Horace’s Dialectic of Discontent:
Odes 1.1, 1.3, and 1.22

Margaret Kilroy

In Odes 1.1, 1.3, and 1.22, Horace offers a skewed image of himself. Outwardly, he portrays himself in a confident manner, clearly identifying himself as a great poet and a content man. Beneath this bold statement of identity, however, he establishes a paradoxical second voice, through which the reader can hear a dialogue between opposites in the poet’s soul—that is, the poet’s dialectic. This inner response to his assertions of self-assurance, introduces a feeling of insecurity and dissatisfaction into his self-image, which quietly, but potently, undermines the outward confidence Horace declares in these pieces. This creates an undeniable sense of discontent on behalf of the poet.

In Odes 1.1 Horace solidly identifies himself as a poet. He begins this poem of dedication, addressed to his best friend and patron, Maecenas, by cataloguing professions that a man may pursue and be content with: from an Olympic charioteer to a lone hunter. He explains how man, once he has found his passion in life, becomes engrossed in and undeniably identified with his occupation, and how accomplishment in this occupation can make his spirits “rise to the gods” (l. 6) in happiness and contentment. He claims such happiness and contentment in his own profession at the end of this catalogue, when he writes,

As for me, it is ivy, the reward of learned brows,
that puts me among the gods above. As for me,
the cold grove and the light-footed choruses of Nymphs
and Satyrs set me apart from the people (ll. 29-32)

In writing poetry, or acquiring the “ivy” (the ubiquitous symbol of the learned poet), Horace finds bliss. Its rewards and his accomplishments within its boundaries place him “among the gods above.” This statement not only highlights the excitement Horace experiences in the creation of poetry, but is also a bold statement of his self-confidence as a poet. Such confidence, in fact, resounds throughout this entire self-portrayal. Horace is overtly self-assured in his profession, and content both with his talents and rewards in this field. He portrays himself as illustrious enough to wear the “reward of learned brows,” the hallowed ivy. He depicts himself as special, “set . . . apart from the people,” because of his talent in his profession. Underlying this bold statement of self-identity, however, there exists a great divide between Horace’s reality and his aspirations, a dialectic between his confidence and insecurity.

In the last two lines of Odes 1.1, he makes it clear that his ultimate wish is to be included with the great Greek lyric bards by Maecenas. He says,

But if you enrol[l] me among the lyric bards
my soaring head will touch the stars. (ll. 34-35)

In saying this, Horace introduces a hint of self-doubt into the fabric of his poem. For, even though this final statement is preceded by the confident identification of himself as a learned poet, it betrays a dissatisfaction with his status. Horace wishes to be considered greater than he believes himself to be, as great as a lyric bard. If he were so considered, his “soaring head” would “touch the stars,” meaning he would rise even higher than he already is in his poetic greatness. Therefore, this final statement triggers in the poem a dialogue between two opposing selves of the poet: the apparently confident self, satisfied with his accomplishments as they stand; and the self who in fact wishes a higher status than the one he now claims. Through this dialogue, the poet’s true insecurity and discontentment become apparent.

These aspects are further enhanced by the conditions under which the poet asks for such laureation. For it must be Maecenas in particular who includes him in the illustrious roster of lyric bards. It is as though the poet is asking his patron to create his identity for him, saying he cannot be what he truly wishes to be without his patron’s help. This position contrasts greatly with the overtly self-assured stance that Horace assumes earlier in the poem. Thus, here he sets up another dialogue between opposing voices—the voice of a self-assured poet versus the voice of a more insecure, more needy client. Although in the first reading of Odes 1.1 it seems as though Horace is making a simple, strong statement of selfhood in claiming himself to be a poet, his intricate and interwoven dialectic introduces a subtle, almost subliminal sense of the poet’s true, underlying discontent.

Horatian dialectic serves a similar purpose in Odes 1.3. In this poem, dedicated to his friend and fellow poet, Virgil, Horace meditates on his artistic medium: written poetry. He does this in an iconographically rich language, using the image of a ship at sea to represent the act of writing. He begins the poem by asking the ship to bear his friend Virgil safely to Attica. Considered in the framework of the metaphor, this might in fact refer to Virgil’s effort to write the Aeneid in the Homeric tradition, this “journey” to Attica therefore representing his endeavor to write in the Greek epic style. Horace does not focus on this particular theme for long, however. Instead, he launches into a grander meditation upon the “wickedness” (l. 39) of human hubris, especially the pride involved in the act of sailing (and analogously, writing).

He begins with the tale of the first man to ever sail, a fearless man who fought against nature, contending with the “truculent sea” (l. 11) and the “madness of the south wind” (l. 14), in order to bring his “impious” ship (l. 23) “across waters which they should not touch” (ll. 24). In this narration, he overtly portrays sailing as an impious deed and a violation against nature in every respect. Considered in the iconographical framework, Horace is therefore also declaring that the act of writing is sinful and an act of hubris. He enlists the aid of mythology to strengthen his point, recalling the hubristic theft of fire by Prometheus, “the offspring of Iapetus” (l. 27); the hubristic flight of Daedalus on his fabricated wings “not meant for man” (l. 35); and the vain effort of Hercules to become a god. Horace does not, however, hold himself separate from this crowd of sinners. In fact, he finishes the poem by associating himself directly with it:

For mortals no height is too steep:
in our stupidity we try to scale the very heavens
and by our wickedness we do not allow
Jupiter to lay down his angry thunderbolts. (ll. 37-40)

In repeatedly using the pronouns “we” and “our,” he clearly associates himself with the mortals who fall prey to the sin of trying to “scale the very heavens,” in his case, with those who write poetry. In describing hubristic acts as “stupidity” and “wickedness,” or even “forbidden sin” (l. 26) and “wicked deceit” (l. 27), he imbues them with a sense of guilt. This guilt extends also to his own sinful act, that of writing. On account of this, there exists in this poem another Horatian dialectic—a kind of subdued tension, arising from the paradox of physically writing about the evils of writing. It seems, in his outright condemnation of the sin of writing, that Horace does not approve of this act and it therefore makes sense that he would not wish to be associated with it. However, in the simple act of writing these thoughts down, of composing this poem, Horace has already committed the sin. He is again failing to be the person he would ideally like to be.

A sense of insecurity and dissatisfaction also underlies Horace’s otherwise enthusiastic and positive declaration of selfhood in Odes 1.22. He begins the poem by explaining that a man “pure of heart and innocent of evil” (l. 1) has no need of arms for protection, because his own merit will protect him in any situation, no matter how dangerous:

The man who is pure of heart and innocent of evil
needs no Moorish spears, Fuscus,
nor bow nor quiver heavy
with poison arrows

whether he is setting out across
the sultry Syrtes or inhospitable
Caucasus (ll. 1-7)

Horace relates this wisdom to his own experience: he narrates an instance in which he was wandering in the Sabine forest near his farm, singing of “Lalage.” Unarmed and “without a care” (l. 11), he met up with a terrifying wolf, a virtual “monster” (l. 13). Despite his lack of defense, he managed to scare this wolf away with his singing. This insinuates that through singing, he achieved the “pureness of heart” mentioned in the first line, and was therefore also protected from danger by these qualities as the first man was. Horace proceeds to make the bold claim that he can survive in any uncomfortable environment, even “under the very chariot wheels of the sun” (l. 21), as long as he has his love of “Lalage” to protect him. This redemptive and protective love, however, is not for an actual woman named “Lalage.” The illusive figure of “Lalage” is in reality a mere personification of song, as can be inferred from the name itself. It is musical, onomatopoetically reminiscent of humming, or singing without words. It is thus not the love of a woman, but Horace’s love of song, which instills redeeming virtue and inner strength in him.

This is a very strong statement about both his attitude towards music and also about his self-identity in relation to music. He describes at length the powers of song, expressing its virtue fervently, especially in contrast to the sinful depiction of writing in Odes 1.3. Song is free from writing and thus is also free from cares (the word curas in Latin in fact can mean simultaneously writing and cares), and is therefore morally superior. Horace clearly connects himself to this idea of redemptive song, identifying himself as a singer and man of song, akin to the Greek lyric bards he wishes to join in Odes 1.1. When he is “singing” (l. 10) of his Lalage, and participating in song, he is “without a care” (l. 11), and is immune to danger. Song has transformed him into a man “pure of heart” who is “innocent of evil,” the evil of writing.

This outwardly positive depiction of himself as a man of song, or lyric bard, is again undermined by currents of paradox and dissatisfaction. He introduces once more a dialectic when he extols the moral superiority of song over immoral writing through the act writing. Even in his expression of song’s superior powers, Horace is unable to escape the sin of writing. He cannot be what he truly wishes to be: a man only of song. In expressing himself, he becomes trapped in this sin of writing, and is therefore unable to achieve his ideal self. The dialectic in Odes 1.22, between the morality of music and the immorality of writing imbues the poem with a subtle tension, making it clear that he is not who he truly wishes to be. It qualifies the outwardly jovial and confident manner with which Horace identifies himself in respect to song, creating a lack of fulfillment and a sense of discontent.

In all three of these poems, Odes 1.1, 1.3, and 1.22, Horace employs dialectic in order to create an expression of his selfhood. Although each piece outwardly exudes confidence and contentment, the dialectic creates below this facade a tension, and weaves into Horace’s self-portrayal elements of insecurity and dissatisfaction. Constantly lying below the surface, the complete nuance of Horace’s self-perception is not outwardly apparent. However, upon closer examination of the dialogue between opposite elements in each of the poems, the poet’s subdued discontent manifests itself.

References

Horace. 1997. The Complete Odes and Epodes. Translated by David West. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Detail from the Baths of Caracalla.

Photograph by Emily Jacobs. Used by persmission.

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