Reading statecraft through Odysseus

Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past.” T S Elliot, Four Quartets 1: Burnt Norton.
Watching a recent adaptation of Homer's Odyssey, I was struck by how a poem composed nearly three millennia ago continues to illuminate the dilemmas of contemporary statecraft. It reminded me that the greatest works of literature are not merely stories about the past; they are lenses through which we understand the present and anticipate the future.
The influence of Homer’s epics extends far beyond the study of classics. Alexander the Great is said to have carried a copy of the Iliad throughout his campaigns, seeing in Achilles the embodiment of heroic ambition and military glory. Whether every detail of that tradition is historically precise matters less than the larger truth: literature has long shaped political imagination before politics shapes history.
Civilisations rarely live by laws alone. They live by stories.
Every nation carries a narrative that explains who it is, why it exists and what role it believes it is destined to play. Those narratives become strategic assets. They shape how leaders perceive threats, how societies define success and how governments respond to moments of uncertainty.
Russia frequently presents itself through a narrative of historical continuity and the restoration of great-power status. China speaks of national rejuvenation after a century of humiliation. The United States continues to draw strength from stories of exceptionalism, frontier expansion and democratic mission. Iran’s strategic discourse is deeply rooted in narratives of sovereignty, resilience and civilisational endurance.
Oman, too, possesses a story.
It is the story of a nation that has repeatedly renewed itself without losing its identity; a nation whose renaissance is not a single historical event but a continuing process; a country that has consistently insisted upon preserving the sovereignty of its own choices in a turbulent region. Its diplomacy reflects this narrative — not indecision, but deliberate strategic autonomy; not passivity, but the conviction that influence is often greatest when exercised through credibility, dialogue and trust.
Understanding these narratives often explains behaviour that appears irrational if viewed solely through economics, military balances or diplomatic communiqués. States do not simply pursue interests; they pursue identities. They seek to remain faithful to the stories they tell themselves.
This is precisely where the Odyssey becomes unexpectedly relevant.
The Iliad, its twin epic, celebrates Achilles’ battlefield courage. The Odyssey offers a different philosophy altogether. Odysseus survives because he understands that wisdom often outperforms strength. He negotiates when confrontation would be disastrous. He conceals his intentions when transparency would expose weakness. He waits patiently when others rush forward. He adapts constantly to changing circumstances. Above all, he recognises that knowing when not to fight is itself a strategic skill.
Far from being signs of weakness, these qualities constitute a sophisticated form of power. History demonstrates that many successful small and medium-sized states have flourished not through military dominance but through adaptability, commercial openness, diplomatic relevance and institutional credibility. Geography rarely grants such states the luxury of overwhelming force. Instead, it rewards resilience, flexibility and strategic patience.
This observation carries particular significance for Oman.
Situated at one of the world’s most strategically sensitive maritime crossroads, Oman has never possessed the option of escaping its geography. Instead, it has mastered the art of managing it. Across millennia, Omani navigators, merchants and diplomats understood that prosperity depended less on controlling others than on keeping routes open, relationships balanced and trust intact.
Imagine if young Omanis grew up not merely memorising dates, battles and dynasties, but learning to interpret their own history as a strategic inheritance. Imagine Ahmad bin Majid taught not only as an accomplished navigator, but as the embodiment of scientific curiosity, disciplined observation and intellectual courage. Imagine the Indian Ocean understood not simply as the country’s maritime frontier but as its natural strategic space — its historical arena of commerce, cultural exchange and international engagement.
Imagine Oman’s diplomatic tradition recognised not merely as courtesy or moderation, but as accumulated strategic wisdom refined over centuries of managing competing powers across the Indian Ocean and the Gulf. Imagine the country’s long tradition of coexistence understood not merely as cultural tolerance, but as a competitive national asset in an increasingly polarised world.
These are not sentimental reinterpretations of history. They are strategic narratives.
Such narratives quietly shape how future diplomats negotiate, how military officers assess risk, how entrepreneurs identify opportunity and how policymakers define the national interest. Every society inherits historical facts. The decisive question is whether it also inherits the wisdom embedded within them.
Perhaps this explains why Homer’s poems have outlived every empire that revered them. They continue to inspire novels, paintings, theatre, films and political thought because they illuminate permanent features of the human condition. Technology changes. Geography evolves. Empires rise and fall. Human judgement remains remarkably constant.
Foreign policy, ultimately, is less about reacting to today’s headlines than about cultivating habits of judgement. It requires the ability to distinguish between pride and purpose, between courage and recklessness, between immediate victory and long-term security.
In that respect, Achilles and Odysseus represent two enduring schools of statecraft. For ambitious empires, Achilles may remain the more attractive hero. For maritime trading nations, for societies that prosper through connectivity rather than conquest, and for states that must navigate rather than dominate their neighbourhoods, Odysseus may offer the more enduring guide in an infinite game.
Perhaps that is why, after nearly three thousand years, the Odyssey still feels surprisingly contemporary. It reminds us that the greatest victories are not always won by those who shout the loudest or strike the hardest. More often, they belong to those who understand their geography, remain faithful to their identity, read changing circumstances with humility and wisdom, and know precisely when to sail, when to anchor and when simply to wait for more favourable winds.

Ahmed al Mukhaini The writer is a policy analyst