It is only in his final chapter that Hector's constancy of character begins to falter. This occurs when Achilles is approaching Troy and ready to engage Hector in battle. After having already ignored his parents' pleas to return to the safety of the city, Hector reconsiders his position and debates if he should preemptively surrender. He even weighs the possibility of forfeiting Helen and half the treasure in Troy for peace, but then, wisely, concludes that Achilles would strike him down regardless. Instead, he runs.

Why the sudden shift in character? There seem to be three intertwined reasons. In part it heightens the stature of Achilles that even the great Hector would flee before him. Still more so, it conveys that any man might barter and flinch in the face of death. Lastly, it adds depth to the rather flat and pristine character of Hector. What I find more compelling, however, is not what inspired him to run, but what stopped his running.

Zeus concedes to the death of Hector after a bit of heckling from Athena. She then takes the form of Hector’s brother, Deiphobus, and convinces the Trojan hero to stand and fight Achilles. The two warriors then face off, each making an initial attempt with their throwing spear. Achilles' throw misses the mark while Hector's fails to pierce the shield of the Argive. Hector then calls for a lance from Deiphobus, but he is gone. He then realizes that he has been tricked by the gods and his moment of fate has finally come:

“So now I meet my doom. Well let me die—

but not without a struggle, not without glory, no,

in some great clash of arms that even men to come

will hear of down the years!” (22.359-62)

Like Achilles, Hector accepts his fate. However, he will not go quietly into that good night. He will, instead, confront death with a last stand to be remembered.

Fate is an odd topic. We can use Hector's final moments as a means of finally discussing this crucial element of Greek thought. However, we will avoid delving into the dense forest of determinism, and explore a simpler realm of the idea. In order to do so, like the Ancient Greeks, we will need to accept fate as a given truth. From that point we can ask: is fate knowable?

The Iliad seems to say yes. Routinely characters are aware of their own fate. It is common knowledge that Achilles will die if he chooses to fight. Likewise, somehow, Hector knows that he is fated to die and in the pivotal moment he recognizes its arrival. Is this merely a fantastical element of mythology that makes for good storytelling? Not necessarily.

Knowing our fate is a uniquely human capacity. Our large prefrontal cortexes provide us with a type of foresight that is not found in any other species. Naturally, this becomes a matter to be wrestled with and the concept of fate is an expression of this. In fact, it is the expression of it. The discovery that any events can be predicted is foundational to how we experience reality. Whether these predictions originate from an oracle, a sign, or rationalistic reasoning is irrelevant. The revolutionary thought is that future events can be understood and we can make decisions in the present based on that information.

Achilles and Hector are excellent examples of this. It is not a bold prediction that a warrior will die when he enters battle. That is an inherent risk. In fact, seeing as both the heroes are great soldiers, they enter the fray with targets on their backs, and are, therefore, more likely to be killed. In this way fate becomes a way to reference likely outcomes.

However, the future being knowable does not mean that it is known. Not all outcomes are seen beforehand in the Iliad (which would make for a rather boring story). Only a few are foreseen. In this aspect fate does enter the realm of a literary device in that it offers the opportunity to demonstrate characters' reactions in the face of a known outcome.

Here we can re-engage with Hector's final moments. He is confronting the inevitability of his own death in a more rational sense than what we might have initially thought, and is choosing to take a stand that will be worthy of the gravity of his circumstance. As an American, images of the Alamo come to mind, but there are no shortage of great final stands that could be referenced here. Ultimately this is the direct message of Hector’s death: to die nobly.

So, Hector dies in the same way he lived: rising to the occasion. His life is an invocation to bear the reality of your circumstances in an honorable way. Our actions have consequences. When we make a mess of things and flee the scene we attract the ire of all. Such is the case of Paris. However, when the moment calls us to action, even if it is not our mess, it is those that respond accordingly that are admired by all, even the gods. The Greeks call this admirability arete.