When Power Is Tolerated but Emotion Is Not

Come read with me — quietly, slowly, deeply

Reading: The Great Conversation, Vol 4 · The Iliad of Homer— Book I

The Iliad does not begin with war. It begins with a conflict over honour. A king taking what he believes he is entitled to, a warrior, seeing the injustice, objects.

At first, it seems straightforward. Agamemnon is arrogant. Achilles is justified.
But that is not where the tension settles.

Agamemnon abuses his power, yet remains composed. Achilles sees the injustice and reacts. At first. Then he withdraws, refuses, and lets his anger show. Almost without noticing, my judgment shifts.

Achilles is not wrong. But I find him unbearable.

I found the king’s behaviour distasteful, but tolerated. The warrior’s response is not.

It is easy to explain this away. Agamemnon is the leader; his position carries authority. Achilles, by contrast, is expected to endure, to control himself, to remain within the bounds of acceptable behaviour.

But this reveals something deeper.

I did not judge actions alone. I judged who is allowed to act in certain ways. And it forces me to acknowledge that even I give power latitude. Its excesses are absorbed, justified, or overlooked. “He’s the leader.” “That’s just how it works.”

But visible emotional reaction — even when grounded in something real — is treated differently. It is often labelled as weakness, immaturity, something to be controlled, hidden, or corrected.

Achilles is not wrong. But I do find myself resisting him.

Not because of what he sees, but because of how he behaves.

This is not confined to ancient texts, or to me. It appears in ordinary places — in organisations, in families, in public life. Destructive behaviour from those in power is often managed, excused, or quietly endured. But those who react — who refuse, withdraw, or expose the tension — are seen as the problem.

We are taught early how to “behave.” Contain yourself. Stay composed. Don’t make it worse. “Man up.”

What it really means is: suppress the emotion and the reaction. Carry it quietly.

Individually, the cost is rarely acknowledged. But what is suppressed does not disappear; it lingers as an unspoken injury. And over time, it reshapes what a person believes they are allowed to feel — sometimes in small ways, sometimes deeply enough to shape how they move through the world.

Socially, the cost is more subtle. We create systems that tolerate misuse of power, discourage visible resistance, and reward composure over honesty. In doing so, we protect the structure, but at great expense.

The Iliad does not present this as resolved. It simply shows: a conflict where both men believe they are justified, a system that continues to function, and a reaction that disrupts it.

Which raises a question that feels uncomfortably current.

If a system requires the suppression of justified response in order to maintain order, what, exactly, is being preserved??

Come read with me — quietly, slowly, deeply.

This essay is part of the Conversations reading journey.