At first glance, the answer seems obvious. We think of courage, loyalty, sacrifice, and the willingness to defend others. Yet that image owes as much to the medieval ideal of chivalry as it does to ancient Greece.
If we return to Homer, we discover that the Greek hero was something rather different.
Take Odysseus.
He is perhaps the most modern of Homer’s heroes: endlessly curious, resourceful, and above all, cunning. He is driven by the desire to know, to explore, and to overcome obstacles through ingenuity rather than sheer force.
Yet he is also the man who, according to tradition, tried to avoid the Trojan War by pretending to be insane. And when Troy finally falls, it is not through an act of battlefield heroism but through deception.
Even the famous Trojan Horse has been reinterpreted by some scholars. Rather than a wooden horse, it may have been a hippos—a ship with a horse-shaped prow. Whether or not that theory is correct matters less than what it represents: Odysseus prevails through cunning rather than through the straightforward courage that later generations would celebrate in the ideal of chivalry.
Achilles embodies a different model of heroism.
He is the supreme warrior: almost invincible, blessed with extraordinary strength, destined for eternal glory.
Yet he is also the hero who withdraws from battle after his quarrel with Agamemnon, allowing his companions to bear the consequences of his wounded pride. Only the death of Patroclus brings him back to the battlefield.
When he finally confronts Hector, he does so not only with overwhelming physical superiority but also with the decisive support of Athena, who deceives Hector at the crucial moment of the duel. Achilles is undoubtedly the greatest warrior of the Iliad, but even his final victory is not achieved by human strength alone.
These are extraordinary figures.
But are they the heroes with whom we most readily identify today?
Perhaps not.
Many modern readers find themselves drawn instead to Hector.
Hector knows that Troy is doomed. He knows that he will probably die. He could seek safety. He could preserve his own life.
Instead, he stays.
Unlike Achilles, Hector faces his destiny alone. No goddess intervenes on his behalf. No hidden advantage changes the course of the battle. He relies solely on his own courage and on his unwavering sense of duty towards his city, his family, and his people.
He fights not because he expects to win, but because he believes it is his responsibility.
Then there is Aeneas.
As Troy burns, he performs no spectacular feat of arms. Instead, he carries his ageing father Anchises on his shoulders while leading his young son Ascanius by the hand.
It is not an image of military triumph.
It is an image of responsibility.
Responsibility towards family.
Responsibility towards future generations.
Responsibility towards a community that survives only because someone chooses to preserve it.
Perhaps this is where our contemporary understanding of heroism truly begins.
A hero is not necessarily the strongest person in the room. Nor is it someone blessed with supernatural gifts or divine protection.
A hero is someone who accepts responsibility despite fear.
Someone who continues to do what is right without knowing whether success is even possible.
Someone who chooses to remain when leaving would be easier.
Perhaps that is why, nearly three thousand years later, we still return to Homer.
Not because his heroes offer ready-made models for our own lives, but because they invite us to reflect on how our understanding of courage, honour, and leadership has evolved.
The Homeric hero sought kleos—personal glory that would outlive death.
Today, we are often inspired by a different ideal.
We admire those who place responsibility above glory, service above recognition, and the common good above personal achievement.
Perhaps this is one of the Mediterranean world’s greatest intellectual legacies: the gradual transformation of leadership from the pursuit of individual glory into the acceptance of responsibility towards a community.
In the end, the greatest heroes may not be those who conquer cities.
They may be those who, despite fear and uncertainty, choose to carry others forward.
