Category Archives: Culture

We love to learn about ancient Egypt today…but what did the Egyptians learn about? Was their education system at all like the ancient Greek education system?

It is not possible for us today to know the complete details of Ancient Egyptian education, or to trace precisely its history. We do, however, know some things, and there is clear evidence of a state teaching system which existed throughout the many long-lived dynasties of the Pharaohs. It has been speculated that education began (along with recorded Egyptian history) with the Old Kingdom of 3000 BC. There are some remarkable similarities to our system today, and archaeological evidence has verified images of children seated at desks in classrooms, taking instruction from a teacher who is seated at a larger desk.

From what we know, their actual curriculum was not unfamiliar, consisting of common subjects with particular attention paid to: mathematics, astronomy, geometry, reading, writing, geography, music, sports, manners, medicine, and moral instruction. Education was held in high regard, and typically anyone who had the means sent their children to school when they reached a certain age.

Due to the limited number of schools, lower class people often could not send their children, and they were educated to the best of their ability at home. Girls also were not permitted to go, as education in these things was not considered important for them. They were instructed at home by their mothers, with the expectation that they would become wives and mothers themselves, tutored in the arts of cooking, sewing, religion, and reading. While girls could not go to school, most could be given advanced instruction in what was considered suitable disciplines, such as dancing, weaving, and baking. Girls from noble families had the privilege to be taught politics, history, the arts, as well as reading, writing, and ciphering. Many were also given instruction on supervising household servants and slaves.

There was an education option for artisans and the working class, associated with craft guilds (an unbroken classical tradition which only ended in the 19th century). At the age of 14, middle- and lower-class boys left formal education to work as apprentice farmers, masons, carpenters, etc, to their fathers. For both poor and rich, education of some sort was necessary, and generally the course of that education (craft-school, home-school, elite-school) was ordained by your family’s occupation, which the children were expected to maintain. For the elite of Egyptian society, royal offices remained in the same families for generations, as did farmland to farming families. Thus, it was customary for children to be instructed in what was considered the family discipline. A son was commonly referred to as ‘the staff of his father’s old age’, meaning he assisted him in the performance of his duties.

Schooling generally began at the age of 7. The same as today, school started in the morning with a midday break before commencing for the rest of the afternoon. School supplies for younger students consisted of a wooden writing tablet which could be wiped clean, and educational books (called Kemty) were written vertically rather than horizontally. Older students were permitted papyrus. The schools were generally part of a larger religious or government complex, and were taught either by priests or by scribes. Priests oversaw religious lessons, and scribes the secular lessons.

There were village ‘elementary’ schools that instructed a preliminary education, and these were followed by specialized schools for ‘secondary’ education. Typically, specialization instructed the necessary disciplines for common ‘middle class’ roles, such as doctors, scribes, etc. One of the few careers with upward mobility was as a scribe.

Throughout the education system there was a strict hierarchy, with different schools for each class, and this hierarchy continued into professional life, with the Prince’s School at the top (where the nobles and Pharaoh’s sons were educated). They themselves were instructed by the Vizier, in specialized higher education which was focused on producing skilled individuals. In that sense expectations were the same throughout the hierarchy. Young boys who showed extreme promise were often allowed to attend The Prince’s school as well, and for them this was a great honor.

Archeological discoveries have shown how Egyptian classrooms resembled modern ones, with school rules written on the walls. Punishment could be severe, including beatings and spending time in stocks. Boys who failed to learn their trade well were often sent away and forced to set up their life in a new town.

In Ancient Egypt, religious education and philosophy were taught alongside secular subjects, impressing upon students a strong moral foundation. They believed you became wise by following moral principles, such as truth.

There is no doubt ancient Egyptians held education in high regard and saw it as a privilege. It is a testimony to their success.

What do you think of when hear the words “Greek tragedy”?

I’ll bet that the images that spring to mind tend to be dark and dramatic. Yet not all tragedies fit this preconception. Not all tragedies are quite so…. Tragic.

For instance, there were the Satyr plays. In ancient Greece, tragedies were staged in trilogies, accompanied by an additional play in a separate genre, the Satyr play. These were much more comedic and farcical in nature than the sometimes austere world of tragedy. In honour of the god Dionysus, centaurs drank and caroused, causing mischief and chaos in irreverent settings. Only one of these plays has been handed down to us, the Cyclops, once more by Euripides, which is a playful retelling of Odysseus’ encounter with the one-eyed Polyphemus. It is from these plays such as these that we get the word satire.

There is, however, another play that is neither comedy, tragedy, nor satyr play. It is a unique blend of all these forms, and yet utterly unlike anything else handed down from the ancients. The story has more in common with a fairy-tale than many of its peers in the corpus of Greek tragedy. It is Alcestis.

Of the three Greek tragedians, Euripides is by far the most unconventional, frequently challenging the norms and conventions of the form. It is from these experiments that a play as unusual but ultimately moving as Alcestis emerges.

Unlike the more familiar stories of the Theban Oedipus cycle or the unhappy tales of the House of Atreus, Alcestis deals with a lesser known, more unusual branch of Greek mythology. Alcestis tells the story of the title character and her husband, Admetus. Due to a complicated mythical backstory, the god Apollo was forced to work as a labourer. During this humbling experience, Admetus, the human king of Thessaly, treated the diminished god with great kindness.

The god, eager to repay a human kindness, has arranged a special favour for Admetus. He is granted the chance to live a longer life than he had been allotted by the Fates, and in doing so, frustrate death. Yet, this gift comes with a cost.

The play begins with a conversation between Apollo and Death (or Thanatos in Greek). Thanatos is eager to the reclaim what Apollo has denied him: someone now has to die in Admetus’ place. Admetus’ father refuses to do so, and so Admetus’ wife, Alcestis, chooses to die in her husband’s place. Much of the early part of the play is dedicated to the household’s anticipation of Alcestis’ death. As is typical of Euripides, situations are inversed: someone still alive is being mourned.

Alcestis dies, and Admetus is wracked by grief and despair. Yet, despite this, hope may yet remain with the arrival of Heracles, Alcestis being one of a number of tragedies featuring the demigod. Here, he is characterised very differently to how he appears elsewhere in tragedy. In Alcestis, Heacles is as a dim-witted, yet kindly party boy.

Heracles is blissfully unaware that his friend Admetus is in mourning; he arrives eager to drink, party and have fun. Admetus decides to not burden his guest with the sad news. The world of the Satyr play and Tragedy now collide in a way that enhances each other. The starkness of Admetus’ grieving for his wife is set against the oblivious, fun-loving Heracles, to great effect.

Whenever Heracles does discover the truth, the demi-god realizes that he is, in fact, uniquely qualified to deal with the situation, being one of a very small group of Greek heroes who can travel to the Underworld. Eager to help his grieving friend, Heracles exits the scene to go and retrieve his friend’s wife from Hades.

What follows is one of the most moving scenes in Greek theatre. Herakles returns to the party with a veiled woman in tow. He offers her to Admetus as a new wife, but the grieving King finds this highly inappropriate. Eventually he is goaded, against his judgement in to seeing just who it is beneath the veil…

Considering that the play begins with a conversation between Apollo and Death, it ends on a very human emotion: the joy of reunion. For all the grandeur of the mythic backdrop and quarrelling divinities, the Alcestis is, at core, about the love between a married couple.

It is the earliest play we have by Euripides, having been staged in 438 BCE. Considering how much ancient literature is lost, it is a gift that this strange, tragi-comic fairy-tale can still resonate.

If you’re anything like me, you love a good mystery.

The provenance of the Sea Peoples is one enduring enigma that still hasn’t been answered. You see, accounts from the 12th Century BCE describe massive armies who terrorised the Eastern Mediterranean by sea. In fact, these armies have been argued to be one of the major causes of the Late Bronze Age Collapse, a period of destabilization during the early part of the 12th Century BCE, which saw the destruction of empires and civilisations all across the region. No primary accounts detail the origin of these people, and today contemporary scholars are still unsure of exactly where they came from. 

While the ultimate cause of the Bronze Age Collapse is highly contested, the devastation these people wrought is hard to overstate, and impossible to deny. One foreboding inscription from the second pylon of Medinet Habu, a Temple devoted to the life of Ramses III of Egypt reads:

This wasn’t simple hyperbole to exaggerate the threat faced to the Egyptian empire either. Historian Erdal Yavuz describes in his work ‘Anatolian Civilisations’ how the Sea Peoples proved to be the death-knell for the mighty Hittite empire, a major power in the region, stating:

“A mass of attacks from [a people of unknown origin] known as ‘the Sea Peoples’ destroyed much of Asia Minor, including the Hittite State, about 1200 BCE and, after that, the Hittites were never able to restore their state again.”. 

These were people with enough power to topple well-established power structures, which would imply sophisticated organisation and military prowess, but who were they? The term ‘Sea Peoples’ was actually first coined by Emmanuel de Rouge in 1855 in his work ‘Note on Some Hieroglyphic Texts Recently Published by Mr. Greene’, wherein de Rouge interprets some of the imagery from the Second Pylon of Medinet Habu. The reliefs depict various battles between Egyptian forces and these unknown invaders. In fact, most of the historical records of the Sea Peoples come from Egyptian sources. 

These sources, primarily detailing the lives and achievements of some of the New Kingdom Pharaohs such as Ramses the Great, Merentaph, and Ramses III, all describe the Sea Peoples as a terrifying enemy, yet they are remarkably light on details regarding their origins. Like any good mystery, however, there are some clues in the historical record for modern historians to investigate. For example, inscriptions detailing the reign of Merenptah, son and successor of Ramses the Great, describe the Sea Peoples as coming from seas to the North. This has allowed historians to rule out much of Northern Africa as their homeland, for example. Clues such as these have given way to multiple theories on the ultimate origins of the Sea Peoples. 

So why are the origins of these tribes not mentioned in any records? Well the reliefs of Medinet Habu do name several tribes that fall under the general definition of ‘Sea Peoples’ including; the Denyen, the Ekwesh, the Lukka, the Peleset, the Shekelesh, the Sherden, the Teresh, the Tjeker, and the Weshesh.  The problem, though, is that although they are named, their origins are not explained. The origins of some of these groups have been considered by examining other tablets and reliefs where the Egyptians named the homeland of these peoples and adding all the evidence together. In this way, modern historians have argued that the Peleset, for example, are the Philistines, originating from what is modern day Palestine. 

Of course, it’s important to note that not all of the origins of all of these groups have been settled. Furthermore, while the above list, when read together, gives the impression of this being a confederation of multiple different peoples from different regions the truth is that the inscriptions do not list all nine of these peoples together in the same army at the same time. The different tribes making up the Sea Peoples ravaged the region, and Egypt in particular, multiple times over a span of decades during the reigns of Ramses the Great, Merenptah, and Ramses III. 

Interestingly, some modern historians, such as Raffaele D’Amato and Andrea Salimbeti, believe that the Egyptians did know the origins of the Sea Peoples. They argue that the lack of references in any of the Egyptian reliefs or inscriptions indicate that the knowledge was so obvious as to be unnecessary to remark on. They believe that had their origins been unknown to the Egyptians, this would have been alluded to. Whether the knowledge is simply lost, or never known to begin with, the outcome is the same for us today; we do not know where they came from. 

Not only are their origins uncertain, but even the nature of their arrival in the region is one that remains in debate today. De Rouge’s initial interpretations and considerations on the Sea Peoples were later expanded by Gaston Maspero in his work ‘The Struggle of the Nations’ in 1896 whereby he theorised the idea of a migratory wave of peoples that swept across the region, with various tribes joining the confederation, to ultimately form the massive armies as seen in the various Egyptian reliefs and inscriptions. This migratory theory is supported by some modern historians such as Eric Cline who has argued that factors such as climatic changes, famine, and others were what drove these migratory activities and forced the Sea Peoples to try and settle new land elsewhere.

The idea of migrations seems obvious when you look at some of the imagery that depict carts laden with women and children alongside invading forces. Indeed, this narrative of migrations became the predominant theory on the subject and has only recently faced more intense challenges from historians. For example, American historian Robert Drews in his book ‘The End of the Bronze Age’ disputes the idea of migration claiming that there are no references to such movements of people within any of the Egyptian sources and arguing that the migration theory is simply conjecture. 

In its place Drews puts forward the argument that rather than migrating forces the Sea Peoples were more likely to have been pirates and raiders, arising from various locations across the Mediterranean. Drews forwards the point that the massive amounts of trade across the region, even from as far afield as modern day Sicily and Italy, would have driven piracy, and that furthermore the opulence of Bronze Age cities would have made the ideal prize for more ambitious raiders. Drews believes then that the Sea Peoples were confederations of a sort, but rather than desperate people looking to settle a new homeland, they were instead bands of pirates looking to haul away the treasures of these Mediterranean cities and empires. 

Another idea is that the Sea Peoples did not come from strange, far away lands, but were actually mercenaries local to the region. Several reliefs (such as those in Luxor and Karnak) detailing the reign of Ramses the Great report that the vital regional trade center of Kadesh (in what is now modern day Syria) was captured by the Hittite empire and Ramses raised an army to drive them out. These records note that groups of Sea Peoples fought as mercenaries both for the Hittites and the Egyptians during the battle of Kadesh which ultimately ended in an Egyptian victory. This evidence also further undermines the idea that these were a single conglomerate of people with a unitary goal as suggested by those that champion the migratory theory. 

So it seems that even after 150 years we are no closer to settling on the truth of these enigmatic people. Where did they come from? What brought them to the region? Did they truly provide the catalyst for the Late Bronze Age Collapse, as some have argued, which snuffed out so many civilisations of the Eastern Mediterranean? Ultimately, we may never know for sure. 

With a constant flow of newer and ever flashier technology these days, it’s easy to think that human civilization simply moves endlessly forward, but this isn’t always the case.

Consider, for instance, the extensive setback of industry and architecture in Europe after the fall of the Roman Empire. Humanity has faced no shortage of setbacks during our storied history, but one of the most significant, and enigmatic, is the Late Bronze Age Collapse. 

For those unfamiliar, the Late Bronze Age Collapse refers to the rapid disintegration of some of the most prominent civilisations of the Eastern Mediterranean over 3,200 years ago during the first part of the 12th century BCE. It effectively wiped out the progress of human civilisation in the region for hundreds of years afterwards. In fact, the American historian Robert Drews described the event as “the worst disaster in ancient history, even more calamitous than the collapse of the Western Roman Empire”.

This is no exaggeration either. Supremely powerful nations of the time, such as the Mycenaeans, Babylonians, Hittites, and others, were devastated over just a few decades. Drews elaborates, “… every significant city in the eastern Mediterranean world was destroyed, many of them never to be occupied again”. What’s even more important to consider is that these were not just siloed city states; the whole region was an interconnected hub of flourishing trade and well-developed civilisation, not unlike our own modern world. For such well-established power structures to be upturned so rapidly, it must have taken a supreme change in the status quo; what could cause such upheaval? 

Interestingly, it is far from a settled matter. Historians have been debating the root cause of the Collapse for over a century. Several theories have been put forward ranging from economic and political instability, to climate change, and even invasion, but no theory is without its detractors.

First, let’s consider economic and political instability. The whole region had deeply interconnected trade routes, and with this interconnectedness no doubt came inter-reliance. One theory of the Collapse is that a breakdown in trade between the regions caused a snowball effect, which ultimately led to devastating economic impacts that left these societies unable to recover. One region’s economy collapsed, which in turn affected another, and then another, until the whole region was in turmoil. However, the detractors of this idea outline that it would be unlikely for economic collapse to appear out of the blue, and there must be a more primary cause which ultimately started the ball rolling in that direction.

Internal unrest is one idea put forward as a potential primary cause of such an economic collapse. There is some evidence of this across the region, for example the first recorded labour strike in history occurred under the rule of Ramses III of Egypt in 1170 BCE. The stonemasons and other artisans of Deir el-Medina did not receive payment, and so threw down their tools and refused to work until their grievances were settled. This is just one example are of what historians believe was a key problem across the region: mounting inequity between the ruling and working classes, ultimately leading to rioting and unrest. Perhaps mounting internal disruption was the catalyst for the economic instability?

Another possible factor is climate change. This is a severe threat to our current way of life today, but it has also had an impact on humanity throughout history as well, and the Late Bronze Age Collapse is no exception. There are several climatic factors that modern scholars believe may have impacted civilisations in the region. For example, we know from recovered records from Ramses IIII’s reign in Egypt that a famine swept across the area during the period of the Collapse. This has been further demonstrated by historians such as Brandon L. Drake, who was able to establish a 150,000 year record of rainfall in the region through his investigations in the Soreq cave. By examining this data, Drake has argued that there is clear evidence of a sufficient decrease in precipitation between the period 1250 – 850 BCE to cause a famine. 

So, we know climatic conditions changed enough to cause famine during this time, and we have historical records indicating that famine did strike some of these nations, but what caused the change in rainfall? Well, some historians, such as Frank Yurco in his book End of the Late Bronze Age and Other Crisis Periods: A Volcanic Cause?’, link an eruption of the Hekla volcano in Iceland (known as the Hekla 3 eruption, and dated to the 12th Century BCE) with famines in the region during the period of the Collapse. The dating of the eruption, however, is not exact, and there is contention amongst scholars who argue the eruption occurred either considerably earlier or later.

Ultimately, we are still unsure of the driving factors behind the climatic changes. Furthermore, while such changes may well have led to reduced crop yields, it may be the case that the famine had some other cause. It is also important to remember that while famine can absolutely be devastating, many historians do not believe that food shortages alone would have been enough to topple these civilisations in such a dramatic way.

We should also consider the impact of the invasion of warlike tribes from outside the region. Of particular note are the incursions of the enigmatic tribes titled simply as ‘the Sea Peoples’ by the 19th century Egyptologist Emmanuel de Rougé. Why such a non-specific name? Well, neither de Rougé nor modern historians are sure of the exact origin of the Sea Peoples. They arrived by ship and raided across the area, but we don’t know where they came from, who they were, or what prompted them to ravage the region at the turn of the 12th century. 

Much of the evidence of the Sea Peoples comes from reliefs and other records from Egypt. From these we can see that both Ramses II and his son Ramses III fought off these invaders. Archaeological evidence from the surrounding areas suggests, however, that other powers were not so successful. Sites across the region were razed by the invaders, such as Alashiya in Cyprus in 1085 BCE, as well as various coastal regions in what is now modern-day Syria. 

So, as you can see, there are a lot of factors at play here. For a long while, historians considered that these events happened independently and sequentially. Historians such as Eric Cline, however, have forwarded the argument that such a simplistic view is unlikely to be the true telling:

“Based on the evidence presently available, therefore, we may be seeing the result of a systems collapse that was caused by a series of events linked together via a “multiplier effect,” in which one factor affected the others, thereby magnifying the effects of each. Perhaps the inhabitants could have survived one disaster, such as an earthquake or a drought, but they could not survive the combined effects of earthquake, drought, and invaders all occurring in rapid succession. A “domino effect” then ensued, in which the disintegration of one civilization led to the fall of the others.”

As Cline suggests, each of these factors alone was not enough to topple such powerful civilisations but taken together with each factor influencing the others, we can paint a picture of a region rocked by several body blows. Volcanic activity leading to drought across the Mediterranean and further afield may have led to migratory activity, which ultimately became invasion as groups of refugees banding together formed armies of ‘Sea Peoples’ trying to settle land for themselves and their families. These pressures in turn may have damaged trade, which in such an interconnected region could have disrupted already unstable supplies of food. This disruption could have in turn led to internal strife and rebellion as people felt their rulers were not effectively acting in their interests. Each factor worsening the others until a feedback loop finally erodes the well-established power structures of the region. 

Ultimately, like so much of history, there is no one smoking gun we can point to that will perfectly explain the Late Bronze Age Collapse. We may never know how these different factors interplayed with and affected one another. We would do well, however, to remember these setbacks, lest history repeat itself.

The Bronze Age is long past and a new age of science and technology reigns now, but even our current Information age will pass to something new. Do you think we will progress to a new age of enlightenment, or will our challenges overcome us and force us to rebuild society in a world of lost knowledge?

Miletus, once one of the greatest cities the world had ever seen, now lies as a ruin on the East Coast of Turkey.

The scale of the remains of Miletus is impressive. and sits as a testament to the power and glory of the ancient Greeks who built this wondrous city.

The Amphitheater is the main attraction of the site, bringing in thousands of visitors per year. It houses around 5300 spectators at a time, and was once the home of legendary Greek plays and concerts.

Behind the Amphitheater is where the city lies. The foundations of the Baths of Faustina, the Mausoleum of Heron III, the storehouse, and the agora can all still be seen among other impressive buildings that are still being excavated.

Home to the famous mathematician Thales of Miletus, the city still shines as a jewel of Western Anatolia.

The area which Miletus now stands has been inhabited by humans since the Neolithic period. The first settlements in the province are now inaccessible due to a rise in sea level, and the Meander River, next to which the city stands.

The region came under Minoan rule sometime before 1400 BC. These Cretan migrants pushed out the native population who were known only as the Leleges, a pre-literate people of which not much is known. All that is known about the mysterious Leleges people is handed to us via Greek sources that cannot be verified.

It is believed that the Minoans gave Miletus its name. The first written reference to Miletus is a Hittite source who referred to the city as Millawanda or Milawata. After the fall of the Hittite Empire, the Ionian Greeks resettled Miletus in 1000 BC, allegedly by a founder named Neleus of Peloponnesus.

By the Byzantine period, Miletus was raised to an archbishopric, and the Castle Palaton was built on a hillside close to the city.

During the reign of Justinian I (527-565 AD), Miletus was treated to a full-scale renovation. The baths were restored, drainage to the harbor was installed, and old Hellenistic buildings were used in the new construction, making Miletus a puzzle of a site with buildings built from stones across a variety of different periods.

When the Ottomans arrived in the 15th Century, they used Miletus’ harbor to trade with Venice. Venice was one of Turkey’s most important trade partners, and many Ottoman traders settled there permanently, leading to the construction of the Ilyas Bey complex in 1403. The Ilyas Bey Mosque, known as Europe Nostra still stands and has been officially recognized as an important cultural site with special protection.

Miletus was finally abandoned at the end of the 15th Century when the harbor began to silt up and trading overseas was no longer possible. Now, only the ghostly remains of a once-great city still stand, which sits silently with open arms to welcome visitors from all over the world.

In its prime, Miletus was one of the most important centers of the Greek-speaking world. At the time, Greece was divided into city-states rather than the nation of Greece as we know it today.

Although the Greeks that resided in Miletus were of Ionian descent, Homer refers to the Greeks of Miletus as Carians, described by Herodotus as a population that retained its original Minoan identity, and were akin to the ancient Lydians who had settled the area hundreds of years before.

In 499 BC, Miletus instigated the Ionian Revolt, and played a key defensive role in the Greco-Persian Wars. Despite being attacked by the Persians in 494 BC, the city survived the ransacking, and achieved a place and status within the Athenian Delian League for its contributions to the Greek victory over the Persians.

It was at this point where Miletus really became Greek, as we understand the ancient Greeks today. It retained a special status within the Greek-speaking world that continued into the Roman period.

Miletus had an impressive harbor that made it a commercial center of trade and a great maritime power, placing the city second only to Ephesus as the most important and influential city in Asia Minor.

The Milesian school attracted great thinkers from all over the world. Thales of Miletus is perhaps the most notable figure, considered as one of the legendary Seven Wise Men. Thales is responsible for the acknowledgment of water as a basic element for life, and the famous saying ‘Know Thyself’.

He was most known at the time for his deep knowledge of cosmology, and he advised Milesian seafarers how to navigate the sea using the stars – knowledge that is still used to this day.

He is also said to have been the first to measure the Pyramids at Giza, and predict eclipses – however, these last two references most likely illustrate Thales’ reputation as a wise man rather than historical fact.

As well as the aforementioned Thales of Miletus, Anaximander, and Anaximenes, the grandfathers of natural philosophy and science were said to have attended the School of Miletus.

To contemporary citizens during the height of its power, Miletus was perhaps best known as a center of worship.

The starting point of the Sacred Way, Miletus was home to the Sacred Gate. Sacred Gates were common across ancient Greece, all named after the famous Sacred Gate that lead from Athens to Eleusis.

Miletus’ Sacred Gate opened the way to the Sacred Road that ran southwards to Panormos Harbor (Now modern-day Akkoy) and turned southeast towards the city of Didyma and the Didymaion, known also as the Temple of Apollo.

The road was lined with statues of the Branchids (priests and priestesses associated with the temple). Lions and sphinxes that also once adorned the sacred way were excavated and on display at the Miletus Museum.

The road was approximately 16.6kn long, and 5 – 7 m wide. The Sacred Way was built for the worshippers of the cult of Artemis and Apollo, who would walk the Sacred Way in honor of the gods and goddesses, and partake in annual celebrations and festivals.

Host only to a smattering tourists and a handful of tea and trinket sellers, Miletus is among many of the lost gems of the Aegean. This underrated site has many stories to tell, and archaeologists continue to uncover its secrets.

Silent and dark is the night… the frightened, pale, face of a young boy stares out of the darkness, bathed in the lambent glow of a Cathode-ray tube, horrified, unable to tear his eyes away from the ghastly sights, he trembles, unwilling to cover his ears so as not hear the blood-curdling screams, he bites his lip, the vile things that have plagued his dreams for years are there on the screen, in the room, ravenous, insatiable, unstoppable,… zombies.

A fair description of a much younger me as I watched George A. Romero’s ‘Day of the Dead’ (1985). Yes, I loved watching horror films and reading horror stories, old ones or new ones, it mattered little; images and descriptions of zombies, werewolves, vampires and ghouls held a spell-binding effect over me: they still do. I and many other moderns love horror, and at this time of year, with Halloween knocking on the door, we can indulge our yen for the demonic, spectral and unspeakable.

It is fair to say that a grim fascination and thrilling enjoyment with scenes of horror, gore, blood and guts, was something the ancient Greeks shared with us, they had their fair share of hideous monsters and terrifying tales to keep them awake in the wee, small, hours of the night.  

Festivals of the dead were an important part of ancient Greek religion.  One such festival was the Anthesteria, a festival of Dionysus, which happened over three days, the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth days of the month Anthesterion (roughly February – March). It involved: on first day the ceremonial opening of the vats of new wine that had been laid down the previous autumn; and on the second day copious drinking and ritual marriage and sexual intercourse between Dionysos, represented by the King Archon, and his ‘Queen’ (Basilinna, the King Archon’s wife); it was on the third day, the day of the cooking pots (Khytroi), when a mixture of vegetables cooked in these pots was offered to Hermes Psykhopompos (Conveyor of Souls), because on this day the souls of the dead held sway, and were thought to arise from Hades and roam the earth among the living – who took the precautions of daubing their doorways with pitch and locking up the sanctuaries to keep them at bay.  At the day’s end, the spirits were expelled back to Hades again, with the cry of ‘ Get out, hobgoblins, the Anthesteria is over!’ sounding in their ghostly ears.

The spirits of the dead could arise from Hades and in Greek mythology, the living could take the grim journey down to the underworld (Katabasis).  One such journey is described in Book XI of the Odyssey. It is fair to say, Homer does not paint a rosy picture of life after death, Odysseus’ trip to Hades is not sunshine and lollipops! He goes there seeking the spirit of the blind seer Tiresias, to whom he must make a blood-sacrifice of a black ram, it is he who will tell him how to return to his beloved Ithaca.

Picture the scene in the banqueting hall as the bard spins the tale in the lamplight… Odysseus offers solemn prayers and sacrifices to the dead, the last being a blood-sacrifice, cutting a ram’s throat and allowing the victim’s blood flow into a trench. He is terrified as the spirits of the ‘strengthless’ dead come flocking to the trench to drink the flowing blood, he holds them back, sword in hand, waiting for Tiresias. Tiresias’ ghost arrives, laps the blood, gains strength, and delivers true prophecy, telling Odysseus what he wants to know, adding that should he wish to question any of the other spirits he must let them drink the blood and they will speak only the truth. It is then that long suffering Odysseus sees the spirit of his mother, who was alive when he left Ithaca; distraught, he seeks news of home and bids mommy dearest approach and drink her gory fill. Grimly fascinated, he goes on to question myriad other spirits, until, he tells the audience, ‘the countless company of the dead came gathering with an eerie noise, and terror took its pale grip on me – fear that queen Persephone might send against me out of Hades the head of the terrible monster Gorgon.’

Odysseus, though brave, is no fool, and Homer’s audience would recognise his terror of the dreadful Gorgon. The female figure of the Gorgon is one of the oldest in Greek mythology, with descriptions and depictions dating back to the Bronze Age. In early descriptions, to look upon the grim visage of the Gorgon was to be petrified with fear. Gorgons were often depicted with fierce, staring, eyes, serpentine hair, with snakes emanating from a belt around the waist, broad mouths, with tongues protruding from between large dangerous looking teeth, tusks like a boar, flared nostrils, and sometimes with short, rough beards.

‘Definitely a candlelight date!’

Such was the belief in the dread power of the Gorgon’s gaze, archaeologists have found it on the exterior of important buildings, like temples, and shields. Such a shield is described in Iliad (Book XI), carried into battle by Agamemnon, in revenge for the abduction of his brother’s wife by Paris, the Grogon is accompanied on the shield by depictions of ‘Terror and Panic on either side’. 

Vengeance for murder was the concern of the Furies (or Erinyes), a dread trio of sisters who exacted blood-vengeance on murderers and swearers of false oaths. The origin story, told in Hesiod’s Theogony, of the sisters is one steeped in gory detail, a tale of cosmic-horror and mutilation, fit for any slasher flick. A story of the separation of Earth (Gaia) and Sky (Ouranos) after their incestuous sexual union, a union which resulted in the conception of the twelve Titans and Titanesses, three Kyklopes (Cyclopes) and three Hundred – Armers. Ouranos, wary of the power of their offspring, covers Gaia; preventing their children from seeing the light of day. Gaia, not to be oppressed, fashions a sickle of hardest adamant, giving it to the youngest, Titan, ‘crooked-schemer’, Kronos (Time), ‘who loathed his lusty father’. Kronos rose up and castrated Ouranos, separating earth and sky, freeing his mother and siblings.  From the drops of blood which fell to the earth the Erinyes were born.

Descriptions and depictions of the sisters vary, the scariest of which describe them as creatures of the night, crones, with snakes for hair, blackened bodies, wings, and blood-shot eyes; they carry brass-studded scourges to torment their victims, whom they, remorselessly, pursue and kill.

The Furies play a major role in Aeschylus’ Oresteia, they relentlessly chase Orestes for the murder of his mother Clytemnestra; they describe themselves thus : ‘For this our care: resourceful we are, and we bring to fulfilment, remembering sin, awesome, implacable to mortal men, pursuit our allotted role, yet dishonoured and kept separate from the gods, in slime without sunlight, on a path hard and rocky for seeing and sightless eyes alike’.

Vengeance rears its head elsewhere in Greek myth, in the Odyssey. Homer’s Odysseus, in an act of revenge for murder, leaves Polyphemus, the Cyclops, sightless, when he drives a hardened stake into his monstrous eye. 

There are different versions of the myth of the Cyclopes, we touched on the Hesiodic version, in which the Cyclopes are giant, craftsmen, who fashion Zeus’ thunderbolt, with which he overthrows Kronos and the other Titans. They are willing servants of the gods, of giant size, possessing one eye in the centre of the forehead, strong and fiery, skilled craftsmen. 

The Homeric Cyclopes, are of a different ilk, they are uncivilized – still giant and ferocious, but they live on earth – at the edges of Ocean; they are not skilled craftsmen, but shepherds, proud, coarse and lawless; they do not fear the gods and they know nothing of agriculture or craftsmanship.

Odysseus and his men fall afoul of Polyphemus – who inverts the Greek custom of welcoming strangers with food and shelter, instead imprisoning them and making a meal of some of them. 

Odysseus describes the killing and devouring of his men and the crudeness of Polyphemus: ‘He snatched up two together and smashed them on the ground like puppies: their brains ran out and soaked the earth.  Then he tore them limb from limb and made them his supper.  And he ate them like a mountain lion, leaving nothing – guts, flesh, bones and marrow.’ Later, when Odysseus gets him drunk, so as to make his escape, he passes out and wine ‘and gobbets of human flesh came spewing from his throat as he vomited in a stupor of drink’ (Book IX). 

‘George A. Romero eat your heart out!’