A Wink and a Nod

I was watching the sunset today, which happened to be full of beautiful pink shafts of light, and I was suddenly reminded of a phrase from The Odyssey that my professors continually pointed out to us. These wise and learned men reminded us often of the frequency with which Homer invoked the image of "rosy-fingered dawn," a description very nearly fitting of the sight I beheld this evening (of course, in this case the phrase would more correctly be "rosy-fingered dusk"). I always found it odd that my Great Texts professors focused so intently on this one phrase. Certainly it is a precise and lovely image; we have all watched fingers of light spread across the sky in the early morning. But of all the spellbinding images in Homer's epic, this one snippet of description is by no means exemplary.

Suddenly, as I watched the sun sink below the horizon, I realized the purpose behind this fixation. The phrase "rosy-fingered dawn" is well known, for reasons that escape me, as belonging to The Odyssey in some vital, highly significant way. It is a signpost, a convenient password by which one may indicate one's familiarity with this foundational text of Western culture. Employing this phrase in intellectual conversation in a sort of merit badge, an expression of the speaker's literary credentials. Or, used another way, it serves as a test whereby one might feel out the learnedness of his interlocutors. 

I find such posturing terribly pretentious, but I certainly cannot claim innocence. I am well aware that I often drop tidy quotes from literature of note in everyday conversation, just to see if anyone picks up on the allusion. I do not enjoy feeling out of my intellectual depth, and so I attempt to shore up my fragile superiority by simultaneously proving my extensive literacy, vast powers of recall, and razor wit. Such petty linguistic tricks are surely small crimes in the grand scheme, but these subtleties are the guise beneath which I obscure the corners of my soul thus far resistant to interrogation and improvement. 

I am a frail, whimpering wretch in my fashion, but I pleased to find I am less so every day.