing children came with a great price, so it was seen as heroic and holy.
Maybe modern women can draw on both of these types of myths. The journey of self-discovery—as we venture out into the world or as we nurture our homes—as well as celebrating our roles of being the bringers of life. Men should be able to embrace both these faces as well—the outer quest for self and the inner one of embracing their roles as co-creators.
So the hero’s journey is also the heroine’s journey, and all of our journeys. In the journey of self-discovery, we come to know ourselves, and we know that our love and care for others is part of our identities as whole persons.