For 275 years, the Ptolemies ruled as Egypt’s last enduring dynasty. Though remembered for their dramatic final moments, they once flourished within a prosperous and richly cultured empire. Unlike the Achaemenids who occupied Egypt before them, they embraced Egyptian religion and traditions, blending them with their Macedonian heritage and securing their legitimacy through the priesthood and Egyptian elite.

The city of Alexandria became a marvel of Greek and Egyptian grandeur under rulers who expected no less. The Ptolemies reveled as divine saviors of Egypt. Their festivals and accommodations were extravagant; the Great Library housed an unparalleled collection of knowledge, all while the Lighthouse stood among the wonders of the ancient world.

From the outside, they appeared unstoppable. But behind the splendor, ambition began to wreak havoc. Some say the Ptolemies practiced incestual marriage to imitate the gods. Others point to the Egyptian tradition of marrying within the family, though it was never as common as many believe it to be. Perhaps it removed rival kingdoms from taking the throne or kept their bloodline pure.

Whatever the reason, it never stood a chance. The Ptolemies were vicious and unyielding to each other. Their dynasty would forever be stained with the blood of kin, a legacy that destroyed them from the inside out.

The Golden Age

In 323 BC, Alexander the Great conquered Egypt, became pharaoh, and founded Alexandria. At the time of his death, his generals became satraps (governors) of the various provinces throughout his vast empire. Naturally, Ptolemy I took Egypt.

Ptolemy was a childhood friend and close confidant of Alexander. It was rumored and firmly embraced by the Ptolemies that Ptolemy was a half-brother to Alexander through an affair involving Alexander’s father, Philip II, and a concubine who was gifted to him by a nobleman. This further legitimized the Ptolemies as rightful rulers and connected them to Alexander, who would become a celebrated cult figure in Egypt.

Considering rumors, the macabre family tradition may have originated with Olympias, Alexander the Great’s mother. Alexander’s father, Philip II, was a man of many wives, one of whom was Olympias. Her relationship with Philip was unsurprisingly complicated and tumultuous. When Philip chose to wed a noblewoman named Eurydice, the woman’s father challenged Alexander as heir, and Philip did nothing.

Olympias fled to her brother, who would betray her trust by accepting Philip’s offer to marry off her daughter Cleopatra to secure alliances. During a gathering to celebrate the marriage, Philip was repeatedly stabbed in the chest by his bodyguard. Olympias was suspected of being the mastermind and later openly involved in the execution of Eurydice and her son. Alexander the Great became king of Macedonia.

After Alexander’s unexpected death, Perdiccas acted as regent to his unborn son. Perdiccas was exceedingly ambitious; the satraps of the empire were wary of his constant meddling. As Alexander was being transported to Macedonia two years after his death, Ptolemy stole his mummified remains, placing them in a golden sarcophagus within a grand mausoleum in Alexandria—the exact location remains a mystery. Furious, Perdiccas summoned an army to invade Egypt, but his troops murdered him.

During Alexander IV’s reign, his grandmother, Olympias, had to defend the crown once more from a tyrannical regent named Cassander. A horrific conflict erupted; many died, and Olympias was stoned to death by the families of her victims. She was offered no proper burial. Cassander would poison Alexander IV and his mother, Roxana.

With the throne in disarray, the satraps declared themselves kings. Ptolemy I Soter (Savior) conquered Cyprus, Cyrene, Coele-Syria, and Phoenicia. He commissioned the building of the Great Library of Alexandria, which would go on to house up to 700,000 works as a sanctuary to study, teach, and write. He laid the groundwork for an influential and commanding Hellenistic kingdom.

Ptolemy II was the first to marry within the family, appropriately nicknamed Philadelphus, Lover of his sister. His first marriage was to Arsinoe, daughter of Lysimachus, brother-in-law and king of Thrace. When King Lysimachus died, Philadelphus swiftly discarded his wife and married his sister and widow to the king, Arsinoe II.

Philadelphus’ weakness was undoubtedly in his military pursuits; many of his attempts to rebel against the domineering Macedonian Empire resulted in failed wars that weakened authority and deeply affected relations with Sparta and Athens. To keep peace with Syria, he offered his daughter, Berenice, to the Seleucid ruler, Antiochus II. The Ptolemies would go on to have a long, ambivalent relationship with this empire.

Despite shortcomings, Philadelphus was one to enjoy cultural and intellectual endeavors. He finished and expanded on the Great Library as well as the Lighthouse of Alexandria. His era, along with his son’s, was considered the golden age of the Ptolemaic dynasty.

Euergetes, the Benefactor, otherwise known as Ptolemy III, brought the empire to new heights. He spread the kingdom farther than any did before or after him. Newly acquired regions in Nubia, Greece, Mesopotamia, and the Red Sea were under his control.

Berenice, Euergetes’ sister and recently widowed to Antiochus II, faced life-threatening challenges as Antiochus’ former wife, Laodice, expected her son to be heir to the throne rather than Berenice’s son. Euergetes hastily recruited troops and traveled to the Seleucid capital, Antioch. Upon his arrival, Laodice had Berenice and her son murdered.

Once Euergetes discovered Laodice’s atrocities, he burst into a vengeful rage, leading his army to invade and conquer several cities and the capital. In his final act of retribution, he murdered Laodice. By the end of Euergetes’ reign, the kingdom was the most powerful it would ever be.

Conspiracies and Sibling Rivalry Reach a Boiling Point

Ptolemy IV, also named Philopator, Father-Loving, was to rule alongside his mother, Berenice II. She was a formidable woman, having single-handedly rallied troops in the midst of defeat and led them into victorious battle. But Philopator never intended to allow his mother the opportunity, promptly poisoning her to rule alone.

Shortly after, he married his sister, Arsinoe III. Philopator, like many rulers of the time, took pleasure in the company of women, most certainly to his own demise. His trusted mistress, Agathoclea, and her brother, Agathocles, conspired with his regent minister, Sosibius. Quietly, and without public knowledge, they murdered Philopator and Arsinoe, taking the kingdom. Sosibius had also previously convinced Philopator to murder his young brother, Magas, by placing him in a boiling hot bath.

Ptolemy V would eventually ascend to the throne at the tender age of 5, but not without the conspiring threesome ruling as co-regents and guardians while the kingdom fell apart. The military enacted harsh taxes to sustain itself and pacify rebellion. As unrest spread, leaders from Egyptian territories claimed their right to rule. Antiochus III from Syria and Phillip V from Macedonia tore through Egypt’s eastern fronts, and the kingdom soon lost all territories they had only recently acquired.

Sometime during Ptolemy V’s early reign, the public had learned the truth behind his parents’ death. Under the cover of darkness, an angry mob descended on the palace, led by Tlepolemus, a prominent military governor. Fearful, Agathocles begged his friends to kill him, and so they did.

Agathoclea and her sisters frantically fled the palace, taking refuge within a temple. The mob soon discovered their whereabouts, dragging each of them from the sanctuary, exposed in the nude. Like a frenzy of wild beasts, they ferociously tore at their bodies, dismembering them as they screamed in agony. The fraudulent rulers, conspirators, and supporters were all dead.

Ptolemy V came into his own, earning the name Epipanes, God who appears. He lowered taxes, abolished obligatory drafting into the military, and gave renewed privileges to the priesthood. He healed a broken kingdom for a time. To calm tensions with Antiochus III, he gifted his daughter, Cleopatra I. At the age of 30, Epipanes set his intentions on gaining back the Syrian territory he had lost to Antiochus, but was sadly poisoned and died at the hands of his general.

After the death of Epipanes, Cleopatra briefly ruled as regent for her infant son, Ptolemy VI, Philometor (Mother-Loving). By this time, the Ptolemaic empire had become increasingly unstable. Droughts ravaged the land, people revolted, and the Seleucid Empire had become a highly coordinated entity. Territories were weakened, and the kingdom was forced to rely heavily on relations with Egyptian elites to maintain order.

Cleopatra would die and leave the kingdom to her young children, Ptolemy VI (Philometor), Cleopatra II, and Ptolemy VIII. The plan was co-rulership, but lessons from the past demonstrate what little potential this arrangement had.

Together, they, like their father, wished to gain the upper hand in Syria, but failed miserably, leading to Antiochus IV declaring himself pharaoh in Memphis. This escalated hostilities in the family. Philometor fled to Rome to escape his brother. The Roman Senate stepped in, attempting to resolve the issue. Ptolemy VIII reluctantly agreed to split the kingdom, with himself in Alexandria, while Philometor ruled in Cyrene.

Many years passed, and Philometor married his daughter to the self-proclaimed ruler of the Seleucid Empire, Alexander Balas. Conflict arose as Demetrius II, true heir to the throne, emerged from hiding to defeat Balas and avenge his father’s death. Demetrius I was king until Balas killed him, his wife, and his eldest son.

As the sole survivor, the young Demetrius II took refuge in Crete. When the time came, he recruited a fearsome fleet of Cretan mercenaries and traveled to Syria. Initially, Philometor aimed to aid Balas, but soon realized fate favored Demetrius. He divorced his daughter from Balas and immediately gifted her to Demetrius.

United, the duo took back Antioch, and Demetrius was rewarded as king. During a later battle in Arabia against the Ptolemies, Balas was mortally wounded as he fell from his horse. Philometor would also die in this same battle; some claimed Ptolemy VIII played a part in his death.

Savagery Served on a Silver Platter

Now that Philometor was out of the way, Ptolemy VIII was free to dish out heaping servings of betrayal and depravity. Generally reviled, his nickname was Physcon, Fatty. Ancient Historians considered him to be the cruelest of the Ptolemies. Ptolemy VII—child of Ptolemy VI or VIII and their sister-wife Cleopatra II—was next in line to inherit the throne. Expectedly, Physcon would never willingly give up the throne. He convinced Cleopatra to marry him and thus salvaged his position as king.

Two years later, Physcon began having a secret affair with Cleopatra’s daughter, Cleopatra III. Infuriated, Cleopatra banished the two to Cyprus. The uncle and niece pair decided to marry, and a splendid feast was arranged.

Physcon sent for Ptolemy VII, presumably without the permission of Cleopatra II, to attend the celebration. The young Ptolemy arrived, unaware of what awaited him. The grand finale of the event was the young boy’s murder.

It was said that Physcon chopped the boy into pieces and sent the dismembered remains back to Cleopatra as a grotesque gift, simultaneously ridding himself of a rival. A civil war ensued between mother and daughter, while Physcon acquired countless illegitimate heirs who scattered the kingdom. When he died, Cleopatra III was left to decide who would become king.

Cleopatra preferred her younger son, Ptolemy X, but the people of Alexandria pushed for her eldest son, Ptolemy IX, as ruler. And so it was: Ptolemy IX became king, and his brother was sent to Cyprus as governor. At the beginning of his reign, he co-ruled with his grandmother, Cleopatra II, and his mother, Cleopatra III.

Ptolemy IX had two nicknames: Philometor Soter (Mother-Loving Savior) and Lathyros (Chickpea). He married his sister, Cleopatra IV; however, after the death of his grandmother, the overbearing Cleopatra III demanded that he divorce her. She chose his new wife, his young sister, Cleopatra Selene, under the assumption that, as mother, she would continue to be co-regent. Cleopatra IV would later run away into the arms of Antiochus IX, king of the Seleucid Empire. The eldest of the three sisters, Tryphaena, was already wed to Antiochus’ estranged half-brother, Antiochus VIII.

Things get even more problematic at this point. The Antiochus brothers were in the midst of a feud, each claiming the throne. This inevitably turned sister against sister.

During the relentless battle, Cleopatra IV fell victim to Tryphaena’s maddening fury. As Cleopatra took refuge from the war in the temple of Apollo in Antioch, her sister summoned soldiers to penetrate the sanctuary and eliminate her. Tryphaena’s husband, Antiochus VIII, begged her to reconsider—no blood shall be shed in a sacred space—but to no avail. The soldiers charged into the temple and mercilessly killed Cleopatra IV. In her last breath, she cursed those responsible, calling out to the gods to avenge her death. The gods answered; Antiochus IX defeated his brother, captured Tryphaena, and sacrificed her to the deities of his deceased wife.

Back in Alexandria, Cleopatra III began accusing her son, Ptolemy IX (Lathyros), of attempted murder. She brutalized her eunuchs (castrated male servants) and put them on display as evidence. The public took her side; Lathyros fled, and as Cleopatra had always intended, her favorite son was king.

Cleopatra then gave her young daughter, Cleopatra Selene, as wife to Ptolemy X. Ironically, a few years later, Ptolemy X had enough of his mother and had her murdered so that he could rule alone. He was no longer married to Cleopatra Selene, instead marrying his niece, Berenice III, daughter of Cleopatra Selene and Lathyros.

Though he reigned for several years, Ptolemy X was never accepted; the public pleaded for the return of Lathyros. Once again, Ptolemy X left Alexandria, and Lathyros became king. This time, he called himself Soter, no longer Mother-Loving, along with his nickname Lathyros. He then suppressed the worship of his dead mother and undeserving brother.

Ptolemy X would show up again, set on taking the kingdom by any means necessary, but died in the process. Lathyros ruled alone and for good reason. He promoted his daughter, Berenice, who later inherited Egypt upon his death.

While Berenice ruled as queen, the son of Ptolemy X, Ptolemy XI, and his mother, Cleopatra Selene, made themselves known. Berenice married her stepson and cousin, and the three ruled together for a limited time. Less than a month into their marriage, Ptolemy XI murdered the much-loved Berenice. Feeding off the violence of this generation, a mob ambushed the loathsome king, entrapping and surrounding him in the gymnasium. Instantly, they converged, savagely lynching him for all to see.

The End of Dynasties

And then there was Ptolemy XII, Auletes (the Flautist), illegitimate son of Ptolemy IX (Lathyros), brother of Berenice III, and father of Cleopatra VII. Auletes’ unique nickname, the Flautist, came from his love of flute playing. He married his sister or cousin Cleopatra V, later divorcing her to marry Cleopatra Selene. Together, Auletes and Cleopatra V had two daughters: Berenice IV and the legendary Cleopatra VII. Born to an unknown mother, Auletes had Arsinoe IV, Ptolemy XIII, and Ptolemy XIV.

As Roman power amplified, it began to set its sights on Egypt, a kingdom worthy of acquisition. They had already aided several times in averting disasters brought on by the Ptolemies’ ill-prepared conquests and familial disputes. Apart from being quite possibly the richest kingdom in the Mediterranean, during Auletes’ reign, he managed to accrue debilitating debt owed to Rome, which led to a deal that gave Egypt to Rome if he had no heirs.

Matters worsened as Auletes frequented Rome, spending copious resources to bribe and win favor with potential political allies, such as Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus. He succeeded in allying but lost Cyprus, governed by his brother, who committed suicide upon Roman annexation. The people of Alexandria felt betrayed by Auletes, so he stayed in Rome.

Berenice IV stepped in to replace the absent king. In need of a marriage partner, she sent for someone from the only other empire the Ptolemies had some remnants of a connection with, the Seleucids. Who arrived was a man described as vulgar and obnoxious; the Alexandrians called him Salt-Fish. Berenice was equally taken aback, promptly having him strangled to death, and married a Greek man.

Berenice IV would not reign for long, though; Rome wanted their pay, and the only way to get it was to put Auletes back in power. Envoys from Alexandria traveled to Rome to contest, but were poisoned along the way. Auletes got his throne back, along with 2,000 legionaries and 500 cavalrymen who kept Roman eyes on the king. For supposedly usurping the throne, Auletes had his eldest daughter killed. He would later fall ill and die, leaving a precarious empire in the hands of its last heirs.

Cleopatra VII was always her father’s favorite. She was groomed from a very young age, exquisitely educated, charismatic, and, unlike the entirety of her family, fluent in multiple languages. She married her 11-year-old brother, Ptolemy XIII, and for a time, they co-ruled. However, Ptolemy XIII only wished to be rid of her.

To save herself, Cleopatra left for Syria to carefully plan. In the meantime, Arsinoe declared herself queen. When Pompey came to Egypt seeking refuge from his once-good friend, Caesar, Ptolemy had him killed, presenting Caesar with his head as an unwelcome, gruesome trophy. This heedless act gave Cleopatra precisely the opportunity she needed to align with Caesar.

A war between siblings resulted in the burning of the Great Library and a badly damaged capital. Cleopatra won, and her brother would soon drown in the Nile. Arsinoe—who was a force to be reckoned with and held her own against Caesar—was marched down the streets of Rome in chains as a symbol of victory. To the surprise of Caesar, the citizens of Rome felt compassion for the former queen, and he agreed to allow her sanctuary at the temple of Artemis in Ephesus.

Cleopatra then married her youngest brother, 12-year-old Ptolemy XIV, if only for tradition; she carried on an infamous affair with Caesar and later Mark Antony, both of whom she had children with. Ptolemy XIV died shortly after the murder of Caesar, presumably poisoned by Cleopatra using the extremely poisonous aconite flower. She was an expert proto-chemist in the art of poison, having experimented on prisoners over the years.

Arsinoe didn’t fare well either, whether she was a true threat or not. Once Cleopatra aligned with Mark Antony, she ordered him to send troops to murder her. She was callously slain in true Ptolemy fashion, fighting for her life upon the steps of the grand temple while still a teen.

Either way, it did not matter; the Romans saw no reason to support Egypt any longer. Things had become increasingly complicated as Antony and Octavian’s fickle relationship dissolved. Antony had left his first wife, Fulvia, who valiantly defended him against Octavian. She died, sick and heartbroken. Antony’s second wife, Octavia, the sister of Octavian, was a failed attempt at peace between the two, left estranged by Antony’s love affair.

The major turning point came at the Battle of Actium as Cleopatra and Antony suffered immeasurable loss and betrayal. Antony’s botched suicide left him in misery, only to later die in the arms of his lover. Cleopatra’s dramatic end came while she hid away in her mausoleum, broken and grieving.

While many believe it was an asp that killed her, it was more likely that Cleopatra ingested the culmination of years of research and experimentation, a perfected poison. She was a dignified woman, after all; those who found her claimed she looked as if she were sleeping.

Cleopatra’s son with Caesar, Ptolemy XV Caesarion, was lured out from hiding to Alexandria under the guise of negotiations with Octavian. He was murdered at the age of 17. Cleopatra’s remaining children with Antony, Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene II, were taken to Octavia, who raised them as her own alongside Antony’s children with Fulvia.

In 30 BCE, the era of dynasties in Egypt came to an end. For all the Ptolemies’ accomplishments and aspirations, they could never co-exist with each other or anyone else. They built a kingdom that rivaled the gods, only to destroy themselves fighting to possess it.

Featured image: Cleopatra (1888). Oil on canvas (John William Waterhouse, Public domain)

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (November 25, 2024)

References:

Bowman, A.K. 1986. Egypt after the Pharaohs, 332 BC – AD 642, from Alexander to Arab conquest. University of California Press. Available at: https://books.google.com.bd/books?id=vePG331dopIC&lpg=PP1&pg=PA3#v=onepage&q&f=false

Schiff, S. 2010. Cleopatra: A Life. Back Bay Books/Little, Brown and Company.

King, A. 2024. Ptolemaic Dynasty. World History Encyclopedia. Available at: https://www.worldhistory.org/Ptolemaic_Dynasty/

Ager, S.L. 2006. The Power of Excess: Royal Incest and the Ptolemaic Dynasty. Anthropologica. Vol. 48, No. 2. Available at: https://www.jstor.org/stable/25605309

Elhassan, K. 2019. Here’s the Scoop on This Dysfunctional Dynasty in History. History Collection. Available at: https://historycollection.com/heres-the-scoop-on-this-dysfunctional-dynasty-in-history/

Beachcoming. 2013. The Most Dysfunctional Family in History: The Ptolemies. Strange History. Available at: https://www.strangehistory.net/2013/12/25/14742/

Sekhmet was a goddess of pestilence, of fevered desolation. Her lioness head, mounted by the sun’s disk, was a symbol of brutal strength, the power of the sun’s scorching rays. She was the Eye of her father, the solar Ra, and the serpent who sat upon his brow. Kings called out to her, beckoning her to ride on their chariots into battle, to fire her searing seven messengers in the shape of arrows. As a new year approached, she roamed the earth; fever, famine, droughts, and epidemics trailing her.

For all that Sekhmet was known to destroy, her priests were renowned throughout the ancient world. Their touch brought life and prevented the spread of disease. Secret knowledge hidden away in places called the House of Life led to remarkable medical accomplishments, many in her name. Her priests were elite physicians, specialists in both magic and medicine. What power they must have held over a deity who basked in the blood of devastation. A goddess transformed, perhaps, or a priesthood worthy to pacify her inferno.

A History of Feline Deities

It is well-known that the Egyptians revered cats. They kept them as pets, convenient for pest control, and as companions in life and death. The ferocious feline in all its forms was something to revere. Numerous goddesses embodied its spirit, both as protector and divine authority. The lion represented the sacrality of the title pharaoh, of regality and opulence. The lioness, often depicted with a gender-ambiguous short mane of her own, was the purest form of a matriarchal, watchful wrath. Many were seen as the children of and manifestations of the sun, beneficial and deleterious.

The feline form was also frequently conjured in mythical creatures. The famous sphinx was the eternalized epitome of divine supremacy. Bes, protector of the household and repellent to its pests, wore a feline round his neck. Taweret, an amalgamated deity of childbirth and guardian of mothers and children, had the lion’s paws for hands. Sekhmet, herself, was seen as a fierce mother to kings as they were reborn in the afterlife or to her own child, Nefertem, god of the blue lotus from which all things originate. Additionally, she was consort to Ptah in Memphis, he who is beautiful of face, and carrier of djed (stability), was (dominion), and ankh (life).

Sprinkled within mythology and amongst its pantheon, the feline found its place in beings that were stern shields of absolute necessity. In nature, the lion is not the one to be feared, but the lionesses of a pride, who were the loyal hunters and protectors of the young. As such, their formidable presence guarded the body of Osiris, served as the vigilant eyes of the sun, and, in some myths, was the bitter creator of humans.

Creation of Gods and Men

As Atum rose from nothingness on the nun, he created out of himself air, Shu, and moisture, Tefnut. After sending them out into his strange new world, the two became lost in its endless expanse of darkness, so he sent his lucent daughter, his Eye, in search of them. Through its radiance, Atum merged with Ra and the sun burst into the sky for the first time. Eager to return to her maker, the Eye was met with utter disappointment. In the time she had been away, Ra-Atum had forged a new eye, the Glorious One. Bitter abandonment wept from her every orifice into the shape of man. And, Ra-Atum, having no place for his old Eye, sat her upon the uraeus, the deadly snake of kings.

It was said that the Eye of Ra became the most powerful of beings after departing from her maker, her father. Goddesses like Hathor, Baset, Mut, and Sekhmet were all called by this name at different times throughout Egyptian history. Still, it was Sekhmet who truly embodied the qualities of its character. It was Sekhmet who was believed to have searched for her lost kin and created life from her tears. At times, the fury in the sun’s sweltering rays was said to feel like a thousand arrows shot from the bow of a cosmic archer, much like the seven messengers of Sekhmet. His Eye was an extension of his omnipotence.

The Death of Man and the Great Battle

On two more occasions, Ra-Atum would call upon his daughter to serve him. When humanity sought to rebel against him, he sent Sekhmet in her lioness form, a choice he would regret. As soon as Sekhmet stepped paws on ground, she erupted in a blood-fueled rage, killing the rebels, dancing in the fray of their demise, and threatening the very existence of her fragile creation, all of humanity.

The gods needed to act quickly to subdue her frenzied will. Filling the fields with a river stained red and spiked with beer, Sekhmet could not resist. Drinking as swiftly as she slaughtered, she succumbed to inebriated sleep and humanity was spared.

On another occasion, Sekhmet’s father Ra devised a plot to fight the giant serpent Apophis, who at the time lived among mortals. On a gloomy night, he transformed himself into a tomcat, ready to hunt his prey at the Ished Tree, the Tree of Life, in Heliopolis. Apophis was his nemesis and his counterpart, the Great Rebel, the Evil One. He was chaos to Ra’s order. This night was the greatest battle of Ra’s existence.

Sekhmet held the knife that Ra used to slay the beast, casting him to the underworld. The battle also caused the Ished Tree to split down its center, creating the Two Horizons of Ra and Horus and the cycles of day and night. From that day forth, the setting sun retreated to the underworld to fight the immortal serpent with Sekhmet and other worthy gods at his side. Becoming Ra-Horakhty, he returned to the sky each morning.

Magic, Medicine, and the House of Life

Modern belief claims that medicine is something rational and magic is irrational. The Egyptians, however, did not see the two as separate, opposing concepts; one ultimately supported the other. Physicians were skilled in identifying the physical cause of ailments and treating them appropriately; as such, they are known as some of the most reputable doctors in the ancient world. They understood dentistry, surgery, broken bones, antiseptics, and sedatives. They also understood illness and injury as having an invisible, supernatural cause. Therefore, both causes, physical and invisible, needed to be addressed to cure the patient.

Curative heka went alongside common treatments, usually applied directly to the affected areas, such as a knotted necklace with a papyrus spell worn until healing was complete. Homeopathic magic worked under the assumption that like affects like; that the innate connection between two things could control its effects. Other forms of magic could be used to persuade deities into aiding the sick or injured, whether it be supplication or a direct threat against the divine.

Treatments and spells were also meticulously recorded for future use. As such, there needed to be a place to store and study documents. The House of Life was where many priests and physicians learned the crafts of their respective positions. It was a university, library, and scriptorium, where men came to study astronomy, medicine, and magic. Housed within sacred temple grounds, it propagated the transmission of knowledge and shared practice. Those tasked with reading and keeping records held the prestigious title of lector priests or scribes. They were additionally in charge of rituals carried out in temples and were a liaison between the temple complex and the outside world.

The specific contents of the House of Life are rather mysterious, given how tightly the institution was controlled, how much time has passed, and limited archaeological findings. What is known speaks to an intelligent and inquisitive group of specialized individuals. Some of those who mastered the arts of medicine and magic were highly regarded. More often than not, those priests were of Sekhmet.

Priests of Sekhmet

During the 5th dynasty (c. 2498 – 2345 BCE), priests of Sekhmet were already established in their specialties. Throughout the kingdom, they were most known for their aptness in applying practical, conventional medical care in unison with magical preventatives, remedies, and cures. In several magico-medical texts, treatments are to be administered strictly by any skilled physician or priest of Sekhmet. Given that Sekhmet ruled over many of the ailments of Egypt, aside from the notable occurrences of scorpion stings, her priests ended up becoming well-rounded physicians and public health officials.

Around 2487 BCE, a priest named Ni-Ankh Sekhmet—Belonging to the Life of Sekhmet—performed the first successful medical procedure in the history of the world. As recorded, a king suffered from relentless nosebleeds, and Ni-Ankh Sekhmet treated him and cured him not using magic but with practical medicine. Though magic was habitual, Ni-Ankh Sekhmet demonstrates the prudence necessary in the progress of medical knowledge and innovations, something that all of Sekhmet’s priests likely shared.

Publicly, it was believed that fever was caused by the emissaries of Sekhmet; the breath of their being sent a wind of plague. In order to combat the harmful spread of disease, priests had to publicly claim they were the son(s) of the great goddess or that they would call upon any who may be her son. Becoming the son of Sekhmet meant that the goddess might protect them or simply spare them from the supernatural causes of plagues.

So familiar were Sekhmet’s priests with disease prevention that they utilized things that would be seen as commendable in modern times. They encouraged households to frequent cleanings, sweeping rooms with brooms bristled with antiseptic or beneficial herbs. They also performed ceremonies to advise the public on how to protect themselves from spread and carefully examined ceremonial meats the people may consume. Sekhmet, as it seems, gave them an unrivaled ability to detect her essence in anything or anyone exposed to her malice.

On a national scale, Amenhotep III (c.1390 – 1352 BCE) commissioned pairs of lion statues, one seated and one standing, to be erected for each day of the year and placed within the temple of Karnak in Thebes. Over one hundred statues in total sat within the temple, presumably to pacify or satisfy Sekhmet in a way that prevented epidemics and protected his people from disaster. Most of Sekhmet’s statues originate from its vast collection.

A Paradoxical Goddess

The achievements of those who served Sekhmet are fundamental in understanding the evolution of medicine in Egypt and the world. They revolutionized how the ancients viewed and practiced medicine and public health. Holistic and conventional techniques carried on for thousands of years, some still very much reasonable in today’s world. Naturally occurring antiseptics and antibacterial plants, cleanliness of both patient and physician, or quarantining during outbreaks, are reminders of her priests’ efforts.

Still, the fearsome goddess was more than the cure for the plagues of man. She was often invoked to bind, subdue, and restrain. Many of her spells were aggressive, bending the will of some unfortunate recipient in matters of love and hate. As a solar deity, she was also invoked for divination, dreams, and visions. She was “the one who shakes, who thunders, who has swallowed the serpent, surrounds the moon, and hour by hour raises the disk of the sun.”

But Sekhmet was never herself evil; she merely ruled over the unavoidable truths that haunt humanity’s minds and bodies. She is an eternal paradox. A consuming flame that cannot help but destroy, yet from its embers, compassion, healing, and wisdom rise.

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Featured image: Statue of the goddess Sekhmet, granodiorite, 1390 - 1353 BCE. (Museo Egizio, CC0)

References:

Pinch, G. 2002. Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt. Oxford University Press.

Pinch, G. 1994. Magic in Ancient Egypt. British Museum Press.

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Greenspan, J. 2024. How Ancient Egypt Advanced Medicine. History. Available at: https://www.history.com/articles/ancient-egyptian-medicine-cancer-treatment

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Betz, H.D. 1992. The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation. Second Edition. (PGM VII 359-69). The University of Chicago Press.

Looming over the lives of gods and mortals, fate was more than a concept; it was a primal force, woven and unfurled by unseen hands. Equally feared and venerated, the gods and goddesses that ruled its domains held the power to shape every moment and movement. They commanded the course of existence, human struggles and triumphs. Fate was inevitable, an untouchable absolute found in every ancient civilization.

Divine Law and the Tablet of Destiny: Mesopotamia

In ancient Mesopotamian societies, fate and death were inseparable. The Akkadian Mamitu, mother of fate and goddess of destiny, found her home amongst the dead, deciding the fate of mortals at her own, fickle will. There would be no turning back; her verdicts were eternal, irrevocable.

The goddess and proper ruler of the underworld was Ereshkigal, sister to Ishtar, goddess of love, war, and fertility. Ereshkigal’s admirer, Namtar, was the Herald of Death. He determined the fates of those in passing and was a liminal messenger to the gods, carrying news from the underworld to the divine realm.

It was said that Ishtar once attempted to steal her sister’s place as Queen of the Dead, but the great Anunnaki stepped in. They, too, played a part in the fates of humans and their fellow gods. Born from a union between the sky and the earth, they were supreme deities and judges, recognized as “those who see.”

Post-Akkadian texts consider the Anunnaki as those who ruled over fate, as such in the great Epic of Gilgamesh and The Descent of Inanna (Ishtar). Accordingly, Ishtar faced her judgment, given by gods who would spare her no mercy. For three days and three nights, her corpse hung high on the walls of Ereshkigal’s throne room.

Hittite mythology spoke of Lelwani, a deity of the underworld and divine law. In the god’s early incarnations, it was male, later to become female. She, coupled with other goddesses of fate, controlled the lifespans of humans and ensured safe passage through the underworld.

By Lalwani’s side were Istustaya and Papaya, who spun threads, weaving the lives of mortals; more importantly, the kings. The Hittite Tawara and their Hurrian sisters, Hutena and Hutellura, were also goddesses of fate. Additionally, they were associated with midwifery and nursing the newly born, as destiny was most certainly bestowed at birth.

The Gulses, mysterious unnamed beings, whose collective meant to carve, engrave, or mark, were the earliest known goddesses of fate. They appeared at birth and followed the living throughout their lives. Similarly, in later times, each person was given a guardian, a Lamma, who assisted and guided them towards their destiny. In this way, fate, whether it be a guardian or a shadowy figure, was an active participant in their assigned human’s journey, pulling the strings and marking a person for life.

The concept of fate being written is further exemplified by Nabu, vizier to Marduk. He was the god of literacy, rationality, wisdom, and a prolific prophet. Upon the Tablet of Destiny, made of clay and written in cuneiform, he engraved his prophecies and the fates of humanity. Consequently, whoever held this tablet ruled the world.

During the late Achaemenid period, a religious movement emerged in Persia, Zurvanism. This movement focused on the god of fate, Zurvan, seen as the personification of Limitless Time, Time of Long Dominion, or Infinite Time. Through his divinity, concepts of time and fate merged.

Bound to the axis mundi, the center of the earth, Zurvan worked from afar, conjuring the destinies of humans as a neutral figure, neither good nor evil. Through him, the forces of Angra Mainyu (chaos) and Ahura Mazda (order) were created. It was in these opposing forces that human destiny was perpetually influenced, shaped, and imposed, for better or worse.

The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog: Egypt

Akin to Mesopotamian mythology, the ancient Egyptians associated fate with death and judgment. Upon birth, a person would be given a Shai, an entity of predetermined destiny unique to each individual. They determined the length of one’s life and their demise. In depictions, it was seen as human or serpent, symbolizing the dualities of life and death, protection and danger. In the illustrious city of Alexandria, Shai was formally known as a god of luck and good fortune, going by the name Agathos Daimon.

Shai was known as one to join their companion throughout life and stand at the scales of Ma’at that judged them in death. As the goddess of divine law, balance, and order, Ma’at ruled over their fates thereafter. She could send them to paradise, or leave them in the murky lairs of the underworld.

Renenet, another deity of fate, fertility, and luck, rested on the shoulders of those most deserving and was a collaborator to Shai. During the Greco-Roman period, Isis absorbed her characteristics, as she did with many of the goddesses. Isis had always been known to play a decisive role in the fates of humans, as the mistress of life and sovereign of Shai and Renenet.

During the Second Intermediate Period, stories were written about Isis in the Westcar Papyrus, a scroll containing tales of magical events. Within it, the goddess was said to have echoed the names of several children as they came into the world, signifying her innate ability to foretell future events and contribute to the shaping of lives.

Perhaps the most prominent deity of fate was the golden goddess of birth, rebirth, beauty, and the cosmos, Hathor. She was linked to the primeval, the Eye of Ra, the celestial cow, and the creator god. Her complexity far outshone much of the Egyptian pantheon, as she once governed the underworld. Being seen by some as the feminine counterpart to Osiris, she was often worshipped in his place by women in the Greco-Roman period.

In the form of seven—Lady of the Universe, Sky-storm, The Hidden One, You from Khemmis, Red-hair, Bright One, and Your name prevails over the West— Hathor presided over fate, revealing when and how life would be taken. She, too, was absorbed by Isis, the all-encompassing goddess of the Roman era.

During the New Kingdom, dramatic stories were told of Hathor’s prophetic powers and what fate would befall humans from as early as birth. One such story concerns a prince born on a gloomy night. The seven sacred forms of Hathor appeared before him and his family. They spoke of destiny and fate, an untimely end brought about by one of three: a snake, a crocodile, or a dog.

To save his son, the king shipped him away to a place where animals would not find him, but the prince was never happy, begging for freedom. Accepting his fate, or at least willing to live with it, he was reluctantly released and found love in Naharin. His wife saved him from the first fate, the snake. He narrowly escaped the second, the dog. Tragically, immediately after, the crocodile took his life.

Though the text ended abruptly, it hinted at the possibility that the prince may have been able to save himself by defeating the crocodile’s enemy. Fate for the Egyptians was perceived as imminent; still, innumerable prayers expressed that Amun, if he so chose to, could alter one’s fate. The prince, unfortunately, may not have been so fortunate.

The Sisters Three: Greece and Rome

To the ancient Greeks, fate and destiny were a force even greater than the gods. The mighty Zeus once thought it might be possible to manipulate fate, but he was reminded by his wife, Hera, of his place as the upholder of law and the delicate balance of the world, why fate was of such significance. Wisely, he chose to never question or act against it.

Zeus was the father of fate after all, and the Titaness Themis was mother and goddess of divine law. Their children were three goddesses of a proper name, the Fates, Moirai. At an earlier time, it was said that they were the daughters of night, epitomizing the often dark and immutable aspects of fate.

During the Hellenistic period, the Fates were known to be old, eternally spinning the threads of life. Among them were Lachesis, the apportioner, who measures each thread and the portion allotted to each mortal. Clotho, the spinner, created the threads to be spun, and Atropos, she who cannot be turned aside, cut the thread when it was time.

The Fates’ Roman counterparts were the Parcae, Fata, the Bringers-Forth, the Sisters Three. Their threads determined birth, death, and suffering of gods and men. Upon birth, Nona decided the lifespan, bestowing a name for the child on the ninth day if it were a boy and the eighth day if it were a girl. Decima measured the thread of life, and Morta cut it, delivering death.

The Greek Socrates spoke of Plato’s Myth of Er, a man brought back from death. Er was a soldier, mortally wounded in battle. Days later, his comrades placed him and his fallen friends atop a funeral pyre. Right as the flames were about to ignite, Er miraculously sprang to life, and what a story he had to tell.

According to Er, after he had died, he found himself surrounded by the dead in a mystifying place, where one end led to the heavens and one down to earth. It was in this place that each soul’s actions on earth were judged and their subsequent fate in the afterlife arranged. For those rewarded, they remained in paradise for a thousand years, and for those less fortunate, unrelenting suffering.

After a thousand years of bliss or torment, the souls would return for judgment, but this time, they were given a choice. A messenger from the gods came forth, preparing lots made by Clotho from the knees of Lachesis, and then spoke.

“Souls of the day, here you begin a new period of life. Nobody will choose for you. You must make your own decision. Do not blame the god for it. The responsibility will be your own.” (Plato, Republic)

Hearing this, each soul made their choice. After Atropos approved and granted each their destiny, they slept and drank from Lethe’s River of Forgetfulness, Unheeding. In a coincidental twist of fate, Er was not allowed to drink from the river, so he never forgot his past life nor moved on to his much-anticipated rebirth. Rather, he was swiftly shot back into his body as it was readied for incineration.

As Socrates recounted this tale, he professed that punishment for life’s immoralities followed into the afterlife. The soul never ceased to exist, carrying with it all that it had done wrong or right; the moral laws that ruled the living also ruled the dead. Er’s punishment, his fate, was to return to his decaying body.

In another tale, the Fates were, as understood, renowned prophets. The Calydonian Boar Hunt began with a child born by the name of Meleager. Seven days after his birth, the Fates came with messages, declaring the child would grow into an exceptionally handsome and brave man. Yet, without warning, one pointed to a log burning in the household fireplace and said, “When the log is consumed, the child will die.”

Frantic, Meleager’s mother rushed to remove the log and hide it in a place only she would know. Indeed, the child grew into a brave and handsome man, accompanying Jason as a member of the Argonauts. Word had spread about a formidable boar that needed slaying, and many jumped at the opportunity, Meleager being one of them, and the fierce Atalanta, a woman none had anticipated.

Meleager became enthralled with Atalanta’s beauty and talents. He would be the one credited for slaying the ferocious beast, giving its pelt to his new lover, the one who was rightfully owed. However, his uncles protested his actions and a fight ensued. By the end of it, Meleager had killed his uncles, brothers to his mother. Stubborn fury led his mother to retrieve the long-forgotten log and set it ablaze, and with it, Meleager perished.

Web Weavers: The Norse

“A beautiful hall stands under the ash by the well, and out of this hall come three maidens whose names are Urdr (past), Verdandi (present), and Skuld (future). They shape the lives of men. We call them the Norns.” (Sterluson, Prose Edda)

Each day, the three sisters sat beneath Yggdrasill, the sacred tree, sprinkling water and filling its roots with clay. They were giantesses, goddesses, and above all, weavers of fate. The Norse, having presumably been inspired by the Fates of Greece, summoned their own, awe-inspiring and powerful beings.

Urdr came first; her name given to the spring that ran at the foot of the great world tree, the Well of Urdr. From night they came, and neither god nor man could question or sway their verdicts. Visiting those at birth, they foretold their lives and destinies. To the gods, they warned of the future, counseled them on the present, and helped them see the errors of their past. If a mortal were to see them, they would appear as mythical mermaids, guiding them to a better future. Additionally, each person was granted a Fylgie at birth, a lifetime guardian that only appeared to them in death.

The eldest, Urdr, was aged and withered. Verdandi was fearless and strong. Skuld was hidden beneath a veil holding an open book or scroll that none could read. Looking in opposing directions, they embodied time and the will of Orlog, the eternal laws that governed the universe, that which had no end or beginning.

Weaving threads denoting the events of life and black threads ominous to death, sister strands stretched from mountain to sea, intricately entangled, known as the Norns’ web. Urdr and Verdani kept the web consistently going, while Skuld impulsively tore their web for a new one to form. In times of war, the Norns were personified as the Vala, prophetesses who followed vast armies into battle, and who accepted brutal sacrifices on their behalf.

A story was once told—not so different from Meleager’s—in which the Norns traveled to Denmark to visit a nobleman and his expectant wife. The child came into the world, and they named him Nornagesta. The Norns, one by one, shared their gifts of prophecy and destiny with the family. One had said that the boy would grow to be brave and handsome, and the second said he would fill his parents’ heart with joy.

Quickly, news spread through town of the boy’s birth, and many flocked to catch a glimpse of the goddesses. Skuld, as temperamental as she was, became enraged and declared that the child would live as long as the candle that burned at his bedside. One of the Norns hastily snuffed the flame and gave the candle to the mother for safekeeping.

When Nornagesta grew, his mother gifted him the candle, which he then kept inside the harp that he toted everywhere he went. He lived for three hundred years, watching the world pass him by. Christianity had come, the old gods since departed, and Nornagesta was forced into baptism. The enforcer, the king, made him finally light his candle in an attempt to discredit superstitious pagan beliefs. And so, he did; the candle was lit, and as it fizzled to an end, Nornagesta drifted away. Fate wavered to no one.

Karma and the String of Fate: China, Japan, and India

A goddess, once a daughter to the Jade Emperor Yudi and the youngest of her siblings, was known for her elaborate and exquisite weaving. Her name was Zhinu, and she lived amid the clouds, weaving her father’s robes and occasionally returning to earth for visits. During one of her stays, she fell deeply in love with a cowherder named Niu Lang and refused to return to the sky.

Eventually, though, Zhinu did return and brought her beloved husband with her. Still, her father was unhappy; she had not woven in quite a while, and he feared she would neglect it altogether. He ordered them to live separately, on opposite ends of the expansive Milky Way. Only one day out of the year were they permitted to see each other, as a magic bridge appeared, enabling them to venture across. On this day, their love renewed and rain would fall to the earth. And on this day, the seventh day of the seventh month, their love would be celebrated by the people.

For the Chinese and the Japanese, fate brought two people together, their love destined by the Red String of Fate. It attached to the ankles of soul mates, and from birth to death, they were forever linked. The goddess of love and marriage, Yoe Lao in Chinese mythology, wove the threads that joined them. Because of this, every encounter a person had in life was purposeful to their journey, whether it be for love or not. The threads that bind brought all sorts of people together; destiny worked in peculiar ways.

The Chinese term yuanfen, fateful coincidence, often refers to the potential of either good or bad fortune in one’s relationships. To be lucky in such relationships was a reflection of one’s past, rooted in past lives. This idea, that one’s lives carry over into the next, is similarly reflected in the Hindu belief of karma.

The concept of karma suggests that the cycles of life, death, and rebirth are everlasting, the Samsara Cycle. The actions, thoughts, and lifestyles of an individual carry through all lifetimes until they break the cycle, Moksha. The ultimate goal, then, would be to liberate oneself from this enduring karmic cycle by adhering to the laws of dharma, virtuous and divine law. The Hindu gods and goddesses enforce karma. It was the responsibility of the individual to choose righteousness over evil.

As such, fate may not be viewed as fixed or woven tightly as it is in other cultures; it could be, to some extent, altered. This concept that fate was both predetermined and subject to human agency spread from India to China and further to Japan along with the diffusion of Buddhism, each culture modifying it to its system of beliefs.

The Chinese incorporated Siming, the Director of Destinies, a cosmic deity who took authority over lifespans and amended fate. According to Taoism, Bixia Yuanjun, the goddess of destiny, childbirth, and dawn, also played a role in lifespans and judged those in death. Daoism assigned fate deities to specific years, making the Chinese fate structure an undeniably complex organization. Nonetheless, these perceptions of fate brought a sense of light to what other cultures may have imagined as dim and foreboding. Fate and love intermingled, and decency brought luck and prosperity.

Unraveling Common Symbols and Meanings

Like the cyclical wheel of time, the sacred triads of fate—birth, death, and rebirth; past, present, and future—were continuous. It is a loom spinning threads, weaving webs, or tossing those upon it wherever they may go. As such, time and fate were inevitably and intimately connected.

The Egyptians had the ouroboros, the circling serpent, with its tail in its mouth forming an infinite loop of time and destiny. Or perhaps the Ankh, the Key of Life, with another loop atop it indicating a connection to the gods, life and death, and one’s fate in the afterlife. India and Buddhist nations had the wheel of dharma, representing the cycles of nature, time, and paths to enlightenment. Fortuna, the Roman goddess of luck, spun her wheel of fortunes, granting favor to some or misfortune to others. All the same, the primeval Welsh goddess, Arianrhod, turned her imposing silver wheel of years and wove majestic tapestries of life.

For all the threads that were spun and the wheels that turned, fate and destiny could not have existed without time or awaited death. Those who sewed fate also sewed birth and death; fate was overwhelmingly feminine. The threads of multiple cultures and the female deities that spun them reflected women’s roles as weavers, mothers, and creators. The oracles of ancient times were also predominantly female, as were fate-inducing goddesses.

As diverse as many of these constructs of fate may seem, they are remarkably similar. Ancient people relinquished control over the ambiguities of life, leaving it up to the gods to decide. Likewise, modern people, just as the ancients, pray to their god(s) for a fortuitous future, believing it to be something supernatural or divinely timed. How different the world would be if destiny were truly in the hands of the beholder.

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Featured image: The Three Fates, 1910 (Alexander Rothaug, Public domain)

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (September 9, 2024)

References:

Pinch, G. 2002. Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt. Oxford University Press.

Powell, B.B. 2015. Classical Mythology Eight Edition. Pearson Education, Inc.

Guerber, H.A. 2006. Tales of Norse Mythology. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

Lecouteux, C., Translated by: Graham, J.E. Encyclopedia of Norse and Germanic Folklore, Mythology, and Magic. Inner Transitions International.

Mark, J.J. 2011. The Mesopotamian Pantheon. World History Encyclopedia. Available at: https://www.worldhistory.org/article/221/the-mesopotamian-pantheon/

Sutherland, A. 2022. Mesopotamian God Nabu Inscribed the Human Fates Determined by the Gods. Ancient Pages. Available at: https://www.ancientpages.com/2018/08/07/mesopotamian-god-nabu-inscribed-the-human-fates-determined-by-the-gods/

Baugh, S.L. 2024. Anunnaki Mesopotamian Mythology. Britannica. Available at: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Anunnaki

Beckman, G. 2014. Man’s Fate: Divine Responsibility for Human Welfare in Hatti. Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East. Available at: https://deepblue.lib.umich.edu/bitstream/handle/2027.42/163533/RAI%2060%E2%80%94Man%27s%20Fate.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y

Adapted translation from: Nederhof & Blackman. Westcar Papyrus: The birth of three pharaohs. Ancient Egypt Online. Available at: https://ancientegyptonline.co.uk/westcar-pharaohs-birth/

The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog. Bristol Museums Learning. Available at: https://www.bristolmuseums.org.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/06/Story-The-Snake-the-Crocodile-the-Dog-ancient-Egypt.pdf

Chinese Mythology. Mythlok. Available at: https://mythlok.com/world-mythologies/asian/south-east-asian-mythology/chinese/

Red String of Fate: Chinese Love and Destiny. Mythlok. Available at: https://mythlok.com/red-string-of-fate-chinese-love-destiny/

2022. Tridevi. DNA of Hinduism. Available at: https://www.dnaofhinduism.com/deities-philosophers--bhakts/tridevi

Many Greek authors on Substack (and I’m sure elsewhere) have written about the continuity between ancient and modern Greece, like the wonderful Sasha Chaitow, creator of Thyrathen. But here I want to look specifically at the thread connecting the νεράιδες (neraides, or fairies) of modern Greek folklore and the nymphs of ancient Greek mythology.

ANCIENT NYMPHS

In ancient mythology, nymphs were local nature spirits frequently described as tall, beautiful women and invariably tied to the land: trees, springs, rivers, caves, mountains, the sea, etc. Different nymphs had different names depending on what they inhabited. Dryads, for example, were tree spirits, while oreads were of the mountains. The modern term neraida is widely assumed to have come from the name for sea nymphs, nereids.

Pausanias describes various shrines and sacred sites where mortals left sacrifices and prayed to the nymphs, perhaps hoping for blessings and good favor.

“There is in Samicum a cave not far from the river, and called the Cave of the Anigrid Nymphs. Whoever enters it suffering from alphos or leuke first has to pray to the nymphs and to promise some sacrifice or other, after which he wipes the unhealthy parts of his body. Then, swimming through the river, he leaves his old uncleanness in its water, coming up sound and of one color.” (Pausanias, trans Jones, Ormerod)

Such hopes were not in vain; nymphs were known in myth to help mortals. For example, a mortal son of Apollo named Aristaeus was raised by nymphs. They not only cared for him but taught him the arts of cheesemaking and beekeeping:

“Now Apollo begat by Cyrene in that land a son Aristaeus and gave him while yet a babe into the hands of the Nymphs to nurture, and the latter bestowed upon him three different names, calling him, that is, Nomius, Aristaeus, and Agreus. He learned from the Nymphs how to curdle milk, to make bee-hives, and to cultivate olive-trees, and was the first to instruct men in these matters.” (Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca Historia trans. Oldfather)

In another story, Thetis and her nereid sisters guided Jason and his Argonauts through dangerous waters at the request of the goddess Hera:

“After the Sirens, the ship encountered Charybdis and Scylla and the Planctae (Wandering Rocks), above which a great flame and smoke were seen rising. But Thetis with the Nereids steered the ship through them at the summons of Hera.” (Apollodorus, Bibliotheca)

But nymphs could also be quite dangerous. Also on the Argonauts’ journey, a young man named Hylas drank from a nymph’s stream and caught her attention. Enamored, the nymph dragged him down into the depths:

“And quickly Hylas came to the spring which the people who dwell thereabouts call Pegae. And the dances of the nymphs were just now being held there; for it was the care of all the nymphs that haunted that lovely headland ever to hymn Artemis in songs by night. All who held the mountain peaks or glens, all they were ranged far off guarding the woods; but one, a water-nymph was just rising from the fair-flowing spring; and the boy she perceived close at hand with the rosy flush of his beauty and sweet grace. For the full moon beaming from the sky smote him. And Cypris made her heart faint, and in her confusion she could scarcely gather her spirit back to her. But as soon as he dipped the pitcher in the stream, leaning to one side, and the brimming water rang loud as it poured against the sounding bronze, straightway she laid her left arm above upon his neck yearning to kiss his tender mouth; and with her right hand she drew down his elbow, and plunged him into the midst of the eddy.” (Apollonius Rhodius, trans. Seaton)

Not that an amorous nymph was always deadly. Odysseus was held captive by the nymph Calypso for ten years and never came to harm, though he spent the whole time longing to go home. When Calypso is ordered by Zeus to let him go, she’s not happy about it, but she accepts the gods’ decree and lets Odysseus go with good enough grace.

“My poor fellow, you shall not stay here grieving and fretting your life out any longer. I am going to send you away of my own free will; so go, cut some beams of wood, and make yourself a large raft with an upper deck that it may carry you safely over the sea. I will put bread, wine, and water on board to save you from starving. I will also give you clothes, and will send you a fair wind to take you home, if the gods in heaven so will it- for they know more about these things, and can settle them better than I can.” (Homer, trans. Butler)

And then there’s Oenone, who carried on what seems to have been a lengthy and consensual, if ultimately tragic, relationship with the Trojan prince Paris before he married Helen:

“Alexander married Oinone, daughter of the river Cebren. She had learned from Rhea the art of prophecy, and warned Alexander not to sail to fetch Helen; but failing to persuade him, she told him to come to her if he were wounded, for she alone could heal him. When he had carried off Helen from Sparta and Troy was besieged, he was shot by Philoctetes with the bow of Hercules, and went back to Oinone on Ida. But she, nursing her grievance, refused to heal him. So Alexander was carried to Troy and died. But Oinone repented her, and brought the healing drugs; and finding him dead she hanged herself.” (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bilbliotheca trans. Frazer)

As we can see, nymphs weren’t all powerful. They’re of course subject to the commands of gods, and also to the pain of real love. And they could be captured and subdued, though perhaps not without divine favor and permission. Thetis, the same nereid who helped Jason, was forcibly wed to the mortal king Peleus. Though it was decreed by Zeus, it appears that Peleus still had to capture Thetis for himself.

“Afterwards he married Thetis, daughter of Nereus, for whose hand Zeus and Poseidon had been rivals; but when Themis prophesied that the son born of Thetis would be mightier than his father, they withdrew. But some say that when Zeus was bent on gratifying his passion for her, Prometheus declared that the son borne to him by her would be lord of heaven; and others affirm that Thetis would not consort with Zeus because she had been brought up by Hera, and that Zeus in anger would marry her to a mortal. Chiron, therefore, having advised Peleus to seize her and hold her fast in spite of her shape-shifting, he watched his chance and carried her off, and though she turned, now into fire, now into water, and now into a beast, he did not let her go till he saw that she had resumed her former shape. And he married her on Pelion, and there the gods celebrated the marriage with feast and song.” (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bilbliotheca trans. Frazer)

NERAIDES OF FOLKLORE

The behavior and descriptions of ancient Greek nymphs are preserved remarkably faithfully in modern Greek folk tradition. The neraides of folk stories are likewise tall, graceful, more beautiful than any mortal—in fact, Nikolaos Politis, the father of Greek folk studies, explicitly describes their beauty as goddess-like. Like their ancient counterparts (or ancestors), they are found in nature, particularly in liminal spaces on the edge of civilization and in the wilderness. The British Hellenophile John Cuthbert Lawson points out the similarities explicitly:

“The Nereids are conceived as women half-divine yet not immortal, always young, always beautiful, capricious at best, and at their worst cruel. Their presence is suspected everywhere; grim forest-depth and laughing valley, babbling stream and wind-swept ridge, tree and cave and pool, each may be their chosen haunt, the charmed scene of their dance and song and godlike revelry. The old distinctions between the nymphs according to their habitations still to some extent hold good; there are nymphs of the sea and nymphs of the streams, tree-nymphs and mountain-nymphs; but in characteristics these several classes are alike, in grace, in frolic, in wantonness. Of all that is light and mirthful they are the ideal; of all that is lovely the exquisite embodiment; and their hearts beneath are ever swayed by fierce gusts of love and of hate.” (Lawson)

Both Lawson and Politis relate countless stories of humans stumbling across neraides—sometimes to the humans’ benefit, sometimes to their detriment, just as in ancient mythology. Their stories speak of mortals being blinded, led astray, struck by madness, or even killed. Beautiful women could stir up violent jealousy in the neraides, or beautiful young men could incur their ire through rejection. Take, for example, a tale related by Politis that calls to mind the story of Hylas:

“Old Katsiavos, from Bentení, when he was young, was once sitting by a riverbank. A Neraida came, dressed like a Vlach woman, with all-golden hair and so beautiful that she had no equal. She embraced him, and from then on she constantly sought him out. But he did not want her and continually avoided her. One day at noon she found him and said: ‘Leave your wife and marry me.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ said Katsiavos, ‘that’s the last thing we need.’ That night, when he went to sleep beside his wife, the Neraida came—more beautiful than ever before. She undressed and lay down beside him. When he tried to drive her away and curse at her, she rose up and seized him by the throat in order to strangle him. Katsiavos grabbed her hand and pushed her away. Then he seized his rifle and tried to shoot her—but she vanished.” (Politis qtd Akritidou)

Old Katsiavos, and many other men of folk tales, escape—unlike the unfortunate Hylas. Women who tangle with the nymphs appear less lucky.

“...another girl, very beautiful, happened to pass by while two Neraides were amusing themselves with two young men whom they had abducted. They became very angry and began beating her. The two young men begged them earnestly not to kill the poor girl, but they, out of jealousy, insisted on throwing her from a cliff. They brought her right to the edge of the precipice, where it seemed impossible that she would not fall. The unfortunate girl did not fall from the cliff, but what can one say? The Neraides did her such harm that a week later she died.” (Politis qtd Akritidou)

Children, too, are at risk from neraides. This bit, to me, is quite interesting because we begin to see similarities with fairies of other European cultures. In ancient myth, we frequently see nymphs being granted custodianship of babies like Aristaeus—and Hermes and Dionysos and even Zeus himself—but in modern folklore, neraides steal human babies and leave supernatural children in their place. In other words, changelings.

“At the place called Kanalakia, a young mother once passed by and had hung from a plane tree the cradle with her child, who was as beautiful as cold water. But the Aneraides stole it from her, and put into the cradle another child, snub-nosed, wrinkled, shaggy-haired, and constantly mewling.” (Politis qtd Akritidou)

But before we come away with the idea that neraides are all vicious bullies, we need to look at one more story, related in the book of children’s stories Folktales From Greece: A Treasury of Delights, retold by Soula Mitakidou and Anthony L. Manna, with Melpomeni Kanatsouli. Their story Loukas and Kalothia shares marked similarities with that of Thetis’ capture and marriage to Peleus: A neraida is captured by a young man who steals her veil, the source of her power. Despite her many transformations, he holds fast and brings her home as his bride. However, unlike Thetis, who eventually gets fed up with her mortal husband and returns to the sea, Kalothia (at least in Mitakidou et al’s retelling) falls in love with her husband and her mortal life, even choosing to return after briefly escaping.

Other stories from Politis and other folklorists follow this same vein, though many speak of taking the neraida’s hair rather than her veil. They’re also decidedly less child-friendly. Rather than a loving marriage, the neraides of these stories are subjected to manual and sexual servitude:

“...the noble ladies were holding a dance. I was in good spirits and passed through the middle of the dance, and I managed to grab from one of them some golden hairs from her head and put them in my watch-pocket. From then on, wherever I went alone at night, she would meet me and say: ‘Ah, Kostis, how good you are. How handsome. If you wish, I will give you whatever you want—only give me back what you took from me. Give me my hair, and whatever else you want, I will give it to you.’ I would not give it back to her, and I had her every night as my beloved. Later, I grew tired of her and gave it back to her, and after that I never saw her again.” (Vios, qtd Akritidou)

“Someone may seize the Aloustina by the hair and bring her into his house. There he may keep her as a servant, and in everything he will prosper, because whatever she touches will multiply.” (Politis, qtd Akritidou)

TRANSFORMATION AND CONTINUITY

Although we see real differences in the folk tradition, the similarities are too deep and too obvious to ignore. The neraides of more recent folklore represent a thread—though sometimes colored and woven together with other religious and cultural influences—that reaches thousands of years into antiquity, connecting modern Greece with its ancient ancestors.

And it’s worth noting that neraides’ thread is just one of many. Countless others remain—in religion, ritual, language, folk practice, music, and more—tying us to our past and reminding us (and, one can only hope, the world) that Greeks didn’t go extinct. History didn’t stop. Greece didn’t disappear. The land is still there, and so are the people. So are the stories despite two thousand years of peace, war, and everything in between. Through it all, the threads of our tapestry were woven into new patterns, but they didn’t break. Ancient spirit and imagination still flow through real people living in a real country today, and, gods willing, will continue to do so for centuries to come.

A special thanks to Kassandra Flamouri for contributing to Mythical Ancients. Kassandra is a Greek-American author, mom, and mythology geek writing to make mythology work FOR women, not against them.

The Partheneia Project

Essays, Greek myth retellings and adaptations, novels, and other writing centered on the power of narrative in shaping who we are and what we do. Change the story, change yourself, change the world.

By Kassandra Flamouri

REFERENCES:

Ακριτίδου, Μ. “Οι νεράιδες στις ελληνικές λαϊκές παραδόσεις: Μια προσέγγιση μέσα από την έννοια της οριακότητας.” Μουσείο Μπενάκη 10 (2011): 131–160. https://ejournals.epublishing.ekt.gr/index.php/benaki/article/view/1779/1768

Apollonius Rhodius. The Argonautica. Translated by R. C. Seaton. Project Gutenberg. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/830/830-h/830-h.htm

Diodorus Siculus. Library of History. Translated by C. H. Oldfather. ToposText. https://topostext.org/work/133

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Samuel Butler. MIT Classics Archive. https://classics.mit.edu/Homer/odyssey.5.v.html

Lawson, John Cuthbert. Modern Greek Folklore and Ancient Greek Religion: A Study in Survivals. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1910.

Mitakidou, Soula, and Anthony L. Manna. Folktales from Greece: A Treasury of Delights. With Melpomeni Kanatsouli. Greenwood Village, CO: Libraries Unlimited, 2002.

Pausanias. Description of Greece. Translated by W. H. S. Jones and H. A. Ormerod. ToposText. https://topostext.org/work/213

Pseudo-Apollodorus. The Library (Bibliotheca). Translated by J. G. Frazer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1921.

Each year, the United States has an average of 1,200 tornadoes, making up more than 75% of worldwide occurrences. The Central Great Plains is a unique geographical landscape that produces the perfect conditions for turbulent storms to form. With warm air rising from the south and cold air descending from the north, these vast flat lands become atmospheric battlegrounds. For those who have experienced the terrors of the mighty tornado, it is a haunting reminder of Mother Nature’s supremacy.

When Europeans first came to North America, they may have never anticipated what destructive forces awaited them as they colonized these regions. The Indigenous people, on the other hand, who have lived on these lands for thousands of years, knew exactly what they were up against. For many generations, and through countless legends, stories, and words of wisdom passed down, they learned to live in harmony with their fickle springtime foe, Tornado.

Spirits of the Tornado

Many Indigenous mythologies tell tales of the spirits that inhabit the tornado. Often, these spirits were anthropomorphic in that they exhibited human features or characteristics. Some were powerful beings, while others were relatively innocuous. The terms cyclone or whirlwind could be used interchangeably to describe the tornado; in some cases, each represents something different. The cyclone was inherently destructive, a brutal force of nature. Whirlwinds, so common in the Great Plains, whipped up small twisters that were quick to dissipate, causing little harm to the community. These were seen as spirits of confusion or wanderers of the dead, shifting winds searching for the Spirit Land.

The Shawnee, Lenape, and Caddo tribes spoke of the Cyclone Person, an anthropomorphic male or female figure with long hair that thrashed and twisted. In Shawnee mythology, three primary entities created by the sacred Grandmother spirit controlled the weather. The first was a group of four, called the Four Winds, followed by the legendary Thunderbird, whose eyes burst lightning as it fought the Horned Serpent during fierce storms. Similarly, there was also the Cyclone, envisioned as a female with long, entangled braids that made up the formation of the tornado.

In Arikara and Arapaho tradition, they described the tornado as the Whirlwind Woman, a dangerous storm spirit of the Northern Plains. Like the Cyclone Person of the Shawnee and other tribes, the whirlwind was anthropomorphic with feminine characteristics. She was a formidable being, yet was also seen as the bringer of magical and fortuitous gifts to those she deemed worthy. Some tales considered her a spirit of the tornado; others claim that she joined with the tornado as it swept her up in human form.

The Power of the Cyclone: A Caddo Legend

As a young boy rested by the river as he often did, he suddenly began to hear a mysterious, disembodied voice call out to him. This voice whispered gifts of unimaginable strength and supremacy; intrigued, the boy listened. From the depths of the dark water, an old man slowly emerged. He told the boy that his power was that of the great cyclone, but his age had weakened him, and he needed a successor to carry on his legacy.

The old man instructed the boy to lift his arms and gently swing them around. The boy complied, and the sky darkened; ominous clouds formed. “Swing your arms faster, faster,” the old man shouted. Squalls rapidly descended, hitting the ground with a tumultuous roar. Trees flung from their roots, debris scattered the land, and the river tossed and churned as the boy continued to swing in amazement. Amid all the chaos and excitement, the old man suddenly demanded that he stop. Just as quickly as it began, it was all over. From that day forth, the boy was known as Path-of-the-Cyclone.

The Girl Who Became a Whirlwind

While on a buffalo hunt, two Arikara children, a little boy and his older sister, had gotten separated from the group. Weary, they ventured into the forest, eyes flicking through trees, searching for the familiarity of their village. Hours passed, and stomachs grew empty. The girl led her little brother to a cave, leaving him to look for food. As she searched, a whirlwind miraculously appeared before her and swept her into its winds, taking her to a far-off place. Eventually, she returned, and the children were taken back to safety. Soon, the brother noticed a change in his sister: she disappeared at random and would be gone for days at a time.

During their many conversations, the brother mentioned various things he wished he had to help him be a good hunter. Knowing this, the sister disappeared once again, but this time, she returned with a bow and arrows for her brother. Although her ability to acquire these items puzzled him, he was extremely grateful. Throughout the years, however, the brother grew suspicious of her advantageous gifts and the storms that followed in her reappearance.

One day, the brother stumbled upon a parliament of owls. They told him the truth about his sister, that she was a whirlwind, and that she planned to kill him. To save himself, he offered the first woman he should marry to his cyclonic sister, and she agreed. More years had passed, and he was offered the chief’s daughter’s hand. On their wedding day, the brother took his new wife into his tipi and patiently waited for his sister to arrive. She swiftly came, happily taking his wife under her winds. In gratitude for keeping his promise, she gave him some of her abilities to aid him in becoming a fearsome warrior against his enemies. Before departing, she spoke one last time.

“When the winds come, you must know that I am the whirlwind. I will listen to the prayers of our people. When I am coming do not let my people be afraid of me, for I shall hear their prayer and shall always heed them. I shall not destroy them, but will always comfort them.” (Many-Fox, Arikara Tribe)

The Coyote and the Origin of Death

When the world began, no one ever died. Eventually, this created a very crowded world, with resources increasingly scarce. Realizing this could not continue, all the Caddo chiefs came together to decide what to do with the problem of immortal life. They had two options: let death be forever or just for a bit, so that they may return once they are ready. The debate persisted until the wise Coyote stepped in and insisted that there would never be enough resources for everyone if they kept letting people come back; the only option was eternal death. Seeing as the chiefs did not want their people to live in sadness and grief, they rejected his claim. And so, they made their decision, death would only be temporary.

Ready for the new arrangement, the chiefs called upon the medicine men of the tribe, and they built a grand house made of grass. This house would be a refuge for the wandering spirits, a place where they could be summoned back to life. For the first time, they let one of their people die, and on that day, they prepared the house for his return. When it was time, the medicine man began his song, one to bring the spirit forth.

In the distance, a whirlwind appeared and cautiously made its way to the house. Unbeknownst to everyone, Coyote, still holding firm in his decision, had other plans. Waiting for the opportune moment, right before the spirit would reach the threshold, Coyote slammed the door shut. Confused, the whirlwind spun past the house and carried on. Coyote decimated any chance for the spirits to return to the land of the living, and with that, the people were faced with the realities of eternal death. No more could they see their loved ones again, and the only hope for those passed on was that they might find the Spirit Land. Coyote knew the consequences of his actions, so he fled, forever in fear of retaliation.

Monstrous Encounters

While some mythologies spoke of nature spirits and the legendary powers of the tornado, others spoke of ravenous monsters of the undead. The origins of these monsters varied from tribe to tribe, with some not mentioning an origin, only referring to it in its mythical form. Most envision the monster as a colossus, with thrashing appendages that make up the tornado.

Among the Kiowa tribe of Oklahoma, the monster was seen as a beast with the upper body of a horse and the tail of a serpent. As the story goes, the Kiowa people created a horse from clay. Without warning, the horse came to life and retreated into the sky. Occasionally, the horse would dip its enormous tail back down to the earth, causing devastating tornadoes. Because the creature knew their language, the people were able to reason with it, at times sparing themselves from its fury. In the 19th and 20th centuries, a group of Kiowa artists created a beautifully illustrated calendar—the Silver Horn Calendar—to record and depict various events and instances of destruction caused by the great beast, the one they called Red Horse.

Other tribes envision the creature as a disembodied humanoid head with vicious dreads, similar to the cyclone and whirlwind woman. Yet, this creature had an insatiable hunger for human flesh. The giant head went by many names, most notably, dagwanoenyent, the flying head or whirlwind. Among the Iroquois, Wyandot and Seneca tribes, they are referred to as Flying Heads or Big Heads. In other Plains communities, they are the Rolling Head. Often associated with the undead, they were victims of grisly murder, participants in cannibalism, or involved in forbidden acts of blood, with the same devastating capabilities as the tornado.

In a Wintu Rolling Head legend, a young girl about to experience her first menstruation prepared herself for the puberty dance. She was required to stay home as the other women went out to collect bark for her upcoming ritual. However, she decided to sneak out anyway, joining the women and slicing her finger on a piece of jagged bark. The other women frantically fled to the village for help. Waiting in the forest, the girl suckled her finger to stop the blood flow, but it bled ceaselessly. Infuriated, she bit off her finger, then her arms, and finally, her legs. Now furious and without a body, she tumbled through her village, resolved to ruin. Subsequently, she was subdued by a man at a bridge. Pulling the bridge out from beneath her, the bodiless girl vanished into the gaping jaws of a fish.

The Brothers and Their Uncle, Flying Head

A group of twelve Seneca brothers went hunting each day. They usually separated, taking different paths to cover more ground. Stories and rumors were circulating amongst the villagers of witches that lurked in the dense forest, ones with a tendency to attack and kill young men. Knowing this, the brothers were ever vigilant. Still, the witches were able to trick them, and one by one, the brothers began to disappear. At last, there were only two brothers left, the youngest and the eldest. The youngest insisted they go looking, but the eldest knew they could not face the witches without a steadfast plan. So, he instructed his little brother to find their uncle, Flying Head, because he knew his uncle’s violent nature would be the advantage they needed. The only problem was getting his attention long enough to negotiate.

Hastily, the youngest gathered his bow and arrows and went out to find his uncle, who rested atop a big rock. Spotting him from a safe distance, he shot in its direction an arrow made from the wood of a hickory tree. Cutting through the air, the arrow transformed into the tree from which it came, waking the monstrous head. The boy cupped his hands and called out. In an explosion of wrath, the head launched down the rock, spinning like a whirlwind in pursuit. Running as fast as his legs could carry him, the boy shot arrow after arrow at his uncle’s trailing ire. Finally, the boy reached his home and leaped inside, where his brother waited to tackle the giant. As the head rolled in, the brothers clobbered it until it lay motionless. From there, they convinced the head to help them retrieve their brothers’ bones from the witches’ grasp.

Off they went in search of what remained of their brothers. When they arrived at the craggy cliff of witches, the head shouted out to them three times, causing them to stumble and fall from their perch to their deaths. At the base of the cliff, their bodies mingled with the bones of their hapless victims. Instructed by the head, the brothers threw the witches’ bones aside, transmuting them to birds. With the remainder of the bones, the brothers carefully pieced them together. Using its magic, the head brought all the salvaged bones back to life, but some were incomplete and disfigured. Nonetheless, each body made its way back to its mortal home. Those who stayed behind returned with the brothers, and their family was complete once again.

The Woman Who Defeated the Flying Head: An Iroquois Tale

Indeed, Flying Head of the Seneca was terrifying, but there was another, even more ghastly and bizarre.

“Though only a scowling, snarling head without a body, it was four times as tall as a man. Its skin was so thick and matted with hair that no weapon could penetrate it. Two huge wings grew from either side of its cheeks, and with them it could soar into the sky or dive down, floating, like a buzzard. Everything was prey to this monster, every living being…” (Erdos & Ortiz, retold from a 1902 tale)

Despite its ferociousness, one woman knew its weakness: it was perpetually curious about what humans liked to eat. On the night when she heard the beast coming, she made a great fire inside her home with the hottest of coals. As the Flying Head approached, she fervently pretended to eat the coals, knowing it would watch. Captivated by this peculiar feast, the head pushed its way inside and took a heaping serving of coals into its mouth. Screeching its agony, the head spread its wings and fled to the forest where it seethed in pain, shaking the earth to its core. After some time, the rumblings of the head began to fade into the distance until all was silent, and the head was never seen again.

A Reciprocal Relationship

Although many see the tornado as something that invokes fear, the Indigenous peoples of North America did not see it this way. For them, the tornado, just like all other aspects of nature, was to be respected and appreciated. Yes, there were times when communities were affected by terrible storms, but this did not shape their perceptions; instead, they understood that all things were connected and dependent on one another. Every part of the world and every act of nature had a spirit, and that spirit should never be controlled.

Still, it was necessary to be prepared for the seasons. Some communities temporarily relocated away from tornado-prone areas during the spring, allowing nature to work freely. If tribes were to stay, they could speak directly to the spirit of the tornado and ask it to avoid harming their people, and in many instances, it obliged. There are several stories passed down through oral tradition of tornadoes taking an alternate path. In these legends, the tornado spirit frequently offers comfort, safety, and reassurance; it hears their prayers. The relationship they share is a reciprocal one based on unity, cooperation, and the principles of causality. All things the earth creates are members of a symbiotic community, even the monsters that linger just beyond the clouds.

Featured image: Coyote on the Road, 1936-1939 (Cora Easton, Public domain)

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (July 2, 2024)

References:

Eurdoes, R. & Ortiz, A. 1984. Native American Myths and Legends. Pantheon Books.

Native American Tornado Mythology. Native-Languages. Available at: https://www.native-languages.org/legends-tornado.htm

Cajete, G. 2004. Philosophy of Native Science. American Indian Thought: Philosophical Essays, edited by Water, A. Blackwell Publishing.

Dorsey, G.A. 1904. Traditions of the Arikara. Carnegie Institute of Washington. Available at: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/68666/68666-h/68666-h.htm#Page_134

Dorsey, G.A. 1905. Traditions of the Caddo. Carnegie Institute of Washington. Available at: https://accessgenealogy.com/native/tale-of-the-power-of-the-cyclone.htm

Lewis, O. Shawnee Mythology [Achieve]. Orrin’s Website. Available at: https://www.bigorrin.org/archive123.htm

Weeks, L. 2014. A Native American Take on Tornadoes. The Protojournalist NPR. Available at: https://www.npr.org/sections/theprotojournalist/2014/06/17/319078684/a-native-american-take-on-tornadoes

When the sky ignites in a thunderous roar, the world cannot help but notice. Billowing clouds break, flames descend, and the cosmos spills onto the earth. For thousands of years, people have looked upon these embers of the great and vast unknown and found meaning in their arrival. Elagabalus took his sacred stone to Rome, the idol of his god, and the Romans killed him in return. But it was not the worship of a stone that killed him; it was his own undoing. Still, he was never alone in his reverence for the otherworldly. Others had taken the gift of the sky-fallen and given them a name, a legacy. As it was, a fire from the heavens is a fire fueled by the gods.

The House of the God

Though the origin of meteorite worship may date as far back as religion itself, its archaeological record dates to the Neolithic and Bronze Age. A cultic stone had been housed in the Temple of Tas-Silig in Malta. Amorite texts in western Mesopotamia dedicated a chosen stone for a ceremony. Hawasi stones, ritual standing stones of the Hittites and Phoenicians, sat in open-air sanctuaries and temples.

In ancient Egypt, one of the first forms of metalworking came from meteoritic iron, found within burials south of Cairo dating from 3350-3600 BCE, as beads of precious metal and gems strung together to adorn the wealthy. Or perhaps it was the mythical Benben stone of creation from which Atum rose, gleaming the first rays of light. King Tutankhamun also had a dagger crafted from the black stone of a meteorite, and Pliny the Elder claimed meteorite worship in Abydos.

The word baetyl, a word so commonly used to refer to these sacred stones, was first used as a designation for a holy place or a god. Later, it would denote the stone itself as the house of the god, the place in which the god resides. In Phoenicia, the baetyl would have been a rather small, conical object, known by inscriptions of its likeness prior to the use of the term.

Philo of Byblos, a 1st-century historian, had claimed that the Phoenicians worshipped a god named Baitylos, son of Ouranos, equivalent to Uranus, the Greek personification of the sky and consort to Gaia. It is in Baitylos, or Bethel in Assyrian, Achaemenid, Hellenistic, and biblical texts, that the origin of the god of the stone appears. Though in some of these texts, it varies as to whether he is a god or a place of worship.

The Three Graces and the Great Mother

In ancient Greece, the oldest known meteoritic cult was founded in Orchomenus, Boeotia: the Cult of the Charites, the three graces. Around the time of the legendary king of Thebes, King Eteocles (13th century BCE), three great stones had fallen. Each would come to represent the Charites, three enchanting goddesses of merriment and beauty, celebrated through festive dance, drama, and athletics.

The graces were worshipped as these stones, raw and uncut. Eventually, they would be given shape in anthropomorphic form, like their divine kin. It is believed by scholars that the stones of early temples were likely the beginnings of what would become the towering statues of deities, venerated with offerings, as their own houses of gods.

One of the most notable of ancient sky-fallen stones was that of the Magna Mater, the Great Mother. In Pessinus, at the foot of Mount Dindymon in Phrygia, the goddess was named as a large, misty stone, edges sharp and protruding. Accounts vary as to whether she was the stone or if the stone was incorporated into her image, which was said to have fallen in its completed form from the sky.

The craftsman of this unusual cultic symbol was said to be unknown, too perfect for human hands to have made. As such, the Great Mother’s cult was one of the most sacred in all the ancient world. She was later known as Cybele, the original goddess and quite possibly the oldest deity to have ever been worshipped.

The Romans were so taken by the Great Mother Cybele that in 204 BCE, they demanded her presence in Rome. The Sibylline Books, a very ancient book of oracular utterances, had been consulted as showers of stones fell from the sky. It was decided that these stones were a sign from the gods that the mother must be brought to Rome to guard them against Rome’s mortal enemy during the Punic Wars, Hannibal.

Cybele was brought to the center of Rome the same year, temporarily housed within the Temple of Victory, her honorable arrival celebrated yearly. Later, she was given her own on Palatine Hill as the Temple of the Great Idaean Mother. Her mythical origins were only told by Greco-Roman historians. Intriguingly, Cybele, as well as many others like her, were said to have been sent by one god in particular.

Zeus’s Fallen

Purportedly founded by the fierce Amazons of legend and myth, the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus took nearly 120 years to build. The monumental complex rested on marshy land as a natural shield against earthquakes and shifting soil. Built for the Anatolian goddess of fertility, who would later become the formidable Artemis of the hunt, this extremely ancient temple was rumored to house a sacred blackish stone, the dioptetes. Of Greek origin, the word meant that it fell from heaven, or more appropriately, fell from Zeus.

Zeus was the god of gods, of the sky and the storms that befell the earth. It is no wonder his hand was said to carve the images of the greatest of goddesses and cast them down in a fury of flames. In classical myth, the meteorites of worship were so often associated with this mighty god in whatever form they took.

The Palladium of Pallas Athena was another who came down in her fully fledged form. Measured at three cubits high (around 4.5 feet or 1.37 meters), her feet were merged as one, as she held a spear in one hand and a spindle for weaving in the other. Though said to have been crafted from wood, the image had fallen from the sky by the will of Zeus. For many years, it protected Troy; as long as she resided within its citadel walls, the city was safe from siege. But as it was told, the moment the Archaic Greeks stole her away, Troy collapsed. Later, she found her home in Rome.

In Delphi, the navel of the world was the Omphalos, a stone, dressed in oils and wools. The stone had once been swallowed by the titan god of time, Cronus, mistaken for his youngest son, Zeus, as he frantically feasted on his own children to prevent his prophesied downfall. When the stone was retrieved, Zeus placed it at the center of his world, Delphi. The stone is presumed to have been intricately carved marble; however, its mythological origin was in the heavens, the seat of power.

Certainly not all of the objects Zeus gifted to the Greeks from the heavens were meteorites; still, their tales held the same significance. The Romans were no different in their accounts of such events. During the time of the second legendary king of Rome, Numa Pompilius (707 BCE), a shield fell from Zeus into his possession, the Ancile. Expectedly, powerful symbols of authority and divinity, like Pompilius’s magical shield, always found their homes within the temple. Ancile was housed in the temple of Mars. The Palladium of Pallas Athena sat in the temple of Vesta in the Roman Forum, amongst the sacred Vestal Virgins, and Cybele was granted her own sanctuary.

Omens and Opinions

Indeed, the classical world favored stories of otherworldly inhibitors of stone, but that is not to say it was not met with some scrutiny. The Greeks and the Romans were thinkers, questioning the absolute. Yet, they also understood the unusual and recorded everything they had seen or heard. Omens by celestial objects have roots just as deep as the stones from which they worshipped. And the greatest minds of the time had much to say about it.

In 467 BCE, a man, Anaxagoras of Clazomenae, claimed that a stone forged by the sun would fall from the sky on the Thracian coast of Aegospotami. A few days later, his prediction proved true. The meteorite thus became an object of reverence and was named Aegospotami, after the place it fell. It was believed by the Thracians that the stone foretold Lysander’s victories against Athens during the Peloponnesian Wars, having been witnessed in the sky by the occupants of his ship, beaming its light down upon their rudders, as it set sail to confront the enemy.

However prophetic Anaxagoras’s claim may have been, he was a learned scientist, naturalist, and philosopher. He saw the stars as solid, massive bodies that coalesced within the Earth’s atmosphere. As they whirled about, sparks cast across the sky as shooting stars. If the push and pull of their shared velocity grew unstable, one could be torn from its orbit in a violent eruption, crashing down.

Pliny the Elder had spoken about Anaxagoras’s prediction, as did Aristotle. His theory of the stars was compelling, and his mastery in prediction was outwardly credible. Plutarch remarked at length about the supposed prophecy, pointing out that others had witnessed a fiery body of enormous size over the skies for seventy-five days prior to its fall. He also had his own theory on the fires that lit up the sky.

“But there is a more plausible opinion than this, and its advocates hold that shooting stars are not a flow or emanation of aetherial fire, which the lower air quenches at the very moment of its kindling, nor are they an ignition and blazing up of a quantity of lower air which has made its escape into the upper regions; but they are plunging and falling heavenly bodies, carried out of their course by some relaxation in the tension of their circular motion…” (Plutarch, Perrin translation)

In addition to Plutarch, Pausanias mentioned several historical and mythological references to burning skies. Zeus had once frightened his lover, Semele, as he struck the ground with his thunderbolt, only for the stone which it produced to be worshipped alongside their son, Dionysus, in Boeotia. The Perseid meteor shower, still visible to this day, was once said to represent the glistering form of Zeus as he seduced Danae, mother to Perseus. Or perhaps it was the Titaness goddess Asteria, who took the form of a bird to escape Zeus, shooting across the skies.

It seems the world was trying to figure out why the sky lit up and produced stone. Everyone had an answer, but none could necessarily prove their theories. Consequently, this indicated to the people that something more powerful was at play. That the gods willed it, and the coincidental events that followed its departure from the cosmos were omens and prophecies. Some had even gone as far as to profess that the stones themselves had the ability to speak through an interpreter, a human vessel to share their sacred, celestial knowledge. The stone was the god, the omen, and the oracle.

Cosmic Travelers

“When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.”

“Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. He called that place Bethel...” (Genesis 28: 10-19)

Within the Bible, the enigmatic stone that denotes the very beginning, the Baetyl and its god, remained a symbol of divine will. Jacob was granted the land from which he slept while he dreamed that night of God. In Mecca, Saudi Arabia, a similar stone of immeasurable importance lies on the eastern corner of the Masjid al-Haram, the Great Mosque. Either fallen from heaven to guide Adam and Eve or given to Abraham by the angel Gabriel, it may only be touched by those with sincere hands. Once white, its now polished, burnished color represents centuries of pilgrims’ hands.

In 1853, a meteorite fell along the African coast. The local Wanikas dressed it with pearls, anointed it with fine oils, and built a temple for its worship. When the nearby Masai attacked their lands, the stone, once thought to be a protective god, was soon sold off. It had lost its power. Missionaries in the region documented their encounter with the sacred stone, one that now resides in Munich.

Another tale of Buddhist legend tells of the merchants who offered Buddha food and were rewarded with a prophecy of a stone that would fall, one that they were told to worship as if it were Buddha’s own image within a pagoda built in its honor. In the British Museum, two meteorites, once a family heirloom, were said to have originated in the Milky Way, discarded by a Japanese goddess of the stars as she used them to aid her in her eternal weaving.

Every culture in the world, from the ancient Mediterranean to Asia, Europe, the Americas, the South Pacific, Australia, and Africa, has looked to the skies for answers. The tumbling weight of celestial rock was messages, manifestations, warnings, and tools for sacred objects. It offered guardianship, protection, or victory in turbulent times. Flames streaking through the atmosphere were deliverance and reconciliation.

Contextually, meteorites seemingly came, whether called upon, prophesied, or by chance, when the moment was most fortuitous. Or at least that is what legends have told. Whether they were real or not, sky-fallen or an earthly stone, believing that they came from the cosmos meant they were connected to something greater than even the gods. They were a part of the origin of existence. That is what made them truly divine.

In every religion and school of thought, humanity’s place in the universe has been abundantly clear. Life would not exist without the swirling masses of gas and rock that go on for infinity. The cosmic abyss, oceans of matter, or the gods that linger among fiery balls that provide light and sustenance, are humanity’s strength and vulnerability. The ancients understood things just as well, absent modern scientific advancements. For what better way to worship the incomprehensible creators of everything than to regard a small piece of them that has traveled worlds and galaxies, only to end its journey on our humble planet.

Featured image: The Madonna of Foligno, Raphael (Public domain)

Related article:

References:

McBeath, A. & Gheorghe, A.D. 2005. Meteor Belief Project: Meteorite worship in the ancient Greek and Roman worlds. The Journal of the International Meteor Organization, 33:5. Available at: https: https://articles.adsabs.harvard.edu/cgi-bin/nph-iarticle_query?bibcode=2005JIMO...33..135M&db_key=AST&page_ind=0&data_type=GIF&type=SCREEN_VIEW&classic=YES

Newton, H. 1989. The Worship of Meteorites. American Journal of Science. Available at: https://ajsonline.org/article/118268-the-worship-of-meteorites/attachment/228838.pdf

Pliny, Rackham translation. Natural History, Book 2: 102-175. Attulus. Available at: https://www.attalus.org/pliny/hn2b.html

Plutarch, Perrin translation. Life of Lysander, 12. Lexundria. Available at: https://lexundria.com/plut_lys/12/prr

Genesis 28 available at Bible Gateway (biblegateway.com)

Thrust into power at a young age, the boy emperor Elagabalus never stood a chance. His unconventionality and admiration for a foreign god only hastened his demise, and the histories lent him no mercy. The worst emperor in history. A god not worthy of worship. Both he and his god became an inseparable pair, earning him infamy and his eternal name. Perhaps he was too young and naive to navigate the politics of his world, misunderstood and vilified, or perhaps it was his grandmother’s nefarious schemes to further her own legacy. Either way, Elagabalus vowed to dedicate his life to his god, emperor or not, and the empire answered in blood.

The God of the Mountain

Born in Emesa, Syria, Sextus Varius Avitus Bassianus (Elagabalus) enjoyed a life of privilege and opportunity. His mother was a cousin of the current Roman emperor, Caracalla, a relative of the Severan dynasty. His family name also connected him to the Roman Syrian Emesene dynasty, the House of Sampsigeramus, priestly kings. As such, he was given rights to the priesthood, which he honorably obliged himself to. From a young age, he served as the head priest of Elagabal, Ba’al of Emesa, the lord and primary deity of Syria.

Elagabal, whose name translates to God of the Mountain, was the sun god, representing the principles of masculinity and the warmth of fertility. With him were his divine consorts: Atargatis, the great mother, and Astarte, the goddess of fertility. Elagabal’s qualities and rituals were reminiscent of ancient Babylonia; yet, in appearance, he more closely resembled the nearby Chaldean god Gibil, god of the black stone. Elagabal’s cultic statue was never seen in human form; it was the baetyl, a large, conical black stone that fell from the sky as a gift from the god.

To celebrate Elagabal, festivals were held as an adaptation of the ancient Babylonian New Year, the Akitu Festival, held every spring to commemorate rebirth and the agricultural cycle. Akitu was a week-long event that took place in the first month of their calendar year. The festival revolved around the high priest, the king, and the supreme god, Marduk, along with his son, Nabu. Traveling to the temple of Nabu, the king would rest and return to Babylon with the god’s statue. He would then perform a royal ceremony in the temple of Marduk, being gifted an oracle. Later, all the gods received cleansing and new dress before being brought to Babylon and placed on chariots drenched in jewels. Riding through the city with Marduk, streets filled with the faithful, they retired their procession within the House of the New Year. It was a joyous occasion, one full of song, dance, and sacrifices.

In Emesa, the festival was much the same, a splendid celebration and meeting of the gods to honor Elagabal. As was tradition in Emesa and the greater Syria, the high priest conducted all activities, including festivals, and was solely responsible for elevating the reputation of the cult. Additionally, they were forbidden to serve any other god and must commit themselves wholly to their purpose. Thus, the young Sextus dedicated himself to Elagabal’s favor. However, his life of servitude would take a dramatic turn as Emperor Caracalla died and his successor, Macrinus, took the throne.

Sextus’ grandmother, Julia Maesa, was an ambitious woman, and Macrinus knew this. He also knew that Julia Soaemias, Sextus’ mother, was a cousin to the late emperor, challenging his ascension. To protect his position, he had the family banished from entering Rome, forced to stay in Emesa. Julia Maesa did not take kindly to this; she saw an opportunity slipping from her grasp. In retaliation, she plotted against him, spreading rumors of illegitimacy and scandal. She further claimed that Sextus was the true son of Caracalla, born from a union between cousins. Slowly, her rumors took hold, and the people turned against him. A battle ensued, and Macrinus was murdered alongside his supporters, ending his short reign. Suddenly, at the age of fourteen, Sextus became emperor.

Elagabal and His Faithful Servant Begin Anew

Sextus did not immediately go to Rome upon his ascension. He chose, instead, to change his official name to Marcus Aurelius Antonius, matching his supposed late father, and explore the different regions of Italy. Roughly two years later, and in preparation for his arrival, he had a portrait of himself placed in the Senate House in hopes that members would familiarize themselves with his unique attire. Sextus (now Marcus) was not particularly fond of Roman attire; rather, he preferred his traditional Syrian garb, a long and vibrantly colored silk tunic, adorned with gold and precious jewels. It was said that he had his image intentionally placed above that of Victoria, the goddess of victory and equivalent to the Greek Nike, so that he, too, would receive her divine offerings.

When Marcus finally arrived in Rome, the Romans were gracious to welcome him; he was, after all, the rightful heir. With him, he brought his mother, grandmother, and the baetyl of his god. Marcus had no intention of leaving the cult of Elagabal or giving up his priestly duties. One of his first acts as emperor was to build grand temples in his god’s honor. The most prominent, the Elagabalium, sat in the center and oldest part of the city, Palatine Hill. His goal was to assimilate Elagabal into Roman religion, plausible considering the Romans were already somewhat familiar with Syrian gods. The emperor Caracalla was the son of a Syrian woman from the Severan dynasty, and numerous Syrians traveled and lived in Rome. Many, including Caracalla, expressed a desire for inclusion. It seemed the new emperor was doing just that.

In Latin, Elagabal translates to Elagabalus or Heliogabalus, as in Helios, the Roman sun god. To the Romans, he was known as Sol Invictus, the unconquered son, or by one of his Latin names. The Elagabalium housed the baetyl, along with several altars used for offerings. The new emperor spent most of his time here or on the grounds of his estate, where he indulged himself with drink at his personal taverns, women and men at his brothels, and leather-bound drivers at his lively chariot races. Marcus showed very little interest in politics; his mother advised him, handling most of his political duties. Sharing a close relationship with Marcus, and of sound judgment, his mother and grandmother gained senatorial titles. Julia Soaemasias and Julia Maesa were the first women to have ever served in the Roman senate, something inconceivable at the time.

While the Julias were handling business, Marcus was gallivanting about, enjoying his youth, his newfound title, and tending to the propagation of his god. Often, he was criticized for his exotic, flamboyant style and youthful antics. Rumors spread of his sexual orientation, his apparent cross-dressing, and his relationships with harlots and those of lesser status. He became especially close with an ex-slave and chariot driver by the name of Hierocles; many claimed he wanted to marry the man and be his wife. Roman society did not shun homosexuality; it was accepted to the extent that a man did not forego his masculinity. Consequently, if rumors were believed true, it weakened Marcus’s authority and caused concern over his ability to rule. His grandmother, Julia Maesa, attempted to reason with him, asking that he conform to Roman attire and etiquette, but he remained unmoved.

A God Not Worthy of Rome

Each morning, Marcus rode his chariot to the Elagabalium to perform his daily rituals. Taking sacrificial bulls and sheep upon the altars, he covered them in spices and herbs brought in by officials dressed in Phoenician and Eastern wear. Marcus greatly rewarded those who followed him, granting them prestige and plentiful gifts. He wanted only his most honorable to participate in his rituals; the temple housed those he deemed most worthy. After the offerings were ready, he placed before the altars jars of the finest and rarest wine so that as the blood of the animals flowed, it coalesced with the wine, creating an exquisite display for the hungry sun god.

“He danced around the altars to music played on every kind of instrument; women from his own country accompanied him in these dances, carrying cymbals and drums as they circled the altars. The entire senate and all the knights stood watching, like spectators at the theatre.” (Herodian, 5.5.9)

Marcus wanted the Romans to see Elagabal as their own, as the lord that he was in Syria. He wanted to bring all aspects of worship to Rome, including the divine consorts of his god. Declaring a union between Elagabal and the counterparts of his Syrian wives—Cybele, mother goddess, and Minerva (Athena), goddess of wisdom—intended to legitimize the unification of Syrian and imperial cults. As such, Marcus married several women, one being the high priestess of Vesta, a Vestal Virgin. Marrying a virgin priestess was extremely taboo, and in most cases, punishable by death. Still, he felt it appropriate to exemplify the god and produce a divine heir. Given that it did not go over well with the people, he eventually divorced the priestess.

In further attempts to establish Elagabal as a supreme deity, Marcus held a mid-summer festival, the Festival of Sol Invictus Elagabalus. The baetyl stood alone and imposing upon a magnificent chariot richly decorated in gold, silver, and gems, and drawn by white horses equally embellished. Marcus led the chariot along its procession through the streets, never taking his eyes off his godly stone. Accompanying the god, as per tradition, were the images of other gods, imperial standards, and temple offerings. Reaching his secondary temple, sacrifices would be made, and the people would be given blessings, gifts, and oracles. The following day, Elagabal and his divine company would return to the Elagabalium on Palatine Hill. Although it was meant to be a glorious celebration, one filled with song and dance, it was met with aversion.

The reasoning behind resistance stems from Marcus’s removal of sacred objects from other shrines to add to his temple and godly entourage, another taboo act on his part. He had taken the emblem of the Great Mother Cybele, the Fire of Vesta, the Palladium of Pallas Athena, and the Shields kept in the temple of Mars. Cassius Dio, Roman historian and senator, claimed he had no regard for the other gods and Roman tradition, wanting to replace their gods and position himself above all. But Marcus lived his life according to his god, which left little time for justifying his actions. It may be that he only wished to honor his Syrian culture and religious heritage in this new world. The Romans, however, did not see it that way.

Brutal Ends to the Ill-Fated

Roman nobility grew restless as their emperor continued to reject their way of life and moral law. Marcus’s grandmother, Julia Maesa, grew equally impatient. In an act to save her reputation, family name, and political power, she convinced Marcus to appoint his cousin, Alexander Severus, as heir. Marcus quickly found himself profoundly regretful of his agreement to the terms as rumors, accusations, and false charges swiftly spread. He sought to retract his agreement, claiming that Alexander was ill and near death. His royal sentries, the Praetorian Guard, asked to see him, his mother, and Alexander immediately. Reluctantly, Marcus, along with his mother and cousin, met with the guards. Upon their arrival, the crowd of guards and soldiers cheered exuberantly for Alexander, ignoring Marcus altogether. He then realized that he not only lost the respect of his people, but also those who had sworn to serve and protect him. Furious, Marcus yelled out for all those who praised this boy over him to be killed. Little did he know, this meeting was a ruse to lure Marcus and his mother out into the open. The guards readily executed their vicious attack.

“He attempted to flee, and would have got away somewhere by being placed in a chest had he not been discovered and slain, at the age of eighteen. His mother, who embraced him and clung tightly to him, perished with him; their heads were cut off and their bodies, after being stripped naked, were first dragged all over the city, and then the mother’s body was cast aside somewhere or other, while his was thrown into the Tiber.” (Dio, 80.20)

On the thirteenth day of March, 222 CE, Marcus Aurelius Antonius’s reign was over. All of his supporters and his best friend (or lover), Hierocles, were executed, and women were never again allowed to hold senatorial titles. Elagabal’s divine light had dimmed. The cult was dissolved, and the stone returned to its home in Emesa, where it faded into obscurity, never again spoken of. It was never directly stated who was the mastermind behind Marcus and his mother’s murder. Yet, given the lengths his grandmother, Julia Maesa, went to for Marcus to become emperor, and the coincidental series of events after appointing Alexander as heir, it is clear she orchestrated this coup. Giving up her senatorial title would have been inconsequential if power had been maintained within the family.

After Marcus’s death, his name and reputation would continue to be vilified in acts of damnation memoraie, the condemnation of memory. He was never again referred to as Marcus Aurelius Antonius or his birth name, Sextus Varius Avitus Bassianus, but that of his god, Elagabalus, or in some cases, Heliogabalus; perhaps, a small consolation he would have approved of. His statue, a representation of the legendary Hercules with the emperor’s face, was modified to show the face of his successor, Alexander.

Ancient historians, like Cassius Dio, a firm supporter of Alexander Severus, spoke of Elagabalus in harsh, often derogatory terms. It was said by Dio, and later quoted by the author of Historia Augusta, that he sacrificed the children of nobility during his rituals. Though this practice may have occurred in other regions, it is unlikely that it was done in Rome, and by Elagabalus nonetheless, given the resistance to his religious reform. It is more likely, then, that it was a rumor to further discredit his name and his Semitic heritage, a common practice done to stigmatize minority religious groups. Dio also claimed that he prostituted himself and wished to be castrated, which again may be unlikely. Castration and prostitution were practiced in ancient times, but only within the cults of Syrian female deities, such as Atargatis. Elagabalus did practice Semitic traditions such as circumcision and occasionally associated himself with the female consorts of his god, which may have led to these rumors, but that will remain a mystery.

Despite rumors, truths, and untruths, Elagabalus is considered by many to be an emperor who identified as feminine, or at least, an ambiguous gender. His reign, religious reform, and his unique character are rather reminiscent of a previous ruler, not in Rome, but in Egypt. The renowned Akhenaten shared a similar passion for the sun and a remarkable likeness in eccentricity to Elagabalus, which begs the question: was Elagabalus familiar with Akhenaten?

Gender and Gods of the Sun

Akhenaten began his reign around 1353 BC, and with it, he introduced his supreme deity, Aten. Represented as a circular disk with several outstretched rays as arms, the god never took human form, much like Elagabalus and the baetyl. Akhenaten depicted himself and his family below Aten, just as the stone was depicted alongside the emperor in a coin, each on either side.

Iconography from the Amarna period was quite different than any time before or after, as well, with the pharaoh taking on gender-ambiguous features, such as widened hips and a rounded belly. Some modern scholars argue that Akhenaten did this to slightly feminize himself in a way that reflected Aten’s dual nature. The same may be said about Elagabalus, as he was never viewed purely as masculine or feminine, but as an odd fusion of both.

The temple of Aten, located in Akhenaten’s cult center, Amarna, was a massive complex, absent a roof, and filled with altars for offerings to be placed. Each day, he rode upon his chariot with his wife, Nefertiti, to the temple. A new day brought new offerings of sacrificial animals to be placed on the many altars. It was believed that the sun, Aten, would consume the meat as it lay shriveling in the sun’s heat. In return for this fine means of replenishment, the people would be given gifts and blessings. This all sounds rather familiar. Elagabalus, too, rode his chariot to the temple each day and offered sacrificial meat to his god, and with sacrifice comes blessings.

Both Akhenaten and Elagabalus aimed to place their deity above all others, in status and ritual, but the people resisted. After seventeen years, the pharaoh died, passing his legacy on to his son, Tutankhamun. However, Tutankhamun—otherwise known as King Tut—did not follow in his father’s footsteps and restore the traditional faith. Everything that defined Akhenaten’s reign and religion was eradicated in acts of damnation memoraie. The pharaoh’s name, Akhenaten, was his name at death, but not his birth name, Amenhotep IV. Like many pharaohs, when he ascended as ruler, he changed his name to deify himself in connection with a god. Although Elagabalus received his godly nickname after his death, he, like Akhenaten, suffered the same fate of condemnation.

The question as to whether Elagabalus knew of, or was inspired by, Akhenaten is subjective. Syria is close to Egypt, with thousands of years of cultural relations. In the Historia Augusta, it is said that Elagabalus was fascinated by Egyptian culture and history. While in Rome, he had Egyptian animals—snakes, crocodiles, rhinoceros, and hippopotami—brought to his palace and temples. It was common in Egypt to house wild creatures associated with the gods in temples for worship. Moreover, Elagabalus was rumored to have attempted to use African lions and other wild animals to pull his chariot as he paraded through the streets. The likelihood of Elagabalus knowing of Akhenaten may be just as likely as that of today’s people knowing of him. Names can be tarnished and records destroyed, but their histories live on.

Detriments of the Misunderstood

Elagabalus’s reputation was indeed one of egregious religious atrocities; many still regard him as one of the worst emperors in history. Still, one must consider that he was fiercely dedicated to his god and became a ruler unexpectedly and before adulthood, only to be murdered shortly thereafter. His appearance, foreign lifestyle, and religion were things the Romans were not yet ready to embrace. Of all the shocking and monstrous things spoken of Elagabalus, it is evident that he was widely misunderstood, even today.

Modern scholars who have taken on the arduous task of sifting through ancient documents have noted the inconsistencies and biased histories of those who had written about him and his reform. The role Julia Maesa played in perpetrating his demise is well-argued by scholars and logical, considering the circumstances, as appalling as it may be. Still, none are solely to blame for how he is remembered; history is so often distorted by its time, place, and thinking.

Nevertheless, Elagabal’s legacy would not end with his keeper’s earthly departure and his banishment from the light. Some years later, in 274 CE, the Romans officially made Sol Invictus their supreme deity. It was not the god of Syria, but a god that more closely resembled their sun god, Helios. Elagabalus failed in elevating his god to preeminence, leaving victory to his successors. Ultimately, his biggest detriment was himself; he did not understand the Roman world. His youth and stubborn mindset offered him little sympathy. Few possess the finesse it would take to brave inherently deep-seated resistance against a god of gods, and fewer have succeeded.

Featured image: The Roses of Heliogabalus, 1888 (Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Public domain)

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (July 30, 2024)

References:

Zoonan, L.Z. 2005. Heliogabalus. Livius. Available at: https://www.livius.org/articles/person/heliogabalus/

Zoonan, L.Z. 2005. Elagabal. Livius. Available at: https://www.livius.org/articles/religion/elagabal/

Lendering, J. 1996. Akitu Festival. Livius. Available at: https://www.livius.org/articles/religion/akitu/

Herodian. History of the Empire. Available at: https://www.livius.org/sources/content/herodian-s-roman-history/herodian-5.5/

Cassius Dio. Roman History. Loeb Classical Library. Available at: https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/e/roman/texts/cassius_dio/80*.html

Historia Augusta. Loeb Classical Library. Available at: https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Historia_Augusta/Elagabalus/2*.html#21

Icks, M. 2008. Images of Elagabalus. Radboud University. Available at: https://repository.ubn.ru.nl/bitstream/handle/2066/68054/68054.pdf?sequence=1

In Norse mythology, impairment and sacrifice were not symbols of decline or weakness but of devotion. Gods and mortals bore the cost of wisdom, binding their bodies and futures to the survival of the cosmic realms. Loss was not incidental to existence but essential to it, shaping a world where endurance mattered more than perfection. Through acts of sacrifice, the gods secured knowledge and order, so often in reflection of the harsh realities of life. In such a world, suffering was neither accidental nor meaningless. It was deliberate, one that bound fates into a single, inescapable truth.

Myself to Myself: Offerings at the Well

Beneath the roots of the sacred world tree Yggdrasil, three wells ran deep. Of the three, Mimisbrunnr, was the most sought-after, granting great wisdom to whoever drank from it. Mimir, the Rememberer, Guardian of Memories, sipped its sacred water since the beginning of time. He was wise beyond all measure, the only one worthy of possessing such an empowering chasm. Still, a day came when a man of age, tall and imposing, with a long grey beard, cloaked in a dark blue hood, traveled through the perilous land of giants to meet with Mimir in hopes of obtaining this wisdom.

Mimir was not particularly thrilled to see him; the well was his and his alone. But the traveler was persistent, offering anything the wise man would take in exchange for just a sip. At last, Mimir requested an eye, and the traveler readily obliged. Ripping his eye from its stubborn socket, he plunged it into the well, watching it sink as his pupil gazed back at him. A sip was all he would need. In a moment’s burst, all things became clear, wisdom and knowledge swirled through his brain, and his singular eye saw more than any two eyes could see.

He was Odin, the All-Father, king of gods and men, and he knew that true wisdom came from sacrifice. Losing his eye was only the beginning of his pursuit for wisdom and deliverance—prophecy had told that the end of the gods would inevitably be upon them. His mission was of dire consequence. After leaving Mimir to his well, Odin hung himself from Yggdrasil, and with his indestructible spear, he ran himself through, a wound that would kill any mortal. For nine days and nine nights, he suffered in his self-inflicted pain, fixated on the well that flowed below him, the Well of Urdr, past. On the last day, runes manifested before him, and he released himself from torment.

“I know that I hung on a wind-rocked tree nine whole nights, with a spear wounded, and to Odin offered myself to myself; on that tree of which no one knows from what roots it springs.” (Odin’s Rune-Song, Thorpe)

Odin gave the gift of runes to humans to use for magic. Returning to his mighty watchtower, over the rainbow bridge in Asgard, he watched the world while his ravens Hugin (thought) and Munin (memory) traversed the skies as his most loyal spies.

Another had ventured to Mimir’s well, but it was not to gain wisdom; it was to gain exceptional hearing. Heimdallr offered his ear or some of his ability to hear to the well, receiving the gift of sound he so desired and the gift of sight. He was the watchman of the gods, appointed to the rainbow bridge. For a hundred leagues, he could see in day or night, and anything that made a sound, even a blade of grass, he could hear. Rarely did he sleep, always alert and ready with his horn, Gjallarhorn, whose sound echoed round the world.

While Mimir’s wisdom and profound ancestral knowledge served him well, his relationship with Odin would cause him to make an unintentional sacrifice of his own. The godly tribes of the Aesir and Vanir ceaselessly fought. During one of those tumultuous battles, the Vanir, knowing it would spite Odin, murdered Mimir by slicing off his head. Odin, determined to save his wise old friend, nursed the head through magic and herbal medicine. Mimir’s body was unsalvageable. Left as a mere head, Odin brought him back to his home, the well, among the waters of life’s past and future. There his head sat, and from time to time, Odin would call upon him for his unwavering counsel. Mimir, despite losing his body, retained all his knowledge and wisdom.

Jaws of the Beast: Tyr and Vidar

Fenrir, child of Loki, was a ferocious beast, but he wasn’t always that way. As a pup, he and the god of courage, Tyr, cheerfully played. Tyr would feed him daily, and as the days passed, Fenrir grew strong and sizable. Odin had cautiously watched the wolf grow, having prophetically dreamed of him and his ominous presence in the end times. Inevitably, Odin deemed it wise to bind the creature to protect the realm. A clever trick was devised, one in which Fenrir would be lured to perpetual imprisonment. The gods bound him with the strongest materials known; still, each attempt ended in the breaking of his chains. Fenrir assumed this was all a child’s game; the gods were testing his strength, and he always won. Tyr continued feeding him as always, as the beast awaited his next challenge. The gods became increasingly desperate.

When all else failed, the dwarves were consulted. Inventive geniuses of magic, they prepared a binding none could escape from, not even Fenrir, and they called it Gleiphir. In it was the footstep of a cat, the beard of a woman, roots of a mountain, sinew of a bear, breath of a fish, and spittle of a bird. The chain was remarkably lightweight, thin, and supple, glistening with an otherworldly hue. Suspicious of the seemingly frail bonds, Fenrir asked for a show of trust as they placed the bonds upon him: a hand in his mouth, while he would break free once again. The only god to step forth was none other than Tyr, and he did so gracefully and without question. Tyr was a son of Odin, a fellow god of war, courage, and above all, the god of justice.

“I of hand am waiting, but thou of honest fame; sad is the lack of either. Nor is the wolf at ease: He is bound and must abide until the god’s destruction.” (Saemund’s Edda, Thorpe)

Staring into the eyes of the beast he faithfully fed and once playfully wrestled, Tyr knew his fate. Fenrir could not break free. The gods laughed as he frantically fought against his chains, feeling the sting of betrayal. In the companions’ last moments, Tyr bravely gave Fenrir an approving signal, and the wolf apprehensively bit down. That day, the god of courage lost his hand, but his sacrifice saved the realm; he was a hero, if only for a time. The god’s strength and agility would only swell thereafter, as he wielded his magical sword and blocked his enemies with his disfigured arm. Fenrir would remain hidden and silent, with a sword shoved in mouth, until Ragnarök came to pass.

In the Wide Land, Landvidi, lived a tall, armor-clad man, the son of Odin and a giantess named Grid. He lived amidst dense trees in a palace adorned with exquisite wildflowers and boughs laden with luscious greens. His name was Vidar, the silent, as silent as the grave. The peaceful repose and solitude of his forest abode were all he ever needed. Although his mutism (congenital or voluntary) prevented him from speaking, it did not matter; the gods knew his immense strength was greater than Thor’s and would serve them when called upon. Aside from his magnificent armor and heavy sword, he wore a uniquely fashioned shoe on one foot made from the many leather scraps that others left behind. Even the mortals donated their scraps to help build Vidar’s lofty shoe.

Vidar, along with his shoe, was of immeasurable importance to the gods. The Norns had prophesied that he alone would rule the world and all those who remained after the devastation of Ragnarök. The much-anticipated epic battle commenced as the enraged wolf finally broke free from his chains. Vidar watched as his father, Odin, fought valiantly against Fenrir; all along, the gods knew his fate. Odin was ravaged and eaten by the wolf, who turned to Vidar with open jaws, fervent to consume his next victim. The wolf charged, and without a sound, Vidar slammed his bulky shoe into Fenrir’s mouth, locking his lower jaw in place. His brawny hand grabbed its upper jaw and ripped the beast in two. He had avenged his father and saved the realm; the prophecy was fulfilled.

A Most Unfortunate Event: Hodr

Many things set Ragnarök afoot, though one event in particular had a lasting impact. It began with Odin’s most cherished son, the god of light, Baldr, and his twin of darkness, Hodr. The god of darkness was born blind; still, the gods treated him well, and never did they exclude him from their heavenly festivities. Hodr, the gods, and mortals dearly loved Baldr. Loki, on the other hand, despised the bright and beautiful Baldr, and upon hearing of a mischievous game being played against his righteousness in Idavold, the playground of the gods, he decided to be rid of him for good. Conveniently, Loki was told of a pretty little mistletoe hanging in the gardens, an unexpected weapon for which he could magically tweak. He made the tiny object retain its deceivingly fragile form with a newfound resilience and sharpness that could take down the most impenetrable of gods.

Meanwhile, at the event, the gods bellowed with laughter as they launched any projectile they could find at Baldr. He was equally entertained, encouraging them on, cackling at their failures to harm him. At a distance, Hodr rested quietly against a tree. A softly spoken voice crept up to him, asking what his troubles were. It was Loki, and knowing the gods’ acquaintance with his animosity towards Baldr, he found a convenient perpetrator in Hodr’s naiveté. Loki handed Hodr the projectile, reassuring him that he would assist in his aim. Hodr, uplifted by this thoughtful gesture, let Loki lead the way. Standing amongst the crowd of grinning gods, Hodr threw the deadly weapon, striking his target with precision. The laughter abruptly stopped. Gasps and screams of horror were soon to follow.

Before this day, Odin had stumbled across a Vala priestess in a decrepit state while preparing to feast in Hel’s domain. He magically brought her back to life, and the first words she spoke were of Baldr’s death. He carried this knowledge with him, always knowing, yet filled with disbelief. How could Hodr kill his brother? As fate would have it, Hodr did kill his beloved brother, an irreparable mistake. He was mercilessly punished by the avenger, Vali. Hidden behind the veil of his impairment, Hodr was blind in more ways than he had known. Loki would be hunted down, captured, and imprisoned, forever tortured by the drips of a venomous snake, until he and his children vengefully annihilated their divine kin. Baldr and Hodr eventually returned from death, as the light cannot exist without the dark, and all things love the light.

Sacrifice Among the Norse

It is unclear as to whether the Norse would have actually gouged their eyes or severed their ears for a divine gift from the gods; they were a people who kept little to no record of themselves. Most of what is known about the Norse comes from Christian historians and the like during the late Viking Age, none of whom witnessed or participated in the culture. Nevertheless, it is accepted that the Norse engaged in various forms of ritual sacrifice to the gods, albeit some outlandish claims were made.

A medieval Bishop claimed that the Norse sacrificed ninety-nine humans and animals every nine years. Others declared that they hung nine males and animals from holy trees every nine years, as the number nine represented the nine days Odin hung from Yggdrasil and the nine cosmic mythological realms. Expectedly, these were made to Odin, believing him to demand human and animal sacrifices. Sacred groves littered the Scandinavian landscape, holy places where the people could connect with their gods. It is here that many suspect the humans or animals were piked to trees as offerings.

Tyr was another god believed to accept sacrifices on his behalf. Archaeological evidence found in several wells at the ancient site of Tesso, on what was the property of a magnate, a Viking elite, demonstrates what type of sacrifices would have taken place. Four children and one adult were recovered, along with numerous offerings of jewelry and tools. As to why the children may have been sacrificed, it is unknown—sadly, children have historically been the victims of ritual sacrifice. Similar to the trees, wells were symbolic of Odin’s sacrifice; more so, water in general had a deep connection to the divine, wisdom, and Odin. Modern scholars point out that human sacrifice was comparatively rare, with little evidence to support it. Commonly, people offered their prized possessions, such as jewelry and tools, to the gods in wells and lakes.

Celebrations, offerings, and ritual ceremonies usually occurred within great halls and sacred cult chambers of elite homes. Farmers would gather during seasonal equinoxes or solstices for the splendid blot festival hosted at the estate. Animals would be sacrificed, including horses, their blood drained and placed in bowls. The magnate would act as a priest as the participants, with bowls in hand, used twigs to spray blood upon the walls, altars, and people within the sacred chamber. Following their elaborate shower of blood, they would cook the animals in an enormous cauldron situated at the center of the great hall. Guests would be treated with blessed beer and plentiful meats, cheers and toasts made to Odin and their fallen friends. Emptying their cups for Njord and Frej, their futures would be full of peace and prosperity. Amongst their comrades, they vowed to be victorious in battle and in all their exploits, occasions worth celebrating.

Located in Southern Sweden, clustered around two lakes, stands a precipice legend to have been the site of a ritualistic practice called Attestupa. It was said that the elderly flung themselves from cliffs like these or were pushed off in acts of senicide to relieve the burdens of age from their loved ones. The Gautrek Saga, written after the Viking Age and based on oral tradition, tells of a king who wandered too far into the forest, eventually seeking refuge with an odd family. King Gauti was fed and housed. Soon enough, he found himself utterly enchanted by the daughter. The following day, the elder parents threw themselves off the cliff, having been consumed by shame for the audacity of having to house and feed an outsider. Later, the children each followed suit for various, rather silly reasons, such as snails climbing over their gold or birds eating their crops. The daughter became the sole survivor of the family and gave birth to the king’s child.

Though the saga is considered a comedy, and the act is widely accepted as myth, it may not be completely dismissible. In several sagas, suicides due to failures, age, or terminal illness are recounted. It was not the sinful act that later Christians would see it as, but an honorable one in the eyes of Odin—the elder parents of the Gautrek Saga call out to the god as they sacrificed themselves. As such, with other acts of self-sacrifice, retaining eternal honor in death was better than losing honor in life.

Additionally, the waters that flow near Attestupa precipices are symbolic of locations used for cult practices and graves, returning to the significance of water. The sagas and supporting oral traditions may reflect inherent attitudes towards the seemingly weaker members of society, not so much in a negative light, but as a social responsibility to the family structure and concepts of honor. Senicide has been known to occur in other cultures that emphasize honor, offering a sliver of truth to Attestupa. Even so, archaeological evidence is absent, and what remains may have been washed away by time.

The Meaning of Sacrifice, Impairment, and the Mortals that Lived it

For the gods, sacrifice was transactional; the impairments they incurred were never seen as disabilities but rather an earned source of power. Odin gave his eye for something far more valuable than his sight, and Helmdallr did much the same. What they gained were irreplaceable perceptions of time and space, a profound understanding of the world around them that came from their sacrifice. Like Tyr, they chose the greater good, salvation from chaos and destruction, over their self-preservation, a true act of bravery. Hodur’s congenital impairment was not acquired or earned; it symbolized moral blindness and degradation. The Norse were fundamentally bound by kinship; one could not join society without a familial tie. Being a vulnerable victim of Loki and therefore a kinslayer meant that he had lost the ability to see where his true loyalties should lie. Could anything less be expected from the god of darkness?

“But in each human soul we find that night’s dark Hodr, Baldr’s brother blind, is born and waxeth strong as he; for blind is ev’ry evil born, as bear cubs be, night is the cloak of evil.” (Viking Tales of the North, R.B. Anderson)

In Hodr were the precarious members of society, and in Odin or Tyr, the heroes and legends. Those who went to battle and returned with wounds, absent limbs, and disfigurements were praised and written in saga. The gods were relatable in that sense; the honor that came from victory outshone what one may have lost to get there. Impairments brought them closer to the divine; the greatest heroes of the time became fated ancestral gods. Even those like Hodr, born different and lacking certain abilities, were functioning members of society. The Norse did not discriminate against those who struggled; everyone had a job to do in exchange for protection and inclusion.

“The lame man rides a horse, the handless man rides a herd, the deaf man fights and succeeds; to be blind is better than to be burnt: a corpse is of no use to anyone.” (Poetic Edda, Havamal)

Yet, despite no evidence of overt discrimination, there was an obvious social hierarchy. Those who were tall, fair-haired, steadfast, and charismatic, similar to heroes in saga, were of higher status. Their acquired impairments were often celebrated. Those who were shorter, with dark curls, clumsy, or born with severe impairments were likely of lower, working-class status. They were additionally subject to accusations of faking impairments; as such, the discernment of what classified a worthy impairment may have been dependent on one’s status. Laws were also put in place that prevented people from disfiguring each other or claiming someone had an impairment when they did not. The realities of Norse society reveal a complex social system in which suffering was just, regardless of status, and impairments were earned or risk punishment. Sacrifice was their sword and shield, eternal marks etched in flesh as loyalty and devotion.

Featured image: Fenris meets Odin at Ragnarök (Den Unge Herr Holm (Kim Diaz Holm), CC BY 4.0)

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (September 23, 2024)

References:

Guerber, H.A. 2017. Tales of Norse Mythology. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

Lecouteux, C. 2016. Encyclopedia of Norse and Germanic Folklore, Mythology, and Magic. Inner Traditions International.

Hapgood, K. 2022. Impaired Gods and Holy Wounds: Disability in the Eschatology of the Early Medieval North Atlantic. Dies Legibiles: Second Edition. Available at: https://sites.smith.edu/dies-legibiles/wp-content/uploads/sites/602/2022/05/DLVOLUME2-Impaired-Gods-and-Holy-Wounds_-Disability-in-the-Eschatology-of-the-Early-Medieval-North-Atlantic.pdf

Lawson, M.D. 2019. Children of a One-Eyed God: Impairments in the Myth and Memory of Medieval Scandinavia. East Tennessee State University. Available at: https://dc.etsu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=5008&context=etd

Scally, C. An Examination of Physical Impairment in Norse Myth and Icelandic Saga. The (Not So) Dark Ages: Postgraduate Pages. Available at: https://sites.google.com/view/darkpagespostgrad/library/an-examination-of-physical-impairment-in-norse-myth-and-icelandic-saga

Bloomberg, K. 2019. Facing the Inevitable: Using the modern practice of Döstädning to understand Ättestupa. Uppsala University. Available at: https://www.diva-portal.org/smash/get/diva2:1325178/FULLTEXT01.pdf

Human Sacrifice? National Museum of Denmark. Available at: https://en.natmus.dk/historical-knowledge/denmark/prehistoric-period-until-1050-ad/the-viking-age/religion-magic-death-and-rituals/human-sacrifices/

The Viking Blot Sacrifices. National Museum of Denmark. Available at: https://en.natmus.dk/historical-knowledge/denmark/prehistoric-period-until-1050-ad/the-viking-age/religion-magic-death-and-rituals/the-viking-blot-sacrifices/

The Edda | The Sagas. Germanic Mythology. Available at: https://www.germanicmythology.com/index.html

As black clouds blot out the stars, the witch Erichtho would emerge in all her fetid, wicked glory to poison the air with every breath, taint the soil with every step, and stalk the graves of the once living. Something worse than a horror to the ancient Romans, Erichtho was the epitome of vile proclivity, of abhorrent, blasphemous rites feared by men and gods. She was a witch, a necromancer, and a collector of the dead.

“And if the dead are sealed in a sarcophagus, that dries the internal moisture, absorbs the corruption of the marrow-bones, and stiffens the corpse, then she vents her anger eagerly on its limbs, thrusting her fingers deep in the eye-sockets, scooping out the solidified eyeballs in delight, gnawing the yellowed nails on withered hands. She mangles the hanged corpse, cuts the fatal noose with her teeth, scrapes at the crucified, tears at rain-beaten flesh and bones scorched by the sun. She steals nails that have pierced hands, the clotted gore and the black residues of putrefaction that oozed over all the limbs; and hangs her weight on sinews that resist her teeth.” (Lucan, Kline translation, Pharsalia)

The Greco-Romans were no strangers to witches conjuring twisted spells and omens to the vulnerable or unfortunate. But Erichtho was something unique, something curious. Her actions, strung together by shattered limbs to prove a moral point, were excessive. Yet, there she was, plucking out eyeballs and gnawing on yellowed nails and rotted sinews. However imaginative her creation, the mind that wrote Erichtho was shaped by a long literary tradition of women who defied nature, a history from which she burst forth bloodied and bizarre.

The Origin of Death’s Witch

It is widely assumed that Erichtho originated in Ovid’s Heroides, written between 25 and 10 BCE, which details the poet Sappho’s struggles with despair at the loss of her beloved. Within the poem, it is said that Erichtho is mentioned by name in Book XV, around line 139. However, the line described does not refer to Erichtho at all, but rather, the goddess of war, bloodshed, and destruction, Enyo:

“I seek the caves and woods, as if the woods and caves might help me: they have shared my pleasures. Then I suffer a vacant mind that resembles fearful Enyo’s, goddess of war, with hair loose about her neck.” (Kline translation)

Understandably, there may be similarities between Enyo’s fearsome appearance and lust for blood and that of Erichtho. Somewhere down the line, the two evidently became one and the same. With no known supporting translation and against popular belief, it is likely Ovid did not breathe life into the witch’s legacy. As such, Erichtho would rightly become another’s dark magnum opus.

Marcus Annaeus Lucanus, otherwise known as Lucan, wrote Pharsalia sometime around 61 CE, during the reign of his then dear friend, Nero. Born in the Roman colony of Corduba, Hispania Baetica (modern-day Spain), Lucan enjoyed a privileged upbringing, presumably educated in rhetoric while in Athens by his esteemed uncle, Seneca the Younger—a philosopher, statesman, and dramatist of Rome. Later, Lucan would find great success as he befriended Emperor Nero, even earning himself official status.

It was during this time that Lucan wrote his famous work, Pharsalia, a recounting of Caesar’s Civil War. In a cruel turn of events, and against better judgment, Sextus Pompeius, son of Pompey, sought out the notorious witch Erichtho. Driven by uncertainty, he aimed to sway her to alter the outcome of an imminent battle, the Battle of Pharsalia.

Sextus, desperate for answers, set out for Erichtho’s dwelling. Guided by her ghostly servants, he found her perched atop a high cliff overlooking Pharsalia. She was in the midst of performing a spell, dissuading the battle to take place in Pharsalia so that Thessaly may revel in the carnage, so that she may mutilate the king’s corpse, plunder ash and bone, and enslave spirits. Cautiously, Sextus approached, supplicating for reprieve. She replied that yes, her magic is great, and she may cut short any life, but unfortunately, some events are indisputably fated.

Sextus’s dismay would soon lift, however, as Erichtho’s ravenous eyes suddenly shifted to a recent battle, strewn with slaughtered bodies still warm, and she offered one last consolation. At the battlefield, Erichtho sauntered among the dead, prodding and dissecting for a prophet. Alas, she found one with rigid sacs of lungs still capable of speech and thrust a hooked rope round its neck, dragging it away to her cavernous lair. Within the cave, Erichtho tied back her tangled hair with a set of vipers, revealing her wretched features. Upon seeing the nervous tension on Sextus’s face, she spoke.

“Set aside the fears your fearful minds conceive; now life in familiar shape will return to him, so that even the fearful might hear him speak. Though I were to show the pools of Styx whose shores roar with flame, though my commands let you view the Kindly Ones, or Cerberus shaking his snaky mane, or the chained forms of the Giants, why, cowards, fear those shades, who themselves fear me?” (Kline translation)

Erichtho moved to fill the body with fresh blood and wash its innards in a bath of festering bits of assorted creatures. Adding herbs, she cried an incantation that resonated like a wailing beast. She called to her patrons, the bringers of magic, death, fate, and fury. The shade came forth, fearful of its mangled body, yet compelled by Erichtho’s rage to enter it. Rising in once swift movement, dripping with decay, the body’s mouth and eyes widened. Sextus received his prophecy that fate lies only in the hands of his father and his kin, but at what cost?

As history tells, the Battle of Pharsalia was a victory for Caesar, which led to the assassination of Pompey along the shores of Egypt by Ptolemy XIII, brother and co-ruler to Cleopatra VII. As for Lucan, he had fallen out with Nero and was accused of conspiracy. Ultimately, he would die an untimely death, sentenced to suicide by the opening of a vein at the age of 25.

The Thessalian and the Necromancer

Thessaly had always had a reputation as home to witches, so much so that any womanly witch, sorceress, or magician was called a Thessalian. Medea, written around 431 BCE, traveled to Iolcus in Thessaly to gather herbs and kill Pelias, the usurper of Jason’s familial throne and one to send him on his quest for the golden fleece. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, she was a frequent traveler to the Thessalian mountains, known to be abundant in the herbs she used for her deadly concoctions. Many of the witches of later times would be associated with Medea or Circe from Homer’s Odyssey in lineage, both early archetypes.

Additionally, it was commonly believed that the women of Thessaly had the innate ability to draw down the moon. Literature from the 5th century BCE onward describes the use of a spinning wheel to lure the moon to the earth, another talent ascribed to any witch of the time. In actuality, Thessaly, located in northern Greece and south of Macedonia, was a somewhat foreign place to Classical Greeks. The unconventional lifestyles of the far removed bred a sort of otherness and eccentricity. Circe lived on a mythical island, Medea came from beyond the Black Sea, and Hecate, the goddess of magic, resided in the depths of the underworld. What these women have in common, much like Erichtho and the Thessalians, is their place along the peripheries of civilization, where few have ventured.

So Thessaly, with its vast population of women reasonably skilled in horticulture, may have appeared strangely captivating to outsiders. It was often the case that when the Greco-Romans traveled beyond their known borders, they found the inhabitants to be something other than human. Tall tales from Africa and India written in the histories say as much. They had an imaginative way of translating that which is unfamiliar. Hairy men, chest-faces, pigmies, dog-headed humanoids became objects of debate, shrouded in mystery, fantastical in appearance and culture. Suddenly, the witch was among them, growing increasingly more obscured from the ordinary into the vilified monstrous.

Still, it was not just the otherness of the foreign that endowed women with magical predispositions. Women may have been the preference all along. Though the emergence of witches in literature, like that of Circe and Medea, can be dated, folktales and oral histories cannot, and were likely part of the collective imagination long before Homer’s work was words on paper. Early archetypes of the witch paradigm so eloquently resemble that of the traditional activities of women—the skills and crafts necessary to implement magical practice. Women’s roles in nursing, cooking, and cosmetics extended to the witch through their use of carefully concocted potions and spells.

Circe prepared a grand feast for Odysseus’s men, one that she had drugged with her magic, and they then became pigs. Medea used her cauldron to restore youth, transforming an aged ram into a lamb to trick Pelias’s daughters into dismembering and boiling their father. She also rejuvenated Jason’s father by replacing his old blood with one she mixed in her cauldron. She crafted salves, notably the invincibility salve she gave to Jason to aid him against fire-breathing bulls, and imbued food with magic to lull the dragon to sleep so that Jason could safely retrieve the fleece. It is only later that the male sages and sorcerers took form, evidently shaped by long-standing constructs, rooted in folklore, of the creative, practical witch.

After Virgil, the witches of Latin tradition took on a behavior and appearance similar to that of modern-day witches of Halloween. Drunken, old, haggard, inherently evil shape-shifters motivated by lechery and greed. Their lethal herbs, poisons, drugs, and collection of putrid bodies were all at their diabolical disposal. And this is also the time in which the witch began using her necromantic powers. It was commonly believed that curses spoke from the dying were precise and potent. As such, the witch paralleled the dead in both ghastly appearance and ability.

However, the practice of necromancy did not originate with the witch. As a way to communicate with the dead for knowledge or divination, it spans ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, Rome, and other ancient societies. Techniques varied; some were shamanic, calling forth spirits of ancestors, others used rituals, temples, oracles, incantations, and spells to summon the dead. In albeit rare cases, the corpse of the dead was intentionally damaged. Tales of offerings and underworld-bound spiritual encounters were not at all uncommon. Fundamentally, necromancy existed because the dead were believed to possess secret knowledge, and that knowledge was attainable through ritual, whether it be to answer inquiry or foretell future events.

In the Greek Magical Papyri, a peculiar spell demonstrates the ways in which necromancy may have been prescribed outside the temple. The Spell of Attraction of King Pitys over any skull cap was used to elicit servitude from the deceased king, as a prayer petitioned to the god Helios. It begins with instructions to stand facing east and recite a prayer.

“I call upon you, Lord Helios, and your holy angels on this day in this very hour: Preserve me, for I am Thenor, and you are holy angels, guardians of the ARDIMALECHA… I beg you Lord Helios, hear me, grant me power over the spirit of the man who died a violent death, from whom tent I hold, so that I may keep him with me, as a helper and avenger for whatever business I crave for him.” (PGM IV. 1928-2005, O’Neil translation)

The spell continues with another prayer to Helios at sunset, followed by the burning of armara (a unique mixture) and uncut frankincense. After returning home, the spellcaster must write on an ivy with exactly thirteen leaves, place it atop the head, and recite several sacred names. Over the skull cap, a formula should be written along the forehead with ink made from the blood of serpents and the soot of a goldsmith. With that, the spell is complete, and the spirit may be commanded.

The Eternal Nightmare

More than 1,000 years after Lucan evoked Erichtho, Dante Alighieri wrote Dante’s Inferno, a medieval tale about a man’s journey through the circles of Hell to find his path toward God. The shade Virgil, Dante’s faithful guide, was asked to prove his familiarity with the lowest and most vile circles. Of the nine, some housed those who practiced the forbidden arts, punished by contrapasso (heads twisted backwards), and others, like the ninth, housed the worst of offenders. Forever imprisoned, Satan sat at its center. But it was not the terrifying knowledge of the hells or the immortal denizens that convinced Dante; it was likely the first words that Virgil spoke.

“True is it, once before I here below
Was conjured by that pitiless Erictho,
Who summoned back the shades unto their bodies.

Naked of me short while the flesh had been,
Before within that wall she made me enter,
To bring a spirit from the circle of Judas;

That is the lowest region and the darkest,
And farthest from the heaven which circles all.
Well know I the way; therefore be reassured.” (Longfellow translation)

Erichtho would go on to inspire the world with her gothic-like horror and abominations. It is said that Mary Shelley’s future husband, partner at the time, was a great admirer of Lucan’s work. Frankenstein absorbed himself in all manner of ghosts and devils, reaping bodies to configure his masterpiece. Maybe it was her partner’s fondness for Lucan or her fascination with galvanism, the use of electricity to stimulate muscle. Fortuitously, both concepts complemented each other in such a way that gave Frankenstein and his creature lasting fame and their creator quintessential status among Gothic writers.

In truth, the evolution of witchcraft in Greco-Roman literature and necromantic practice did propagate Erichtho’s being, but there is always more to the story. As mentioned earlier, Lucan became a dear friend to Nero. The same Nero who was known for his particularly brutal acts of violence. He murdered his mother, his first wife, and caused the death of his second, among numerous other atrocities. It was also rumored that he had an interest in necromancy, triggered by the ghost of his mother. Pliny the Elder claimed, “he did not refrain from murder in order to practice necromancy.”

Though Lucan would eventually die at the will of his loathsome emperor, he did not fall short in delighting Nero’s menacing mind and the minds of the Romans. How they loved their spectacles of deadly sport and drama. Erichtho simply quenched their avid thirst for crimson-soaked gore; spirits of the dead aided in her conquests. Her role in Pharsalia, one that replicated something of a sinister goddess, may as well have earned her semi-divine status. Rivaling even the gods, Erichtho succumbed to nothing of her own making. For eternity, she remains, a nightmare reveling in her kingdom of blood and bones. Perhaps it was the hells themselves that had forged her.

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Featured image: "Sextus Pompeius consulting Erichtho before the Battle of Pharsalia" (John Hamilton Mortimer, CC BY 2.0)

References:

Lucan, Translated by A.S. Kline (2014). The Civil War: Pharsalia, Book VI. Poetry in Translation. Available at: https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/PharsaliaVImaster.php

Ovid, translated by A.S. Kline (2001). The Heroides, Book XV. Poetry in Translation. Available at: https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/Heroides8-15.php#anchor_Toc524696652

Dante, translated by H.W. Longfellow (1867). Dante’s Inferno. Dartmouth. Available at: http://dantelab.dartmouth.edu/reader?reader%5Bcantica%5D=1&reader%5Bcanto%5D=9

Ogden, Daniel (2008) Night’s Black Agents: Witches, Wizards and the Dead in the Ancient World. Hambledon Continuum.

Clark, Brian (2011). The Witches of Thessaly. History of the Ancient World. Available at: https://dinitrandu.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/116814796-The-Witches-of-Thessaly.pdf

Pyptacz, Joanna (2016). The Appropriate Goddess. The Role of Erichtho in Lucan’s Pharsalia. Scripta Classica. Available at: https://www.academia.edu/32006938/The_Appropriate_Goddess_The_Role_of_Erichtho_in_Lucan_s_Pharsalia_Scripta_Classica_13_2016_pp_41_50

In part one, we explored names that shaped one’s earthly existence or the ways in which they were remembered. How names were chosen, the unique titularies of pharaohs, or the life force that sustained after death, offered control in a world where order was fragile. But there was far more to names in ancient Egypt, something profoundly magical. With a power that eclipsed life itself, it could also be wielded, even against those most revered, for good or evil.

Eternal Damnation

There was only one way to truly punish those who were believed to betray society. The act of damnatio memoriae, whose word is Roman in origin, was the condemnation or damnation of memory. In ancient Egypt, condemnation lasted for an eternity. It was political and social, for the blasphemous and the controversial. Pharaohs, courtiers, priests, or those vastly unpopular or heinous in their crimes suffered the consequences of losing their names.

As a form of performative magic, damnatio memoriae completely erased one’s existence. They would never pass through judgment in the underworld, lost forever in the entanglement of chaos. Their statues were strategically damaged to cripple limbs and prevent any attempts at salvation. It was a last resort, but one that, nonetheless, happened to those seemingly deserving and some who may not have been.

Several pharaohs were known to have experienced damnation after their death. The most well-known was Hatshepsut, a woman who rose to reign as pharaoh, admirably proving herself an equal to her male counterparts. But her womanhood was seen as a hindrance to her successor, her nephew and stepson, Thutmose II, who would have much rather been associated with his male ancestor, Amenhotep II. And so, he had her name extinguished from all public monuments and demolished her statuary. Her name was eradicated from royal documents and inscriptions, then replaced by his own. Anything that remained was buried in a pit.

Akhenaten also faced damnation for his failed religious reform, the worship of the monotheistic god, Aten. He was not looked on too favorably after his death, seen as a heretic who disrupted the precious order of the cosmos. His successor, Tutankhamun, restored the old religious order, but he, too, was not spared from the wrath of damnation. Horemheb, a later successor, attempted to erase all of the family line: Akhenaten, Tutankhamun, Nefertiti, and Ay (King Tut’s grandfather, successor, and one of the last pharaohs of the 18^th Dynasty). Statues were defaced or reworked to show the faces of other kings. Temples were desecrated or destroyed. Inscriptions and cartouches were filed down and new names put in their place. As successful as these people may have thought themselves, these pharaohs were never truly forgotten; their memory lived on and made them some of the most recognizable royals in ancient Egyptian history. Still, these examples, though insufficient in their outcome, embody the lengths to which some went to punish those long after they were gone and how terrifying it must have been to be threatened with such an act.

The reality for many Egyptians was the threat of eternal damnation, to cease to exist. It was used quite frequently to subdue criminals from all walks of life. If the offender found himself in an official position, such as a priest, his name would be removed from his temples and replaced with He Who Shall not be Remembered. He would become an outcast, shunned and demoralized for the remainder of his days. Some acquired determinatives to their names, like the symbol for the enemy, while others were given new, adverse names: The Bad One or Ra Hates Him. The result was all the same; since their names carried them into the afterlife, having one of negative connotation would only harm them, leaving them eternally damned one way or another.

The Essence of Magic

By the name being so closely intertwined with the very being of a person, their destiny, life, and death, it was always vulnerable, despite its inherent protection. Yet, it was also a creator, sprouting life through its syllables. Ra, the primeval god of creation, uttered life’s names, bringing it forth in all its forms. Ptah, a creator and god of arts and craftsmanship, created anything his heart desired by imagining it in his heart and speaking its name. The magic of the name was diverse; it was beautiful and ugly; it gave and took away; it saved and destroyed.

Consequently, because of this dichotomy, the gods had secret names, ones that mortals and other gods alike rarely had access to. Only the worthy could know their names; if known, the name commanded immense authority. In a previous article, The Evolution of the Enigmatic Egyptian Goddess Isis, I spoke about Isis learning the true name of Ra. His name was never revealed in the story—true names were often disguised when written down. The Egyptians believed that if any mortal knew the true name of the all-powerful Ra, catastrophe would soon follow.

In another very similar story, Horus discovered the true name of Seth, his name seemingly revealed to audiences. Seth, the god of chaos, was woefully afflicted as Horus approached, offering a healing spell to ease his pain. But Seth had never been one to fully trust; he spoke the presumed true names of other deities: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. Horus knew these names to be false, imploring Seth to speak his name, his true nature, and Seth yielded. His name was Evil Day, the day on which no child may be conceived or born, and with this knowledge, Horus performed his magic.

In everyday spells and rituals, magic was dependent on the knowledge of the name. Name magic was understood in two ways: to invoke or relate oneself to a god, or to know the name of the recipient of the spell. To call on a deity was to invoke their presence to ask or even demand something. At times, medical patients were identified with a deity to remedy their ailments. Horus was a common choice, given that he was so strongly associated with healing. Many other deities, such as the case with Seth, were invoked based on the concept of like with like, that something menacing needed to be conquered by its equal. Therefore, Seth was called upon to rid those plagued by demons and vengeful spirits, to ward off evil, or to simply relieve one of their headaches. In rare occurrences, the names of famed sages and the like were used much like the gods. Either way, calling upon a figure of veneration had amazing results.

A lengthy and complex spell outlined in The Greek Magical Papyri instructs the spellcaster to summon the god of eternal and cyclical time, Aion. Once face-to-face with the mighty being, all words spoken must be written down, along with the name that he gives. The name may then be used for several spells, odd or otherwise.

“To Fetch a lover: Say the Name 3 times to the sun. It fetches woman to man and man to woman in a way that will amaze you.”

“If you say it over any bird, into its ears, it will die.”

“Resurrection of a dead body: ‘I conjure you, spirit coming in air, enter, inspire, empower, resurrect by the power of the eternal god, this body; and let it walk about in this place, for I am he who acts with power of Thayth, the holy god.’ Say the Name.” (Betz, Magical Papyri)

The other ways in which names were utilized relied on the idea that a person’s name held their essence, and by knowing their essence (their name), one could manipulate and exercise power over them. Spells of this sort were used for a multitude of reasons: to cast love spells, for self-defense, to inflict harm, destroy enemies, or to be written on magical objects. In many cases, the individual’s name would be referenced directly with the name or names of deities, which could be extensive and confusing. A love charm said to act in an hour instructs the spellcaster to write a long list of holy names on a seashell using the blood of a black donkey. An invocation was then spoken to compel the gods, announcing many complicated names and the name of the person to fall under its spell. In another spell:

“If you wish to appear to someone at night in dreams, say to the lamp that is in daily use, say frequently: CHEIAMOPSEI ERPEBOTH, let her, (name), whom (name) bore, see me in her dreams, immediately; quickly, quickly.” (O’Neil translation, Magical Papyri)

One final and fittingly formidable form of name magic was destructive magic, aimed at destroying enemies, political or personal. This was usually accomplished by writing the names of the enemy on objects, which were then ritualistically destroyed. Execration texts were recited texts and curses performed by priests during these rituals, while names were etched onto the surfaces of clay vessels, figurines, or bowls. Names placed upon the vessels were destroyed, broken into pieces, and buried. This was a form of sympathetic, performative magic, imitating the desired effect. Names may have been written on papyrus and stabbed, burned, or repeatedly stomped. Curse tablets, inscribed with the names of enemies, were buried as well. There were many ways to rid oneself of their enemies and foreign adversaries, and the Egyptians had an abundance of creative solutions to the problem, including more than just the name. They depicted enemies on door sockets, sandals, and the like to cause continuous harm as they stomped their enemies with every step or slammed them with every swing of the door.

Names of the World

It was said that Ra had seventy-five names, each perhaps representing a different aspect of his being. Similarly, Marduk, the supreme god of ancient Mesopotamia, had at least fifty names, though his one true name, given to him at conception, was Marduk. Every name was a manifestation of his destiny and his control over chaos, something the Egyptians knew intimately. Throughout history, the Egyptian way of naming has seemingly never waned. Several African tribes, like the Efik people of Southern Nigeria and Western Cameroon, participate in naming ceremonies, receiving multiple names, each representing something unique. In Celtic mythology, the Law of Names states that knowing someone’s secret name could grant absolute power over them, frequently attributed to magical creatures and the Fae of folklore. Indigenous tribes of North America earn sacred spirit names, revealed during the vision quest, in dreams, or at a transitional period in life that connects them to their destiny, to nature, and the spirit realm. So akin to the ancients that came before, the birth name, true name, or sacred name holds great power and needs to be protected.

In truth, these concepts have always been around. Christianity speaks of the true name of Jesus, Yeshua. Judaism tells the story of Eve calling out the creator’s true name to take flight and escape Adam, whom she refused to submit to and whom she called her equal. Rumpelstiltskin from the Brothers Grimm revealed his true name in song, which gave the desperate queen the power to save her child from his wicked grasp. Celebrities, writers, anonymous online personas, or those who choose a new name for themselves, all share the name as a sentiment, an expression of something more. Every name has its origin and meaning, is used to honor those beloved, and connects families to their ancestors. In death, names are inscribed on stones, etched on vessels, or spoken in memory. The name has never been simply an identifier. It is a lasting symbol for everything we were, we are, and we will become.

Featured image: Osiride head of Hatshepsut, 18th Dynasty (Postdlf, CC BY-SA 3.0)

References:

Pinch, G. 1994. Magic in Ancient Egypt. British Museum Press.

Betz, H.D. 1992. The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation: Including the Demotic Spells. Second Edition. University of Chicago Press.

Strudwick, H. 2006. The Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

Pumphery, N.B. 2009. Names and Power: The Concept of Secret Names in the Ancient Near East. Vanderbilt University. Available at: https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/216048895.pdf

Crafty Theatre. 2016. Tutankhamun: Damnatio Memoriae. crafty theatre @ WordPress. Available at: https://craftytheatre.wordpress.com/2016/08/28/tutankhamen-damnatio-memoriae/#:~:text=Damnatio%20Memoriae%2C%20the%20erasing%20of,crippled%20him%20in%20his%20afterlife.

Salyer, T. 2023. The Magic of True Names: From Ancient Mythologies to Otherworld Outlaws. Substack.

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The Magic of True Names: From Ancient Mythologies to Otherworld Outlaws

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For the ancient Egyptians, names were not mere labels, but powerful expressions steeped in cosmic order. The act of naming shaped one’s earthly existence and one’s legacy. Intricate naming formulas or elaborate fivefold titularies of pharaohs were central to the fabric of Egyptian life. Beyond the mortal realm, they played an integral role in the afterlife, ensuring the soul’s continued existence. Imbued with mystical might, names offered protection, empowerment, or control over the physical and spiritual. In this two-part series, we’ll explore the multifaceted role of names in ancient Egypt, their cultural, religious, and magical significance, as well as the implications of memory and identity in the face of death.

The Naming Formula

Choosing a name in ancient Egypt was not an easy task; careful consideration must have been taken when choosing a name to ensure fortuitous outcomes in all realms of existence. In the simplest of terms, names followed two formulas: theophoric and endophoric. Theophoric names were expressions of protection and devotion to a god or deified figure; whereas, endophoric names expressed statements about the individual.

The context of statements largely depended on status, family, or cultic beliefs and gods associated with different regions. Some examples of theophoric names would include: Who Belongs to Bastet, Living Image of Amun, or He who Sobek has Given. Another example may be the recycling of a family name, as with Ramses (Child of Ra). Endophoric names were given to articulate affection, wishes, physical features, or words spoken: She Whom I Desire, Their Most Beautiful, He with the Nose, or My Name is Healthy—a widely popular choice during the Middle Kingdom. Some names were a bit more straightforward, like Beautiful or Perfect. During the Old and Middle Kingdoms, and again popularized during the Late Period, names may have taken the form of native fauna or flora: The Falcon, The Cat, The Lotus Flower, or The Rose.

In addition to names given at birth, it was common for some individuals to have multiple names, being given an additional name at a turning point in life. During the Old Kingdom, people often had two names, one considered the major, formal name, and another known as the beautiful or final name, quite similar to a first name. At times, people had three names, but this was not as common. The beautiful name lost its popularity during the Middle Kingdom, regaining some favor during the Late Period. Some, like those who took family names, frequently acquired nicknames to differentiate themselves from their predecessors. Those who had an official status, like a priest, were given a new name to reflect their sacred role.

Persons without names, for whatever reason, were given a culturally accepted personal name, albeit not a creative one. They were usually identified as some variation of the name He or She is Unknown. Foreigners either went by an Egyptian translation of their name or gave themselves a new name to assimilate into society, or, in the case of those of low status, were given ethnonyms, names that denoted an ethnic group or tribe, such as the Nubian Man or the Libyan Girl. In later times, ethnic names were associated with the gods of the region; the Nubian was used as an epithet to indicate the god Horus, for example. As such, everyone in Egyptian society, no matter their circumstances, had a name.

The Fivefold Titulary of Pharaoh

As pharaohs ascended the throne, they acquired several unique names, the fivefold titulary. These names and titles were of the utmost importance, representing the pharaoh’s divine status and aspirations. Each served a different purpose, whether it be religious, symbolic, or official. The first and foremost name was the Horus name, displayed in the serekh, meaning façade. This rectangular hieroglyphic symbol, reminiscent of the façade of the royal palace, encapsulated the name or title as the Falcon of Horus perched atop it. The name identified who rightfully sat on the throne and connected the pharaoh to Horus, exemplifying divinity and authority, as the pharaoh had become a manifestation of the god of kingship.

The following name was the Nebty name, which signified unity over Lower and Upper Egypt. It was shown in the goddesses associated with each region, the cobra-headed Wadjet of Lower Egypt and the vulture-headed Nekhbet of Upper Egypt. Together, they sat on baskets, forming the name The Two Ladies. When Lower and Upper Egypt unified under Menes (Narmer), the first pharaoh of Egypt, they became shared patrons, much the same as the red crown and the white crown coming together as the double crown. This name honored the first and ultimately meant that under the goddesses’ blessed rule, there would be unity.

Perhaps the most ambiguous of names was the Golden Horus name. It was represented by the Falcon of Horus standing atop the hieroglyphic symbol for gold. In ancient Egypt, gold was closely associated with eternity. Additionally, the gods were said to have flesh of gold and bones of silver. Though there is some uncertainty surrounding the true meaning of this aspect of the fivefold titulary, it has been suggested, based on the associations of Horus and gold, that this name stood for the pharaoh’s status or his desire to be an eternal Horus—in this life and the next—as well as the longevity and prosperity of his reign.

The prenomen, also known as the throne name, was a name specifically created for and given to the pharaoh during his royal coronation. For all intents and purposes, it was the official name used throughout the entirety of a pharaoh’s reign. This name was symbolized through the sedge (papyrus plant) and the bee, with the papyrus being linked to Upper Egypt and the bee to Lower Egypt. Effectively, it translated to King of Upper and Lower Egypt or The Dual King. Enclosed within an oval-shaped ring, the Shenu, or what is commonly called the cartouche, the name was protected for all of eternity. The cartouche was exclusive to the royal family, as it protected one of the most sacred and vulnerable facets of their existence, the name.

The last name, and one equally protected by the cartouche, was the nomen, the deeply personal birth name and the name used in modern times to identify each pharaoh, using Roman numerals to differentiate kings of the same name. The title Son of Ra was placed before the name within the cartouche, as the pharaoh, upon ascension, was considered a direct descendant of the all-powerful creator god, Ra. Being connected to Ra was the most valid form of legitimacy to rule over the great kingdom of Egypt, and thus was given to the true name. For much of Egypt’s history, rulers went only by their prenomen; if any name were to accompany it, it was the nomen.

A Man Shall Remember His Name in the Realm of the Dead

Death in ancient Egypt was a pledge, one given by the name to live on in memory and eternal bliss in the afterlife. In life, their name was just as significant as their physical body, and in death, the name was their salvation. At the offering cult and statues of their tombs, their name, reputation, and memory were inscribed as reminders to never forget their impeccable character, that they lived by principles of order, of ma’at.

Offerings given by patrons sustained the Ka, life force, that stayed behind and was a conduit for survival in the afterlife. The Ka was associated with the body, while the Ba was associated with character and the underworld. Names inscribed on statues enabled them to act as vessels for the Ka to inhabit, much like the gods inhabited their temple idols. As a pair of raised arms, the symbol for the Ka closely resembled the act of claiming one’s name, and in this way, it was like the name, a link between life and death, and a bond of recognition.

This idea that the name must not be forgotten in death was expressed in literature as well. In The Tale of the Eloquent Peasant, written during the Middle Kingdom, Khun-Anup, a poor man, was viciously beaten and robbed. The perpetrator scoffed and told him that no one would hear his cries or come to his aid; he was nothing more than a peasant. But Khun-Anup’s heart knew that justice prevails, and so, he pressed on, refuting the man to the authorities, valiantly winning his case. For his acts of goodness, for believing in and adhering to ma’at, his name would be forever remembered. In another story found in the Late Period Papyrus Vandier, a fictional pharaoh by the name of Sisobek comforted his magician, who grappled with fear as he readied himself to be sacrificed for his lord. In his last moments, Sisobek spoke to him.

“I will cause your name to endure for ever and ever. I will not let your name perish in the temples.” (Posener translation, Papyrus Vandier)

Still, the name’s purpose was far greater—it was imperative to navigate the underworld. As the Ba traveled the dark depths, it needed to remember its name as well as all who resided there. Spells in the Book of the Dead and Coffin Texts reminded the dead to know the true names of the halls and judges who presided over their journey. Their words needed to be precise and accurate.

“O Thoth, I am a great one, I have appeared in glory. Such am I; I am in my name, and my name is a god; I will not forget it, this name of mine.

O Bit, my name is ‘Isis in the sealed place’; I am [in my name], and my name is a god; I will not forget it, this name of mine.

O Re r -Atum, O Khopri, I am one who was bom on the First of the Year, and I know my name; ‘this name of mine is a god who is in this body of mine, and I have driven off him who would carry away for himself my name and my heart in his hand. I will not forget this name of mine in the presence of the Lord of Judgement.” (Coffin Text, spell 411)

Further spells preserved the body and opened the mouth so that the dead could speak the names and the Ka may be nourished. To remember one’s name restored the heart to its owner, and once it was restored, it must be guarded against corruption and betrayal. The heart dictated the fate of the deceased as its true nature was weighed against that of order in the Hall of Two Truths. The name prevented the deceased from dying a brutal second death at the hands of vile beings. Numerous spells proclaimed that a man shall remember his name in the realm of the dead.

“I am this builder who sits in the great place of the sky, and as for any god who will not come following me, I will speak my name.” (Coffin Texts, spell 412)

Part 2 Coming Soon!

Featured image: Funerary mask of Merit, New Kingdom (Museo Egizio - Turin, CC0)

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (March 22, 2025)

References:

Pinch, G. 1994. Magic in Ancient Egypt. British Museum Press.

Strudwick, H. 2006. The Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

Vittmann, G. 2013. Personal Names: Function and Significance. UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology. Available at: https://escholarship.org/content/qt7t12z11t/qt7t12z11t.pdf?t=rzueda&v=lg

Lundstrom, P. Titles and Epithets in Ancient Egypt. Pharaoh.se Available at: https://pharaoh.se/ancient-egypt/titles-and-epithets/

Faulkner, R.O. 1977. The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts: Volume II Spells 355-787. Aris and Phillips Ltd. Available at: https://archive.org/stream/TheAncientEgyptianCoffin1/he%20ancient%20Egyptian%20coffin%20texts2_djvu.txt

During the Old Kingdom and Middle Kingdom, Isis blossomed into a goddess of immense potential. Her connection to creation, death, and the divine triad solidified her influence in a burgeoning Egypt. Absorbing the traits of other goddesses only added to an already commanding presence, but she had yet to reach a wider audience. However, things quickly changed as word spread and worlds merged. Ascending to a level of unprecedented authority, Isis became an immortal figure, forever altering how humanity understood faith and the divine.

The Mother of All: The New Kingdom

At the beginning of the New Kingdom, funerary practices usually reserved for the elite became more readily available to the public, if they had the money to do so. This is the era of the Book of the Dead, a collection of spells, texts, maps, and iconography to aid the deceased through the underworld, pass judgment, and enter the afterlife. Expectedly, the shift made the myth of Osiris, Isis, and Horus, as well as the lamentations, extremely popular. Through this newfound popularity, Isis continued to absorb other deities’ traits and associate herself with a range of gods.

Depictions of Isis began showing her wearing the headdress of Hathor, the sun disk and cow horns. She absorbed aspects of Hatmehyt, the goddess of fish and floods, vital to the fertile soil produced along the Nile. Isis’s association with Nile inundation was through her myth, searching these waters for Osiris’s body and the fish that supposedly ate his phallus. Min, the predynastic god of harvests and fertility, became one of the sons of Isis and Osiris. At times, she was even referred to as a consort to Amun, the creator god himself. Texts in the Book of the Dead call her the Mother of All, she who gives birth to the heaven and the earth. In an instant, she took to the front of the sun god’s barque, valiantly battling the great serpent, Apep, each night as he traveled through the underworld to return to the sky each day.

Keeping in mind the myth that started it all and its propagation over time, the divine triad fused with every subtle aspect of the story, evolving and expanding. During the Ramesside Period of the New Kingdom, the legendary tale of The Contendings of Horus and Seth was introduced, recorded on the Chester Beatty Papyri. The tale, if not a bit satirical, is about a years-long battle between uncle and nephew for the throne after Osiris’s death and resurrection.

Following the murder of Osiris, Seth seized the throne. Consequently, young Horus vowed to avenge his father and reclaim the right to rule Egypt. The Ennead agreed that Horus and Seth would engage in a series of trials to determine who was truly worthy. Throughout these trials, Seth used every means of trickery and brute strength to defeat Horus. Central to Horus’s success was his mother, who played a pivotal role in his victory.

Always watchful, and as a brilliant strategist and magician, Isis was the epitome of the protective mother. While Horus faced daunting physical challenges set by the gods, it was Isis who secretly aided him with her wisdom and magic. Yet, things did not always go as planned. Seth gouged out one of Horus’s eyes, and Horus chopped off his mother’s head when she mistakenly struck him during a battle. Some said Isis replaced her head with a cow’s, hence the cow headdress. She also taught him how to navigate Seth’s many deceptions, most notably through the last trial in which Seth savagely violated Horus in an attempt to trick him into submission. Using her sharp intellect, Isis helped him outwit Seth in a perversely amusing way, involving the removal of Horus’s hand, Seth’s favorite food, lettuce, and Horus’s seminal fluid bursting from Seth’s skull. As the trials came to an end, the gods gathered to judge. Horus’s perseverance, bravery, and the divine support of Isis convinced the gods that he was the true heir to Egypt. Order and the balance of power were thus restored.

This story contributed to Isis’s public image, now that she had gained the praise of the masses, and Horus’s reputation as a god of kings and healing. The Eye of Horus, otherwise known as wedjet, a name taken from his battle with Seth, flanked amulets, jewelry, sculptures, and more as a representation of healing and protection. Isis had been given her own sacred objects as well: the Tyet, the knot or blood of Isis, which rested on the chests of mummies or was delicately woven within the wrappings to protect in the afterlife. Together, statuettes and temple reliefs of Isis nursing baby Horus abounded. With her stoic pose, sheath dress, and the throne atop her head or uraeus at her brow, baby Horus rested peacefully upon her knee.

For nearly 3,000 years, Isis encapsulated Egyptian perfection, a seemingly unstoppable force that had ever-changing power. Yet, during most of the New Kingdom, she was still absent temples of her own. Her worship was intertwined with the male deities of her family, being worshipped as a unit. Offerings and rituals to her revolved around her protective and healing abilities. During the Late New Kingdom, Isis’s popularity abruptly and swiftly exploded. Much of it may have to do with kings increasingly utilizing her as a symbol of legitimacy and a tool for propaganda, calling upon her to save them in battles or, as the last native rulers of Egypt before the Achaemenids invaded, building her extravagant temples.

Records are somewhat conflicting, but some ancient historians suggest Nectanebo I started construction on the famed temple of Isis in Philae on the Egyptian island where she supposedly found the heart of Osiris; however, it would seem that Ptolemy II finished construction and is often credited with building it. The temple, which has since been relocated piece by piece due to flooding, was a complex in honor of the divine family, adorned with vivid and colorful mythological scenes and towering columns. As one of the most visited sites of the ancient world, now located in Agilka, it was also home to the most influential cult of Isis during Greco-Roman times.

Nectanebo II began construction on the temple of Isis in Behbeit el Hagar in the Nile Delta—another site steeped in Isis’s early lore—but was overthrown by the Achaemenid Empire and never completed it. It is currently known as the first official temple to Isis, since it is unclear if his father truly began construction at Philae. In spite of its incompleteness, the temple at Behbeit el Hagar was in use, worshipping the family and Isis specifically in her role in primordial creation. Ptolemy II and III later completed and expanded on the temple. It is safe to say that when the Greeks conquered Egypt under Alexander the Great, they moved to make Isis a goddess of ever-encompassing reach. They saw something in her that they had never seen before: a goddess of universal proportions.

She of Ten-Thousand Names: The Greco-Roman Era

Before exploring the Greco-Roman era of Isis, a story must be told, one that sets the stage for how Isis was worshipped during this period. During the last dynasty of native Egypt, written on the Turin Papyrus from the 20^th dynasty, is the story of Isis and Ra. The story shaped growing associations between Isis, Ra, and the Eye of Ra, a powerful protector and at times, rebellious feminine counterpart to the creator sun god. Originally, the eye was named as Hathor. Later, it became connected to a few different feminine deities, including Isis. In the story of Isis and Ra, Isis exudes unrestrained power over the most powerful god in the pantheon, a sign of things to come for her.

Ra, the mighty sun god, ruled over the gods and all the lands. But Ra bore a secret: his true name, a name which granted him limitless power. Only he himself knew this name, and it was tightly guarded. Isis, as a cunning goddess of magic, sought to know this name. She wished to possess knowledge that could grant her strength in avenging the death of her brother and dear husband.

Disguising herself, Isis quietly approached Ra, who, in his old age, appeared weakened and vulnerable. She presented herself as a healer and offered to help ease his pain. Previously, she had covertly crafted a venomous serpent from dust and set it upon his path. The snake then bit Ra, and in agony, he called out to the gods, but none could ease his suffering. Isis, having so coincidentally witnessed his pain, offered to heal him, but only if he spoke his true name, knowing that the power of his name could rid him of the poison. Ra was tormented; without hesitation, he agreed. He spoke the name he had kept hidden for so long. And so Isis gained unimaginable power, power quite literally stronger than all the gods combined, and with it, she protected her family.

Isis during the Late Period was a force like none other. Her influence spanned the cosmos; she was involved in just about every fundamental aspect of life: creation, kings, inundation, life, death, birth, magic, and medicine. In the Turin Papyrus, it proclaims that “Her mouth was full of the breath of life.” She gave life to the world and the waters that sustained. The power that she held surpassed anything and everything. The Ptolemies loved her, as temples began to spring up across the Mediterranean into the Greek landscape. The first temple to Isis was built in Athens by native Egyptians around the 4^th century BCE. In Delos, built around the 2^nd century BCE, Isis was widely worshipped alongside Serapis (Greco-Egyptian syncretic god) at their cult center.

As mentioned, early Ptolemy kings finished her grand temples, also building one for her in Alexandria that attracted worshippers from all over the region. At Philae, she was called the essence of life, she who embodies the sky, the earth, and the duat (afterlife), creating with her heart and her hands. Before this time, Isis was rarely invoked in spells. Conversely, Greco-Egyptian spells call out to her time and time again, as a gentle nurturer whose love reached all who asked. Unlike many of her divine counterparts, her words, as she spoke them in so many of her myths and tales, held profound magic. Countless statuettes, now Hellenized with softened Greco-Roman features, hair drawn back, and a pleated dress and shawl, along with amulets and other protective objects, were in mass production. To further legitimize her rightful place in their pantheon, they associated her with the myth of Io as well as prominent deities, such as Tyche, Demeter, and Aphrodite. Isis was now widespread.

The Greeks and later the Romans found Isis to be utterly fascinating. They had already viewed the Egyptian culture as exotic and steeped in ancient wisdom, and Isis only appealed to their senses of amazement and curiosity. She was both comforting and exhibited unfathomable strength. Ancient scholars, like Plato and most notably, Plutarch, wrote extensively on the topic of Isis, referring to her as an all-powerful goddess, one who heals humanity’s suffering. He also wrote his own eloquently worded version of the Osiris creation story. Diodorus Siculus claimed that Isis left Egypt to spread her love throughout the world.

“For Isis is the feminine of Nature and that which is capable of receiving the whole of genesis; in virtue of which she has been called ‘Nurse’ and ‘All-receiving’ by Plato, and, by the multitude, ‘She of ten-thousand names,’ through her being transformed by Reason and receiving all forms and ideas.” (Plutarch, G.R.S. Mead translation, 1906)

Royals like Cleopatra VII called herself the reincarnation of Isis, wearing her sacred attire for events and developing a fixation with serpents. By this time, the goddess was fully incorporated into other goddesses, as they became various manifestations of Isis. The serpent deity, Renenet, who was linked to fate, or Wadjet, the snake goddess of royalty, was absorbed into Isis early on. Other goddesses absorbed were Hathor (expectedly), Nut, Nephthys, Mut, Tawaret, and at times, Ma’at, just to name a few. These goddesses never vanished, but rather were dwarfed in comparison to Isis’s universal character that encompassed all of their greatest powers.

When the Romans took over Egypt after defeating Cleopatra, Isis spread like wildfire through the Empire. She was one of the most worshipped deities of the Roman era, with shrines and altars atop Capitoline Hill in the center of Rome and extending as far as Afghanistan to Londinium in modern-day England. Several depictions, bronze figures, and etchings on a flagon drinking vessel that read “To London (Londinium) at the temple of Isis” attest to her reach. And when Christianity took hold over the old gods, as has been convincingly argued, Isis’s iconography and reputation as a protective and dedicated mother, as well as her miraculous, probable virgin conception of Horus—she conceived Horus through magical means, not traditional—was reimagined into the Virgin Mary. The iconic figure of Isis and baby Horus, later Mary and Jesus, became eternally emblematic of the sacred mother and child.

Thoughts on Isis and Monotheism

Though her mark on Christianity is clear to those who see the connection, Isis did far more for the world of monotheism than she has been given credit for. Her transformation over time and the gradual increase in attributes were stable and vastly effective. With a goddess of universal proportions, all others seemed obsolete. She essentially created out of herself a form of henotheism, the belief in one supreme god above other deities. But that is not all.

No other deity in the history of polytheism or, quite possibly, henotheism has really ever been able to achieve what Isis did. She emerged as a minor figure amongst a plethora of formidable gods. Steadily, over thousands of years, she prevailed, shifting the tides of pantheons. She spoke to her followers, soothed them in their times of need, and gave them a safe space in death. Her words created, healed, and moved nations. Although others had failed at creating a god of such authority—Akhenaten of Egypt or Elagabalus of Rome—their attempts meant nothing compared to Isis. It takes time, patience, and consistency to create a god of monotheistic size, and perhaps Isis was the first to truly personify a god of all.

Featured image: Marble statue of Isis. Roman, Hadrianic period. (Capitoline Museums, Public domain)

References:

Pinch, G. 2002. Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt. Oxford University Press.

Tyldesley, J. 2024. Isis: Egyptian Goddess. Encyclopedia Britannica. Available at: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Isis-Egyptian-goddess

Wegner, J.H. 2020. Divine Mothers: Power and Protection. Glencairn Museum. Available at: https://www.glencairnmuseum.org/newsletter/2020/11/12/divine-mothers-power-and-protection#:~:text=To%20give%20some%20sense%20of,to%20her%20in%20Roman%20Britain

Bommas, M. 2022. “I am Isis”: The Role of Speech in the Cult of Isis. Getty. Available at: https://www.getty.edu/publications/egypt-classical-world/03/

Mark, J. 2016. The Lamentations of Isis and Nephthys. World History Encyclopedia. Available at: https://www.worldhistory.org/article/878/the-lamentations-of-isis-and-nephthys/#:~:text=The%20text%20resembles%20a%20longer,on%20the%20Berlin%20Papyrus%203008.

Mark, J. 2017. Stories from the Westcar Papyrus. World History Encyclopedia. Available at: https://www.worldhistory.org/article/1039/stories-from-the-westcar-papyrus/

De Buck, A. 1935. The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. Vol. 1. University of Chicago Press.

Mead, G.R.S. 1906. Thrice-Greatest Hermes, Vol. 1. Sacred Texts. Available at: https://sacred-texts.com/gno/th1/th136.htm

Hill, J. 2010. Goddesses associated with Isis. Ancient Egypt Online. Available at: https://ancientegyptonline.co.uk/isisgod/

Plutarch. Isis and Osiris. Loeb Classical Library edition, 1936. Available at: https://penelope.uchicago.edu/thayer/e/roman/texts/plutarch/moralia/isis_and_osiris*/a.html

Cantillon, G. 2019. A Divine Makeover: Learn about the evolution of the goddess Isis – from ancient Egypt to the Roman Empire. Hunt Museum. Available at: https://www.huntmuseum.com/stories/objects-in-focus/goddess-isis-a-divine-makeover/

Isidora. 2012. The Disturbing Story of Isis and Re. Isiopolis. Available at: https://isiopolis.com/2012/01/28/the-disturbing-story-of-isis-re/

Milligan, M. 2016. London was once home to an ancient Roman temple dedicated to the goddess Isis. Heritage Daily. Available at: https://www.heritagedaily.com/2016/04/did-you-know-london-was-once-home-to-an-ancient-roman-temple-dedicated-to-the-goddess-isis/110561

Humble beginnings may not sound like the Egyptian goddess Isis, but this much is true. When she first emerged into the world, she was hardly known by her people, with the exception of the elites. Her enigmatic obscurity, however, inevitably worked in her favor.

As a goddess of many things, Isis was a mourner and guide to the dead, a powerful magician, a healer to the living, a creator, mother, wife, and role model. She often wore a simple dress with the symbols of the throne or, later, the solar disk and cow’s horns atop her head. At times, she bore wings or was depicted as a scorpion, snake, cow, sow, or bird of prey. Her true name was Aset or Eset, translating to throne or queen of the throne. From the Old Kingdom to the Greco-Roman era and beyond, Isis’s evolution transcends all possibilities, earning her numerous names, prolific powers, and making her one of the most worshipped gods of all time.

The Nature of Creation: The Old Kingdom

Before the 5^th Dynasty of the Old Kingdom, Isis and Osiris had never been named; suddenly, they began appearing in the Pyramid Texts of kings, aiding and protecting them through the afterlife. Isis searched for the kings’ bodies, nurtured them, and guided them to eternal bliss. Though stories of her may have circulated for some time before she was ever written, the 5^th Dynasty saw an influx in the writing and the recording of mortuary practices. The tomb of the last ruler of the dynasty, Unas, introduced Isis to the world.

Likely, the conception of Isis originated somewhere in the Nile Delta, as her name was linked to this region in Pyramid Texts. Her mythological beginnings, on the other hand, are believed to have been cultivated at Heliopolis, one of the oldest religious centers of the Egyptian kingdom. There, priests propagated her myth and those of her fellow gods, the Ennead, the nine principal gods. Their central figure was Atum, a manifestation of the sun god Ra. Atum created himself from himself while rising from the primeval waters of chaos, nothingness, and creation. He birthed the earth, Geb, and the sky, Nut. From the earth and sky, four siblings were born: Osiris, Seth, Isis, and Nephthys. Isis wed her brother, Osiris, who was the divine ruler of Egypt, but his brother, Seth, grew restless in his desire for the throne. Evidence gathered from Old Kingdom Pyramid Texts and later texts tells the compelling narrative.

Long before the Old Kingdom, Osiris, the god of life and death, ruled over the fertile Nile valley. He was beloved by the people, a wise and just king who taught them agriculture and brought prosperity. His wife, Isis, was his equal in power and wisdom, a goddess of magic and healing. Together, they ruled with grace, but Osiris’s younger brother, Seth, the god of chaos and disorder, was consumed by envy. Concocting a sinister plan, Seth fashioned a magnificent coffin, perfectly suited to Osiris’s measurements, and presented it at a grand banquet. He promised that whoever could fit into the coffin would receive it as a gift. Osiris, unsuspecting of his brother’s treachery, lay down inside the chest, and the moment he did, Seth’s followers slammed it shut and cast it into the Nile.

In desperation, Isis tirelessly searched the land. After many trials, she found the coffin that contained her beloved husband and brought it back to Egypt. Yet Seth, in all his madness, learned of her return and fervently tore Osiris’s body into fourteen pieces, scattering them across Egypt. Once again, Isis set out, this time accompanied by her sister Nephthys, to recover Osiris’s dismembered parts. With great care, they found and reassembled every piece of him, but one—the phallus of Osiris could not be found. Using her magic, Isis fashioned a replacement, and in a ritual of heartache, she brought Osiris back to life and conceived a child, Horus. But Osiris could not return to the land of the living. He had become the ruler of the afterlife, giving his people a path to immortality.

This story forms the basis for the narratives written and depicted in Old Kingdom Pyramid Texts and onward, which initially were heavily focused on Osiris in relation to the king, including Isis as a comforting and vigilant figure. Isis was the perfect queen to her husband and thus, an ideal representation of wifehood and womanhood. She was devout and supportive, often quietly allowing her husband to lead. When needed, her clever wits and protective nature saved the kingdom from ruin. Much of what is known of the Ennead of the Old Kingdom comes from Pyramid Texts. Though not explicit in their storytelling, they reflect mythic narratives surrounding deceased kings. And Isis, albeit a secondary, minor role to Osiris, was still a vital component of these early and mysterious royal initiation rites.

Isis’s connection to kings also extended beyond the afterlife. As her name suggests, her early incarnations were associated with kingship, represented in her son, Horus, the god of kingship, and the throne that sat atop her head as a symbol of power. The king did not hold authority until he resided on the throne, and by sitting on the throne, the king continued the cyclical nature of creation. Since the king was given divine status, he automatically had ties to the creation myth of Osiris, Isis, and Horus. Isis was queen to the living Osiris and remained at his side while he became king of the underworld. Her dual aspects in both living kings and their deaths and resurrections ultimately set the tone for immense potential, one that gradually began to take shape during the Middle Kingdom.

Mourner and Midwife: The Middle Kingdom

As early as the Pyramid Texts, Isis was considered the mother of Horus. However, earlier evidence from the 4^th Dynasty suggests that Hathor was his mother. The shift from Hathor, who had been a mother goddess in the Delta Region since the Predynastic Period around 6000 BCE, hundreds of years before Isis, highlights early evidence of assimilations into Isis. One of the oldest deities, Serket, the goddess of the dead, was also beginning to be absorbed by Isis. This took time, and by the Middle Kingdom, Isis continued to be primarily restricted to the realm of kings and elites. She did not have any cults that were known, nor temples or shrines dedicated to her. The reason she may have taken on Serket’s and Hathor’s traits would have to do with her family’s mythology. The three of them created a divine triad, one that ideologically resonated with royals as familial archetypes.

Additionally, during the Middle Kingdom, Isis’s roles as mother and mourner further began to take shape as depictions of her myth became more detailed and elaborate. After Osiris retreated to rule the underworld, Isis hid baby Horus in the Delta marshes, fiercely protecting him against Seth, fearsome snakes, scorpions, and above all, she taught him the way of magic. Her involvement in royal funerary practices, specifically the Lamentations of Isis and Nephthys, evolved from words of encouragement to aid Osiris and the king to a more literal form of speech. The unique language used in the Coffin Texts of the Middle Kingdom alludes to these lamentations as a performative ritual.

“Oh tired one, oh tired one, lying there!
Tired in this place you did not know I knew.
Behold, I have found you in this your place, great weary one.”
“Sister,” Isis says to Nephthys, “our brother is this!
Come, let’s lift his head,
come, let’s join his bones together,
come, let us tend his limbs!” (De Buck Translation, 1935)

The Coffin Text details the grieving process and the deep emotional pain felt by the goddesses, who express their sorrow, also having an active role in restoring Osiris. The lamentation would have been acted out as vocal and physical expressions by substitutes, presumably priestesses, for a deceased elite or royal member of society as a means of reenacting and reinforcing the symbolism of the Osiris myth. The Middle Kingdom ritual would have echoed through mortuary temples or tombs with mournful chants, cries, and invocations. And through this performance, divine protection and renewal were invoked on behalf of the deceased, ensuring safe passage and immortality.

Isis’s connection to kingship also began evolving, taking on, yet again, more aspects of Hathor. The Birth of the Kings, a story in the Westcar Papyrus, dating to the 2^nd Intermediate Period but likely written during the Middle Kingdom, tells the tale of Isis giving names to the first three kings of the 5^th Dynasty. When Reddedet, the wife of a priest, was in labor, the god Ra sent Isis and other deities to assist. Magically, they transformed into musicians and dancers, gaining entry into the priest’s home and to the laboring wife. Fittingly, Isis led the midwives, standing before Reddedet while Nephthys and Heket assisted in the delivery. She spoke to the unborn children and made certain they were born safe and healthy. She then washed and named the children with a spell. After the births, Isis decided to do something extraordinary for each child. She and the other deities constructed three royal crowns and placed them in a sack of grain, hidden away to keep the secret of their royal fates secure.

During the Middle Kingdom, Hathor was predominantly associated with birth. She appeared, at this time, as the Seven Hathors, seven forms of herself that presided over the birth and fate of newborn children. It is interesting that around this same period, Isis showed signs of remarkably similar powers. Her leading the delivery of the kings, naming them, and revealing their divine fate in some ways replaced Hathor in the royal destinies of future kings—kings that reigned during the conception of her myth. In addition, the text declared that Isis had power over the Shai, the deity of destiny tied to an individual, and Renenet, the collaborator to the Shai and one who determined lifespan. In any case, it is clear that by the end of the Middle Kingdom, Isis solidified her ever-expanding roles related to kings, mothers, childbirth, protection, death, fate, and magic. Still, she had yet to reach a wider audience.

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Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (February 11, 2025)

Featured image: The goddess Isis embraces the pharaoh (Lokesvaragiri, CC BY 4.0)

References:

Pinch, G. 2002. Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt. Oxford University Press.

Tyldesley, J. 2024. Isis: Egyptian Goddess. Encyclopedia Britannica. Available at: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Isis-Egyptian-goddess

Wegner, J.H. 2020. Divine Mothers: Power and Protection. Glencairn Museum. Available at: https://www.glencairnmuseum.org/newsletter/2020/11/12/divine-mothers-power-and-protection#:~:text=To%20give%20some%20sense%20of,to%20her%20in%20Roman%20Britain

Bommas, M. 2022. “I am Isis”: The Role of Speech in the Cult of Isis. Getty. Available at: https://www.getty.edu/publications/egypt-classical-world/03/

Mark, J. 2016. The Lamentations of Isis and Nephthys. World History Encyclopedia. Available at: https://www.worldhistory.org/article/878/the-lamentations-of-isis-and-nephthys/#:~:text=The%20text%20resembles%20a%20longer,on%20the%20Berlin%20Papyrus%203008.

Mark, J. 2017. Stories from the Westcar Papyrus. World History Encyclopedia. Available at: https://www.worldhistory.org/article/1039/stories-from-the-westcar-papyrus/

De Buck, A. 1935. The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. Vol. 1. University of Chicago Press.

Mead, G.R.S. 1906. Thrice-Greatest Hermes, Vol. 1. Sacred Texts. Available at: https://sacred-texts.com/gno/th1/th136.htm

Hill, J. 2010. Goddesses associated with Isis. Ancient Egypt Online. Available at: https://ancientegyptonline.co.uk/isisgod/

Plutarch. Isis and Osiris. Loeb Classical Library edition, 1936. Available at: https://penelope.uchicago.edu/thayer/e/roman/texts/plutarch/moralia/isis_and_osiris*/a.html

Cantillon, G. 2019. A Divine Makeover: Learn about the evolution of the goddess Isis – from ancient Egypt to the Roman Empire. Hunt Museum. Available at: https://www.huntmuseum.com/stories/objects-in-focus/goddess-isis-a-divine-makeover/

Isidora. 2012. The Disturbing Story of Isis and Re. Isiopolis. Available at: https://isiopolis.com/2012/01/28/the-disturbing-story-of-isis-re/

In the dark corners of human imagination, mythical humanoid monsters have long lingered. Since the dawn of language, creatures of a repellent nature have existed in all their abhorrent splendor. They are omnipresent and stretch every corner of the world. The complexity of ancient societies grappling with identity, morality, and the unknown is not so different than those of the modern age. The monsters of the past feed the monsters of the present, straddling the line between the familiar and the fantastical. Though their myths and legends are spine-chilling, they so often offer profound insights into the human condition.

The Epitome of Chaos: Giants

Tales of giants are by far the most prevalent throughout world cultures. The very basis of humanity, of the cosmos, depended on the work of giants. Although their hands forged civilizations, held the planet in place, or sacrificed their flesh to birth gods and humans, many were also treacherous creatures of absolute, unmatched savagery. Towering over the puny, they lashed out with a maliciousness that defined their appallingly infamous form. Ultimately, humans triumphed, but not without a formidable and catastrophic fight from those who once ruled the earth.

The monstrous Cyclops of Greek myth, descendants of the great titans, were known for their immense size, fearsome singular eyes, and supernatural abilities. Polyphemus, the most notable of the Cyclops, and encountered by Odysseus on his epic journey, was a foreboding figure who lurked within a cave. His brutish strength reduced the hero’s men to only a few, but like most heroes, Odysseus prevailed through clever trickery. In contrast to Polyphemus’s clumsy fiasco, Balor of the Evil Eye from Celtic mythology was a creature of pure devastation. Reigning over the Fomorians, a race of giants associated with the sea and chaos, his malevolent gaze, capable of unleashing devastating energy and killing anyone in its path, was the embodiment of tyranny.

In European folklore, ogres were depicted as gargantuan, grotesque beings, fond of human flesh. Prowling in desolate forests or mountains, they posed a sizable threat to travelers and villages alike. Believed to possess immense barbaric strength and cunning, they were dangerous adversaries to heroes in fairy tales. They were also portrayed as a bit dim-witted, similar to Polyphemus, but noticeably more revolting in appearance, with wilted faces and ill-shaped jaws. The Japanese ogre, the Oni, had a demonic appearance and was a master of dark magic. Oni were depicted with wild hair, sharp claws and horns, wielding iron clubs called kanabo. Inhabiting remote mountains and ghostly places, they were menacing figures with a penchant for causing mischief and harm. Nevertheless, they were to some extent evoked for protection, as the red demons were notorious for chasing away other spiteful entities.

Then, there was Grendel, the unsettling antagonist of the Old English epic Beowulf. Progeny of the biblical figure Cain, Grendel was described as an outcast driven mad by relentless anguish and envy towards the joyous mead-hall celebrations of the king’s warriors in Heorot. His image was one of loathsome otherness, characterized by his stalking nature, iron-tough skin, and gaping mouth, which allowed him to effortlessly massacre the Danes while they slumbered. He lived with his equally monstrous mother in a dank underwater cavern. Eventually, Beowulf, the brave warrior, would eradicate the threat of this foreboding giant by quite literally ripping him apart, not before Grendel had a chance to kill several of his men. Soon after, Beowulf would murder the giant’s mother in a grand battle. As the incarnation of chaos, the ultimate threat to stability, Grendel’s nightly assaults provoked existential reflections on the fragility of human existence.

Fusions of a Frightful Breed: Hybrids

As creatures of obscurity, the hybrid manifested as the strange and unusual, a culmination of human, animal, and other. Whether punished by the gods for irreparable acts of moral degradation or simply existing, they were enigmas that challenged the mind and questioned reality. In ancient Greece, there was no lack of these abominations. The Greek imagination conjured up some of the most dreadful and reviled beings that continue to arouse fear and inspire.

Perhaps the foulest of creatures, the harpies conjoined the bodies of birds with humanoid heads, hideous and disfigured, loosely resembling those of women. Their charismatic opposites were the sirens of similar form who lured sailors to their deaths through enchanting songs, equivalents to the Slavic Alkonost. The harpies, however, were known as mischievous scavengers, said to cackle as they plunged from the skies to steal food from vulnerable victims while leaving behind a distinct odor and piles of bird droppings in their place. Unlike the irresistible sirens, they were monsters of a voracious kind. Their parentage was the mother of monsters, Echidna, and the enormous and terrifying Typhon.

Echidna was an old, immortal monster. Her upper body was that of a fair nymph, and her lower body of a serpent. She resided within an ominous cave hidden away at Mount Etna, or, according to some, in the murky waters of the underworld. Resentful of the gods, her offspring represented the worst aspects of human greed, consumption, disease, and destruction. Typhon was a nightmarish horror: a serpent giant with a man’s upper body, wings, dual serpents as legs, serpentine fingers, and eyes of fire. Various legends go even further, describing him as an appalling, slimy creature, disgusting in all manners of being, with serpents spewing, and a single male head emerging from their coils. Much like Echidna, he resided at the volcanic Mount Etna, as the personification of its fury, or in Tartarus, among the wicked.

Yet another serpentine monster was Lamia; once a charming queen and lover to Zeus, she turned frightfully vengeful. Hera stole her children in an act of retribution for their affair. Grief-stricken, she ripped her eyes from their sockets, and Zeus, in pity, gave her new life. Stories differ in her conception or transformation; all the same, she, like many others, wore the serpent as legs. Lamia was a murderer of children, a blood-sucking vampiric demoness. She tempted men with sexual prowess and haunted those resting in the night. Like Medusa and her serpent dreads, Arachne and her spindly spider legs, or any other woman who scorned a goddess, they became hybridized symbols of feminine rage, compulsion, and indignity.

A final infamous monstrous hybrid worth mentioning would be the Greek Minotaur. Born from a union between a marvelous white bull from the sea and the wife of the king of Crete, the creature had the head and tail of a bull, and the body of a man. Housed beneath the palace, the Minotaur was fed children and maidens for satiation. He was a ravenous cannibal if one were to categorize his tastes. As a pinnacle of unchecked masculine aggression, he lived in the shadows of his labyrinth, hunting his victimized gifts. Eventually, he fittingly met his end at the hands of a hero. Humanoid hybrids, cursed by the gods or not, often found themselves gruesomely slain by those in the gods’ favor.

Certainly, there are many other horrible hybrids of myth and legend, not just in Greece, of course, but all over the ancient world. Hybrids are a unique narrative phenomenon in that they combine and assort human and animal, parts and pieces, indiscriminately. Those who studied these malformed creatures have come to innumerable conclusions. Some suggest the hybrid is a reflection of witnessing perceived defects in nature, deformities in humans and animals. Sometimes, the gods curse those at birth, or at least that was believed. It may even be possible that some of these strange combinations were the result of misidentifications of odd-looking animal species.

Still, others find the assumptions of malformations or misidentifications insufficient in recognizing the symbolism that emanated from ancient societies. For everything, every natural occurrence, every significant part of life, there were gods and deities, albeit monsters as well. The hybrid, as a bizarre fusion, is like a dream or a child’s imaginative drawing that clings to anxieties and fears, providing a physical manifestation for things unexplainable, taboo, or hidden away within the mind.

Insatiable Appetites: Horrific Humans

Quite possibly the most frightening monsters were the ones who looked the most like humans. They festered in dark places, feasted on the innocent, and had little to no thoughts of their own, aside from the desire to consume. Others were lone, old, vilified women of the wilderness, dominated by an uncontrollable urge to deceive and devour. The cannibal is the quintessential archetype for the worst path a human could travel. In it is what was and what could be, the boundaries between humanity and monstrosity, and that is truly terrifying.

Haunting burial mounds, the zombie-like Draugr of Norse myth were disturbing creatures of great strength, a grim appearance, and, like always, malevolent intent. These revenants were depicted as having a ghastly, decayed visage. Zealously, they guarded their graves, rising from their resting places to terrorize the living, sometimes seeking revenge or hoarding treasure. Their presence was a persistent threat, physically and supernaturally, as they were able to control the weather or summon disease.

Similarly, Arabic Ghouls were demonic spirit monsters that dwelled in lifeless and desolate places, such as graveyards or abandoned ruins. These entities were sneaky shape-shifters, appearing as beggars or wanderers to lure victims, only to reveal their true, chilling form when it was already too late. Ghouls were notorious for preying on the flesh of the living, particularly children, rapacious and gruesome in their hunger. Together, the Ghoul and the Draugr personified not just the grisly face of death, but those who held the bloodied knife of greed.

The Wendigo, originating from Algonquian-speaking tribes of North America, was the purest manifestation of the unfathomable realities of cannibalism. These emaciated and gaunt humanoids were described as having piercing eyes that glowed, stained carnivorous fangs, a lashing tongue, and an icy heart. It is said that anyone who resorted to cannibalism, particularly in harsh winter conditions, risked becoming a Wendigo. Reports of the past, not only in Native culture, spoke of those driven by desperation and starvation, inflicting unspeakable horrors onto others, a corruption of the mind, and an all-consuming craving for human flesh. In this, the man became the Wendigo.

Meanwhile, the Tlicho people of the Northwest Territories shared a similar vile creation. As a powerful, repugnant spirit, the Wechuge inhabited the vast and merciless wilderness and was associated with extreme greed and moral depravity. Often it was said to have an unnatural, grotesque appearance, the consequence of violating societal norms or indulging in excessive, destructive behavior. The Wendigo and Wechuge served as cautionary symbols of the perils of uncontrolled desires and the importance of maintaining harmony with natural and moral order. What’s more, monsters like these, as well as the zombie in general, were amalgamations of the loss of autonomy, the self, frequently conceptualized through colonization and enslavement.

Feminine versions of the decrepit reflect a unique mixture of fear and wisdom. The Slavic Baba-Yaga and the Japanese Yama-uba were the crones of their respective cultures. Baba-Yaga was an intimidating, old, and disfigured witch who resided in a living hut with a mouthed keyhole, windows like eyes, a fence of bones, and a foundation of chicken legs. She was known for using her clever magical abilities to entrap, deceive, or eat those who ventured into her domain. Her victims of choice were usually curious or vulnerable children. Despite her hostile reputation, Baba-Yaga possessed deep, arcane knowledge, a guardian of hidden truths. Yama-uba was also a crone of comparable likeness, living in the remote, treacherous peaks of the mountains. A sinister figure, she had a proclivity towards capturing the lost or tricking them into dangerous situations. Like Baba-Yaga, Yama-uba, or any other monster crone, they blend elements of threat and ancient knowledge, the perceived dangers of the uncontrollable feminine, or the natural world itself.

Reflections of the Humanoid Monster

What can be said about the humanoid figure in monster lore is that it reveals a deep thread of ubiquitous belief patterns. The hybrids combined elements with creatures known to be a danger to human life, like the serpent, so frequently imagined. It is more than that, however, as each piece of the hybridized puzzle symbolized something. The serpent represented things considered evil, sly, tempting against better judgment, or the cycles of life and death. The gaping mouths with ferocious fangs are more than their value in shock; they are primal, tearing and devouring, an animalistic weapon.

In reality, humanoid monsters, as well as all monsters, tell stories, ones that are full of meaning, symbolism, dualities, and controversy. They are products of their time and place. For the ancients, life was hard; people died easily, and wars ravaged nations. Elites turned on each other, murdering their adversaries with little consequence. Nature destroyed, turbulent seas took many lives, and catastrophes were impossible to predict. Famine, especially towards the late Bronze Age, left deplorable conditions. The Wendigo legends, too, came from a time of famine, of colonization, and the loss of sacred order. The Greek epics, so riddled with monster folk, were written in the Dark Ages, inspired by a time that was once flourishing, but long gone. As such, in moments of societal anxiety and uncertainty, what one sees in the monster is what is seen in their world. Monsters, humanoid muddles of thoughts and feelings, were their precarious lives.

Modern psychologists speculate that monsters of this kind can also be explained through Freudian terms: oral aggression, early development, and parental ambiguity. Hybrids, especially, are child-like in their rendering and reminiscent of the childhood experience. Moreover, the giant becomes the parent that towers over, ominous, and confusingly vindictive in their punishment, at least to the mind of a child not yet accustomed to social norms. The teeth of a toddler bite and gnaw, sometimes as a form of frustration and aggression. Children are known to conjure up monsters when they are afraid or expressing trauma. Maybe the child, the forgotten memory and the defenseless voice within is the same entity that created the monster in adulthood.

Going even deeper still, the monster may reflect the human mind altogether, all that is shameful and rejected by the free-willed, civilized human. Monsters live in perilous, secretive, and dark places, hidden away from cities and villages. They skirt the realms of what is known and what is unknown; they break the rules of morality, so they remain obscured. They pop their heads out to terrorize or to cause disaster; either way, they find their place among chaos. They are animals, yet they are human; they act like humans would if they let go of their inhibitions and principles. It is a reminder of primitive animal instincts, the ones that are often pushed away into the subconscious.

“There is always a nonfiction boundary between men and monsters. In the end, there can be no clear division between us and them, between civilization and bestiality. As we peer into the abyss, the abyss stares back.” (Gilmore, 2003)

Thus, it can be said that the mythical monsters of past and present are reflections of the old, primal, and unfettered self. The ancients took great pride in their accomplishments: economically, socially, spiritually, and politically. Recognizing that the Darwinian animal still lurks within means accepting that humans are innately animals, as is true, but an uncomfortable thought nonetheless. Still, every once in a while, then and now, the animal rears its ugly face, and atrocities follow. Humans are no strangers to suffering, to inner demons, and those who do things far worse than what is done in the wild. It may be necessary, then, that the beast within has a place to call home, away from virtuosity, in a body sketched in crayon by a child or told through the pages of epics.

Featured image: The Ghost of a Flea, c. 1819-1820. (William Blake, Public domain)

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (14 August 2024)

References:

Gilmore, D.D. 2003. Monsters: Mythical Beings, Evil Beasts, and All Manners of Imaginary Terrors. University of Pennsylvania Press.

Rosen, B. 2009. The Mythical Creature Bible: The Definitive Guide to Legendary Beings. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

Lecouteux, C. 2016. Encyclopedia of Norse and Germanic Folklore, Mythology, and Magic. Inner Transitions International.

Lamb, D.S., Hall, J.O., & Lucus, F.A. 1990. Mythical Monsters. American Anthropologist, Vol 2, No. 2.

Smith, K. 2021. More Than Monsters: The Deeper Significance of Wendigo Stories. Facing History. Available at: https://www.facinghistory.org/ideas-week/more-monsters-deeper-significance-wendigo-stories

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As a god of many things, Apollo was also the god of prophecy. For many years, he wandered in search of a place fit for his oracles. Under the guidance of a nymph, he made his way to the slopes of Mount Parnassus to build his glorious temple. The only thing he needed to do was slay the enormous she-dragon, the serpent Python. Upon his success, he built his towering complex and declared that mankind may forever offer their riches in exchange for his faithful counsel. Apollo then transformed into a dolphin, bringing sailors from Crete to his shores and making them his priests.

Henceforth, his temple, the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, became the center of the ancient world, offering words of wisdom to the prestigious, political, and common folk. Flourishing for over a millennium, Delphi was rich in both wealth and adoration. Still, much remained hidden beneath the chasms of Mount Parnassus, aside from prophetic fumes. Ancient words were powerful, and Delphi was the epitome of oracular influence. But power, no matter how benevolent its beginnings, eventually and inevitably sows the seeds of corruption.

From Priestess Cult to Male Supremacy

The true origin of Delphi dates back to the early Mycenaean era, when it was established as a sanctuary dedicated to the earth goddess, Gaia, and later to Themis, goddess of divine law. It was said that Python, which Apollo slew, was there to protect the priestesses and their oracles. Additionally, the fumes so popularly referenced that produced a psychotropic effect on the oracles can be tied back to this enigmatic priestess cult, given that it was a gift from the earth, Gaia. Greek historian Diodorus Siculus claimed that when Apollo’s Delphi was established, the Delphians coincidentally stumbled upon this mystifying chasm emitting vapors that led to delusional ecstasy and visions. Suddenly, people began diving into the chasm, never to be seen again; so, as a precaution, it was decided that only one would be chosen to breathe these holy vapors.

Thereafter, as the sanctuary complex was constructed, a special enclosure within the temple, the adytum, was made to house the inner sanctum, the chasm’s vapors, and the tripod seat that balanced atop. Only the chosen oracle was allowed to enter, with her priestly attendant and interpreter nearby. Initially, the oracle would consult only once a year, on the birthday of Apollo, but as popularity grew and prominent members of society flocked seeking advice, the temple began offering her services on the seventh day after the new moon. The winter months were dedicated to Dionysus, the only time of the year the oracle did not work. Subsequently, however, the influx of patrons required more oracles, and so two more were selected, one left in reserve for the others. This ensured that things ran smoothly at the temple, and no one oracle was overworked.

In preparation for prophecy, the oracle would perform the traditional rituals. After fasting for several days, she, along with the priests and the inquirer, would bathe in the sacred Castalian Spring. On the day of the intended prophecy, a sacrificial animal, usually a goat, would be brought to the steps of the temple for a reading of omens. The response of the goat, upon a drink poured on its head, determined if the day was right for oracular counsel. If so, the inquirer would make his offerings of sacrifice, gifts, and sacred cake that he purchased at the temple. Before the Pythia met with her waiting guest, she was to chew leaves from Apollo’s sacred laurel tree and quench her thirst from the Cassotis Spring, which connected to aqueducts beneath the temple.

At times, when meeting the inquirer, the Pythia had words exchanged and spontaneous prophecies given. Though it was more common for her to be presented with questions through the priests, who then led her to the adytum, while the guest waited at an adjacent location within the temple. She worked alone, on her tripod, inhaling vapors after consuming substances that would enhance the psychotropic experience. Whether it be mania, divine madness, or a frenzy of ecstasy, the Pythia always had a message to share. Whether or not she was coherent is subject to debate; the difference in clarity depended on the oracle. One was known to sing her prophecies, while others gave vague, cryptic messages, and some were barely comprehensible. Whatever the case, the priests were in charge of deciphering it and recording it in prose or hexameters, of formal and eloquent style, to the inquirer.

Given that the Pythia and her fellow priestesses were fully capable of performing preparatory rituals and prophecy on their own, why, then, was it necessary to have male priests within the temple complex? Before Apollo’s conquest of the site, there were no male priests. Their purpose surely must have been more than translating Pythias. Yes, they accepted gifts, organized festivals and sacred games, and kept records. Yet again, was this not something a priestess could handle? The answer may be found in the events following the establishment of Delphi. A group of male overseers appropriately ran the site, known as the Amphictyonic League. Their twelve members were appointees from the surrounding areas. Each state had two appointed representatives from noble houses. They met twice annually as administrators of the temple’s affairs, shrines, treasury, and the Pythian Games.

The league had complete control over who became priests, usually appointing one of their own, and how the Pythia was chosen. They had increased political influence as Delphi cemented its reputation. Groups that threatened their sanctuary and its land or any of the member cities were subject to war. During the first of several sacred wars, the league liberated Delphi from pillagers intent on attacking pilgrims, asserting their place as protector and administrator. In celebration, the first Pythian Games commenced, to be held every four years thereafter. Modern scholars often compare them to the current United Nations, as they created international laws, involving them in social affairs and political relations. To that end, they served Delphi well; they kept the sanctuary safe from attack and made sure it remained an organized enterprise. Still, as later dates would show, the perpetuation of control in Delphi reflects shifting loyalties to powerful city-states rather than the sanctuary itself.

Exploitation and Propaganda During the Peloponnesian Wars

By the time of the Peloponnesian Wars, Delphi had long served as a neutral party in political, cultural, and economic issues. They gave insight, reinterpreting problems in ways that provoked thought and consideration. Delphi was at the height of its influence between the 8^th and 5^th century BCE, surpassing the oracles of Zeus at Dodona. However, sometime during the 5^th century, their ability to remain neutral slowly diminished. City-states were perpetually at odds, and each came to Delphi to find a reason to justify actions. Conflicts and slave trading amongst the Greeks bred instability. Leaders were going to do what they felt was required of them to maintain dominance, by any means necessary.

Prior to the 5^th century, Pythias’ messages were often vague, with moral or philosophical undertones. They provided the inquirer with guidance to improve their situation or to warn of what may befall them if they did not proceed cautiously. Take, for example, the famous prophecy given to Croesus, recorded by Herodotus, that if he went to war with Persia, he would cause the fall of a great empire. The vagueness of this message allows for multiple interpretations; each would be accurate when considering that both were great powers. This was the common theme of Archaic oracular counsel: in hindsight, specific elements made sense, but not in the moment in which the prophecy was given.

Some prophecies were slightly more specific, such as when the king of the island of Thera was told that he would find a city to settle in Libya. Others appeared to become instructional, as was the case with Solon from Athens. He was told to capture three lesser islands and claim them as Ionian. Later, he was guided on how to govern in Athens. The specificity of these particular prophecies benefited Athens in multiple ways, signifying Athens as a formidable city-state by accruing authority over land and establishing a working constitution. As Athens was already growing in power by this time, for Delphi to support their endeavors would only benefit them as well; Solon went on to dedicate a hefty gold statue to the oracle. This influential prophecy on Delphi’s part was only the beginning of strategic moves aimed at satiating the favor of those most powerful in a divided Greece.

During the 5^th century, Athens and Sparta were in the midst of power struggles that lasted through the century. Delphi had faced its second sacred war in which Spartans liberated it from Phocian rule, a strong member tribe of the Amphictyonic League loyal to Athens. Their liberation did not last long, as Spartans left Delphi, Athens quickly returned it into Phocian hands. Nevertheless, as the years passed, Delphi and Phocis would shift alliances in favor of those who prevailed between the two and other commanding city-states. Evidence of this is found in the change from vague to detailed, instructional prophecies that aligned with whoever controlled Delphi at the time. According to Herodotus, while Delphi was under Spartan control, the king of Sparta was given a direct prophecy instructing him to invade Argos, their longstanding rival. He would likely succeed, with or without prophecy; yet, with the approval of an oracle, it displayed purpose through the eyes of the gods and his people.

Similarly, during the Peloponnesian Wars, while Delphi was once again under Spartan control, the god Apollo, through the Pythia, had pledged their victory after the Athenians broke a treaty, angering Spartan leaders. Thucydides claimed that the god answered, telling them to wage war with all their might and that they would be victorious. The god also offered divine aid, whether or not they were to invoke him. Later, when a plague broke out in Athens, it was said to be a punishment for their complacency and sinfulness. This led Spartans and their allies to believe that Apollo favored them above Athenians, and thus plagues were a result of the god’s aid in the war. Not only did these prophecies sway the public, but they also raised fear in those who may have considered allying with Athens. At this time, while Delphi was under Spartan control, the Spartans had gained the upper hand, and Athens looked to the Temple of Zeus in Dodona for oracular counsel.

By 422 BCE, the Athenians had come to the stark realization that Delphi was not on their side. They began accusing Delphi of secret negotiations, treaties, and bribery in favor of Sparta. In retaliation, they killed Spartan patrons traveling to the sanctuary. Whatever coin they had collected was brought back to Athens. These events shed light on what had already been brewing in Delphi: the exploitation of the Pythia, the priests, and the league’s neglect to keep the sanctuary free from corruption. Delphi not only approved of war decisions made by their allied city-states, but they further justified it, as in the case of the plague in Athens as punishment, an ingenious war propaganda design that fed on the spiritual.

“Oracles, as the most effective means of propaganda in support of the most powerful side that fomented hatred and violence, were dangerous weapons.” (Calap, 2023)

Another instance well worth mentioning is that during this time of war, the city of Epidamnos in the Ionian Gulf was being attacked in an attempted invasion by the Corinthians. To seek help in evading them, they sent an ambassador to Delphi. According to Thucydides, the Pythia told him to simply surrender, and so the city did. The Corinthians were allied to Sparta. By the time the wars were over, Delphi’s reputation had faltered. Rumors had spread that would never truly be extinguished. Their loyalties continued to lie in the hands of those who proved superior. Next, it would be Thebes and Macedonia, prophesying the rise of Alexander the Great, and then the Romans.

Plutarch, Priest of Delphi

Many may know Plutarch as an ancient historian, but he was also a priest at Delphi, serving from 105 – 26 CE. He, like all the other priests, came from a wealthy and noble family. Of Boeotian descent, he was a member of the Amphictyonic League. Before becoming a priest, he studied under great philosophers, well-acquainted with religious lore and the existential questions that lingered in men’s minds. Additionally, while in Rome, he was in charge of public relations and business, gifting him friends in high places. By all means, he knew the business of politics, of the ambitions of leaders and those alike. He spent his senior years within the Temple of Apollo, conversing with patrons, assisting the Pythia, along with his other priestly duties. Through Plutarch and his writings, a fair picture can be painted as to how the priests operated, who they were, and how they related to the Pythia.

The 1^st century’s Temple of Apollo had sustained years of incrimination; their reputation was marred by insinuations of bribery and secret alliances. Although there were only one or two confirmed cases of bribery, it did not tame the rumors that had circulated for centuries. After the Peloponnesian Wars, the Spartans declared that Delphi would not be a place of corruption, that the Pythia was to remain neutral, and that any man had the right to her counsel. But the damage was done; Delphi lost its credibility. Even so, people still flocked there, and the money and gifts flowed. Plutarch, as well as the priests before him, made a very comfortable living. As too did the Holy Ones, males appointed for life and administrators of the Temple complex and Pythia in the absence of the league. And, of course, the league itself made a substantial profit. At the height of Delphi’s power, its accumulated wealth would have been in the tens of millions by today’s standards. Despite time and suspected fraud, their worth never really diminished.

Upon Delphi’s establishment, the Pythia was supposedly chosen as an older, holy woman, possibly someone who worked within the temple or its shrines. She was learned, spiritually knowledgeable, well-trained, chaste, and independent. When more oracles were brought in, they were also relatively educated on matters of spirituality and temple business. They had to be, as Plutarch himself and countless others had pointed out the apparent dangers of oracular work: possession, physical and psychic strain, and madness resulting in death. In Delphi’s early days, everything within the temple was meticulously structured; nothing less would be expected. The famed mathematician, Pythagoras, had once said that he learned a great many things from the oracle, while she practiced under Themis in the site’s more ancient cult.

However, as the years went by, the Pythia became less and less of a spiritually advanced, preeminent individual. During Plutarch’s time, Pythias were chosen seemingly at random from a good family, with little or no understanding of spiritual work. He claimed them to be inexperienced, uneducated, sheltered, and therefore, unbiased. The notion that a Pythia was chosen based on her lack of knowledge and spiritual understanding for the sake of unbiases is deeply flawed. Though Plutarch may have seen it in such a way, it only underscores the issue of transitioning from an educated and rigid Pythia to one perhaps more flexible and susceptible to suggestion. In a temple prone to persuasion, and one in which the Pythia spoke rarely to her patrons, it gave unchecked liberties to the priests who were, as Plutarch exemplifies, well aware of what was happening throughout the known world.

“The dramatic contrast between the erudition of priestesses associated with Delphi before the 5^th century and the supposed ‘simplicity’ of Plutarch’s first-century points to a possible erosion of the power of Delphic priestesshood over time… That one of the maxims inscribed in the walls of the later Delphian sanctuary was ‘Keep women under rule’ indicates the degree to which the Apollonian regime imposed patriarchal order over the original female-centered cult.” (Rigoglioso, 2009)

Remembering the Pythia

Though many of Pythias’ prophecies remain remarkable, the actions of those who wished to control them had tainted their words. They were a product of their time. It is unknown to what extent or when exactly the suspected manipulation began. All that is left are written accounts from ancient historians, pieces of a greater puzzle. Certainly, some Pythias, if not most, possessed some otherworldly attribute that allowed them the gift of prophecy, at least that is what is favorable to believe. It would be in the realm of possibility, considering far more mysterious things exist in the world.

Their demise, however, was not their own. Power-hungry leaders and easily swayed priests and noblemen knew the power of their oracles and the consequences of rejecting those who ruled them. If the cult women who once resided on the slopes of Parnassus faced such things, they may have done the same, and maybe they did when Apollo slew their guardian and took the site as his own. Most women never fared well; history tells us that much. What can be said is that they diligently performed their duty and knew their worth. Apart from what may have been a forced tongue, their wisdom carries through, and their words still hold meaning: “Know thyself.”

Featured image: Priestess of Delphi. The Pythia sits on a tripod with vapor rising from a crack in the earth beneath her, 1891. (John Collier, Public domain)

Disclaimer: This article was originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (28, August 2024)

References:

Powell, B.B. 2015. Classical Myth: Eighth Edition. Pearson Education, Inc.

Rigoglioso, M. 2009. The Cult of Divine Birth in Ancient Greece. Palgrave Macmillan.

Holland, T. 2013. The Histories, Herodotus. Penguin Group.

2013. The Complete Works of Thucydides. Delphi Classics, Delphi Publishing Ltd.

2013. The Complete Works of Plutarch. Delphi Classics, Delphi Publishing Ltd.

Calap, A. 2023. Delphi, war and the question of arbitration (500-400 BCE). Social Sciences and Humanities Open, Vol. 7, No. 1. Available at: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2590291122001152

Much like their prehistoric ancestors, ancient peoples from all civilizations and walks of life were drawn to the enigmatic world that hid beneath the earth. Collectively referred to as the Womb of Mother Earth, caves nurture life, yet can pose a great danger. From the many stories of divine births, profound revelations, and inevitable deaths, caves never cease to intrigue and inspire adventure. And with nearly eight hundred subterranean formations scattered across its landscapes, it is no surprise that the ancients of Greece incorporated these magical grottos and caverns into their myths and rituals.

Gods, Creation, and Divine Birth

While the titan, Cronos, devoured his children, his wife, Rhea, slipped away into the Cretan mountains and secretly gave birth to her youngest within a cave. He would later become the most powerful god in the ancient Greek pantheon, Zeus. Going on to save his siblings and slay his father, he ruled as protector of the earth and sky. Wielding his mighty thunderbolt, he dwelled atop Mt. Olympus with his sister, Hera, by his side and their family of deities. His brother, Hades, would find his place within the earth, ruling the dark recesses of the underworld. Persephone, Hades’ reluctant wife, was also raised in a cave by her mother, Demeter.

Pan, the god of nature and the wild, was said to live in caves. He was often associated with Dionysus, the god of wine, orchards, ecstasy, theatre, and madness. He was also worshiped alongside the many nymphs of the world. Seen as youthful and mischievous personifications of nature, nymphs were helpful to the gods and those born in caves, but dangerous to unwary lone travelers. Gods such as Artemis, goddess of the hunt, and Hermes, god of transition, were additionally associated with Naiads, Oreads, and the various nymphs of the wild. For whatever purpose they served, the natural world and the caves that descended into its depths typically had otherworldly occupants.

“At the head of the harbor is a long-leafed olive tree, and near it a pleasant, shadowy cave sacred to the nymphs that are called Naiads. Therein are mixing bowls and jars of stone, and there too the bees store honey. And in the cave are long looms of stone, at which the nymphs weave webs of purple dye, a wonder to behold; and therein are also ever-flowing springs. Two doors there are to the cave, one toward the North Wind, by which men go down, but that toward the South Wind is sacred, nor do men enter thereby; it is the way of the immortals.” (Homer, translation Murray-Wyatt)

Subsequently, the cave became a holy place for both gods and men, with frequent allusions to a mysterious loom, threads endlessly interlacing with Naiad hands. In this way, it was not so much a literal loom, but a representation of the divine feminine, specifically the weaving of the body and the creation of the cosmos. Athena was known as the goddess of wisdom and patron of weaving; it was commonly believed that she wove the cosmos into existence. Weaving was also a predominantly female occupation, one that women took great pride in.

Scholars who study cults in the ancient world point to descriptions of caves in ancient Greece as being symbolic of the experience of the fetus in the womb, hence the womb of the earth. As obscure and gloomy chasms where light only glimmers through, one can emerge born again. As such, these sacred places were connected to holy priestess rituals, which were symbolic of the virgin birth experience through divine conception with the gods or their haven thereafter.

In perfect harmony, the goddess of birth herself, Ilithia, was appropriately born inside a cave outside the town of Amnissos, where Greeks would gather to worship her. And, according to the ancient philosopher, Protagoras, the origin of humankind had a relationship to caves as well. Speaking to fellow philosopher Plato, Protagoras spoke of a time when the gods created man from elements of earth and fire deep within the earth, where they sprang forth into the light. Thereafter, Prometheus and his brother, Epimetheus, were instructed to refine man into what he would be forever known as.

Oracles and Divine Inspiration

Some of the most important roles in Greek religion were those of oracles, and they often used caves as a way to attain divine inspiration. The reason for this may be more scientific than supernatural, as select caves located in Greece seem to seep poisonous gases. This is especially evident at the site of Delphi, where the Pythia would perch atop her tripod within the Temple of Apollo directly over a crack in the floor that allowed the gas from below to reach her. When inhaled in small quantities, these gases had a psychotropic effect. Usually, the Pythia would speak in tongues, only to be translated by the priest. Too much of the gas, as in the case of one unfortunate Pythia forced to enter the chamber on an inauspicious day, caused convulsions and death. Plutarch claimed that she went into an uncontrollable frenzy, overwhelmed by a malignant spirit, and died a few days later. Timing had to be precise.

Due to natural phenomena, oracular caves were extremely popular, and a great number of caves were used specifically for oracular cults. However, it wasn’t just the gases that attracted oracles and their followers; as one dives deeper into a cave, oxygen levels and noise decrease substantially. This effect causes a sort of altered consciousness, much like sensory deprivation. People who have studied the effects of deep cave exploration report that the longer a person remains isolated in these conditions, the higher the chance of having visual and auditory hallucinations.

Thus, the oracle would travel into the depths of the earth, experience a type of madness, and return to her cult followers, worshipping at the entrance. These experiences were said to be a way to directly communicate with the gods; after all, the oracle was essentially the conduit through which the gods spoke. Cave exploration was a chief requirement for oracles and seers in ancient times. They were highly respected, and their reputation and connection to the gods were unmatched.

“Our greatest blessings come to us by way of madness, provided it is given to us by divine gift” (Plato, Phaedrus)

Monsters, Death, and the Underworld

With only one thing in mind, Orpheus entered the cave leading to the underworld to save his beloved wife. Indeed, he managed to traverse the realm of the dead and strike a deal with Hades, but his efforts fell short. Hades did agree to let him take his wife back to the land of the living, but he was not permitted to look back to see if she followed. Orpheus did well for the majority of the trip back. Still, curiosity ended up getting the best of him, as he briefly looked back with just enough time to watch his beloved vanish back into the depths of the underworld.

Stories and legends of the underworld are plentiful in ancient Greece and tell of a place so strange, confusing, and unbearably lonely, where trials and punishment were everlasting unless one was impossibly cunning in dealing with the gods. Some, like Sisyphus, will forever push boulders up hills, and others, like Tantalus, will never be able to reach the fruit they so hunger for. Yet, the ancient heroes and the honorable were chosen to live out their eternity in Elysium, a far more pleasant place in the underworld that fittingly translates to a state of ideal happiness. Unfortunately, for much of early Greek history, the underworld was a dreary place, reminiscent of past civilizations that envisioned death as a shadow of life. Forever wandering in desolation, they mourned the lives they once had.

Though its exact location is relatively unknown, the entrance to the underworld was said to be located somewhere in the northwest region of Greece, in a place where light rarely touches. At its earthly door, it would have been rather remarkable: gloomy, ominous, and enormous, held up by imposing and elaborate columns. The river Styx, originating from Oceanus and named after the nymph who lived at its entrance, was the most well-known of the five rivers that flowed through the underworld. This river gave Achilles immortality, provided passage to departed souls, and it is where Cerberus, the three-headed behemoth hound, stood guard.

Monsters like Cerberus were often found within caves; the Cyclops, Polyphemus, was blinded by Odysseus after his crew became trapped within his cave. The Grey Ones, three dreadful witches who shared a single, all-seeing eye and a single tooth to speak their cryptic wisdom, lived inside a dark and damp cave. The infamous Medusa hid with all her sadness and rage in the very cavern where she would be murdered by Perseus, who had earlier consulted with none other than the Grey Ones. It is not at all a coincidence that the recesses of the earth would produce monsters; innumerable frightening creatures of death and destruction are said to lurk in these dark spaces. The realms of the ferocious and forgotten often rest in the places where light cannot reach, and the depths are unknown.

Allegory of the Cave

There is something about the light and dark liminality that caves provide that connects to the human experience, echoing the dualities of life, the cycles of nature, and the consequences of not living in harmony with it. When Plato wrote The Allegory of the Cave around 380 BCE, he meant to explore humanity’s journey from ignorance to enlightenment. Similar to the spiritual experience of the cave, hidden knowledge lingers just beyond its eerie mouth.

In Plato’s dialogue, the cave represents ignorance in the absence of truth. As the prisoners live, knowing nothing else but what the cave will reveal, they believe that the shadows that flicker on the walls are the only reality. But one is freed, able to step into the light, and is exposed to the wondrous world of what lies beyond the darkness. The truth of the known world, the reality of the sun, the fields, the beauty of nature, compelled him to return to his imprisoned companions and tell them everything he had seen. But to no avail; those who had never seen such things will never believe their existence.

Much like birth and death, Plato intended to demonstrate the transformation of the soul into something new. Through knowledge and education, the eyes that once saw only mere shadows now know their reason rather than accepting them as truth. Beyond the illusion of comfortable ignorance or adhering to normality, one must search for new truths that likely exist outside their established ways of thinking. His was a political critique on society’s resistance to change, one shadowed with illusions yet inevitable with education and wisdom. Although the cave itself was not the source of hidden knowledge, it was what brought the seeker to the light, a transitional point between two opposing forces, illusion and reality.

“Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light” (Plato, The Allegory of the Cave)

Humble Origins

Caves of the Greek imagination were not by any means unique; the world is full of stories of subterranean monsters, divine beings, mysterious realms, and otherworldly experiences. So often do these tales and experiences seem to circle back to the same idea that caves are portals to the divine, to birth and rebirth, death, wisdom, and even the vast cosmos. They are entrances to the unexplainable, natural phenomena that have inspired mystics and ordinary people alike.

Perhaps it is instinctual, part of our long history with the subterranean that continues to fascinate. The earliest known evidence of human culture is found in caves through wall art and various tools and artifacts. When the ancients stepped beyond the cave’s stony walls—entering a new beginning, an epiphany akin to Plato’s prisoner—it remained a lasting expression of humanity’s humble origins, whether recognized or not. Habitations became sanctuaries, passageways to other worlds, and abodes to mysterious powers. Even in regions where caves are scarce, like that of ancient Egypt, they somehow found their way into myth through the gates of the underworld or the source of the Nile.

It is no coincidence that the underworlds of ancient and even modern thought exist in a realm of dark descent, deep below the earth and hidden. The tombs and immortal homes of the dead carved into rock replicate the cave. How profound that these natural structures burrowing into the earth represent humanity’s beginning and end. As a reflection of ancient roots, fragments of knowledge and ingenuity in a harsh world of uncertainty, humans still hold onto what fostered resilience, an enduring relationship that has lasted for over three hundred thousand years.

Featured image: The interior of a cave with figures resting by a cenotaph, Johann Georg Böhm (II), 1727 (Public domain)

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References:

Emilie van Opstall. 2013. Cave and Cosmos: Sacred Caves in Greek Epic Poetry from Homer (Eighth century BCE) to Nonnus (Fifth century CE). University of Amsterdam via Academia Press. Available at: https://human.libretexts.org/Bookshelves/Literature_and_Literacy/Book%3A_The_Ideologies_of_Lived_Space_in_Literary_Texts_Ancient_and_Modern_(Heirman_and_Klooster)/01%3A_Lived_Space_and_Society/1.01%3A_Cave_and_Cosmos

Silvestru, E. 2003. The Significance of Caves in Post-Flood History of Mankind. Proceedings of the International Conference on Creationism: Vol. 5, Article 44. Available at: https://digitalcommons.cedarville.edu/icc_proceedings/vol5/iss1/44/

Rigoglioso, M. 2009. The Cult of Divine Birth in Ancient Greece. Palgrave Macmillan.

Ustinova, Y. 2009. Cave Experiences and Ancient Greek Oracles. Time and Mind: The Journal of Archaeology, Consciousness and Culture: Volume 2, Issue 3. Available at: https://www.academia.edu/1072768/Cave_Experiences_and_Ancient_Greek_Oracles

Throughout the world, people have told stories of the things they see when they look up. The many faces of the moon, the reason for constellations, cosmic trees, or abodes of the gods, fill our minds with wonder and reason. And, like most myths, they offer a literary glimpse into what life was like for our ancestors. Their hardships, dreams, mistakes, and longings to escape all culminate in our cosmic neighborhood. So close, yet so far, it is forever removed as fragments of our distant past and a constant reminder of our fragility as well as our strength. It is one of our greatest tools; still, it perpetually eludes like the unconquerable sea, where science, myth, and magic are woven together effortlessly.

Though stories are abundant, there are a few lesser-known tales that I have personally selected to share with you. As timeless tales of origin, of friendship, brotherly love, loss, and hope, they embody the ever-so enchanting ways humans have gazed into the sky’s mysterious, illuminating aura and found something familiar.

The Stars’ Road

In the early ages of man, according to one South African myth, the night sky was dark and empty, absent any stars. When man made fire, he used its burning embers to bring light and warmth to the darkened world. On one of those dim nights, a young girl sat quietly by her fire, watching the smoke and soot dance with the flames. She reached out, letting ashy particles softly fall into the palms of her hands. Lifting her hands high, she cast the ash to the wind, carrying it up into the starless sky. Intrigued, the girl added more wood to her fire; its flames grew bright and wild. Fervently, she stirred the fire, igniting sparks that chased after the windswept ash. Together, the ash and sparks mingled with the wind as their guide. To her astonishment, a vast road of glistening diamonds began to take form, the Stars’ Road, otherwise known as the Milky Way.

Why the Sun and Moon Live in the Sky

The Efik people of Nigeria once believed that the sun and moon lived upon the earth. And during this time, Sun and Water were great friends. But there was one problem: Sun could visit Water whenever he liked; however, Water never visited Sun. When Sun asked Water why it was that he never visited, Water replied that there was simply no room for him and his people within Sun’s house. With this revelation, Sun decided it was time to build a house big enough for Water and his people to visit. After informing his wife, Moon, that he intended to build a grand home fit for Water’s company, he began his exhaustive labors.

Days had passed, and the home was complete. Sun finally and emphatically called out to Water, inviting him and all who traveled with him into his new home. Still, Water was hesitant, creeping ever so slowly through Sun’s door. With every swaying step, Water filled more and more of the house. He hesitated again, but Sun would have none of it. He reassured Water that it was safe to enter. Water kept flowing in, sloshing against the walls, his creatures whirling in. With little space remaining, Sun and Moon hauled themselves high within the house. Water asked yet again if it was safe, and Sun continued to welcome him. Eventually, Water filled the house as the walls and roof bulged and seeped. Sun and Moon had nowhere to retreat. Rather than imploring their dear friend to stop, they fled to the sky, where they remain, and their house, a gift to Water.

The Moon Goddess

In Polynesian myth, the goddess Hina, Hina-‘ai-a-ka-malama, lives atop the moon. But she had not always resided there. Many years ago, she lived among ordinary people, her husband, and her sons. She wove the finest cloth, braided delicate mats for her family to rest and repose, and made torches to bring light into the homes of her village’s leaders. Tirelessly, she worked, always providing for others; still, no one provided for her. No one helped her. With an idle husband and unruly sons, she grew discontent. Searching the heavens for answers, a rainbow took form. It was then that she decided that she would take this sign from the sky and let it guide her to the radiance of the sun. The following morning, she gathered her most beloved things, packing them within her calabash bag, and set out.

The rainbow’s prismatic arc led Hina high above the world. However, as she climbed, the sun scorched her with its burning heat. With all her might, she pushed forward, immense pain seething through her veins. It was no use; her will slowly began to diminish. Unable to hold herself up any longer, she slid down the rainbow. Despite failure, she was resolute. Soon, she would try again, with her sights set on the moon. Slipping away during the night, she climbed once more.

Hina hurriedly made her way up. Not far behind, her husband followed, pleading with her to return. Nearly there, she thought just as her husband suddenly sprinted toward her, grabbing hold of her foot in one swift leap. Violently, she tried to shake his grip loose, causing him to break away part of her leg and plummet to the ground. Agonizing tears streamed down her face as prayers wailed from her lips. The night had heard her cries, enveloping her and gently carrying her through the darkness into the light of the moon’s doorstep. Unsteady, she pulled herself through the threshold, where she remains to this day. When the moon is at its fullest, she shines down on the earth. Where her foot was buried, sprang the ‘uala, sweet potato.

The Butterfly Lovers

Once there was a young girl named Zhu Yingtai who lived in a small village in China. She was a beautiful girl, smart and inquisitive, but due to her gender, she was not permitted to follow her dreams of attending school. However, with time and persistence, she was able to convince her father to finally let her go. Yet, for her to go, she needed to disguise herself as a young boy. And so she did; she dressed herself as a local boy and went off to school. There, she met an unexpected friend, Liang Shanbo. He was kind and inviting, sharing even his bed with her. Still, it brought great sorrow to Zhu to keep her secret from him. With each day passing, her feelings blossomed into love. It was clear to her that one day she would reveal herself to him and perhaps, because of the admiration they shared, he would agree to marry her.

Sadly, Zhu’s father unexpectedly died. She pleaded with her sister-in-law to keep her in school, to allow her to one day marry her love. For a time, she was able to continue seeing Liang, but the burdens of familial duty proved too much. Family finances were suffering. She was taken out of school and promised to a doctor as wife. In desperation, she tried to tell Liang who she truly was, but his young heart did not understand her words. Later, he would knock on her door, asking to see his friend, Mr. Yingtai, only to be told that no mister resided there; it was Ms. Yingtai. He was sent away, told that she was to marry, and his presence would bring dishonor. Hesitantly, he left, retreating to his home.

It was too little too late when Liang reached home, discovering some of Zhu’s letters hidden away in books she had left behind. The truth was revealed, her feelings declared, and it all meant nothing now. His heart was utterly broken. Refusing to eat, to drink, Liang grew increasingly weak and ill. It did not take long for his body to succumb, and he died, alone and dejected. Upon hearing the news, Zhu could not hold in her grief. Knowing what future awaited her, one without her love and in the forced hands of another man, she became a hollow shell of her former self.

Preparing to meet her husband for marriage, Zhu numbingly surrendered. Along the way, she passed Liang’s grave. All her grief, her torment, suddenly surfaced. Asking to take a moment, she climbed down from the chair that carried her and collapsed at his grave. As her attendants gathered to raise her, she quietly prayed: if she and Liang were ever meant to be together, let the dirt from his grave open. The ground began to tremble, clearing away a hole beneath her. Her attendants grasped firmly at her dress as she let herself fall, but to no avail. The hole closed, and she was gone. Two small pieces of fabric that had torn away from Zhu’s dress fell from the attendants’ hands. At once, the fabric turned into butterflies and fluttered away.

In due time, Zhu’s would-be husband arrived at the gravesite. He demanded that the grave be opened, but all that was to be found would be two white rocks. Grabbing the stones, he threw them to the ground, where they grew into bamboo stalks. Further enraged, he chopped the stalks, but they grew back again. He chopped and chopped unrelentingly, determined to end them both. Abruptly, the stalks took flight, headed for the sky, a place they could be together for eternity. Only on a rainy day, when the clouds can shield and protect them, do they join in their loving embrace as the colors red and blue along the rays of a rainbow.

The Morning Star and the Evening Star

An old Romanian folktale told of two brothers, born as a gift from God and identical in every way. The story began with an emperor and empress, wishing for a child. Numerous magical attempts had little effect, so they prayed, fasted, and gave generously to the poor. Finally, their prayers were answered. God had given instructions in a dream to travel to a nearby brook where an enchanted fish would be caught, later to be cooked and eaten by the empress. Alas, the emperor caught his enchanted fish, and his wife eagerly cooked and consumed it, knowing instantly that she was pregnant. But little did they know, their hungry maid, stumbling upon the bones of the fish, suckled them and became pregnant as well. Both gave birth to two fetching boys, Busujok and Siminok, equal in so many ways, even their mothers could not tell them apart.

Expectedly, as the boys grew, they were inseparable. And with such difficulty telling them apart, the empress decided to knot some of her son Busujok’s hair to differentiate them. However, this intrusion, as it was perceived by the boy, only led him to mistrust his mother, and while on a hunting trip with his twin, he ran away. Before departing, he gave a handkerchief to his brother, Siminok, and told him that if he were ever to spot blood on it, it meant he was dead. The boy faithfully held this handkerchief with him at all times until the day came when he noticed its ominous crimson stain. Hastily, Siminok mounted his horse for the arduous journey to find his ill-fated brother. Traveling through dense forests and treacherous lands, he came to an old woman who informed him of his brother’s marriage to a princess.

Reaching the palace, the princess couldn’t help but mistake Siminok for his princely brother. A prayer and a magical scratch from a sword to those who thought wrong was the only thing that deterred her. The princess then told him of her husband’s disappearance. With his horse and hounds, he made his way throughout the kingdom, where he encountered a ghastly witch, whose evading unveiled something most vile. Building a fire and offering her aching belly food, he was able to trick her into a much-anticipated confession. Just as the brother had suspected, this depraved woman had consumed Busujok and wished to consume him as well. He readily turned his hounds against her, and in a desperate bid to save herself, she spat out the lost prince. Nonetheless, her flesh was ravaged by the hounds.

As rejoiced as the pair were to see each other, the prince accused his brother of infidelity with his wife. Unwaveringly, Busujok demanded they both bind the eyes of their horses as well as their own and let fate lead them away. Wearingly, Siminok agreed. A short time later, Busujok heard the sound of his brother’s gargling distress. Ripping his bindings free, it was too late. Siminok had fallen from his horse and drowned in a spring. Arriving back at the palace, Busujok was proven wrong in his accusations, using the same magic as before. Guilt and sorrow soon consumed him for causing his brother’s demise. With bound eyes once again, Busujok set forth into the wilderness, where he fell and drowned in the same churning waters of that fateful spring. Yet, as soon as life left his body, a star appeared in the sky, the morning star. And as perfect equals, Siminok appeared as the evening star.

Finding the Familiar in Unfamiliar Places

Before modern inventions or scientific understandings of what lies beyond the comforts of our grounding earth, ancient peoples could only speculate why the clouds moved, the wind howled, a rainbow appeared, or the stars, sun, moon, and planets shone so brightly in the dark of night. In their dreamy and captivating stories, there was always a hint of the scientific mind. To be curious, innovative, and unconventional, the wondrous things around us begin to take shape.

It is also in these curiously curated stories that we find remarkable similarities that say so much about how humans built their world from stories. Take, for example, the Pleiades, a star cluster in the constellation Taurus. Numerous ancient societies from around the world have referred to these seven radiant stars as sisters, maidens, or girls. Often, they are connected to, or in many stories, being chased by the hunter Orion, a neighboring cluster equally prominent. In other stories, the Big Dipper constellation was the Great Bear. In both ancient North America and Siberia, this constellation was seen as a bear, being chased by a hunter, guided by a bird. Unsurprisingly, there are many instances of interpretation of constellations that somehow bridge the gap between time and place.

Though these similarities may point to a common thread, a movement of people along with their stories, perhaps, when taken as a whole, it is simply within our nature to associate our own with the vastness of the unknown. To see the familiar in the unfamiliar, to place ourselves, our deities, our natural order in what baffles us, is so unequivocally human that it has defined our entire existence. But it is in this way of thinking, hypothesizing, and ascribing meaning that we eventually begin to grasp how the cosmos relates to us and our earth. Frivolous, fantastical, or endearing as they may be, these stories are part of what inspires and propels societies further in our collective pursuit of knowledge.

Featured image: Reaching for the moon, 1933. (Edward Mason Eggleston, Print by U. Rae Colson, Public domain)

Reference: W. Winsham. 2023. Treasury of Folklore Stars and Skies. Batsford Holdings, Inc.

Since ancient times, the sea has served as a profound symbol, embodying the vastness of the unknown. In ancient literature, it was an awe-inspiring, frightening, yet fascinating place—a prominent, metaphorical medium for expressing or exploring the human condition, the subconscious, moral and emotional battles, or to better understand its otherworldliness.

Of the many stories, two tales stand out: The Shipwrecked Sailor and The Voyages of Sinbad. As tales of ambition, loss, desperation, and transcendence, they remind us of what the sea has always been: a turbulent colossus, an untamable power, that we cannot live without. Above all, these tales represent a constant struggle, one that fervently flows through story and study just as the cosmos, to conquer the unconquerable.

The Shipwrecked Sailor

The Shipwrecked Sailor, an ancient Egyptian tale written during the Middle Kingdom, follows a sailor who survived a horrific shipwreck, washing ashore on a mysterious island.

“A howling wind came up when we were in the sea before we reached land. It lifted the land; it acts of a harbinger of the wave which was in it of 8 cubits. Indeed, the mast pushes for me it. The boat died. Of those who were in it, not survived one therefrom. Then I, I was put toward and island by a wave of the sea. I spent days 3 I am alone with my heart as my only companion.” (Casey translation)

Lonesome and troubled, he encountered a huge serpent thirty cubits (around 45 feet) in length with a beard of nearly two cubits. Its body glistened a brilliant gold against blistering sun; its brows adorned with pure lapis lazuli. Lying upon his belly in terror, the sailor could only watch as the beast’s daunting figure approached. Bending its head low, it asked two times who brought him to this island, but the sailor could not answer. Scooping him up in its mouth, he is brought to its home and asked again, two times. This time, the sailor answered.

Reassuringly, the serpent revealed he has landed on the island of Ka; that a god had saved him, and in four months’ time, he will be rescued and reunited with his family. Solace is found in these words for the sailor as well as the serpent. It was not that long ago that the serpent faced its own perils, not so different from the man who washed upon its shores.

“We totaled snakes 77 as my children together with my siblings. Not I will recall for you that a daughter came to me as a prayer. Then a star fell; burst forth they in fire in his track. It happened to them without me therewith. They burned not was I in their midst. Then I, I died for them when I found it as a heap of corpses one.”

As the sailor listened to its sorrowful tale, he realized the inevitability of suffering and fate, reflecting on his own circumstances. If he is brave, then he must be firm in his heart and embrace those that he loves; for in the serpent’s eyes, there was nothing more beautiful. In its heartache, the sailor found strength and acceptance.

The transient nature of life released him from the burden of his comrades at sea, of his loneliness. Despite what the serpent had endured, it had remained always vigilant. Eventually, the sailor would find his way back home, just as the serpent had said, and tell his story.

The Voyages of Sinbad

In The Voyage of Sinbad the Sailor, particularly during his third encounter, Sinbad faced a snake of his own after being shipwrecked on an island. This encounter began as Sinbad, in search of food, stumbled upon the creature and learned that it had been preying on the island’s inhabitants. He cleverly devised a plan to escape by using the snake’s skin, wrapping himself in it to blend in and tricking the locals into helping him defeat the creature. This episode reflects Sinbad’s inventive resilience, much like his earlier voyages where he narrowly escaped mythical creatures and extreme situations.

Impressively, Sinbad went on seven extraordinary voyages, driven by curiosity and a longing for purpose.

“I had inherited considerable wealth from my parents, and being young an foolish I at first squandered it recklessly upon every kind of pleasure, but presently, finding that riches speedily take themselves wings if managed as badly as I was managing mine, and remembering also that to be old and poor is misery indeed, I began to bethink me how I could make the best of what remained to me. I sold all my household good by public auction, and joined a company of merchants who traded by sea…” (Lang)

All of his journeys ended in shipwreck on mysterious islands with peculiar and dangerous inhabitants. Bloodthirsty cannibals ravaged his crew after having driven them mad. On another island, he strapped himself to a bird of monstrous size to escape desolation. Running into the Old Man of the Sea, a strange and foreboding foe, he was overcome as the little man clasped his legs round his neck and perched atop his shoulders, feasting on everything and pounding him awake with his little legs. Or perhaps, a sleeping whale so enormous it had been mistaken for an island. Cursed islands, giants, and bizarrity met him at every turn.

Each of those voyages reveals the ocean as a place of mysticism, one that demands courage and wisdom. Even after returning from each perilous journey, Sinbad still yearned for more. Soon enough, however, he seemed to find what he was looking for, ending his adventures, readying himself for a quiet life, and appropriately accumulating great wealth for his acts of bravery. A fitting end for a man who sacrificed everything he had for something worthy.

Ultimately, Sinbad’s story and his defeat of the serpent and countless others represents a much deeper awareness that true treasure lies in what one learns through hardship and growth. In the vast expanse of life, confronting fears, suffering, discovering the hidden truths of one’s identity, and surviving through it, is the adventure. Even greater still, like the sailor, whose story so eloquently mirrors Sinbad’s, creatures of the sea, deities, and primordial waters, the serpent endures as an epithet.

The Sea and the Self

Often, when people think about ancient stories of the sea, they imagine grand adventures, fantastical islands, Atlantis, Elysium, and the Odyssey. And they are not wrong, Atlantis and Elysium were said to be magnificent, and Odysseus did go on epic adventures of a lifetime. The magical places they encountered were rooted in the innately human desire to grasp what is just barely within reach but perpetually eludes. Although these stories may reflect fantastical accounts of real, lived experiences and feats of exploration, there is always more, a deeper, symbolic significance hidden behind the words.

All adventurers, whether they were Sinbad, the sailor, or Odysseus, were forced to face more than the formidable sea; they were forced to face themselves, their deepest fears, temptations, and the mistakes of their past. The ocean is a tremendous and unknowable world that is advantageous, yet completely isolating, like the mind may feel. Their journeys were within as a philosophical mirror, a loss of control whose only remedy was introspection. But the sea told so much more than just stories, myths, and monsters; its allure captivates the scientific mind as well.

From Myth to Scientific Exploration

As civilizations evolved, so too did the understanding of the sea. The Polynesians began exploring the ocean as early as 4000 BCE to 2500 BCE. Between 500 and 700 CE, they had developed sophisticated methods of navigation using the stars, sun, moon, planets, clouds, currents, and tides to determine their locations and find land. They set sail with little more than double-hulled canoes, discovering and settling throughout the South Pacific.

As early as 5800 BCE, the Mesopotamians had been freediving to collect pearl oysters. In 600 BCE, an Egyptian Pharaoh commissioned the Phoenicians, who had experience with exploring the ocean, to sail around the continent of Africa. In 325 BCE, Pytheas (a Greek Philosopher and Historian) attempted to measure the depth of the ocean and successfully voyaged around northwestern Europe, mapping the region. Between 276 BCE and 194 BCE, Mathematicians in Alexandria accurately calculated the circumference of the Earth. 345 BCE saw the first diving bells; Alexander the Great claimed to have used one at the age of eleven.

Though myths told stories and explained the unexplainable, historians and the like grew increasingly curious about the true nature of the ocean. Greco-Roman historians, specifically, were openly dismissive of the old myths, more in favor of scientific theory and evidence. The explorational feats and mathematical observations they accomplished at the time were exceptional in themselves, considering their limited technology.

Exploration would continue as the Chinese invented the compass between 1 and 100 CE, and the Vikings journeyed through the cold Atlantic during the Medieval era. A brief break gave rise to an ambitious resurgence of what is now known as the Age of Exploration. Of those, the Challenger Expedition of 1872 stands out as the first fully scientific expedition, returning with priceless data on oceanography and meteorology.

The Enigmatic Ocean

Throughout all the scientific endeavors, expeditions, and technological advancements, what truly prevails is the stories that shaped the world’s understanding of the sea. The symbolism of the sea, its monsters and legends, remained on the tip of every explorer’s tongue. They told their own stories of encounters with colossal sea creatures, strange phenomena, and inhabitants of mysterious islands.

As of today, with everything oceanography, deep sea exploration, and scientific inquiry have achieved, the ocean continues to be an enigma. The ancient fascination with its haunting curiosities lives on in modern media and folklore. The ocean quite literally symbolizes the same things it did thousands of years ago. Its transformative, self-reflecting, spiritual presence exceeds its ability to be fully understood.

A Look Back at the Origin of the Cosmos

Looking back at part one (The Symbolic Sea Through the Ages: Myths and Monsters), what is strikingly astonishing is how closely the ancients may have come to the origin of life on the planet, its formless chaos from which life emerged. How could they have known that water came before land, that life flourished from the vast ocean millions of years ago? More astonishing still is their conception of the cosmos.

A 2021 study at the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland found that at the moment of the Big Bang, for a fraction of a second, the immense heat of the explosion created a viscous fluid, quark-gluon plasma, that is comparable to the water in Earth’s oceans. This plasma, as it instantly cooled, formed the matter that makes up the known universe. Perhaps, truths have been there all along, patiently waiting for science to prove it.

If you would like to check out the full study, it is referenced below.

Featured image: The Seven Voyages and Adventures of Sinbad the Sailor, 1821 (Boston Public Library, Public domain)

References:

Casey, C. 2008. The Story of the Shipwrecked Sailor. Available at: https://christiancasey.github.io/Casey%20Christian%20(2008)%20The%20Story%20of%20the%20Shipwrecked%20Sailor.pdf

Lang, A. 2018. The Arabian Nights. Paper Mills Press.

Seaborn Soul. 2024. Oceanic Echoes: Uncovering the Power of Ocean Symbols and Meanings. Available at: https://seabornsoul.com/ocean-symbols-and-meanings/

Ocean Motion. Timeline B.C. – 1800 A.D. Available at: https://oceanmotion.org/html/background/timeline.htm

Trachenko, K., Brazhkin, V., & Baggioli, M. 2021. Similarities between the kinematic viscosity of quark-gluon plasma and liquids at the viscosity minimum. SciPost Foundation. Sci Post Phys., Vol. 10, No. 5. Available at: https://scipost.org/SciPostPhys.10.5.118/pdf

Since ancient times, the sea has served as a profound symbol, embodying the vastness of human emotion and the mysteries of the unknown. From ancient myths, monsters, and deities to timeless works of literature, its waves have represented freedom, danger, and the depths of the human psyche. Often perceived as a reflection of humanity’s relationship with nature, the sea embodies longstanding fears and desires associated with exploration and the uncertainties of life and death. Despite differences among cultures, shifting dynamics demonstrate untamable power, something more akin to the divine. When man is at sea, he is at its mercy.

Primordial Chaos and Creation

Creation myths from diverse cultures trace their origins to a primordial aquatic abyss, a formless chaos from which life emerged. In Egyptian mythology, the universe began with the Nu, an endless expanse of watery nothingness. From this, Atum, the god of creation, arose, bringing forth the air (Shu) and moisture (Tefnut) to shape the cosmos. Similarly, Hindu tradition, dating back thousands of years, describes Brahma as having emerged from a lotus flower blooming from Lord Vishnu. The Greco-Roman worldview added to this ever-expanding narrative, believing that the earth was encircled by Oceanus, a great world river that birthed all bodies of water, a personification of the boundary of the known world. The moon, sun, and stars were thought to arise from this mighty river.

These stories serve as a foundation for oceanic beliefs. In its essence, the act was a symbiosis between land and sea, both a separation and a union of everything as a complex, interdependent organism. In many myths, elements of fire representing the sun interact with primordial water, defeating it and bringing forth light from the darkness. The Milky Way, seen as cosmic foam, dispersed light, rain, mist, and milky matter unto the earth, fostering life. The ocean was what remained of the beginning, and many of the creatures from creation continued to exist. They held up the earth, stirred the tides, shook the ground, or spread their veins into the land as rivers. They were ordinary creatures or colossal giants, hiding in the deep ocean or encompassing the earth. Naturally, alongside them were the gods and other enigmatic entities that dominated the open waters.

The Sea’s Divine Masters

Not all the gods associated with creation were also associated with the sea. Atum was the manifestation of the sun, as was Ra. Vishnu is the guardian of the universe, and Brahma is the creator. As religions evolved, specific deities became personifications of various bodies of water that cultures encountered.

The Egyptians did not have a sea god; rather, they had various gods that were tied to the Nile River, such as Tefnut, Hapi, Khnum, and Anuket. Hindu religion, on the other hand, has Varuna, one of the earliest deities in the pantheon and the god of oceans, water, and the sky. Being a god that rules the sky and water, as he who encompasses all, he is intrinsically connected to the cosmic ocean from which all things originated. He is additionally connected to the spiritual, moral laws that guide the universe, the primordial link between gods and humans.

The Greeks experienced a fascinating evolution in sea deities. One of the earliest known deities was the eldest of the Titans, Oceanus, son of the sky (Uranus) and earth (Gaia). He was the godly personification of the Atlantic, which was believed to be the ocean (or river) that encircled the earth, as previously mentioned. Another early sea god was Pontus, who, as with Oceanus, was later replaced by the revered Poseidon.

Pontus’s son was Nereus, the Old Man of the Sea, extraordinarily wise and prophetic. Residing in the deep Aegean Sea, he would surface to appear to mortals in shifting forms to share his many prophecies. It was believed that he could see into the darkest realms of the sea, and with this hidden knowledge, intuitively understood the past, present, and future. His daughters were the Nereids, and his official occupation, aside from prophet, was as the Herdsman of Poseidon’s seals, second in command, and protector of the island of Lemnos.

And then there was Poseidon (Neptune), lord of the deep, master of the sea, storms, and earthquakes. The Mediterranean and surrounding areas were essential in commerce and political relations, an unavoidable aspect of a prosperous society. The Greeks were dependent on yet extremely weary of open water; therefore, Poseidon was seen as a god with an unpredictable temper. As such, the earthquakes that swayed the land were equally unpredictable and perilous. When those who ventured out to sea suffered, it was at the hand of Poseidon. He lived in a glorious palace beneath the water and rode the waves atop his chariot, drawn by horses of the sea. His wife, Amphitrite (Salacia), was a beautiful nymph and gentle guardian. Along with her sisters, she protected sailors, keeping winds and waves at bay. Together, Amphitrite and Poseidon had a son, Triton, messenger of the sea. His conch shell horn echoed across the ocean and sea to still or strengthen its billowing waves.

Aegir was the Norse god of the ocean, dwelling in the coldest depths of the Northern Atlantic, and described as having the appearance of an old man with long, jagged fingers. His brothers were said to be Kari (air) and Loki (fire). Having belonged to an old dynasty, he was not associated with the Vanir, Aesir, Elvin, dwarfs, or any other clan. Within his watery realm, he was considered all-knowing and all-powerful, regularly taking pleasure in the plights of sailors by maliciously plucking them from their overturned ships and pulling them beneath the waves.

Ran, wife and sister of Aegir, was the goddess of death and the sea. Her name meant robber, and as expected, she was equally maniacal. She craved the glimmers of gold, prowling near coastal rocks to lure victims to their demise, entangling them in her net, and seizing their prized gold to decorate her great underwater hall. It was believed the bioluminescent flickers of the Northern Sea were associated with Ran. Sailors would appease the goddess by carrying gold on them in hopes of her taking it rather than their lives.

Ran and Aegir had nine striking daughters, the Waves. As their name suggests, they were personifications of the treacherous waves that made the North Atlantic so incredibly dangerous. They rode the waves wearing blue, white, and green veils. At times, they grew wild, slamming themselves upon their rocky beds, screaming in delight. Other times, they playfully swayed against Viking ships, gently guiding them to their destination. Their brother was the Wind, which determined whether or not they would come out to play—if the wind was calm, the waves were still.

Njord, from the Vanir tribe, was another deity associated with the sea, more so the seashore. He ruled over the wind, the sea’s riches, and was said to calm the raging disposition of Aegir. As a protector, he watched over those who journeyed out to sea for trade or fishing expeditions. The Norse intensively sailed the Northern Atlantic and fully understood its dangers. They revered its immense strength and destructive capabilities, yet knew, like most seafaring societies, that they depended on it for survival.

One of Japan’s oldest religions, Shinto, believes in Suijin, the god of water, as a protector of fishermen and those who venture out to sea. Suijin is a gracious and benevolent dragon who presides over all sea life. Similarly, Ryujin is a dragon king who lives in a magnificent palace on the seabed and rules over the tides, rain, thunder, and tsunamis with his magical jewels. He is depicted as an imposing figure, breathing fire, shapeshifting into human form, or summoning storms at will. He was known to aid in sea battles and was regarded for his magical abilities and medical wisdom.

According to ancient Chinese Taoism and Buddhism, Mazu, the goddess of the sea, is a comforting symbol of protection over sailors and fishermen. Once said to have been a human girl named Lin Mo, she lived a modest life on a small island during the 10th century. She possessed otherworldly abilities, predicting the weather as well as the future. In one of her prophetic trances, she witnessed a hurricane capsize her father and brothers’ boat, putting their lives in grave danger. Before waking from her trance, she managed to rescue most of them, but not all. Grief led her to leap from a cliff into the sea, where she instantly became beams of light, dispersing through the clouds. Temples still scatter the coastline and land, with nearly ninety currently in Hong Kong alone, dedicated to her and visited by innumerable venturers before setting sail.

The most impressive of seafaring peoples were undoubtedly the Polynesians, who viewed the vast expanse of the Pacific as a living entity in itself, communicating to its people through its movements. Tangaroa, the whale-like god of the ocean, lakes, and rivers, dominated the South Pacific and its creatures. His Hawaiian counterpart is Kanaloa, brother of Kane, creator god and architect of the sky. Many years ago, as the waves rose along the shore, a god emerged as his brother’s creation to reign in the murky realms of the deep ocean. Together, Kane and Kanaloa ensure that all who take to the ocean are safe during their journey. Expectedly, there are others, extending to the myriads of Pacific islands. All of them represent a beautiful, multifaceted relationship that embodies the interactions of nature and their courageous, ancestral identities as advanced explorers and children of the sea.

Sacred Serpents, Monsters, and Ominous Spirits

The mythical creatures that lurked in the seas were often metaphors for the unknown or inspired by lived experiences, encounters with sea life that boggled the mind or evoked primal dread. The serpent, whether it be a dragon or some tentacled amalgamation, was a recurring theme in maritime tales. These creatures, if not violent, were believed to hold hidden knowledge and truths, unfathomable treasures, or serve as a sort of guardian for those who call upon them.

The serpent symbolized the Ouroboros, the endless cycle of totality—life, destruction, and rebirth—as well as the primordial ocean of creation. The Norse Jormungandr, World Serpent and son of Loki, circled the earth biting his tail. He was held responsible for waves, floods, and earthquakes. In addition to this behemoth, there was the Kraken, a tentacled monstrosity that some think may have been based on real encounters with either a giant squid or octopus. Said to be the size of an island, sailors claimed it ravaged ships sailing along the waters of Norway, Greenland, and Iceland. Its name appropriately means dragon.

Further back, the Mesopotamian Tiamat was a divine goddess and personification of the salt sea and mother to the pantheon. Some creatures, like Tiamat, were equally monsters and deities. Tiamat was the purest form of chaos from the primordial time; in Marduk’s slaying of her, he created the universe. Yamm was the Canaanite god of rivers and the sea. Semitic mythology portrays Yamm as one who once ruled, a deity of absolute primordial chaos, but was overthrown and killed by Baal. Lotan, another Canaanite creature, was also killed by Baal, possibly as an alternative figure of Yamm. In Jewish mythology, God defeated Leviathan, a multiheaded, serpentine, terrifying abomination. The body of this creature was then distributed amongst the Hebrew people or to creatures of the wilderness as sustenance. Arguably, all three stories may be possible adaptations passed down from one religion to the next. More importantly, they symbolize the victory of good over evil, order over chaos, like Ra conquering the serpent Apophis each night.

Several different cultures had mermaids or malevolent entities, usually understood to be both helpful and vengeful. The Greek siren, although bird-like in form, was represented the same way as other aquatic seductresses. They lured sailors with their enchanting song to an untimely end. The selkies of Norse and Celtic myth could remove their serpent or fish-like tails to take the form of humans, mingling among them relatively undetected.

The Māori spoke of Taniwha, supernatural, mermaid-like beings, inconspicuously lingering in deep pools, caves, or the sea. They could protect those who came across them or become vicious predators if they so chose to. Though the Taniwha of oceans were sometimes believed to be like a serpent, dragon, whale, or shark in appearance, their personalities more closely resemble that of a mermaid.

In Japanese mythology, the Bakekujira was a ghostly apparition manifesting to sailors in a misty, whale-like, skeletal form with ominous fish and birds circling. Umibozu was a spirit that appeared right before turbulent sea storms to Japanese sailors as a large, shadowy, ill-omened humanoid rising above the waters, reminiscent of storm clouds. If the spirit was not appeased, it would tear apart the ship or demand a bucket or ladle to then drown its occupants. Sailors need to be cunning and quick-witted to deter the spirit long enough to escape.

The Chinese dragon kings, Longwang, are a group of deities associated with the Four Oceans, the four seas or lakes that were believed to surround China. The king of the Eastern Sea, Donghai, brought rain, snow, or storms to the people and served as a guardian to fishermen and seafarers. Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism tell of the Nagas, semi-divine, half-human, half-cobra beings said to live in the sea or bodies of water. Within their underground or underwater palaces, these handsome collectors have endless bounties of riches and precious stones. They are also associated with fertility, transformation, and rebirth. Known to be a danger to humans, Brahma, upon worrisome news of overpopulation, ordered the Nagas to bite the evil or those already destined to die. However, they are currently more likely viewed as sacred guardians and acquirers of powerful magic to the benefit of humanity.

Part 2:

Featured image: Andrómeda by Juan Antonio de Frías y Escalante (1633–1670), depicting Princess Andromeda of Greek mythology chained to a rock as a sacrifice to the dragon-like sea monster Cetus (Public domain)

Disclaimer: This article was part of a publication originally published on Ancient Origins Premium (1 November, 2024)

References:

Powell, B.B. 2015. Classical Myth - Eighth Edition. Pearson Education Inc.

Guerber, H.A. 2006. Tales of Norse Mythology. Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

Gilmore, D.D. 2003. Monsters: Mythical Beings, Evil Beasts, and All Manners of Imaginary Terrors. University of Pennsylvania Press.

Good, Lauren. 2024. Water gods and sea goddesses: 17 water deities from world history. History Extra – BBC History Magazine. Available at: https://www.historyextra.com/period/general-history/water-gods-goddesses-deities/

Rappenglück, M.A. 2014. THE COSMIC DEEP BLUE: THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE CELESTIAL WATER WORLD SPHERE ACROSS CULTURES. Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry, Vol. 14, No. 3. Available at: https://www.maajournal.com/index.php/maa/article/view/906/816

Welker, G. 2022. Oceanic/Polynesian Mythologies. Indigenous Peoples Literature. Available at: https://indigenouspeoplenet.wordpress.com/2022/07/18/polynesian-gods-and-goddesses/

Seaborn Soul. 2024. Oceanic Echoes: Uncovering the Power of Ocean Symbols and Meanings. Available at: https://seabornsoul.com/ocean-symbols-and-meanings/

Ancient classical historians eternally captivated their audiences with accounts of bizarre tribes dwelling on the periphery of the known world. Their customs were odd and their appearances even more fantastical. They represented the ever-present fascination with the world and its hidden mysteries. Historians like Pliny the Elder, Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, Pausanias, Philostratus, and Ctesias infused their narratives with observations and sensational stories, contributing to a mythic portrayal of distant lands. Join me as we explore the hairy, the giant, the tiny, and the truly unexpected realms of the ancient imagination.

Hairy Men and Dog-Headed Hunters

The Atlas Mountains of Libya had long been a place of obscurity to the ancients; many awe-inspiring myths and legends originated from this rugged landscape. Venturing travelers often spoke about the strange tribes of people that roamed these rolling hills. Most, coincidentally, shared a likeness in appearance to Pan, god of the wild, or the satyr, mischievous and covered in hair. The Satyros Libys and the Aigipan Libys were feral, uninhibited men supposedly encountered by the wise miracle worker Apollonius of Tyana and recorded by Pliny the Elder. To the west, along the Ethiopian Nile, Philostratus documented yet another of Apollonius’s adventurous trials with these strange men.

While traveling through a small Ethiopian village, Apollonius and his companions were startled by the villagers' sudden uproar as they joined to pursue a reckless Phasma Satyros—a phantom satyr that had been terrorizing them for over ten months. He was incessantly mad for the women, having already killed two. Apollonius reassured his frightened companions and the villagers, revealing a plan to handle the satyr based on an old story about King Midas. The king had the blood of the satyr, evident in the shape of his ears. Based on advice once given by Midas’ mother on subduing a satyr, Apollonius mixed wine with water and poured it into the village’s cattle trough to intoxicate it. Following this plan, the phantom satyr drank the wine, falling asleep in a nearby cave. Later, as the group found him sleeping, Apollonius instructed the villagers never to harm the satyr; he was no longer a threat to them.

Off the Atlantic coast of Africa were a peculiar group of islands referred to as the Satyrides. It was here that Pausanias, in his quest to understand the fabled satyrs of the islands, recounted the traveler Euphemos’s compelling story. On a voyage to Italy, he was driven off course by strong winds, coincidentally stumbling upon the island chain. On some of these islands were red-haired, horse-tailed satyr men. As Euphemos’s ship approached, fellow sailors, who had previous experience with the tribe, advised the captain of imminent danger. Dismissing caution, Euphemos began to dock just as the satyrs hastily flung themselves onto the ship, attacking several women in the process. Fearing for their safety, the sailors abandoned a foreign woman on the island, where she was subjected to violating, brutal treatment by the inhabitants.

Similar to Pausanias, Pliny described a race of womenfolk located along the same waters. The islands Gorgades, possibly the Canary Islands, were a two-day sail from the African mainland. Carthaginian general Hanno visited these islands, describing the female population, the Gorgades, as being entirely covered in hair, while the men were extremely swift, inevitably escaping the general’s attempts at capture. Hanno, after seizing and slaying two female natives, presented the skins in the Temple of Juno in Carthage as evidence of his voyage. He claimed the skins remained on display until they inexplicably vanished around the time that Carthage was taken over by Rome.

Numerous ancient historians, such as Pliny, Hesiod, Herodotus, and Aelian, chronicled a tribe of people west of Lake Triton who lived among snakes, beasts, and elephants called the Cynocephali, dog-faces. Aelian recounted them as having black skin, dog-like heads and teeth, and a body covered in hair. They lived by hunting gazelles and antelopes, and although they did not speak, they produced a high-pitched squeal. They also were said to have beards similar to that of serpents and possess impressively sharp, elongated nails. Quick on their feet and adept at navigating inaccessible regions, their elusive nature made them quite difficult to capture. Additionally, Aelian argued that they exhibited purposeful action, capable of stripping and cleaning shelled foods like almonds and nuts, understanding that the contents were edible while discarding the shells. They consumed wine and well-seasoned meat, showing partiality to carefully prepared food. Taking care of their garments and suckling milk from a woman's breast when young, they appeared to demonstrate a range of behaviors that blended human-like traits with their canine appearance.

The Cynocephali were supposedly spotted in India as well, as the historian Ctesias provided a detailed and vivid narrative. Nestled in the mountains of India, residing in remote caves, lived these dog-headed hunters and warriors. They understood the Indian language well, but preferred to communicate through barks or signing with their hands rather than articulated speech. Having a plentiful diet, they lived on raw meats, sheep’s milk, and the sweet fruit that hung from the many indigenous trees. Their society, characterized by longevity and cooperation, had no formal housing. Instead, they slept on leaves, their clothes made from tanned skin or linen for the prestigious, and wealth was measured by the number of sheep one owned. Commonly, they would engage in trade with the Indian king, exchanging goods like amber and purple dye for resources and weaponry. In battle, they were steadfast and resilient, wielding bows and spears, making them virtually invincible.

Chest-Faces, Tiny People, Giant Feet, and Other Remarkable Tribes

Perhaps the most unusual tribe, and one that stood the test of time throughout Africa, India, Asia, and Europe, was the chest-eyed Blemmyes or Acephali. Headless in nature, their faces rested upon their enormous chests, or in some cases, their bulky shoulders. They appeared in the Indian epic Ramayana in the singular form as a demon cursed to remain as a chest-faced, lengthy-armed monstrosity until being released. They were also mentioned in Asian folklore as a tribal community and by a Persian geographer alleging that they inhabited the island of Jaba off the coast of Indonesia. Herodotus and Pliny, on the other hand, placed them in the same region as the Cynocephali in Libya, nearing the sea coast of Africa.

The Pygmies or African Pygmies were a race widely known in Greece as amazingly small in size, about one pygme (from elbow to knuckle), and lived at the source of the Nile, as well as other far-off regions. They were believed to be perpetually at war with cranes, a conflict that originated from their queen, Gerana, who was transformed into a crane by the gods as punishment for her arrogance. Ancient accounts portrayed Pygmies as fierce and clever, engaging in fantastical battles and exhibiting various behaviors, such as using ladders to drink from Heracles' goblet. The celebrated philosopher Aristotle, having known of travelers’ whimsical tales, even speculated that these stories may have had some basis in reality, possibly describing an actual tribe of small people that lived in Upper Egypt.

Incredibly, there was also a tribe of one-legged, giant-footed Ethiopians referred to as Sciapods, who upon basking in the bright sun would use their colossal foot to shade themselves. Pliny asserted that their giant foot enabled them to move at great speeds and jump at extraordinary heights. They, too, were said to have lived in India as well and were equally as popular as the Blemmyes. Further, Pliny stated that there was a tribe in India of men with eighteen-foot feet, whereas the women had very tiny feet, sparrow feet, or Struthopodes, as he called them. The Nuli of India were equally uniquely footed, with backward-facing feet with eight toes on each. Or perhaps a tribe without feet; the nomadic Sciritae of India had human bodies with serpentine legs and nostrils.

Other remarkable tribes, very briefly explained but worth mentioning, were believed to have lived in Africa, specifically Ethiopia, as far as the South Atlantic. Of those were the Macrocephali, a tribe of long or giant-headed men commented on by Hesiod and Philostratus, and also rumored to exist in India. Their neighbors, presumably, were the Hypogen (underground men), the Srybotae (twelve-foot men), the Aethiopes (long-lived), and the Androphagi, whose diet was exclusively the flesh of humans. Partnering with the man-eaters, Pliny touched on the wild-beast-eaters, Agriophagi, and those who devour all, the Pamphagi.

Absent Mouths, Flying Ears, Bendy Bones, and Surprising Life-Spans

Near the eastern edge of India, close to the Ganges, the Greek historian Megasthenes recalled to Pliny the Astomi tribe, distinguished in its unique characteristics: they had no visible mouths and, as per usual, they were completely covered in hair. They dressed in cotton wool and sustained themselves solely on the air they breathed and the scents they inhaled. Their diet consisted of various odors and vapors from roots, flowers, and wild apples, which they carried with them during travels to ensure a continuous supply of their life-giving scents. Megasthenes also noted that they were highly vulnerable and could be easily killed by a particularly strong, dreadful odor.

Situated at the foothills of the Himalayas, Pliny discussed the ancient kingdom of Mandi, a place of significant historical and cultural heritage, but with an odd twist. He referenced Tauron, a Greek writer, who described a forest-dwelling tribe he called the Chromandae. They were hairy, with piercing grey eyes, and teeth like dogs. Like the dog-headed Cynocephali, they did not speak in any known language but screamed and shrilled in the most horrifying of ways. Accompanying them were the short-lived Mandoi, whose women conceived only once a year at the age of seven to children that aged and wrinkled almost immediately after birth. Pliny quoted Crates of Pergamenus, a Greek scholar, and Clitarchus, a historian, who both remarked on their three hundred villages scattered around the Himalayas and their peculiar diet of locusts.

Life-spans seemed to be a popular topic in supposed ancient Indian tribes. The Calingi, a group described by Pliny, matured by five and died of old age by eight. Or conversely, the Pandae, who flourished in mountainous regions where Indian reed grew. Consisting of about 30,000 people, they were reputed to live for upwards of two hundred years, experiencing a reversal in hair color from white in youth to black in old age. Their women give birth only once to children with striking white hair and beautiful teeth. Men had their white hair until they turned thirty, after which it gradually turned black by the age of sixty. Both genders had eight fingers and toes and were known for their warrior skills, with 5,000 of them joining the Indian king's military campaigns. Most notably, their ears were extremely long, extending from their arms to their backs, with one ear touching the other.

To the far north in the Riphaean Mountains (Carpathian Mountains), the classical edge of the known world, or on an undisclosed island location called the Panotiorum, lived the Panatii. Despite the cold environment, the Panatii were known to wrap their nude bodies with their ears for warmth and to snuggle with as they slept. They also used these convenient appendages to soar through the skies if they so desired to. Neighboring them were the horse-footed Hippopodes, no relation to the centaurs. There was not much said about them, other than their unique feet and their proximity to the Panatii.

Other peoples said to inhabit the lands of the ancient Carpathian Mountains, and similar to the cyclopes, were the Arimaspoi, a tribe of one-eyed men mentioned by Herodotus, Pliny, Pausanias, and the Greek Tragedian, Aeschylus. Journeying to a region close to the source of the Ganges, gold was said to be abundant. It was here that the fierce, one-eyed Arimaspoi hunted and stole gold from the half lion, half eagle, winged beasts, the griffins (Grypes). Reportedly, the Scythians believed the Arimaspoi lived beyond the Issedones, northern Scythia (Carpathians), relentlessly at war with the griffins. The Hyperboreans, those blessed with long lives and good health thanks to their eternal spring, were said to live beyond the Arimaspoi, reaching the sea, and part of this fabled geography.

In speaking of those blessed, one last and wonderous tribe is well worth mentioning, the Heliades, People of the Sun. Diodorus Siculus recounted a tale told to him of a mysterious island discovered in the Southern Ocean (Okeanos) beginning with Iamboulos, a learned Greek who, after being captured by robbers and later taken to the coast of Ethiopia, was sent on a sacred voyage by the local people. These Ethiopians, adhering to an ancient oracle's instructions, dispatched Iamboulos and a companion in a sturdy boat to seek out an island promised by the oracle to be both prosperous and inhabited by honorable people. After enduring four months of stormy seas, Iamboulos and his companion reached a round island where they were welcomed by its breathtakingly beautiful and illustrious inhabitants. The islanders were especially tall, smooth-skinned, with oversized valve-like ears, and malleable, bendable bones, giving them otherworldly flexibility. Additionally, they possessed a bifurcated tongue that allowed them to communicate with two people simultaneously.

Living in a picturesque, temperate climate with perpetual day-night balance and ever-blooming trees, the Heliades enjoyed a self-sufficient and harmonious life. They honored celestial bodies, particularly the sun, worshipping them at festivals and ascribing great importance to education on astronomical matters. When a member of their society reached the age of one hundred and fifty, they were expected to end their own life in accordance with their laws. Using a special plant to induce a gentle and painless death, the dead were buried in the sand along the beach, where the rising tide would cover their graves with fresh sand. The island was home to extraordinary animals as well, such as small, round creatures with four eyes and mouths whose blood healed all wounds. Iamboulos and his companion lived with these people for seven years before being expelled due to perceived moral corruption. They then embarked on a lengthy journey back, which ended in shipwreck off India. After surviving the wreck, Iamboulos was rescued, returning to Greece to record his experiences.

Myth in History

For all the incredible tribes, illustrious travels, and weird encounters, it may seem inconceivable to the modern mind that these things were recorded as history by respected and educated ancient authors. However, history as it is known today was quite different a few thousand years ago. Historians like Herodotus, Pliny the Elder, and many others were principally compilers, compiling stories about the known world, usually from second-hand sources or through their own travels, into encyclopedias of knowledge. This inevitably led to outlandish, speculative, or even xenophobic and ethnocentric perceptions of different regions, undermining the impartiality necessary for observing foreign cultures. Blatantly clear are the eccentric claims of tribes of people in places that were so unlike their own. There were also misidentifications of native species, like monkeys and great apes, as such, with the numerous satyr communities. Yes, they were all primates, including all those considered hairy.

Some, like Thucydides, were decidedly more focused in their approach, aiming to gather evidence scientifically, analyze findings, and record events as accurately as possible. In that respect, history served two, sometimes conflicting, purposes. It was a source of information and an appealing form of entertainment; the fantastical was fascinating. Though historians intended to better understand the world, and most of them knew that the stories told to them were probably fictitious or exaggerated, they were driven by curiosity and likely felt compelled to record everything. Moreover, the ways in which they knew their own cultural and geographical history were deeply entrenched in myth. Historians attempted to separate myth from reality, were permitted to do so, and criticized for not. Still, one way or another, it was unavoidable; myth and the mythical found their way into the pages of history intentionally or unintentionally.

“East of the river Triton, which is where the nomads live, you see, Libya is low lying and sandy; but west of the Triton, where the people live as farmers, it is exceedingly hilly, densely forested, and infested with wild beasts. There are serpents there of a truly monstrous size, and lions, not to mention elephants, bears, asps, and donkeys with horns. There are men with the heads of dogs, and others who have no heads at all, and those whose eyes are set in their chests (or so it is claimed by the Libyans), and wild men, and women too. Fantastical though these may seem, there are certainly many other beasts that are not.” Herodotus, Histories 4. 191 (Holland translation)

History was built upon the work of others. Many times historians quoted one another, with accounts slightly changing from one to the next. In its essence, all of ancient history was a collective endeavor, one that, despite conjectures, should be appreciated. Their work exemplifies the search for truth and knowledge that drives scientific inquiry and exploration. They may have misunderstood the cultures of foreign peoples, animals, or evolution, but they put in a valiant effort, despite their biases. Bizarre tales have always been told; travelers of past and present delight in telling their stories. And just about all of these supposed creatures mentioned would eventually find their way into medieval manuscripts, for one reason or another. So often do these tall tales say more of the people that told them than they do of the things they encountered.

Featured image: Diana, Endymion and Satyr, 1849 (Karl Bryullov, Public domain)

Disclaimer: This article was part of an original publication on Ancient Origins Premium (4, October 2024), revised

References:

Legendary Tribes. Theoi Project. Available at: https://www.theoi.com/greek-mythology/fabulous-tribes.html

Herodotus, Translated by Holland, T. (2015).Histories. Penguin Group, Ltd.

Wardman, A.E. (1960) Myth in Greek Histography. Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte, Bd. 9, H. 4. Available at: https://www.jstor.org/stable/4434671?read-now=1&seq=3#page_scan_tab_contents