While I'm here I want to talk about how Epic characterises Odysseus, and why criticisms that Jay “gives him a conscience” misunderstand both the Odyssey and what Epic is actually doing.
First: the claim that Homer’s Odysseus didn’t feel guilt or grief just isn’t true. He does express regret, sorrow, even shame, just rarely in the moment, and rarely in overt ways. But the man weeps constantly. He breaks down when hearing songs of Troy. He mourns his fallen men. He carries the weight of what he’s done, even if he couches it in calculation and cleverness.
And when people say Jay’s version of Odysseus is somehow "softer" or overly moralized, they’re not only flattening Homer’s character — they’re missing the thematic project of the musical entirely.
Jay isn't writing a story where Odysseus learns "to be ruthless and let go of mercy." That’s one thread. But if we take it as the core arc, then yes, you might reasonably ask: why does he hesitate to kill now, when the Iliad Odysseus did far worse without flinching?
The answer lies in "Just a Man," the linchpin of the musical and a crucial catalyst for Odysseus’ internal arc. In it, he’s asked to kill an innocent child, and he does. But not before hesitating, asking: "Will these actions haunt my days? / Every man I've slain / Is the price I pay endless pain?"
The killing of the infant, possibly the darkest moment in the musical, comes as he says, “I’m just a man,” right after asking, “When does a man become a monster?” He drops the baby as he says it. We’re not meant to believe he’s not a monster. We’re meant to see that he doesn’t want to believe it.
That moment haunts the rest of the show. He didn't become ruthless when he dropped the baby, he already was; war changed him so completely that at the end of it, he was able to kill a baby that looked just like the son he left 10 years prior, and that terrifies him.
And the fear doesn’t go away. In "Open Arms," Polites is essentially telling him that war has changed him, and he carries it with him even now, after it's over. That truth unsettles Odysseus so deeply (who in the song prior is literally running "full speed ahead" away from his actions, away from war, convinced he can just get home and leave it all behind) that a goddess has to intervene to steady him.
When he faces the Cyclops, he tries to justify the violence: "It's just one life to take / And when we kill him, then our journey’s over." But the tone is clear: this is self-reassurance.
And Odysseus does this a lot in Epic! There’s a pattern of him trying to reassure himself and his crew that they’re almost there, that if they can just get through this trial, they’ll be home. He insists that their journey is nearly over again and again, that their families are still waiting, that everything will be fine, that they can still make it home.
But these aren’t promises, they’re hopes dressed as certainty. He has no real reason to believe any of it. It doesn’t matter. He says it anyway. Because if he stops believing it, even for a moment, the weight of what he's done, and what he's become, might crush him (we see this play out explicitly in both "The Underworld" and "Love in Paradise"). These aren’t just reassurances. They’re quiet, desperate lies. Mostly to himself.
Even delirious with exhaustion, he clings to this idea: "So much has changed / But I'm the same, yes, I’m the same."
But he isn’t. And he knows it. Odysseus is afraid the war will never end, not because of geography or gods, but because he’s afraid the war has already changed him beyond return. And that is one of the major ideas we can take from the Odyssey. As Emily Wilson observed, the long journey home is not just physical, it’s existential. The question isn’t just can he return, but who will return if he does.
So when Odysseus later embraces brutality, when he says, "Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves / And deep down I know this well," it’s not a turning point. It’s a confession. He’s admitting that this capacity for violence has always been there. And it’s Penelope’s danger that makes him stop pretending otherwise.
That’s the true arc: not from man to monster, but from denial to acknowledgment. Not the loss of conscience, but the unbearable weight of it.
And that’s why it matters that it’s Penelope who is in danger when he finally stops clinging to who he used to be. It’s for her sake that he embraces what he’s become. And in that moment, he knows she might not love him anymore. He chooses the path that will lead him home no matter what anyway.
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