On loyalty and being seen

Homer’s Odyssey follows the Greek hero Odysseus on his long, arduous journey home after the Trojan War. As he navigates trials at sea and tests of character on land, the epic explores themes of identity, loyalty, and the struggle to return home. One of the most touching moments of the Odyssey comes from the quiet recognition of his aging dog Argus—marking the threshold between past and present. The following essay examines this powerful scene.

In Book 17 of The Odyssey, just before Odysseus enters his palace in the guise of a beggar, we witness a brief yet poignant scene. The aged dog Argus, lying “in the deep dung of mules and cattle” (Book 17, lines 296-297, A.T. Murray translation), recognizes his long-absent master despite the disguise and twenty years of separation. This recognition prompts an emotional response from Odysseus, who “looked aside and wiped away a tear, easily hiding from Eumaeus what he did” (17.303-304). Moments later, Argus takes his final breath. What is the significance of this encounter just as Odysseus is about to enter his palace?

The Argus scene appears to serve as a pivotal transition point. As Odysseus moves from the external world of his voyage into the intimate space of his house, this silent interaction marks an important shift—from the safety of anonymity amongst friends to the dangerous terrain of potential recognition amongst enemies, from careful strategic planning to situational improvisation. The emotionally charged encounter also highlights the tensions that are prevalent throughout the epic—between disguise and true identity, betrayal and loyalty, and past and present.

Loyalty at the threshold

The Argus meeting is positioned between two examples of a lack of loyalty. Just before, Odysseus, still disguised and in the company of Eumaeus, encounters Melanthius the goatherd, whose disloyalty becomes apparent: “As he saw them, he spoke and addressed them, and reviled them in terrible and unseemly words” (17.214-216). He even openly wishes “that Apollo of the silver bow might strike down Telemachus today in the halls, or that he might be slain by the suitors” (17.250-252). This cruel display heightens the impact of Argus's unwavering allegiance. As Odysseus approaches his palace—now occupied by suitors who plot against his son and pursue his wife—the dog's pure devotion stands in sharp contrast to the human betrayal that awaits within.

The scene's placement—at the literal threshold between the exterior world and the interior of the household—emphasizes its role as a transition point. Odysseus pauses at this boundary, reflecting his own state: suspended between disguise and revelation, between his current appearance as beggar and his true identity as king, between his long journey and his return home.

Parallel transformation

The description of Argus shows the dramatic effects of twenty years of deterioration: “There lay the dog Argus, full of dog ticks. But now, when he became aware that Odysseus was near, he wagged his tail and dropped both ears, but nearer to his master he had no longer strength to move” (17.299-302).

This image of neglect—once admired for “his speed and his strength” (17.312) but now abandoned when “his master has perished far from his native land” (17.315)—mirrors Odysseus's own transformation. Both have undergone radical physical changes that mask their true nature: Argus has declined from prized hunting dog to neglected, flea-ridden animal; Odysseus, thought to be dead, from renowned king to beggar-in-disguise. Yet beneath these outward changes, both retain their essential identities.

The parallels run deeper than their altered appearances. When we learn that Argus was once used by the young men of Ithaca “to hunt the wild goats, and deer, and hares” (17.295-296), we see Odysseus's own past as a leader of men. Argus's former hunting prowess echoes Odysseus's tactical skill. Both also show extraordinary endurance through years of hardship; they maintain their core loyalty despite their circumstances, one to Ithaca and the other to his master.

Notably, Argus stands as the only animal given a name, effectively granting him personhood. This deliberate naming elevates him beyond a mere creature, establishing him as a true companion to Odysseus. Their connection extends beyond their brief time together, reinforcing the theme of enduring identity despite radical change.

Emotional recognition

The immediacy of Argus's recognition stands in contrast to the complex and often hesitant human recognitions throughout the epic. Despite Athena's disguise that transforms Odysseus into an unrecognizable beggar, Argus “became aware that Odysseus was near” (17.300) without any doubt. This instinctive recognition suggests a special form of knowledge—one based on a deep connection rather than just visual appearance.

Argus's recognition seems to operate on a level that pierces the surface to perceive Odysseus’s essence—suggesting that some truths resist disguise. This form of knowing stands against the more calculated verifications that soon follow, raising questions about which form of recognition might be more fundamental or reliable.

Upon being recognized, Odysseus responds with a single, hidden tear—a momentary lapse in his self-control. This spontaneous display of emotion gives us a glimpse into his internal state: beneath the calculated exterior lies vulnerability and a yearning for simple, pure loyalty, especially when compared to his deliberate and controlled revelation to Telemachus (”I am your father, for whose sake with groaning you suffer many a woe,” 16.188-189). Argus's recognition, beyond his control, highlights a core tension at the heart of Odysseus's return—between his strategic need to remain hidden and a desire to truly be seen.

Death and change

Perhaps the most striking aspect of the Argus scene is the dog's immediate death following the encounter with Odysseus: “But as for Argus, the fate of black death seized him once he had seen Odysseus in the twentieth year” (17.325-327).

This death at the transition point between outside and inside, between journey and return home, holds multiple layers of meaning. Most directly, it marks the completion of Argus's story—the mutual recognition fulfilling his longing to once again perceive his master. But the death also has a symbolic function, marking the end of the old Ithaca and becoming the present boundary between past and future. Just as Argus—a link to Odysseus's pre-war life—takes his last breath, Odysseus must accept that his life cannot be the same as the one he left behind twenty years ago.

Argus’s death also foreshadows the violence to come. Though his passing is peaceful, it is the beginning of a sequence that culminates in the bloodshed of the suitors and disloyal servants. The death of loyalty outside the palace is followed by the death of disloyalty within. We see Odysseus's heartfelt response to the debilitated state of his faithful dog, anticipating he will show no such sentiment when dealing with those who betrayed him.

Instinct and intellect

The unique significance of Argus's immediate and silent recognition becomes clear when compared with the more protracted human recognitions. The reunion with Telemachus, before the Argus scene, required Odysseus's deliberate disclosure to convince his son. Telemachus initially resists, declaring “You cannot be Odysseus, my father; instead some god beguiles me” (16.195), and only accepts the truth after Odysseus reveals that Athena has transformed his appearance.

The later reunion with Penelope proves even more complex, requiring the elaborate test of the immovable bed. Unlike Argus's instant recognition, Penelope maintains a careful distance, instructing her servant: “spread for him the stout bedstead outside the well-built bridal chamber which he made himself” (23.177-178). Her approach, though clearly different from Argus's, demonstrates a similar kind of unwavering loyalty—one expressed with caution rather than immediate trust.

The final reunion with Laertes in Book 24 presents another aging figure transformed by Odysseus's absence. Like Argus, Laertes shows physical decline, being “clothed in a dirty tunic, patched and wretched,” (24.226) in his sorrow. Yet unlike the mutual recognition between Argus and Odysseus, Laertes is put to the test by Odysseus before he chooses to reveal himself, further highlighting the reliance on verification.

While human recognition involves a combination of doubt and strategic verification, Argus's recognition comes instantly and without verbal communication. This distinction suggests a hierarchy of recognition types, with the instinctive perhaps representing a more fundamental form of understanding than the rational—yet one that humans, with their complex social lives and arrangements, cannot rely upon exclusively.

The pivotal pause

As Odysseus stands at the boundary between outside and inside, the Argus encounter illuminates the central tensions of his return. It represents a pivotal transition in Odysseus's journey—from the relative freedom that being disguised affords him to the risk of premature revelation in the dangerous space of his occupied household, from strategic distance to direct engagement with the remnants of his former life, from anonymous beggar to returning king.

The Argus scene—just before Odysseus enters the space where his greatest challenge awaits—serves important purposes for the epic as a whole. It provides a reflective pause that reveals emotional depth before the chaos and maneuvering that will dominate inside the palace. And we also see a distillation of the themes that will be revisited throughout the remainder of the epic: the persistence of identity through transformation, the power of loyalty, and the complexities of returning home after extended absence.