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36: The Orion Mystery

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Continuing our countdown of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions, we come to “Number 9: The Orion Mystery.”

In 1994, construction engineer Robert Bauval and publishing consultant Adrian Gilbert published a bestselling book call The Orion Mystery. Bauval went on to co-author later spinoffs with Graham Hancock. The major thesis of The Orion Mystery or the so-called “Orion Correlation Theory” suggests that the pyramids of Giza were constructed to match up with the stars that form the belt of the constellation Orion. See how Menkaura’s pyramid is smaller and a bit offset, just like the slightly-dimmer third star in Orion’s belt? The theory also expands, saying that other pyramids were mapped out to the rest of the constellation.

They also suggest that shafts within the Great Pyramid of Khufu were designed to point to certain celestial bodies. Within the Great Pyramid, there are these hollow shafts that ascend at sharp angles from the burial chamber, or the so-called “King’s Chamber,” and the so-called “Queen’s Chamber.” If you were to extend these shafts out into the sky like spotlights, they say that the southern shaft in the King’s Chamber would point to Orion and the northern shaft to what would have been the pole star of the mid-third millennium BC (the time of the pyramids), and the southern shaft in the Queen’s Chamber would point to the star Sirius, while its northern shaft to the Little Dipper, Ursa Minor.

All four of those points had specific significance to the Ancient Egyptians. In Ancient Egyptian astronomy, there’s evidence to support that the constellation we know today as Orion was known to the Egyptians as Osiris, or actually called “Sah,” “the glorious soul of Osiris.” [1] The star Sirius was equated with Isis and was also very important to the Egyptian calendrical system. [2] Rewind back to episode 8 on “Cicadas” for more about that. And the Little Dipper looks remarkably similar to the Egyptian adze used in the Opening of the Mouth funeral ceremony. Of course, you know it’s really a bear, the Little Dipper. “Ursa Minor” = “Little Bear.”

Egyptologists have lain out plenty of arguments against the Egyptians having deliberately attempted to map out the heavens on Earth, but the whole thing’s actually kinda neat, I mean, “intriguing.” I think it’d be pretty cool if this were conclusively true, but as soon as you get past the three pyramids of Giza, things quickly unravel. The authors almost seemingly picked random features of the ancient landscape to unconvincingly match up to celestial bodies. They often interpret the archaeology and ancient texts to fit their theory (but isn’t everybody just a little bit guilty of that?) Some naysayers argue that Osiris or “Sah” was only later-on equated with the whole constellation Orion, whereas that at the time of the pyramids, the Egyptians equated Osiris with only one star, Rigel, Orion’s proper left foot. [3] And that makes more sense, since the Pyramid Texts often refer to Osiris as to the “Toe-star.” [4] The whole Orion Correlation Theory also assumes that the Egyptians had a grand master plan spanning many generations of pyramid-building Pharaohs, which would have had to have begun even before the Giza pyramids. Why would Khufu’s father Sneferu have chosen to build his pyramids elsewhere nearby, leaving the choicest spots of Orion’s belt to his successors? In short, there was nothing special about the belt of Orion to the builders of the pyramids.

Despite the evidence against it, though, there could actually be something to the Orion Correlation Theory. Unfortunately, the authors didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Riding on the success of The Orion Mystery, Bauval and Hancock jump on the bandwagon of a plethora of other phenomenal theories in Fingerprints of the Gods: that the Sphinx is actually many thousands of years older than Egyptian civilization; that the Great Pyramid served as a mathematical scale model of the Earth; and that there was some sort of lost pre-historic civilization that was wiped out, whose few survivors were dispersed throughout the world and sewed the seeds for many of the world’s ancient cultures, from the Olmecs to the Egyptians … ah, yes, the ever-so-wonderful Atlantis theory.

Of course, if you’re a believer or a conspiracy theorist, nothing anyone says will convince you otherwise. So we’ll just have to agree to disagree and move on.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] Shaw, Ian and Paul Nicholson. “Sah.” The Dictionary of Ancient Egypt. New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1995.

Lichtheim, Miriam. Ancient Egyptian Literature: Volume I: The Old and Middle Kingdoms. University of California Press, 1975, p. 45.

[2] Lichtheim, vol. 1, p. 35, note 4.

[3] Clarification: left or right is entirely subjective, depending on the interpretation of the stars that make up the constellation Orion. Over time people have conceived of the hunter Orion as seen from the front or behind, facing right or left. The illustration used in this episode (adapted from Joannes Hevelius’s 1690 Uranographia for Celestia software) depicts Orion facing right as seen from behind, hence Rigel would actually be Orion’s right foot. In contrast, yours truly has always pictured the constellation Orion as facing forward, hence Rigel being his proper left foot.

[4] Legon, John A.R. “The Orion Correlation and Air-Shaft Theories.” Discussions in Egyptology 33 (1995), 45-56. Accessed January 21, 2011. <http://www.legon.demon.co.uk/de_33.htm>

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37: The Pyramids Were Built By Slaves

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Sorting fact from fiction on the Ancient Art Podcast, we continue the countdown of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions. I’m your host, Lucas Livingston. Coming in at number 8 in the countdown: “The Pyramids were Built by Slaves.”

As the nation of Egypt is currently in the midst of celebrating an historic moment of nationalistic pride and newfound civil freedom, we delve into an age-old myth that, for the past few generations, has been as much a political and nationalistic issue as it has been an archaeological one.

The idea that the pyramids of Egypt were built by slaves, be they the Israelites or the Egyptians themselves, has been around for a long time. Perhaps the earliest suggestion comes from the 5th century BC Greek traveler and historian Herodotus. Called the “Father of History” and also the “Father of Lies,” we already met Herodotus a few times in the Ancient Art Podcast. In Book 2 of his Histories, Herodotus states that “[Pharaoh Khufu] brought the country into all sorts of misery. He closed all the temples, [and] then, not content with excluding his subjects from the practice of their religion, compelled them without exception to labour as slaves for his own advantage. … A hundred thousand men laboured constantly, and were relieved every three months by a fresh lot. … The pyramid itself was twenty years in building.” Now, Herodotus visited Egypt around 450 BC — a full 2000 years after the building of the pyramids of Giza — and he got a lot of his information from the everyday person on the street in a culture where history was really more of a religious subject than a social science. And it was pretty unprecedented in the historical record of Egypt for Khufu to be bad mouthed like that. It’s often safe to take some of what Herodotus says with a grain of salt, but that passage does say very interesting things about how Herodotus’s contemporary Egyptians might spin a yarn to sell the pyramids to some foreign schmuck. Ah, the tourist industry in its infancy. At the very least, though, props to Herodotus for getting the pharaoh right.

The idea that the Israelites could have built the pyramids probably stems from the Book of Exodus, Chapter 1, Verses 11 to 14:

“[T]hey set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. … The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor.” [1]

But you see there’s no mention of the pyramids there. Plus, there’s no archaeological evidence in Egypt supporting any of the narrative elements to the Book of Exodus: the centuries of enslavement and sudden departure of mass quantities of Israelites, let alone the ten plagues or the parting of the Red Sea. And the narrative places itself at the time of the New Kingdom, over 1000 years too late to have had any involvement with the building of the pyramids of Giza. Sure, the pyramidal tomb-shape continued to crop up across the Egyptian landscape for many more centuries, but those aren’t the pyramids anyone’s talking about.

The mention of the cities of Pithom and Rameses in Exodus 1:11 could refer to Pi-Ramesse (Per Rameses, “The House of Ramses”), the sudden and short-lived capital city of Seti I and Ramses the Great. If there was any conscripted Israelite labor in Egypt around the time of the New Kingdom, it probably would have been there, but again there’s absolutely no evidence to back that up either.

In the 1st century of the Common Era we find the earliest surviving actual account mentioning the Jews having built the pyramids. In book 2, chapter 9 of his history The Antiquities of the Jews, the Jewish historian Josephus includes pyramid-building among the hardships of the Jews in Egypt:

“Now it happened that the Egyptians grew delicate and lazy … [blah, blah, blah] … [T]hey became very abusive to the Israelites … [yadda, yadda] … [T]hey enjoined them to cut a great number of channels for the river, and to build walls for their cities and ramparts, that they might restrain the river, and hinder its waters from stagnating, upon its running over its own banks: they set them also to build pyramids, and by all this wore them out …” [2]

We can speculate that by the 1st century, the myth that the Jews built the pyramids could have been around for a long time and Josephus was as much a victim of assuming the truth as anyone else. One might argue, though, that Josephus, as a learned Jew familiar with the Exodus story, had a bit of a grudge against the Egyptians. He composed The Antiquities of the Jews in AD 93 or 94 under the patronage of Emperor Domitian almost as a sort of propaganda piece. Written in Greek, it was not meant for a Jewish audience, but rather for his gentile patrons and the Roman citizenry. This carefully sculpted and slightly Hellenized history of the Jewish people would have been more accessible to his Greco-Roman audience and sought perhaps to augment the reputation of the Jewish people in the public eye. That’s a common Classical literary form called an “apologia,” a speech or story in defense of someone or something, which is where we get the word “apology.” [3]

The archaeological evidence, however, points to something else. In August of 1990, an tourist was riding a horse just south of the Sphinx, when they stumbled over the remains of a mud brick wall. And this led to the discovery of the tombs of the pyramid builders. Dating to the late 4th and 5th Dynasties (2649-2374 BC), these tombs belong to workmen, who built the pyramids of Khufu and Khafre. It’s been argued that, since these people were buried beside pyramids of the kings, they’re unlikely to have been slaves. Had they been slaves, they would have been buried elsewhere and in common graves or pits, not real tombs like these. Tomb inscriptions include 25 unique official titles, like the “overseer of workmen,” “overseer of craftsmen & draftsmen,” and the “inspector of building tombs.” [4]

Furthermore, over the past couple centuries, excavations in and around the pyramids have revealed graffiti in places hidden away from view. The graffiti were made presumably by the pyramid builders, themselves. With names like the “Friends of Khufu,” “Drunkards of Menkaure,” and the “Starboard” and “Port” groups, these and other names are thought to designate the organizational structure of the pyramid builders, and that definitely doesn’t sound like slavery. [5]

According to modern estimates it took a workforce of 10,000-30,000 to build the Great Pyramid over the 23-year reign of Khufu. [6] With 2,300,000 blocks, that’s an astonishing one block every two minutes, but it’s doable. Evidence from the excavations of the workmen’s graves reveals daily shipment to the Giza plateau of 21 cattle and 23 sheep to feed the workers. [7] We’re talking prime rib, here! Not chit’lins and chicken feet! So, they were treated quite well. These are not pauper or slave tombs. But their skeletons do betray the difficulty of their labor — arthritis and injuries including dismemberment and death. [8]

Excavations continue on the Giza plateau spearheaded by Dr. Mark Lehner. Recent work focuses on unearthing the “Lost City” of the pyramid builders, which has revealed bakeries and a fish processing center. This is a really momentous period in history of discovery at Giza, as we slowly uncover the truth and learn to sort fact from fiction about the construction of the pyramids. [9]

Thanks for tuning in to another installation of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions on the Ancient Art Podcast. If you want to dig deeper and look at all the sources for information in this episode, head on over to ancientartpodcast.org and click on the transcript for episode 37. Remember that you can see the whole Top 10 list at www.ancientartpodcast.org/top10. You can also check out the Ancient Art Podcast on iTunes, YouTube, and Vimeo. If you dig it, please leave a comment. You can follow me on Twitter @lucaslivingston and connect at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast. If you have a question or comment, you can email me at info@ancientartpodcast.org or send me feedback on the website at www.ancientartpodcast.org/feedback. I hope you enjoyed it and we’ll see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] The HarperCollins Study Bible, New Revised Standard Version, 1989.
[2] Flavius Josephus. The Works of Flavius Josephus. Translated by. William Whiston, A.M. Auburn and Buffalo. John E. Beardsley. 1895. <http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Antiquities_of_the_Jews/Book_II> and <http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0146%3Abook%3D2%3Awhiston+chapter%3D9%3Awhiston+section%3D1>
[3] The myth that the Jews built the pyramids was further and more recently perpetuated by the erroneous claim of the former Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin on a visit to Egypt in 1977 <http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/jan/11/great-pyramid-tombs-slaves-egypt>, and was suggested even more recently by Walter Cronkite in a 1980 interview with former Egyptian President Anwar Sadat. <http://www.berkshireeagle.com/columnists/ci_12887828?source=rss>
[4] See Mark Lehner’s The Complete Pyramids, page 232 (inset) & <http://www.drhawass.com/blog/press-release-new-tombs-found-giza>
[5] http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/pyramid/explore/builders.html & Lehner, The Complete Pyramids, 52-53, 111-114, 224-225.
[6] The number ranges greatly depending on whether or not you include support staff in that count. For just the stone workers, Hawass estimates 10,000 <http://www.drhawass.com/blog/press-release-new-tombs-found-giza>, as does Lehner <http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/ancient/lehner-giza.html>. For full number including the population necessary to support the 10,000-person workforce, Lehner estimates 20,000 people <ibid.> and also 20,000-30,000 in Lehner, The Complete Pyramids, 224.
[7] http://www.drhawass.com/blog/press-release-new-tombs-found-giza
[8] http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/jan/11/great-pyramid-tombs-slaves-egypt
[9] http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/ancient/lehner-giza.html

As an added bonus, check out the January 2010 NOVA episode “Riddles of the Sphinx” online http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/ancient/riddles-sphinx.html

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38: Egyptians Were Obsessed with Death

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Welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. Coming in at number 7 in our countdown of the Top Ten Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions, we come to the idea the Ancient Egyptians were obsessed with death. This is a pretty common misconception. You hear it from time to time in documentaries and we might believe this just from our own skewed observations of what remains from Ancient Egyptian civilization. It’s not entirely as harmful as some of the other myths and misconceptions that we’re exploring in the top ten list, but it really something of an injustice to Ancient Egyptian culture. More properly, I like to say that the Ancient Egyptians were “Obsessed with life!”

So many of Ancient Egypt’s monumental architectural achievements were built to celebrate the life and legacy of their great kings and to ensure an afterlife befitting of their grandeur on Earth. In the private tombs of everyday Egyptians, we also see a dominant attention to ensuring a great afterlife through inscribed prayers and funerary trappings. And just what was that Egyptian concept of the afterlife? Why, it was an idealized version of life along the banks of the Nile. What better testament to the Ancient Egyptians’ love of life than for their version of Heaven to be life along the Nile without work, death, or taxes?

When we think of funerary artwork of the modern era, we might picture weeping angels, skeletal figures, golden rays of Heaven, or other divine or mournful imagery. In Ancient Egypt you definitely see depictions of funerary practice in scenes from the Book of the Dead, but those scenes are generally tucked away in the burial chamber, hidden from all but the gods and the decedent, him or herself. On the walls of the tomb and more readily visible to the visiting family member or supplicant, however, you’d find yourself surrounded by scenes not of death, but of life.

Some of the most beautiful and well known scenes of daily life from Ancient Egypt come from the New Kingdom tomb of Nebamun. This incredible wall painting in the British Museum depicts Nebamun and his family enjoying an outing into the marshes hunting for fish and fowl. We already saw this scene in our exploration of the lotus flower in episode 35, number 10 in the top ten list. Also notable is the party scene showing the family surrounded by their extended family and a bountiful feast while enjoying a performance of music and dance. Now, while these images show charming moments of life along the Nile, it’s important to note that they’re also commonly interpreted as being relevant to a funerary context: the subjugation of chaos to ensure a smooth transition into the afterlife and the funerary feast to provide nourishment for Nebamun’s soul. But the point is that Nebamun chose to suggest these important funerary concepts through the celebration of everyday life. A glorified version of life on Earth as his vision of Heaven.

There’s a cool 3D interactive animation of the tomb of Nebamun on the British Museum’s website. The link is kinda long, so I shortened it for you. Check out tinyurl.com/nebamun and if that expires, you can head on over to ancientartpodcast.org and find it on the Resources page under the “Links to Other Resources.”

The Egyptians also chose to equip their tombs with useful items from everyday life, like mirrors, combs, ointment jars, and makeup palettes, because, well, you want to look good in the afterlife. And this suggests that you would need to use the equipment to maintain your looks—a very practical approach to the afterlife.

And you have to to be able to function in the hereafter. Because the Ancient Egyptian Heaven was, to the Egyptians, as much a real place as the hard ground (or, I should say, flowing river) beneath their feet, transportation was important too. Model boats, like this one at the Art Institute of Chicago, were popular grave goods. Being interred with this model of the boat would grant you a real one on the other side. Ancient Egypt is one place where, yes, you can take it with you!

But for a king’s tomb, a mere model won’t suffice. Buried in a pit adjacent to the pyramid of King Khufu we find this full-sized, actual boat. This so-called “solar boat” is thought to have been symbolically used by king to ascend to the heavens, much like the sun god Ra sails across the sky in his solar boat. But what we have here is after a long reconstruction effort. It was completely disassembled when placed in the original pit. So, I guess conceptually it would have to have been reassembled in the afterlife.

Of course, why would you let the hard work of carpentry, or plowing your fields, or harvesting your crops spoil a good thing? Who wants to work in the afterlife? To see to it that you would not need to lift a finger once you’ve reached paradise, you might choose to be buried with little figurines meant to do all the work for you. These figurines called “shabtis” or sometimes “shawabtis” were made out of wood, stone, or a glazed baked quartz material called Egyptian faience. Shabtis were often inscribed with prayers invoking the figurines to step up, if the deceased ever had to do any sort of physical labor in the afterlife. An inscription on the shabti of Nebseni at the Art Institute reads:

“O shabti whom Nebseni has instructed, obstacles have been set up for him (yonder). If Nebseni is counted off for any work (that is) to be done in the god’s domain, as a man to his duties, to cultivate the fields, to irrigate the shores, to transport sand of the east [and] of the west, ‘Here am I’ [you] will say.”

You could get buried with up to 365 of these little fellows, one for each day of the year. Act now and we’ll even throw in this handsome little carrying case with separate compartments for convenient organization and storage.

So, to say that the Ancient Egyptians were obsessed with death is really not accurate. They were no less human than you or I (apologies to all the non-human viewers). No less fearful or mournful of death, and no less obsessed with life.

This episode was brought to you by the Ankh, the letter “quail chick,” and the number “kh3.”

Thanks for tuning in to the Ancient Art Podcast. Don’t forget to check out ancientartpodcast.org for past episodes, photo galleries and credits, transcripts for every episode, and links to other online resources. Questions or comments, you can email me at info@ancientartpodcast.org, submit your feedback on the website, or leave a comment on YouTube, iTunes, or under each episode on the website. Peace out and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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39: Tombs Depict Scenes from Daily Life

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Hello travelers. Welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. Continuing the countdown of the Top Ten Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions, we come to myth number #6: Tombs Depict Scenes from Daily Life.

Wait … what!? Isn’t that we’ve been saying all along? Didn’t you, Mister Smarty Pants, just say so yourself in the last episode of the podcast? Yes, but, to be fair, that was The Egyptians Were Obsessed with Death and this is Tombs Depict Scenes from Daily Life.

Yes, technically one could very well argue that what frequently grace the walls of private Egyptian tombs (as opposed to royal) are scenes of life along the banks of the Nile, but let’s drill down into what they really mean.

Typical to the relief work of private tombs, we find scenes of Egyptians hunting fish and fowl and bearing the fruits of their labor for preparation and feasting. Likewise, cows are brought forth for butchering, sometimes with unsettlingly realistic documentation of the process. Baking bread, brewing beer, and vintnering also make an appearance. All manners of food preparation were most certainly a part of daily life in Ancient Egypt, but this is a peculiarly narrow slice of life. Where’s the rest of day-in day-out humdrum? Where’s school and sports? Where’s artistry, leisure, romance, and play? Where’s marriage, divorce, birth, graduation? Where’s history and biography? We should ask ourselves why the Egyptians chose to reflect such a narrow extent of their daily lives on the permanent walls of their tombs.

An argument can be made for some of the missing aspect that we just glossed over. From the 26th Dynasty Theban Tomb no. 36, in the remarkably faithful reproduction by the English pioneer of Egyptology John Gardner Wilkinson, we see, for example, Egyptians engaged in all manners of craft: cobbling, metalworking, sculpting, carpentry, and jewelry-making. Additionally, in the 12th Dynasty tomb of Djehutihotep, we find a scene showing the transport of a colossal statue. Is this the documentation of an historical event?

My point, though, is that the preparation of food is an almost requisite element to funerary decoration and this all leads up to the grand culmination within the tomb: the funerary feast. This goes back to the idea from last time of equipping the dead for the afterlife with objects from life on earth, like cosmetics and model boats. With the very practical approach to the Egyptian afterlife, the soul of the deceased requires not only furnishings, but nourishment to thrive in the hereafter.

When we look at the scene in context, we don’t have just an isolated meal, but an entire narrative of elaborate preparation, familial feasting and celebration, and the depiction of a very thriving decedent.

Look at the popular funerary prayer, the hotep-di-nisw:

“An offering that the king gives consisting of a 1000 loaves of bread, 1000 jugs of beer, oxen, fowl, alabaster, and cloth, an offering of provisions, and everything good and pure on which a god lives.” [1]

Just as the prayer graces the wall of the tomb, so too do we see an illustrated enactment of the prayer and all the theoretical effort that goes into putting the feast together to ensure the perseverance of the deceased in the afterlife.

Remember the magnificent paintings from the tomb of Nebamun? Surely this lovely scene of the noble family fishing and fowling among an idyllic Nile marsh setting represents one of Nebamun’s favorite weekend enterprises immortalized here in his fantasy vision of life after death. Or does it? Another common interpretation is the dominance of order over chaos, ma’at, the Egyptian concept of truth, law, justice, and cosmic world order, which we’ve explored in previous episodes.

Comparable expressions of smiting or spearing are seen in tombs elsewhere and in the Book of the Dead. Spiritual documents like the Book of the Dead and Imy Duat (“That, which is in the Underworld”) were frequently the subject matter decorating the walls of royal tombs, in contrast to what we’ve just been looking at from private tombs. Whether written or illustrated, these narratives provide a similar function of protection and insurance for a smooth transition into the hereafter, while also documenting the journey and its many trials.

So, when we look at private tomb paintings depicting idyllic settings and animated toil and labor, we can look through multiple lenses. In short, there are many ways to skin this cat, or pluck the ibis, as it were. So, while to me it makes the most sense that these scenes construct a narrative celebrating and preparing for the funerary feast, I encourage you to engage your own skepticism, observation skills, and critical thinking.

Thanks for tuning in to the Ancient Art Podcast. Check out ancientartpodcast.org for past episodes, photo galleries, detailed credits, transcripts, and links to other online resources. You can send your questions or comments to info@ancientartpodcast.org or submit your feedback from the nifty form on the website. I dig your comments on YouTube and iTunes, so keep them coming. And you can keep in touch at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and follow me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. Thanks and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] Translation from Wall Fragment from the Tomb of Amenemhet and His Wife Hemet at the Art Institute of Chicago.

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40: Akhenaten was the World’s First Monotheist

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Greetings friendly companions and welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. I’m Lucas Livingston, your Dungeon Master through this labyrinth of truth and fiction in our series of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions. Counting down from ten to one, we come to number 5: “Akhenaten Was the World’s First Monotheist.” Many of us are likely pretty familiar with the Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaten, the so-called “Heretic King,” who ruled in the 18th dynasty from about 1353 to 1336 BC and radically transformed Egyptian national art and religion. We already gave some attention to whether or not Akhenaten was a monotheist back in episode 21 on “Akhenaten and the Amarna Style,” so this episode will serve mostly as a refresher. I encourage you to go back and listen to episode 21 in all its glory. The quick link to that episode is www.ancientartpodcast.org/episode21, or, of course, you’ll find it on YouTube, Vimeo, and iTunes.

To summarize the debate, it’s probably good to look at the pros and cons for Akhenaten being a monotheist. First the pros: Around the year 1350 BC, in the second or third year of his reign, he changed his name from Amunhotep IV to Akhenaten, showing a clear shift in preference away from the state god Amun to a new state god, the solar-disk Aten. Soon, he initiated a widespread oppression of Egypt’s many traditional cults, especially the cult and priesthood of Amun, closing their temples and rejecting all gods except the Aten. What might seem like a slam dunk supporting monotheism might be seen in the scripture of the day. The Great Hymn to Aten appears on the walls of the tomb of Ay, vizier of Akhenaten and puppet master/successor to King Tut during the short period of approximately 1327-23 BC. The Great Hymn refers to Aten as the “Sole God beside whom there is none,” and repeatedly mentions how the Aten alone is the sole creator of everything its heavenly rays touch. It may seem difficult to argue against that evidence.

As an interesting aside, the Great Hymn to Aten bears some resemblance to Psalm 104 from the Bible:

“The entire land sets out to work, all beasts browse on their herbs.” (Great Hymn to Aten)

“You cause the grass to grow for the cattle, and plants for people to use.” (Psalm 104:14)

“Trees, [and] herbs are sprouting, birds fly from their nests, their wings greeting your ka. All flocks frisk on their feet, all that fly up and alight, they live when you dawn for them.” (Great Hymn to Aten)

“By the streams the birds of the air have their habitation; they sing among the branches. From your lofty abode you water the mountains; the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.” (Psalm 104:12-13)

“When you set in the western lightland, earth is in darkness as if in death. … Every lion comes from its den, all the serpents bite; darkness hovers, earth is silent, as their maker rests in lightland.” (Great Hymn to Aten)

“You make darkness, and it is night, when all the animals of the forest come creeping out. The young lions roar for their prey, seeking their food from God. (Psalm 104:20-22)

And similar passages continue. That said, however, the Great Hymn to Aten is also very similar to the long literary tradition of Egyptian hymns to the sun god Ra, which likewise elevate Ra to supremacy above all other gods. And Egyptian hymns, in general, bear a similarity to Biblical psalms, but we’ll leave that discussion to Biblical scholars and philologists. [1]

Arguing against monotheism, we already just learned that the Great Hymn to Aten is similar to the literary tradition of hymns to the sun god Ra. Furthermore, Ra, Ra-Horakhty, and other gods like Hapy and Ma’at also show up in the Great Hymn. So, here and elsewhere, we see that other lesser gods were tolerated and, to a minor extent, included in religious practice in supportive roles. It’s speculated that the humble people of Egypt gave lip service to the Aten and tolerated the new religion, but they continued worshipping their traditional gods behind closed doors. [2] There’s abundant evidence of statuary to the traditional gods at Tel el Amarna, the site of the new and short-lived capital city of Akhenaten, called Akhetaten. [3] For what it’s worth, funerals and mummification continue during the reign of Akhenaten, but we don’t see a lot of evidence of its traditional connection with the myth of Osiris. [4] But again, behind closed doors, it was certainly acknowledged, since that was necessary to ensure immortality in the hereafter.

It’s also important to note that the Aten was not a new god. It’s mentioned in the opening of the 12th dynasty Tale of Sinuhe, hundreds of years earlier. [5] Akhenaten’s predecessor and father, Amenhotep III, elevated the Aten to the role of creator deity, equating it with Ra and Amun. If you look back to episode 21, we see a nice little summary of the prevailing theory behind Akhenaten’s radical heresy, so let’s just quote it here:

“Akhenaten wasn’t a monotheist; he was more like a henotheist. Henotheism is the worship of one god, while believing that others exist and can get a little bit of credit too. Even though Akhenaten preached that the Aten was the one and only god, his motivation was largely political, not religious or ideological. In the generations leading up to Akhenaten, the state cult of Amun had risen to such unprecedented heights that it almost came to eclipse the authority of Pharaoh. The temple was the administrative and financial center of Egypt, holding massive tracts of land and immense influence over all aspects of Egyptian society and national affairs. In an effort not to become a puppet of the temple, Amunhotep III, Akhenaten’s father, already started to take measures to return to the unquestionable authority of Pharaoh, and Akhenaten took it that much further.” (Ancient Art Podcast, Episode 21, “Akhenaten and the Amarna Style,” 7:46-8:52)

But after the death of Akhenaten, we see an almost immediate return to orthodoxy, Amun is reintroduced as the state god, royal iconography begins reverting, and Akhenaten’s trademark style of art, called the Amarna style, fades away, but lingers on in inspired works of the Post-Amarna Period.

Of course, as with everything on the Top 10 list of Egyptian myths and misconceptions, some people will continue to believe what they want regardless of the evidence and I’m not here to convince you. If people will continue to believe what they want even after the birth certificate is published and after May 21 comes and goes, then what’s stopping people from conjuring up what happened over 3,300 years ago?

Thanks for tuning in to the Ancient Art Podcast. Remember that you can check out the whole list of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions at www.ancientartpodcast.org/top10/. There you can also access other past episodes, images, credits, transcripts, links to other great online resources, and recommended podcasts. Feedback can go to info@ancientartpodcast.org or browse on over to feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. And if you missed the rapture, well, get yourself some good karma and leave us a comment on iTunes. Keep in touch at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and follow me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. Thanks and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] Lichtheim, Miriam. Ancient Egyptian Literature: Volume 2. Berkeley, University of California Press, 1975-76, p. 100, n. 3.
[2] Pharaohs of the Sun: Akhenaten, Nefertiti, Tutankhamen. Exhibition catalog edited by Rita E. Freed, Yvonne J. Markowitz and Sue H. D’Auria, Boston: Museum of Fine Arts in association with Bulfinch Press/Little, Brown, and Co., 1999, cat. 108.
[3] Ibid. cat. 179-85, p. 29.
[4] Ibid. cat. 237.
[5] Lichtheim, v. 1, p. 223.

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Credits:

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

41: Egyptian Art Doesn’t Change over Time

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Hello friends and welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. Continuing the countdown of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions, we come to myth number 4: “Egyptian Art Doesn’t Change over Time.” Like some of the other items in the top 10 list, it’s easy to believe the misconception that the art of the Egyptians didn’t change over thousands of years, which is why it’s a popular misconception. I mean, just look at these two works. On the left we have the famous predynastic-period Narmer Palette in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo (ok, well, yeah, this is actually a reproduction in the Royal Ontario Museum, but it’s a really great photo). And on the right is a New Kingdom scene from Karnak Temple of a pharaoh (probably Seti I) smiting the enemies of Egypt. Overall, the two scenes look relatively similar. Narmer and Seti both reach out with one hand to grasp their enemies by the hair, while their other hand raises a mace high above their heads ready to strike. Their bodies are similarly shown in the canonic Egyptian paratactic pose, where both shoulders are visible as though seen frontally, whereas their heads are turned in profile, and yet the single visible eye is rendered frontally. And so on and so forth. Go back to episode 9, Walk Like an Egyptian, for a more detailed exploration of the human form in Egyptian art. And then when we realize that these two representations are nearly 2000 years apart. Well, if that’s not a smack-down boo-yah for Egyptian art not changing over time. Or to say it a bit smarter, there’s evident durability of stylistic conventions, thematic content, subject matter, and iconography over thousands of years of Egyptian civilization.

Now, we’re not going to bust this misconception wide open, but if we look a little more closely, we can definitely pinpoint some distinct stylistic and thematic changes over time. Look at the Narmer Palette from about 3,100 BC. The stylistic execution is called low or bas relief, where the background of the image is carved away leaving the subjects in the foreground slightly elevated. Bas relief was especially popular in the the Old Kingdom for the decoration of tomb walls with varying degrees of depth and complexity. Check out this awesome carving of donkeys in the Art Institute of Chicago. Notice the subtle modeling in the snouts and the ears, giving the figures an almost sculptural form. But this piece is pretty exceptional for the time period. It’s also important to remember that relief carvings were originally painted, so in most cases the different surface levels of foreground and background were largely overshadowed by the difference in color.

Taking a piece from the Middle Kingdom also in the Art Institute, our well known friend from earlier episodes, Amenemhet along with his wife Hemet and their son Amenemhet Jr., the one or two millimeter difference in depth between the figures and the background is pretty much negligible compared to the strong contrast produced through color alone. In the dimly-lit interiors of Old Kingdom tombs and temples, unpainted relief alone wouldn’t produce a satisfactory contrast to distinguish the images. Color was critical. Also typical to the Old Kingdom is the embossing or outlining of the lips and eyes as seen here on both the man and the bull.

What’s also interesting is that you could almost say that it’s during the formative period of Egyptian Civilization where we see a larger degree of experimentation and variation in the art … before the establishment of the canon of proportions and representation. Notice here how the man’s right shoulder is bent forward in an attempt to render the figure a bit more naturalistically in profile. Likewise on this scene of butchering. There’s some serious movement and action in this wall fragment.

If we turn our attention to relief carving of the New Kingdom, we can see some distinct changes. Perhaps the most significant development is the style of relief carving, itself. While bas relief is certainly still found in later periods, the sunk relief technique seems to be more prevalent. Here in the Art Institute’s image of Neferhotep, we see how the sunk relief technique involves removing the surface of the foreground figure, carving a deep trench outlining Neferhotep, and then masterfully modeling the figure within its outline. Sunk relief generally goes deeper than bas relief, which gives the artist more room for modeling or three-dimensionality. The pleats in Neferhotep’s robe aren’t simply grooves gouged into the stone, but are curved and peaked much like fluting on a Greek column. His body and face aren’t a flat plane, but a rounded surface. His cheek is slightly raised compared to his nose. Similarly, his shoulders are at two different depths almost conveying a sense of perspective. And if we turn back to Karnak Temple, we might begin to discover an overall change in function for relief carving.

While the Egyptians certainly still continue to employ both sunk and bas relief to decorate their interiors, there’s an explosive monumentality in the representational art of the New Kingdom going from interior to exterior. Under the blazing light of the Egyptian sun, the subtle depth and smooth edges of bas relief just won’t do it. The sharp canyon in sunk relief, however, produces a dark shadow outlining the figures. So even when the color is completely bleached away, we can still clearly see the prominent image of Pharaoh ensuring cosmic world order and dominating over chaos.

There are some other big changes that happen in Egyptian art during shorter timespans. We won’t go into great depth on any of these here, but in the Middle Kingdom during the reigns of Senusret III (1878-1839 BC) and Amenemhat III (1860-1814 BC) there’s a strong penchant for hyper-expressive, downright depressing portraiture in both royal and private sculpture. To be fair, portraiture isn’t exactly the right word, because we can’t say for certain that the Egyptians we trying to represent a person’s true likeness. This Middle Kingdom style might have some sort of connection with contemporary philosophical texts exploring the burden of kingship and a new sense of humility after the decline of the age of the pyramid builders. Let’s also not forget the radical transformations during the reign of Akhenaten, which we discussed at length in past episodes. But these relatively short-lived examples of change in Egyptian art aren’t the kinds of broadly sweeping artistic evolutions that we’re talking about here.

If you look beyond the artist’s method and concentrate on the subject matter, we find another interesting development particularly in funerary art. As we’ve explored in detail on the top 10 list in episode 39, “Tombs Depict Scenes from Daily Life,” generally speaking, private funerary decoration of the Old and Middle Kingdoms culminates with the celebration of the deceased before a table full of edible offerings. Then in the New Kingdom we see a dramatic shift in attention. On the Art Institute’s mummy of Paankhenamun, for example, primary emphasis is on the decedent’s transition from the earthly realm to the land of the dead, a literal handoff from the son, the falcon-headed god of kingship Horus, to the father Osiris, lord of the underworld. In essence, we are celebrating the elevation of the deceased to the realm of the gods, something that was previously reserved just for the king of Egypt. Along with those Middle Kingdom philosophical texts on the burden of kingship in the shadow of the age of the pyramid builders, we also see a dilution of exclusively royal divine rights. Now, anyone who can afford it artistically can be elevated to godhood upon death. This monumental, spiritual, social, and economic shift in Ancient Egyptian civilization is beautifully reflected through a dramatic revolution in the arts.

So, while the Ancient Egyptians may not have developed abstract expressionism, it’s unfair to think that their art was entirely static, rigid, and unchanging over 3000 years of civilization, and we didn’t even begin to discuss the dramatic changes of the Ptolemaic dynasty.

Thanks for tuning in to the Ancient Art Podcast. Remember you can check out the whole top 10 list of Ancient Egyptian myths and misconceptions online at www.ancientartpodcast.org/top10. And if you haven’t yet done your daily good deed, how about heading on over to iTunes to rate the podcast and maybe add a comment? You can connect at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and follow me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. Thanks to all you cool cats, who’ve been sending in the feedback. You can send me your feedback and questions on the web at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org or email to info@ancientartpodcast.org. Thanks for listening and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Credits:

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

42: The “Boy King” Tutankhamun

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Welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast, folks. Episode 42. Number 3 in our countdown of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions. Kinking things off there with a nod to the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. We might not have the answers to “life, the universe, and everything,” but you have to wonder what it is about the number 42. There were 42 provinces in Ancient Egypt, or “nomes” as the Greeks called them. Not the garden variety. No “g” here, but, yes, still the funny hats. There were also 42 gods in the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the “Assessors of the Dead,” who listened to your confessions and decided whether or not you were worthy of passage to paradise. Spooky, huh? Where else do we find the number 42? Is there some sort of numerological, mystical aspect to 42? Let me know. Twitter @lucaslivingston, facebook.com/ancientartpodcast, or send an email to info@ancientartpodcast.org.

But all of that has nothing to do with our episode here. Coming in at number 3 in the countdown of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions, “‘The Boy King’ Tutankhamun.” Um, what myth?

Hah! This one’s a curve ball. Yes, Tutankhamun was a boy king. He came to the throne likely at the age of 9 around 1333 and died around 1324 at 18 or 19. All things considered, Tut was a relatively minor king and should be completely overshadowed by the historic juggernauts of the New Kingdom like Hatshepsut, Akhenaten, and Ramses the Great. So, why’s he so popular today? From the 1922 discovery of his golden riches to today, King Tut continues to fascinate us, for both the audacity of his opulent riches (again, considering he was a minor king) to the mystery of his life and death. The discovery of the intact tomb of King Tut in November 1922 led to an explosion of Egyptomania across the globe. Further stoking the fires of hysteria in the popular media was the sudden death of Lord Carnarvon, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon, a few short months later in April 1923. Lord Carnarvon was the financier of Howard Carter’s excavation in the Valley of the Kings, which led to the discovery of Tut’s tomb. Carnarvon died in Cairo from an infected mosquito bite, but that was enough to set ablaze the hype of the “Mummy’s Curse.”

All things considered, despite being a minor king, Tutankhamun does deserve some credit for reigning during a particularly pivotal moment in Egypt’s history. This was the dusk of Amarna, when we saw a transition from the religious heresy and almost manneristic style of the Amarna Period during the reign of Akhenaten back to orthodoxy. As we explored back in episode 23 of the Ancient Art Podcast, King Tut’s name changed early in his reign from Tutankhaten to Tutankhamun, just as the name of his queen changed from Akhesenpaaten to Ankhesenamun, signifying an effort to erase that whole Aten episode under Akhenaten. Likewise, representations of King Tut gradually morph from the Amarna style with its elongated slender limbs, fingers, and toes, protruding chin, long sharp nose, flat forehead, narrow torso, and pudgy paunch to the orthodox style of realistic if not idealized masculine physique. And as we learned in episode 23, Tut was only about 10 years old when these changes started to happen. It’s not too likely that he made any decisions on his own other than which toy to play with. Tut was more likely just a puppet ruler under the thumbs of his two successors, the official Ay and General Horemheb. They saw the writing on the wall and wanted to win favor with the bitter and previously disenfranchised priesthood of Amun.

For all the we have learned and discovered about King Tut, it’s what we don’t know that continues to fascinates us the most. Who were his parents and just how did he die? Debates on both questions continue to rage without concrete proof. Were Akhenaten and Nefertiti his parents? Why is he never shown with them in their many family portraits? Was his mother more likely Kiya, a secondary wife of Akhenaten, or someone else entirely? Was Akhenaten even his father or was it the unlikely Amunhotep III? Did Tutankhamun, indeed, die from a combination of malaria and infection after falling off his chariot while hunting ostriches or was it murder most foul? Was the royal official Ay so desperate to seize the throne that he had Tut dispatched?

We may never have all the pieces to the puzzle, but perhaps it’s this reason that we continue to be so captivated by the “Boy King” Tutankhamun.

Thanks for tuning into the Ancient Art Podcast. Don’t forget you can check out the whole list of Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions online at www.ancientartpodcast.org/top10. And to be sure you don’t get the “Mummy’s Curse,” head on over to iTunes and YouTube to rate the podcast and leave a nice comment. You can connect at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and follow me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. You can send me your feedback and questions via the feedback form on the website at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org or you can email me at info@ancientartpodcast.org. Thanks for listening and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Credits:

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

43: Cleopatra/Nefertiti … Was/Was Not Black/White …

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Hello fellow travelers and welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. I’m your host, Lucas Livingston. Pounding out #2 in our list of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions, we come to the myth that Cleopatra, Nefertiti, or whomever was or was not black, white, or some other racial profile. I reckon this episode may get more than its fair share of heated comments, judging by other episodes that touch on race in the ancient world, and we almost don’t even need to belabor the point with this episode, but I composed the top ten list well before I started podcasting it. So, dang-gummit, this episode must be included.

The ambiguity in the title is quite intentional. It reflects how both sides of the argument continue to be fought about the racial identity of various famous ancient people, most notably Cleopatra and Nefertiti. So you can just insert your own preferred individual or race in the title. And the fact that this issue resonates so gut-wrenchingly personally with some people betrays that the question is truly much more a reflection of contemporary society and racial identity rather than a historical question. As I put it back in episode 22, Nefertiti, Devonia, Michael, “blame it on the African diaspora, Western imperialism, or Ellis Island,” but this obsession over whether the Ancient Egyptians were black, white, Greek, Berber, Nilotic, or other is entirely a modern construction. Like America today, Ancient Egypt was a very mixed population, and it was an immensely large nation stretching from the Mediterranean all the way to subsaharan Africa. One encounters significant genetic variation across this vast stretch of land and the thousands of years of Egyptian history, but there’s no evidence that they actually cared what color your skin was or the skin of your parents. So the question is moot. What mattered to the Ancient Egyptians was that you were culturally Egyptian.

We already had an in depth discussion of Nefertiti back in episode 22, so we’re not going to repeat that here. But what about Cleopatra? Her name is invoked in this topic perhaps even more frequently than Nefertiti. The last Pharaoh of Egypt, Cleopatra VII Philopator, ruled from 51 to 30 BC in part as coregent. As with other members of the Ptolemaic line, her ancestors were Macedonian Greek, descending from Ptolemy I Soter, one of Alexander the Great’s generals roughly 300 years earlier. Contemporary to Cleopatra, the Greek historian Strabo suggested that she was the illegitimate daughter of Ptolemy XII Auletes and an Egyptian noble woman. Alternatively and more popularly, Cleo’s mother is thought to have been Cleopatra V Tryphaena, among other theories. If her parents were Ptolemy XII and Cleopatra V, that would be interesting, because each of them, in turn, is thought to be an illegitimate child of a Ptolemy and different Egyptian women. So if Cleopatra’s mother, herself, wasn’t Egyptian, then perhaps both of her grandmothers were. Or not. Blame the Ancient Roman love/hate relationship with Cleopatra for all the confusing and conflicting accounts.

What’s well attested, however, is that Cleopatra was well accepted and loved by the Egyptian people. She was the first of the Ptolemaic rulers to even bother to learn Egyptian. As with her forebears, images of her were produced in the traditional Egyptian style when for an Egyptian audience, and in a Greek style for her Greek audience. And even for her Roman audience, Cleopatra’s images display a remarkable flexibility for a largely propagandistic value. This silver tetradrachma coin from about 36 BC now in the Art Institute of Chicago displays Cleopatra’s final lover, Roman general Mark Antony, on one side with quintessential Roman features. Check out that nose, jaw line, and brow ridge. And on the other side, we have a remarkably similar image of Cleopatra. Might as well be Antony in a wig. Not exactly Elizabeth Taylor. Maybe a little more Theda Bara. So, was Cleopatra of good Roman stock? Not quite. But those familiar features would more likely have been met by an approving Roman nod rather than some exotic image of Cleo as a priestess of Isis. Now, it’s not likely that this coin was widely circulated in Rome, itself, since it was probably minted in the Eastern Mediterranean, but it surely proved of propagandistic value among Cleo and Antony’s supporters in the Roman East.

It was Cleopatra’s fluid cultural affiliation and renown charisma that beguiled Roman generals Julius Caesar and Mark Antony and that contributed to her remaining in the forefront of popular culture and urban legend to this day. The question marks surrounding her parentage do open the door to discussions of ethnicity, but the important point to remember when penning heavy-handed commentary on the subject is that the debate is really a manifestation of modern racial tensions disguised under the banner of Ancient Egyptian history, society, and culture. And it’s up to you, the level-headed, 21st-century individual, to rise above it and look past all those generations of baggage.

Hey! What about the Nubian dynasty? Yes, the 25th dynasty rulers of Egypt hailed from the Kingdom of Kush, or what we more popularly call the land of Nubia, present day northern Sudan and part of southern Egypt. There’s plenty of evidence and consensus today that these rules, including Piye, Shabaka, and Taharqa, were black Africans, although culturally, after generations of close Egyptian contact (or occupation, some might say), they were culturally quite Egyptian. They built pyramids, worshipped the Egyptian gods, and ruled in a traditionally Egyptian manner. You could even say the Nubian rulers were more Egyptian than the Egyptians of that day and age, circa 760 to 656 BC. And that adds even more strength to the argument that it didn’t matter what the color of your skin was in Ancient Egypt. If you walked like an Egyptian and talked like an Egyptian, then you were an Egyptian. There’s a great article from the February 2008 issue of National Geographic Magazine about Egypt’s black pharaohs. The link’s kinda long. You can see it on screen here or head on over to ancientartpodcast.org and click on “Egypt’s Black Pharaohs” on the Resources page. There you can even take the “Race in Ancient Egypt” quiz.

Thanks for tuning into the Ancient Art Podcast. Don’t forget you can check out the whole list of Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions online at www.ancientartpodcast.org/top10. You can rate the podcast and leave a nice comment on iTunes and YouTube. Connect at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and follow me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. Feedback and questions can go to the feedback form on the website at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org or you can email me at info@ancientartpodcast.org. Thanks for listening and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Credits:

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.


44: Egyptian Civilization is Dead

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Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and critters of all nature, gather around. It’s time for the big numero uno in the series of the Top 10 Ancient Egyptian Myths and Misconceptions on the Ancient Art Podcast, episode 44: Egyptian Civilization is Dead!

The dynastic period of Ancient Egypt officially ended with the defeat and death of Cleopatra, but the civilization wasn’t suddenly destroyed or morphed into being Roman. For centuries to come, Egyptian culture, religion, art, architecture, and language continued to flourish under Roman occupation, and some of these facets of Egyptian civilization seep into Greco-Roman and Western Civilization, itself.

One of the most prominent architectural legacies from Ancient Egypt would be the pyramid. From the ancient Roman tomb of Gaius Cestius from 12 BC onward, the pyramids of Egypt have inspired countless funerary monuments. But is this indicative of a continuity of Egyptian civilization or just an homage to a bygone era? The pyramidal shape has been extended in modern times to structures entirely unrelated to their Ancient Egyptian funerary function, including I. M. Pei’s addition to the Louvre Museum, the 32-story, twenty-thousand seat Memphis arena, and that bastion of American values, Luxor Casino.

A little more subtle and perhaps more directly relevant to the discussion would be the influence of the Egyptian stele. Traditionally, a stele or stela is a slab of stone erected as a monument or documentation of an important event or decree. One of the most famous stelae is the Rosetta Stone, which was the key to deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphs. Written in hieroglyphs, Demotic, and Greek, this decree from King Ptolemy V describes the repeal of various taxes and gives instructions to erect statues in temples, but that’s a rather late example from 196 BC. Stelae were used throughout Egyptian civilization. Another famous example is the Dream Stele of Thutmose IV from about 1,400 BC, which was erected by the king between the paws of the Great Sphinx. The text explains how prince Thutmose IV rested in the shadow of the sphinx when it spoke to him, revealing a divine message that he would be king if he cleared away the sands which had come to cover much of the statue. The stele was also very common as a funerary monument, as in this Middle Kingdom example from the Art Institute of Chicago. Here Amenemhet and his mother Yatu sit before the grave goods piled high on their offering table. Notice the rounded top both here and in the Dream Stele. Especially considering the stele’s funerary context, it’s probable that this is the prototype for the modern headstone.

Another type of artwork of similar shape and function is the mummy portrait. Its visual similarity to the stele is just coincidence. The mummy portrait wasn’t meant to stand upright in the ground, there’s generally no inscription, and the surface tends not to be as flat as a typical stele. Mummy portraits come from Egypt’s Roman era at a time when many well-off Roman individuals were residing in Egypt and a traditional Egyptian mummification became quite the fashionable way for these expatriates to go out in the end. So, a Roman-era mummy in Egypt would have a traditional anthropoid cartonnage body, like the Art Institute’s mummy of Paankhenamun from quite a few hundred years earlier, but it would be decorated with many Romanized pseudo-Egyptian funerary motifs. And instead of the wonderfully gilded face, they’d craft a blank area where the mummy portrait could slide into place. In contrast to the Egyptians, preserving the likeness of an individual after death was very important to the Romans. Often you’ll see that the mummy portrait is a bit convex in the forehead region, much like the rounded portion at the top, so it would nicely curve with the contours of the anthropoid mummy case.

While there could be a relationship between the stele, mummy portraits, and headstones, a far more probably direct connection would be between the mummy portrait and Orthodox Christian icons. The earliest form of organized Orthodox Christianity, the Coptic Church, was established in Egypt. Consecrated painted panels of venerated holy saints and other religious figures are widely used even to this day in the Orthodox community. The icon tradition can be said to go back to the time of Christ when my buddy, St. Luke the Evangelist, painted the very first icon portrait of Mary and Jesus. One simplified way to look at it would be that as Christianity waxed and the pagan religions waned, mummy portrait artists found their new niche as icon painters.

The subject of madonna and child wasn’t anything new either. Images of the goddess Isis holding the child god Horus became very popular in the Late Period of Egypt from the 7th century BC through the Ptolemaic and Roman periods. The cult of Isis spread throughout the Mediterranean in the Roman era and Isis shrines were often converted into shrines dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Similarly, early Christians adopted other pagan images and symbols of European and Mediterranean cultures, one perhaps being the divine mother and child so frequently portrayed in Coptic and other Orthodox Christian icons.

The word “coptic” can also be traced back to Ancient Egypt. It comes from the ancient Greek word for “Egypt,” Aigyptios. The English word “Egypt” also comes from the Greek. Aigyptios is thought to derive from the ancient Egyptian language, itself — from hwt-ka-ptah, meaning “the estate of the spirit of Ptah,” which was the Egyptian name for the temple of Ptah in Memphis. The Coptic language still survives today in liturgical practice and can be seen as the current evolutionary state of the ancient Egyptian language. It’s written with Greek letters plus a few extra Hieratic Egyptian signs that don’t exist in the Greek alphabet, but it’s linguistically closer to Egyptian. The Coptic word for an Egyptian person, for example, is rem en keme, which is just like the Egyptian phrase remet en kemet, meaning the “people of Egypt.” We can thank Coptic for our current best guess as to how the ancient Egyptian language may have sounded.

Besides the word “Egypt,” itself, there are a handful of English words derived from the ancient Egyptian language, sometimes indirectly via Greek, Latin, or Hebrew. The word “Pharaoh” comes from the Egyptian per-a’a, meaning the “Great House.” The name Susan comes from the Egyptian word for the lotus flower, seshen. Ebony and ivory come from the Egyptian words hebeny and abw, two precious commodities in Ancient Egypt. Ancient scholars valued Egypt as a cradle of wisdom and understanding. The great Library of Alexandria was the largest and most significant stronghold of scholarship in the ancient world, until Julius Caesar accidentally burned it down.

Our modern words “chemistry” and “alchemy” derived from the Arabic al-kimia (الكيمياء), coming from the Greek χημεία, which in turn likely derived from the Egyptian kemet. As we learned earlier, Kemet was the Egyptian word for Egypt, the “Black Land” of the rich, dark, alluvial silt from the Nile’s inundation. An alternative origin for al-kimia, though, could be from the Greek χυμεία, basically meaning “metallurgy,” but that word probably also derived from χημεία.

Other legacies of Ancient Egypt in the visual arts and architecture include the contraposto and colonnade. If you can remember way back in episode 15 on the “Origin of Greek Sculpture.” There we explored the direct relationship of the standing male Egyptian statuary form and the archaic Greek kouros. And we can see how this form evolves step-by-step into the familiar Classical and later Renaissance contraposto. And the colonnade, explored a little bit back in episode 5 on the Corinthian pixis — such a quintessential feature of Classical architecture, from the Parthenon to the Louvre and other modern centers of culture or government — it too has its roots in Ancient Egypt making its way westward by way of the Greeks during the Orientalizing period.

There are other connection between modern civilization and Ancient Egypt, which I won’t belabor you with, like the Horus > Harpocrates > Eros > Cupid connection or the dog-headed Saint Christopher as Anubis. I’ll let you research those on your own. But I do welcome your feedback if you know of any other slam-dunk vestiges of Egyptian civilization in our modern world. Now, with some apprehension, I feel it’s my scholarly duty to burst your bubble and dispel one more misconception. Despite whatever Pharaonic affiliations those squirmy critters may claim to have, the hairless Sphynx cat is in fact not an Ancient Egyptian breed.

We’ve come a long way with the Top 10 list and I hope you’ve enjoyed it. As I said at the beginning, this list isn’t exhaustive and isn’t necessarily in any order of priority, plus you may very well have some suggestions that ought to be included among the popular misconceptions about Ancient Egypt. I’d love to hear those suggestions. You can send me feedback at info@ancientartpodcast.org or online at http://feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. You can leave your comments on YouTube and iTunes, write your thoughts on the Facebook wall or send me a Tweet @lucaslivingston. If you follow the podcast on Facebook or follow me on Twitter, you may already know that I recently got back from a trip to Greece and Turkey with the Art Institute of Chicago. Out of the nearly 2,000 photos from my trip, I’ve whittled it down to the best few hundred, which you can check out online at http://resources.ancientartpodcast.org in the Resources section. Don’t forget to visit the rest of the website at ancientartpodcast.org where you’ll find the photo galleries and credits, links to other great resources, a bibliography, and remember there’s also the special page for the Top 10 list at http://www.ancientartpodcast.org/top10. Thanks for tuning in and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Credits:

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

45: Courtesans and Fish Plates

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Greetings travelers and welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. I’m your host, Lucas Livingston. We’re heading back to ancient Greece to explore the decorative delights, culinary curiosities, and amorous affections in episode 45 of the Ancient Art Podcast, Courtesans and Fish Plates.

That’s a play on the title of the book Courtesans and Fishcakes: The Consuming Passions of Classical Athens by James Davidson. [1] Don’t worry. We’ll get to the courtesans a little later on, but an often overlooked curiosity in the lineup of ancient Greece ceramics is the fish plate. Short in stature compared to the looming amphorae and cavernous kraters, the fish plate packs a punch as an interesting cultural anomaly.

The basic shape of the fish plate is called a pinax (πίναξ) or pinakion (πινάκιον), meaning a small plate or dish, which goes back in undecorated form to the Bronze Age. [2] It’s not the most ridiculously popular form of ceramic from the Greek world. There are about 1,000 known examples of decorated fish plates in collections today and they all date to the Classical or Hellenistic period, not earlier. [3]

Many fish plates make heavy use of added pigment in various colors, especially white, and especially the fish plates from southern Italy. About 80% of the known fish plates are from southern Italy of the 4th century BC. [3] The Italian regions of Apulia, Calabria, Campania, and Sicily, known as Magna Graeca, or “Greater Greece,” were Greek colonies established as far back as the 8th century BC. The Greeks had a big appetite for fish, but the Greeks of Magna Graeca developed this appetite into a culture, an art form, and an obsession. The earliest surviving cookbooks from ancient Greece hail from Sicily and praise a fish diet. While there are no surviving Athenian cookbooks, there’s plenty of theatrical evidence that fish were widely consumed. [4]

I don’t think it’s far off to say that just about every edible species of sea creature found in the Mediterranean was consumed in ancient Greece. Depicted on the fish plates are just some of the many creatures that would have found themselves on Greek dinner tables. The decent collection of fish plates in the Art Institute of Chicago depicts bream, perch, torpedo fish, wrasse, some sort of crustacean, and red mullet (readily recognizable by its double dorsal fin). Fun fact number 1: the torpedo fish gets its name from … anybody … ? No, not because it’s shaped like a torpedo, which I’m not sure you’d win that argument. No, “torpedo” comes from the Latin torpere meaning “to be stiffened or paralyzed.” The torpedo fish is an electric ray, which can paralyze its victims. The modern munition torpedo gets its name, because it’ll make your boat dead in the water, like paralyzed prey. Fun fact number 2: this plate in the Art Institute comes from Athens. [5] This one’s south Italian. [6] We already learned that south Italian plates have a penchant for added colors. What else is different? On south Italian fish plates, the fish bellies are facing inward. On Attic plates, they’re facing outward.

The creatures are rendered with such detail that it’s actually possible to identify their species. Not being a professional angler, though, sometimes I just have to take their word for it. But even the dunce in me can identify some critters, like this octopus in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts or this cute little shrimp. Other popular fish were mackerel, crayfish, sea-bass, and grouper, just to name a few. Small fish like anchovies and sprats, were generally less popular, considered suitable only for beggars, freed slaves, and peasants. Among the absolute favorites were tuna and eel. [7] For somewhat obvious reasons, freshwater fish are less attested in the cuisines of seaside Mediterranean territories.

Fish plates look fairly thick, but that’s an illusion. The lip folds down to form a rim overhanging a narrow tapering foot. While the foot is generally not terribly tall, that may still help to elevate the plate above the surrounding items on a table for easy picking. And if you’re ever invited to an ancient Athenian dinner party, it’s good to know that it’s customary to take fresh fish with two fingers, while one should use only one finger to take salted fish. [8]

Notice the surface of the plate slopes inward like a shallow bowl. What do you suppose that depression in the center was used for? One of the most popular culinary staples from the Greco-Roman world is a substance called garum. Composed of salted, fermented fish blood and guts left out in the sun for a few months, this liquified item was called for in nearly every Roman recipe and it held essentially the same place at the table as our modern table salt. [9] While that may not sound terribly appetizing, you can readily find a multitude of fish sauces in Asian food markets today as well as some European counterparts, which range in their approximation to ancient garum.

It’s often suggested that the central depression on fish plates would be ideal for placing garum or one of its derivative saucy dipping condiments, but I’m not aware if any chemical analysis on fish plates has turned up the microscopic residue of garum or any remnant of fish, for that matter, which brings up an interesting debate. The debate rages today, inasmuch as a debate may rage over ancient fish plates, whether fish plates were used in daily life or were strictly funerary. Supporting that they were just funerary and were not actually used in daily life are the arguments that they were only made for about a half century or so during the 4th century BC. If it were a type of daily ware and not a passing funerary fad, don’t you think you’d find it throughout much of the archaeological record? And most fish plates have been discovered in a funerary context, but that’s not proof one way or the other; that’s just indicative of a skewed archaeological record. In general, many more funerary artifacts have been excavated than objects from daily life. Maybe the strongest argument against their daily use is that, curiously, fish plates frequently have cracks in the central sauce holder not from wear and tear over time, but as a result of firing, which pretty much defeats the functional application of the depression as a sauce holder or reservoir. [10] Or were these just rejects suitable only for burial?

The fish plate is also perhaps the only type of decorated vessel from ancient Greece that was dedicated to the consumption of a specific type of food. All the other popular vessel types were for drink. Considering the Greeks’ ridiculous obsession with seafood, though, I wouldn’t put it past them that this would be their one and only vessel type dedicated to the consumption of food as opposed to drink. Fish played a very different role in Greek cuisine from other forms of meat. Meat in ancient Greece was traditionally accessible, distributed, and consumed as a result of sacrifice to the gods. Meat was a sort of communal food, partitioned by the priesthood after the gods got their portion of the fat and bones. Fish is almost never mentioned as a sacrifice, perhaps with the exception of Poseidon, god of the sea, and then it was generally very bloody fish, like tuna. So, fish may have been seen as a luxury, an unnecessary indulgence that served no spiritual purpose, which may help explain all the conspicuous attention fish get in literature and art. There’s also little to no appearance of fish in Athenian culture until the Classical and Hellenistic eras. All that put together, fish was a peculiarly secular and distinctively, decadently modern food. [11]

Tied into its nature as a luxury good, fish was sometimes exploited as a metaphor for seduction and sexuality. Some ancient vessels depict the giving of fish as gifts to beautiful boys and hetaera, a.k.a. courtesans or fancy prostitutes. [12] The Hellenistic-era Athenian speech writer Hyperides, mentions there were two sisters popularly known as the “anchovies” on account of their pale complexions, slender figures, and large eyes. [13] Flute girls and courtesans received nicknames like Sand-smelt, Red Mullet, and Cuttlefish. [14] One can only imagine the comedic gold Greek authors might have enjoyed with the double meaning to phrases like “bait my hook” and “go fishing.” [15]

Well kids, I hope that gives you some new insights into an often-overlooked and under-appreciated member of the pantheon of Greek ceramics. Check out ancientartpodcast.org for high-res images and credits, transcripts for every episode, footnotes, an extensive bibliography, and links to other online resources. Connect with the podcast at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and tweet to me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. You can email me your questions and comments at info@ancientartpodcast.org or fill out the Feedback form on the website at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. And the best way you can support the podcast is to leave your comments on YouTube and iTunes. Thanks for tuning in and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] Davidson, James N. Courtesans and Fishcakes: The Consuming Passions of Classical Athens. HarperCollins Publishers, 1997. Read the first chapter online for free at the New York Times <http://www.nytimes.com/books/first/d/davidson-courtesans.html> Retrieved 29 November, 2011.

[2] <http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.04.0057%3Aentry%3Dpina%2Fkion> Retrieved 29 November, 2011.

[3] Phoenix Ancient Art S.A. “Apulian Red-Figure Fish Plate.” <http://www.phoenixancientart.ch/works_of_art/40> Retrieved 29 November, 2011.

[4] Davidson 5-6

[5] Fish Plate, Greek, Attica, 400-350 BC, Terracotta, Art Institute of Chicago, Gift of Philip D. Armour and Charles L. Hutchinson, 1889.98. <http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/255> Retrieved 29 November, 2011.

[6] Fish-plate, Greek, Canosa, Apulia, South Italy, Attributed to the Hippocamp Group, 350/325 BC, Terracotta, Art Institute of Chicago, Gift of Emily Dickinson Sae Jin Vermeule, 2002.543. <http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/160172> Retrieved 29 November, 2011.

[7] Davidson 7-8

[8] Plutarch Moralia, Chapter VI “That Virtue May Be Taught,” Section ii, p. 94: “Moreover tutors teach boys to walk in the streets with their heads down,208 to touch salt fish with one finger only, other fish bread and meat with two, to scratch themselves in such a way, and in such a way to put on their cloak.” <http://www.gutenberg.org/files/23639/23639-h/23639-h.htm> Retrieved 29 November, 2011. See also Courtesans and Fishcakes, 22.

[9] Andrew Grygus, “Fish Sauce.” <http://www.clovegarden.com/ingred/sf_pdfishsauce.html> Retrieved 29 November, 2011. And see Andrew Dalby, Siren Feasts: A History of Food and Gastronomy in Greece (1996), p. 75-6.

[10] Kozloff, Arielle P. “Two South Italian Vases: Fish Plate and Frog Bottle.” The Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art, Vol. 73, No. 10 (Dec., 1986), pp. 406-414. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/25159967> Other arguments promoted by this article against fish plates having been used in daily life include that they would have been awkward to hold, not having any handles, and sometimes the real-life versions of the fish depicted on them would have inconveniently overflown the area of the plate. Also, some subjects depicted on the plates would certainly not have been consumed, like dolphins and hippocamps.

[11] Davidson 12-16

[12] Davidson 9, note 10

[13] Davidson 9

[14] Davidson 10, possibly from Archippus, Athen. 301A, 315B (see note 16 here: http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Athenaeus/8B*.html#note16 Retrieved 29 November, 2011.). Additional examples of fish as sexual metaphors and nicknames are found in The Deipnosophistae of Athenaeus, Book VIII.337B-347C (Vol. IV of the Loeb Classical Library edition, 1930, p. 40-41): “And when Antiphanes says that Pythionica loved smoked fish, he meant that she had as her lovers the sons of the smoked-fish seller Chaerephilus. So Timocles says in The Icarians: ‘Whenever that bloated Anytus goes to join Pythionica and eats something. For she always invites him, so they say, when she entertains the sons of Chaerephilus, those two mighty mackerels whom she likes.’” <http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Athenaeus/8B*.html#ref23> Retrieved 29 November, 2011.

[15] C.f., interestingly enough, the play She Goes A-Fishing by 4th century BC comic poet Antiphanes. <http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Athenaeus/8B*.html#ref16> Retrieved 29 November, 2011.

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Credits:

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

46: Ara Pacis

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Welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. I’m your host, Lucas Livingston. From the year AD 14, the words of the deceased Roman emperor Augustus Caesar, the Res Gestae Divi Augusti or The Acts of the Divine Augustus, come to life:

“On my return from Spain and Gaul in the consulship of Tiberius Nero and Publius Quintilius after successfully arranging affairs in those provinces, the senate resolved that an altar of the Augustan Peace should be consecrated next to the Campus Martius in honor of my return, and ordered that the magistrates and priests and Vestal Virgins should perform an annual sacrifice there.” [1]

The original bronze pillars no longer survive, but numerous copies of the text proliferated throughout the Roman empire. Thanks to good luck and a monumental restoration effort during Italy’s Mussolini era, you can visit the Altar of Augustan Peace mentioned in that passage in Rome today standing next to the remains of Augustus’s mausoleum.

The Altar of Augustan Peace, or Ara Pacis Augustae, was commissioned by the Roman senate in 13 BC to honor Augustus’s triumphal return from Spain and Gaul. It was consecrated four years later on January 30th, 9 BC as a sacred monument celebrating the new era of peace and prosperity that Augustus’s military victories would bring to the Roman empire. The senate’s hopes and dreams were at least in part realized in that Rome enjoyed a good 200-year period of relative civil and military stability, the so-called Pax Romana, but we know things weren’t quite as good and cheery in Roman politics itself.

The original location of the Ara Pacis was the northeastern corner of the Campus Martius, the “Field of Mars,” once an open area for military training on the outskirts of Rome, but by this time it was already highly developed. That happened to be a floodplain of the Tiber river and it was eventually covered by layers of silt. The altar was reconstructed at its new location in 1938, celebrating the 2,000th anniversary of Augustus’s birth. [2] The current pavilion that houses the Ara Pacis, designed by American architect Richard Meier, opened in 2006.

The altar is now orientated more or less south-to-north, but going forward here and in most descriptions, the orientation refers to the altar’s original alignment, which was west-to-east. So when you come across a reference to the west façade, most likely it’s referring to what’s now the south side. But don’t get bogged down in that. [3]

It should be pointed out that the actual Altar of Peace, itself, properly refers to the altar within the beautifully sculpted, marble enclosure, but conventionally the entire structure — outside and inside — is referred to as the Ara Pacis or even just “the altar.” The enclosure is nearly square with the west and east sides being approximately 11 and a half meters or 37 feet wide and the north and south sides approximately 10 and a half meters or 34 feet wide. [4]

The marble structure is heavily reconstructed and large sections are entirely blank, but that doesn’t prevent us from taking in the grandeur of the monument. We’re greeted at the western façade by a stairway ascending up into the monument to the altar where, in Augustus’s words, the magistrates, priests, and Vestal Virgins would perform an annual sacrifice. A divine tribute, perhaps, in thanks to and insurance for the continued era of peace. Flanking the stairs, the enclosure wall, carved in richly detailed relief, is divided into upper and lower registers by a meandering Greek key, or simply called a “meander.” As an aside, the term “meander” comes from the Greek name for the twisty Carian river Maeander. [5]

Around the entire enclosure wall, the lower register displays a modestly low-carved, but highly decorative relief of twisting ivy, grapes vines, acanthus scrolls, and many other identified species of flora and even fauna. Prominently toward the top we find a repeating motif of swans spreading their wings wide, their necks craning down, facing opposing directions, left to right, one swan after the other.

The lush vegetation may represent the fruitful fertility and abundant bounty that the new age of Augustan peace has brought. Yet the twisting vines are not in the chaotic disarray of overgrowth, but are carefully balanced with a symmetry perhaps implying that the Augustan age is still firmly bound by law, order, and justice. Augustus shines through as both the nurturing provider and the lawful patron.

The lush yet orderly vines may reflect a popular interpretation that the symbolism throughout the Ara Pacis reflects the new Augustan age as a return to the mythic Golden Age. [6] In his Metamorphoses, Ovid, the Roman poet contemporary to Augustus, describes the Golden Age as a time of justice and right with no need for work or worry. People, cared for and nourished by bountiful nature, lived in peace without the pains of labor in the fields. Spring was eternal and the world in which mankind lived was nothing short of paradise (1.89-112). The Golden Age came to a close with the violent overthrow and death of Saturn at the hands of his son Jupiter. The new reign of Jupiter brought about the seasons and, with that, introduced suffering and labor to mankind for survival (1.113-124). From utopian peace and bounty, mankind fell towards bitter militant strife and harsh agrarian work (1.125ff.).

The use of Golden Age imagery in Augustan propaganda draws a parallel between his Pax Romana and the Saturnian Golden Age, thereby making the statement that Augustus has brought about a new age of idealistic peace and prosperity to endure for all time. Augustus hoped to bridge the distinctions between the ages of Saturn and Jupiter by incorporating both ideologies into his reign. In the reestablished order, laws, morals, and justice he respected the current age of Jupiter; in the renewed peace, prosperity, abundance, and endurance he sought to emulate the utopian age of Saturn. Augustus seemed to desire that the Roman people metaphorically associate him with both Jupiter and Saturn. [6]

The upper register on the west side shows two foundational events from Rome’s legendary history. On the left is the badly fragmented relief of Romulus and Remus, the mythical founders of the city said to have been raised by a she-wolf. The two adults and the only original parts to this relief are thought to be Faustulus, the shepherd who discovered the boys, and their father, Roman God of War, Mars. Entirely reconstructed, however, are the images of Romulus and Remus nursing from their lupine foster mother. The reconstruction strongly resembles surviving Roman images of this scene, but that shouldn’t let you totally take down your critical guard.

The scene to the right is a little more debated. For over a century, the popular interpretation was that it represents Aeneas, hero of Virgil’s Aeneid, performing a sacrifice upon his arrival in Italy. [7]

Julius Caesar and Augustus claimed Aeneas as an ancestor and his mother was the goddess Venus, which would explain all the swan imagery in the lower register. A more recent interpretation that’s gotten a lot of traction, though, is that its Numa Pompilius, Rome’s second king after Romulus. Fine, but that’s kinda boring. Numa Pompili-who? Check out The Art Bulletin from June of 2001 for the article. [3] The Romulus/Numa interpretation does tie in nicely with the Augustan Golden Age symbolism. The warrior king Romulus balanced by the peacemaker Numa; the blissful Golden Age of peace sustained by the diligent rule of law and military might. [8]

So, if the west side to the enclosure of the Ara Pacis displays a balance of peace and war between Rome’s early mortal founders, how about the east side? How about a divine parallel? The east side on the right displays a reconstructed image of the goddess Roma. The bellicose goddess is seen seated at leisure, helm slid back on her head, with a trophy of weapons at her feet. Like Romulus and Augustus, it’s through the might of combat that peace is achieved. The relief to the left of the doorway shows a buxom maternal figure embracing two chubby babies echoing the Romulus and Remus panel on the diagonal opposite side. She has been variously identified as Mother Earth (or Tellus), Venus, and Peace. Abundant vegetation and livestock surround the figures, who are further flanked by two other ladies with billowing drapery. One rides a swan and the other a wicked-cool winged dragon. A spilled urn in the lower left corner pours forth a river that runs along the base of the entire panel. This panel could further reenforce the Augustan Golden Age themes of peace, fertility, prosperity, and abundance. Perhaps the central goddess Peace could balance the warlike Roma, which would parallel the west side’s war and peace theme. Remember that the Ara Pacis was an Altar of Peace achieved through the defeat of Rome’s rivals. [9]

And the north and south sides have lots of people. Goodnight folks! See you next time! … What, you’re still here. Oh, ok, really quickly then. The north and south sides both show processions of religiously garbed Romans, which understandably some of you may have mistaken for a frat party. Lots of ink has been spilled on identifying many of the individuals, and quite convincingly at times, including Augustus, Livia, Agrippa, and Tiberius, until someone comes along and overturns scholarly consensus. One interesting idea is that this may represent the celebration on July 4th, 13 BC, the date when Augustus returned to Rome from Spain and Gaul and the occasion for the commission of the Ara Pacis. [10] Or maybe it represents the ritual procession that honored the dedication of the Ara Pacis four years later.

Interestingly, it’s been pointed out that Augustus is on the south wall, which falls between the images of the peaceful king Numa Pompilius on the west and the goddess Pax on the east (versus the north side between warlike Romulus and militant Roma), which perhaps bolsters Augustus’s aspirations for peace, overshadowing the military victories used to establish the new Pax Romana. [9]

Lastly, as with so many of the works of art we explore on the Ancient Art Podcast, the Ara Pacis was once originally painted with vivid colors. You can actually get a taste for how it once looked through the miracle of technology. According to the Ara Pacis Museum website at arapacis.it, every Saturday night through January 7th, 2012, they’re illuminating the altar with colored light to bring these mute stones to life. [11] If you can’t get there in person by the 7th, don’t worry. Thankfully, this is something they seem to do once or twice a year. There are some great photos of the colored light installation floating around on the web. If you don’t want to get your Google-foo on, just head over to ancientartpodcast.org and click on episode 46 for the photo gallery and credits to the original sources. And while you’re there, those of you doing reports on the Ara Pacis, be sure to check out the footnotes for this episode, where you’ll find some great additional resources to study the monument in much more detail than what we covered here. You might also want to check out the Bibliography on the Resources page for more general references.

Thanks for tuning in. If you have any questions or comments, email me at info@ancientartpodcast.org or fill out the Feedback form on the website at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. Connect with the podcast at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and tweet to me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. If you want to support the podcast, help spread the word leave your comments and ratings on YouTube and iTunes. Thanks and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2011 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] Res Gestae 12.2. Retrieved 31 December, 2011. Here’s the original Latin: http://www.csun.edu/~hcfll004/resgest.html and here’s an alternate English translation: http://classics.mit.edu/Augustus/deeds.html

[2] Ara Pacis Museum, Il ritrovamento. <;http://www.arapacis.it/museo/il_ritrovamento>; Retrieved 31 December, 2011.

[3] Rehak, Paul. “Aeneas or Numa? Rethinking the Meaning of the Ara Pacis Augustae.” The Art Bulletin, Vol. 83, No. 2 (Jun., 2001), pp. 190-208. <;http://www.jstor.org/stable/3177206>; Retrieved 21 December, 2011. See specifically note 3 on page 201 regarding the change of orientation of the Ara Pacis. See also: “As for the new orientation, it was rotated roughly 90 degrees counter-clockwise, so that the west or principal entrance to the enclosure now faces south; this should be borne in mind when reading descriptions of the monument, or indeed when viewing websites.” Retrieved 21 December, 2011.

[4] Mary Ann Sullivan, “Images of the Ara Pacis,” Digital Imaging Project, Bluffton University, 2006. Retrieved 21 December, 2011.

[5] Büyük Menderes River. Retrieved 21 December, 2011.

[6] Zanker, Paul. The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus. Trans. Alan Shapiro. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1988.

[7] Sieveking, Johannes. “Zur Ara Pacis Augustae.” Jahreshefte des Österreichischen archäologischen Instituts in Wien 10 (1907): 175-99, fig. 58, esp.187.

[8] Rehak 197

[9] Rehak 199

[10] Rehak, note 113. For original, see Billows, Richard, “The Religious Procession of the Ara Pacis Augustae: Augustus’ Supplicatio in 13 B.C.,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 6 (1993): 80-92.

[11] Museo dell’Ara Pacis, I colori dell’Ara Pacis. An exhibition at the Ara Pacis Museum, October 22, 2011 – January 7, 2012. Retrieved 21 December, 2011.

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Credits:

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

47: Roman Fasces

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Welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast, your guidebook to the art and culture of the Ancient Mediterranean World and beyond. I’m your host on our forays into the ancient past, Lucas Livingston.

Last time on the podcast in episode 46 about the Augustan Ara Pacis, we saw a procession of Rome’s elite gracing the north and south façades. Between the figures of Augusts Caesar and Agrippa we see a bunch of flamens with pointy-tipped hats. No, that’s not a tasteless joke. The flamens were a very ancient body of Roman priests. You can tell that they’re members of the flamens because of their bold fashion statement — what’s called the apex, a leather skull-cap with a chin strap and a point projecting from the top. [1] And at the base of the point where it meets the cap is a darling little puff of wool. I hear it’s all the rage with the kids these days. It’s the new black. And if you look closely, you’ll also see that their garments have a neck strap, like a cloak. The flamens customarily also wore this heavy woolen cloak over their toga fastened with the neck strap. The attention to detail on the Ara Pacis is pretty amazing.

Behind the flamens and right in front of the shrouded Agrippa, we see a guy carrying a big stick. I’m sure while you were closely scrutinizing episode 46 of the podcast, you undoubtedly asked yourself, “Hey, what’s that big stick that dude’s carrying?” If you look closely at the top, you’ll see that there’s actually an axe blade. No, he’s not the Imperial Wood Chopper. On account of what he’s holding, we know that this gentleman is a lictor. Lictors were like body guards assigned to Roman magistrates, positions of certain judicial and executive authority. We call that authority imperium, and it includes people like the Emperor, dictators, praetors, and consuls. At times, though, lictors were even assigned to private citizens, and a special kind of lictor, the lictor curiatus, was assigned to religious persons, like Rome’s high priest, the Pontifex Maximus, and Vestal Virgins. [2] That might explain the lictor here, either following the flamens or preceding Agrippa with the shroud of the Pontifex Maximus. Although, supposedly, the lictor curiatus customarily didn’t carry that big stick.

That stick is called a fasces. It means “a bundle” and it consists of a bundle of birch wood rods tied together with leather straps. An axe is also frequently enclosed within the rods with its blade sticking out to one side. The fasces were carried by lictors as a symbol of power, strength, and authority to dispense capital punishment. The lictors themselves didn’t have that authority, but the magistrates they guarded symbolically did. Although in reality, Roman magistrates didn’t go around beheading Roman citizenry. Supposedly, the Law of the Twelve Tables, a long-lost document that spelled out Rome’s early laws and customs, prohibited Roman magistrates from executing Roman citizenry without proper judgment. [3]

When inside the symbolic sacred limits of ancient Rome, called the Pomerium, magistrates had only limited authority. To represent this, the axe blade was removed from the fasces while a magistrate and his lictors were within the Pomerium. Here’s a cute little figurine of a lictor from the Art Institute of Chicago. This bronze statuette is about 5 inches tall. His fasces is a little bent, but he’s in pretty good shape, considering it dates to the first century of the common era. You can clearly see how the fasces is rendered with grooves like a fluted column to suggest a bundle of separate rods. And they’re bound together in two spots along the length. The tapering towards the tip might suggest that the rods themselves tapered or that the inner rods were gradually longer than the outer rods, but I’m just guessing. Note also the nifty handle of slimmer diameter, so the lictor could easily grasp the fasces with one hand.

According to some interpretations, the number of rods in the fasces was traditionally twelve, a particularly auspicious number to the Romans. [4] We already just learned about the Twelve Tables. Also, there being twelve months in a year, twelve was significant to the god Janus, god of beginnings, doorways, and the new year. Livy states that Romulus was first to appoint lictors and their number was twelve, either because of a good omen of twelve birds promising the kingdom to Romulus or because that number was imported from the Etruscans. [5] Lictors and the fasces were likely an Etruscan invention. [6] Subsequently, kings, dictators, emperors, and consuls of Rome traditionally had a retinue of twelve lictors. It’s hard to say if actual Roman fasces truly had twelve rods, since as far as I know no Roman fasces survive today, so all we have to go by are miniature models, like the Art Institute’s figurine. But if you look really carefully at the number of grooves in the fasces, you might just be able to convince yourself that you’re seeing twelve distinct rods.

In contrast to most magistrates, a dictator retained all authority within the Pomerium, so his lictors’ fasces could continue to bear the axe blade. Going back to the Ara Pacis, we might start to wonder why the lictor has a fasces with an axe blade. If he’s one of the flamen’s or Agrippa’s lictors and they’re inside the Pomerium, then the fasces theoretically shouldn’t have an axe blade. But maybe he’s one of Augustus Caesar’s lictors, and the emperor was as good (or bad) as any dictator. Or maybe that’s because the ritual procession represented on the Ara Pacis was held at the site of the Ara Pacis in the Campus Martius, which was outside the Pomerium, so the fasces could lawfully bear the axe. Or maybe you really don’t care about any of this.

The symbol of a bundle of rods suggests strength through unity. On its own, a single stick is easy to break, but a union of many sticks standing fast together in the face of adversity become a formidable talk to me. This symbol and metaphor was readily adopted by later left-leaning cooperatives and workers’ unions. The modern Italian word fascio is related to the Latin fascio and that’s where we get the word “fascism.” The Italian Fascist movement of the 20th century spearheaded by the infamous Benito Mussolini was arguably the most successful at co-opting the term and symbol for their nationalistic movement.

While the fasces became the symbol of the Italian Fascist Party, they weren’t the first or last modern military or political body to employ the emblem. The fasces continue to be used widely today not as an actual bundle of wood with an axe blade sticking out, but as a decorative emblem on shields, crests, and flags throughout the world.

In the United States alone, the fasces appear on the seal of the National Guard Bureau, on the so-called “Mercury” dime minted from 1916-1945, on either side of the flag behind the rostrum in the House of Representatives, on the seal of the U.S. Senate, on the arms of the chair of the Lincoln Memorial, above the door to Chicago’s City Hall, and that’s just barely scratching the surface. Look up fasces on Wikipedia.org for a much more exhaustive list. And for a three-dimensional representation of the fasces fully in the round, check out the statue of the virtuous Roman dictator Cincinnatus in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the Mace of the House of Representatives. [7]

Well, my thanks to those of you still listening. That’s probably more than most people would ever care to know about the fasces. I encourage you to visit ancientartpodcast.org where you’ll find the photo gallery and credits for this and other episodes, the transcript with lots of helpful footnotes, links to other great online resources, and an lengthy bibliography. If you have any questions or comments, email me at info@ancientartpodcast.org or fill out the Feedback form on the website at http://feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. Connect with the podcast at http://facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and get in touch on Twitter @lucaslivingston. If you want to help support the podcast, you can leave your comments and ratings on YouTube and iTunes. Thanks for tuning in and we’ll see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] The apex was made of olive wood according to <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flamen>, metal according to Mary Ann Sullivan.
[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lictor
[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fasces#cite_note-2
[4] Julius Evola, in Roma, December 28, 1934. Retrieved 7 February, 2012.
[5] Livy, Ab urbe condita, 1:8.
[6] Brown, Henry C. Roman Society: A Social, Economic, and Cultural History, 2nd edition. D. C. Heath and Company, 1992, p. 12.
[7] Check out this great website about the art and history of the House Chamber.

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Credits:

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

48: Apollo Sauroktonos the Lizard Slayer

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Welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. I’m your host, Lucas Livingston. Back in episode 26 we had a close look at the Aphrodite of Knidos, a particularly famous 4th century BC statue by one of the most renowned sculptors of the late-Classical Greek world, Praxiteles. In this episode, number 48, we’re going look at another famous work by Praxiteles, the Apollo Sauroktonos, a.k.a. the Lizard Slayer.

As with the Aphrodite and so many other documented works of art from antiquity, the original Apollo Sauroktonos by Praxiteles doesn’t actually survive. Or does it!? When the Cleveland Museum of Art announced its acquisition of a life-sized bronze Apollo Sauroktonos in 2004, it stirred up a lot of debate as to whether or not this could actually be the original work by Praxiteles from about 350 BC. [1] Could be. Could be a later copy … replica … homage … whatever your preference. On account of the original’s particular fame, though, what we have for certainty are a few mostly Roman replicas. This includes a marble sculpture in the Vatican and a bronze figurine in the Villa Albani in Rome. Another particularly well-known Roman copy is in the Louvre Museum … um, Paris, France, if you didn’t know. It probably dates to the 2nd century of the Common Era. It’s a life-sized marble measuring about one and a half meters high or about 4′ 11″.

Here we see a nude image of the god Apollo represented as a fit teenage boy leaning against a tree trunk with a lizard scaling up its side. Apollo is standing upright with his weight shifted to his right leg. His left knee is bent with his left foot perched slightly behind the other. His right arm is stretched out before him, while the left arm is held high braced against the tree. His head tilts downward and to his left, his gaze firmly entranced by the lizard. His youthful wild hair is contained (seemingly with some difficulty) by a band around his head, perhaps suggesting the laurel wreath Apollo is accustomed to wear. The dynamic twist of his mass tilts the horizontal axes of his waist and shoulders, forming the classic contraposto. The overall graceful composition of his form further exaggerates the contraposto, creating a sinuous S-curve in the vertical axis. [2]

Thanks to ancient authors, we don’t have to guess as to what’s going on here. In Book 34 of his Natural History published around AD 77-79, Pliny the Elder tells us that “Although Praxiteles was more successful, and therefore more famous for his marble sculptures … he made the youthful Apollo, known as the ‘Sauroctonos,’ because he is lying in ambush with an arrow for a lizard crawling towards him.” [3] An arrow likely made out of bronze is customarily said to have once resided in Apollo’s proper right hand pointing dangerously toward the lizard. In his left hand up above, many scholars like to imagine a slender bronze wire dangling its way down to form a leash cinched around the poor lizard’s neck. [4] Much like bronze sculpture itself, those bronze fixtures from antiquity are pretty scarce, as someone down the line invariably thought it would be a bright idea to scavenge and repurpose the bronze for weaponry or what not.

The humorous albeit a little sadistic subject to this sculpture is conventionally thought to be a tongue-in-cheek reference to the mythological battle over the sanctuary of Delphi between Apollo and the giant snake-like dragon Python. [5] Variously described as a gigantic serpent or monstrous dragon, the fabulous beast Python was said to be the guardian of the oracle at the sanctuary of the earth goddess Gaia at the location of what was later to be known as Delphi. Our good friend, the Augustan-age writer, Ovid informs us in his Metamorphoses that Gaia bore the giant serpentine dragon, who kept its lair on the face of Mount Parnassus. When Apollo engaged Python in battle, it took volleys of arrows by the thousands from his glittering bow to bring down the monster, who laid dying with its poisonous blood pouring from black wounds. In memory of this, the famous artistic and athletic contests, the Pythian games, were said to have been founded by Apollo. [6] We have to insert a footnote here. Ovid credits the foundation of the Pythian games with the defeat of Python, but if you remember back to episode 19 on the ancient Olympics, other authors say the games were founded in memory of the nymph Daphne. Ovid reserves the Daphne legend, however, for why Apollo started using a crown of laurel instead of a crown of oak. Now back to the program. With the overthrow of Python, the oracle transferred from Gaia to Apollo and the name of the site changed from Pytho to Delphi, which has something to do with dolphins, but that’s not relevant here.

Some modern scholars are fond of interpreting this mythological transfer of power as a tell-tale signature of the conquest of the invading Hellenic Greek tribes over some pre-Hellenic culture. Ah yes, the ever-popular theory of the “Dorian invasion.” The ancient shamanistic cults devoted to snakes, rocks, and the primordial race of Titans gives way to the civilized rule of the Olympian deities. It makes for a fun interpretation.

And if it sounds like we’re smelling the vapors here, well, that’s another theory. The oracle of Delphi seated upon her tripod throne was called the Pythia, a vestige of Python and Delphi’s former name of Pytho. In popular culture since antiquity, it’s been said that the Pythia delivered her divine oracular messages in the form of ecstatic babbling after getting high on natural gas emissions coming from a sacred crack in the ground. Holy chasmic prophesies, Batman!

The Apollo Sauroktonos is a great example of late-Classical sculpture and aesthetics. Praxiteles has entirely abandoned the blockiness of early kouroi figures, like the archaic Metropolitan kouros we explored in episode 16. He’s even transcended the early-Classical artist’s yearning for the idealized masculine physique to give us here a more calmed-down expression of realistic humanity.

Furthermore, the grandeur of tales and legends conceived in monumental works of the earlier centuries continues to be explored by Praxiteles and his contemporaries, but in less direct ways as metaphors. Divine beings and mythical beasts are reduced to the mortal world of children and backyard animals.

Think back to episode 6 on the Classical lekythos. Remember the vase showing Ajax burying his sword in preparation for his own suicide? There we had a similar allusion to a violent epic narrative through, all things considered, a pretty peaceful-looking scene. Here the epic victory of the god Apollo vanquishing the giant dragon Python has been reduced to a parody of a mischievous child teasing a poor, defenseless, frightened lizard. Whether you’re familiar with the background narrative or not, regardless, it sure makes a great lawn ornament.

Thanks for tuning in. As always, I encourage you to check out ancientartpodcast.org, where, for this episode especially, you’ll find lots of great links and references in the footnotes of the transcript, including more details on the background of the Cleveland Apollo Sauroktonos and a few ancient accounts in translation of the battle between Apollo and Python, like Ovid and the Homeric Hymn to Pythian Apollo. I welcome your questions and comments at info@ancientartpodcast.org or on the website at http://feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. If you dig the podcast, please consider rating it on iTunes, YouTube, or Vimeo. You can also connect with the podcast at http://facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and get in touch on Twitter @lucaslivingston. Thanks again and we’ll see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] News Release: Cleveland Museum of Art Acquires Rare Monumental Ancient Bronze Sculpture of Apollo Sauroktonos.To put further fuel on the fire, the history of ownership for the Cleveland’s Sauroktonos is a bit nebulous:

  1. Art Knowledge News: The Louvre Declines Apollo Statue from Cleveland Museum of Art
  2. Stanford Archaeology Center: Cultural Heritage Resource: Cleveland Apollo Sauroktonos

[2] It’s important to point out that both hands and the head of the lizard in the Louvre’s example are modern restorations. Similarly, lots has been restored in the Vatican’s copy, including the left side of the face, the right eye, the right forearm, both legs from the knees down, part of the tree trunk, the upper part of the lizard, and the pedestal. See G. M. A. Richter’s The Sculpture and Sculptuors of the Greeks, 1950, p 262, note 48. Those restorations aren’t just slapped on willy-nilly, however. Restorers carefully examine other copies and textual evidence to try to put together a faithful recreation of the original work. Even minuscule images struck on coins can provide a wealth of information.

[3] Pliny the Elder, Natural History 34.19
Latin: “Praxiteles quoque, qui marmore felicior, ideo et clarior fuit, fecit tamen et ex aere pulcherrima opera. … Fecit et puberem Apollinem subrepenti lacertae comminus sagitta insidiantem, quem Sauroctonon vocant.”
Click here for another English translation

[4] Jody Maxmin, “A Note on Praxiteles’ ‘Sauroktonos,'” Greece & Rome, Second Series, Vol. 20, No. 1 (Apr., 1973), pp. 36-37
Jean Sorabella, “Eros and the Lizard: Children, Animals, and Roman Funerary Sculpture,” Hesperia Supplements, Vol. 41, Constructions of Childhood in Ancient Greece and Italy (2007), pp. 353-370 (see specifically p 364)

[5] The Homeric Hymn to Pythian Apollo has a decent account of the conflict between Apollo and Python (δράκαιναν, “she-dragon,” “dragoness”). Selections regarding Python from the Homeric Hymn to Pythian Apollo (Translated by Hugh G. Evelyn-White):

(ll. 300-304) But near by was a sweet flowing spring, and there with his strong bow the lord, the son of Zeus, killed the bloated, great she-dragon, a fierce monster wont to do great mischief to men upon earth, to men themselves and to their thin- shanked sheep; for she was a very bloody plague.

(ll. 354-362) Whosoever met the dragoness, the day of doom would sweep him away, until the lord Apollo, who deals death from afar, shot a strong arrow at her. Then she, rent with bitter pangs, lay drawing great gasps for breath and rolling about that place. An awful noise swelled up unspeakable as she writhed continually this way and that amid the wood: and so she left her life, breathing it forth in blood. Then Phoebus Apollo boasted over her:
(ll. 363-369) ‘Now rot here upon the soil that feeds man! You at least shall live no more to be a fell bane to men who eat the fruit of the all-nourishing earth, and who will bring hither perfect hecatombs. Against cruel death neither Typhoeus shall avail you nor ill-famed Chimera, but here shall the Earth and shining Hyperion make you rot.’
(ll. 370-374) Thus said Phoebus, exulting over her: and darkness covered her eyes. And the holy strength of Helios made her rot away there; wherefore the place is now called Pytho, and men call the lord Apollo by another name, Pythian; because on that spot the power of piercing Helios made the monster rot away.
Greek text
English text

Gaius Julius Hyginus (c. 64 BC – AD 17), Fabulae 140 is also another great but late source for the legend of Python:

“Python, offspring of Terra, was a huge dragon who, before the time of Apollo, used to give oracular responses on Mount Parnassus. Death was fated to come to him from the offspring of Latona. At that time Jove lay with Latona, daughter of Polus. When Juno found this out, she decreed (?) that Latona should give birth at a place where the sun did not shine. When Python knew that Latona was pregnant by Jove, he followed her to kill her. But by order of Jove the wind Aquilo carried Latona away, and bore her to Neptune. He protected her, but in order not to make voice Juno’s decree, he took her to the island Ortygia, and covered the island with waves. When Python did not find her, he returned to Parnassus. But Neptune brought the island of Ortygia up to a higher position; it was later called the island of Delos. There Latona, clinging to an olive tree, bore Apollo and Diana, to whom Vulcan gave arrows as gifts. Four days after they were born, Apollo exacted vengeance for his mother. For he went to Parnassus and slew Python with his arrows. (Because of this deed he is called Pythian.) He put Python’s bones in a cauldron, deposited them in his temple, and instituted funeral games for him which are called Pythian.” http://www.theoi.com/Text/HyginusFabulae3.html

[6] Ovid, Metamorphoses, trans. Rolfe Humphries, Indiana University Press, 1.430-451:

“When moisture unites with heat, life is conceived; all things come from this union. … So when earth [Gaia], after that flood, still muddy, took the heat, felt the warm fire of sunlight, she conceived, brought forth, after their fashion, all the creatures, some old, some strange and monstrous. One, for instance, she bore unwanted, a gigantic serpent [serpens], Python by name, whom the new people dreaded, a huge bulk on the mountain-side. Apollo, god of the glittering bow, took a long time to bring him down, with arrow after arrow he had never used before except in hunting deer and the skipping goats. Out of the quiver sped arrows by the thousand, till the monster, dying, poured poisonous blood on those black wounds. In memory of this, the sacred games, called Pythian, were established, and Apollo ordained for all young winners in the races, on foot or chariot, for victorious fighters, the crown of oak. That was before the laurel, that was before Apollo wreathed his forehead with garlands from that tree, or any other.”

49: Ancient Dragons

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Episode 49: Ancient Dragons

Greetings warriors. I am Lucas Livingston, your Dungeon Master on our intrepid journey though the mythical realm known as the Ancient Art Podcast. In recent episodes, we’ve encountered fierce beasts and fantastical monsters, notably that celebrated, timeless creature of legend known as the dragon. Here in episode 49 of the Ancient Art Podcast, we’re going to dig deeper, exploring the ancient legends and origins of dragons, separating fact from fiction and good from evil. Dragons permeate our cultural heritage in many forms and fashions: as ferocious fire-breathing, flesh-eating monsters, noble emblems of honor, and peace-loving creatures of earth, air, and water. But what are the ancient sources for our modern legends? From the salty depths of the Mediterranean, across the sun-scorched deserts of Central Asia, to the misty mountains of China and Japan, where do dragon myths first begin to take root? Can ancient authors help us find the way? Do mysterious remnants of bleached bones hold the key to the dragon’s secrets? Stick around and we may yet find out. So pack your bags, buy your spell components, and polish your long sword, because we’re going dragon hunting!

Last time in episode 48, we learned all about that famous work of late Classical Greek sculpture known as the Apollo Sauroktonos by Praxiteles. Sauroktonos is usually translated as “lizard-slayer.” “Ktonos” comes from κτείνω meaning “to kill” and σαύρα simply means a lizard. But we also threw around the word “dragon” a few times. As we learned, the sculpture alludes to the mythological battle between Apollo and Python over the sanctuary and oracle of Delphi. In Ancient Greek, that titanic serpent Python is called Πυθών, which is just a name and that’s where we get the word “python” from, not the other way around. Now, as you undoubtedly saw while you were closely scrutinizing the footnotes to episode 48, a word we sometimes see to describe Python is δράκαιναν or δράκων, where we can clearly see the origin for our word “dragon.” [1] Artwork from the Middle Ages and beyond generally display a preference for representing Python as a stereotypical winged dragon, but (to play devil’s advocate) representations from ancient Greece usually show Python as being more serpentine than draconian.

Another ancient dragon upon whose lair we recently stumbled is the one depicted on the Ara Pacis in episode 46. Not a lot has been published about this strange and wonderful creature. The woman perched upon the creature has been variously interpreted as a goddess of the sea winds, a Nereid, an aspect of Venus, and other beings. [2] Her and her compatriot’s choice of billowing attire reminds me, appropriately enough, of the Serpentine Dance, an 1896 knock-off of Loïe Fuller’s famous Fire Dance, which was all the rage in the Parisian Moulin Rouge scene.

The creature upon which this mystery woman is seated is usually called a sea creature or sea monster pretty much just as an after-thought. A 1994 articled in the American Journal of Archaeology argues that the creature should be identified as a κῆτος or cetus [ˈsē-təs], which is, well, a “sea monster,” but the author describes it as a sea dragon emerging from the waves of the ocean’s depths. Nereids are said to ride upon a cetus and, if you’re watching your Downton Abbey, then you know that the Greek hero Perseus rescued Andromeda from a cetus sent by Poseidon to devour her after Andromeda’s mother, Cassiopeia, boasted that she was prettier than the Nereids. You might know the cetus better as the kraken, which is actually a creature of Nordic myth and Clash of the Titans certainly took some liberties with this. According to the 1940 publication The Fish-tailed Monster in Greek and Etruscan Art, the characteristic features of the cetus are a canine head, large erect ears, sharp teeth, and a scaly serpentine body. It doesn’t mention wings, as we see on our Augustan-age sea dragon, but wings don’t necessarily have to be a prerequisite to qualify for dragon-hood. That said, however, full-bodied depictions of the cetus from antiquity often show wings or little wing-like membranes, like in this Roman mosaic in the Vatican and this Greek vessel from the Louvre; similarly on this South Italian loutrophoros at the Getty. [3]

Frequently, though, we scarcely see more than the mere head of the cetus and other draconian beasts. Here’s an nifty 6th century BC black-figure Corinthian amphora now in the Berlin Altes Museum. [4] It shows Perseus lobbing stones at the cetus while Andromeda stands behind. Draped over Perseus’s arm is the bag where he has stashed Medusa’s head. [5] One thing that’s interesting is how the head of the dragon seems to be emerging from some Neverland beyond the scene. Perhaps we’re expected to assume it’s emerging from the deep sea, like in other examples. There does seem to be a ripple of water under the beast’s head.

In the Boston Museum of Fine Arts there’s a 6th century BC Corinthian column-krater, which shows a similar fanged beast of whom we see nothing more than the head with its lolling tongue. This is the Dragon of Troy or the Trojan cetus. Similar to the Perseus story, Poseidon sent this cetus to rampage the Trojan coast after King Laomedon failed to pay back Poseidon for helping to build the walls of Troy. To appease the dragon, Laomedon chained his own daughter Hesione to a rock as a sacrifice. Hercules just happened to be passing by after having wrapped up the ninth of his twelve labors. Seeing a damsel in distress, he slew the dragon and rescued Hesione. [6] Does that story sound familiar to you? The hero arriving in the knick of time to save the fair maiden, who was presented as a sacrifice to the dragon? Saint George and the dragon comes to mind. Same story of Hercules and Hesione that was later re-spun for a Christian audience.

Hercules was no stranger to fighting dragons. In his second labor, he was sent to a swamp near Lake Lerna to defeat the Lernaean Hydra, a terrible beast with seven heads (although some say it had 50, 100, even 1000 heads). To make matters more difficult, when one head of this serpentine dragon was cut off another would grow in its place. Hercules was generally not proven to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but his resourceful side-kick Iolaus suggested that they take a flaming brand and cauterize the wounds after chopping off each head so that new heads couldn’t grow back from the stumps. [7] And to come up shortly after his encounter with the Dragon of Troy, Hercules would be sent on his eleventh labor to obtain the golden apples of the Hesperides guarded by the never-sleeping, hundred-headed dragon Ladon [Λάδων]. [8]

Going back to Dragon of Troy on the Boston krater, we see Hercules shooting a volley of arrows as Hesione throws stones at a monstrous head jutting from a dark rocky outcropping. Like the Berlin amphora, this beast is nothing but a head. More so, our imagination can’t even fill in the rest of the creature, since the disembodied head seems to be isolated, lodged into a cliff face. What’s also curious about this image of the Trojan dragon is that its devoid of the fleshy scaliness of other sea-dragons. What does that bleach-white head with its vacant eye socket look like to you? What’s that … a skull, you say? In the 2000 publication, The First Fossil Hunters: Paleontology in Greek and Roman Times, Adrienne Mayor convincingly suggested that this is an ancient Greek vase painter’s attempt at rendering a fossilized skull projecting from a rocky outcropping. [9] With its forward-pointing teeth, the author suggests that it could have been inspired by a reptile or toothed whale skull, or perhaps most convincingly the skull of a extinct giant giraffe like the Samotherium, which once roamed the hills of prehistoric Greece and whose fossils were most likely readily visible to any observant ancient Greek naturalist.

The First Fossil Hunters also suggests that fossilized remains of the dinosaur Protoceratops could have inspired legends of the griffin among central Asian merchants traversing the inhospitable Gobi desert. The griffin is fairly well known to us today thanks to the antics of that wizard of Hogwarts, Harry Potter (ok, ok, Mr. Smarty Pants, technically that was a hippogriff). The Protoceratops has a large bird-like beak, long tail, four agile limbs, and … well, if you’re bound and determined to see claws, then you’re going to see claws. All that was needed was the imagination of some sun-scorched travelers to slap wings on this half-lion, half-eagle creation to conjure the griffin into modern consciousness. Most of us probably consider the griffin to be a beast of Greek mythology, but it actually originated in Central Asian, and later made its way to ancient Greece. [10]

The First Fossil Hunters is an interesting read and painstakingly assembles all sorts of ancient Greek and Roman accounts of excavating and interpreting fossilized bones. The evidence stacks up fairly well to suggest that the fossilized remains of Earth’s gargantuan prehistoric animals inspired the many mythological creatures of early cultures, including the dragon in its many forms.

The Ancient Greek World is not alone in its draconian heritage. On his visit to India, the first century Greek philosopher Apollonius described how the whole of India is infested with dragons of enormous size, from the marshes to the mountains, up to 30 cubits in length, with sizable crests on their backs and glittering gold or silver scales. When the dragons of the plains attack elephants, he explained, both creatures perish and the prized dragon carcass goes to the fortunate hunter who passes upon the spoil. The mountain dragon can take down an elephant, but the human hunter will subdue the beast through magical runes inscribed upon a cloak lain before the creatures lair. [11]

What’s puzzling about Apollonius’s account is that there’s isn’t much from Indian mythology that would suggest dragons. There are plenty of Indian myths and legends about giant serpentine deities, like the Nagas ruling over the seas and pools, Ananta, the cosmic serpent of creation upon whom the god Vishnu reclines, and Muchalinda, the serpent king who sheltered the meditating Buddha during a torrential storm with his massive multi-headed hood. The original account by Apollonius is lost, but his tales are preserved in The Life of Apollonius by the second century Greek writer Flavius Philostratus. Philostratus uses the Greek word δράκων, but this may be a prime example where this term could be taken to mean a giant serpent instead of a dragon, although culturally the distinction between giant mythological serpents and dragons is pretty blurry.

To return to the definitive ancient dragon, we need to continue our travels eastward to China and Japan. Throughout much of China’s history, it was not uncommon for merchant caravans traveling the Silk Road or farmers plowing their fields to stumble upon and unearth bone fragments of ancient animals. These relics were dubbed dragon bones and readily sold off to apothecaries where they’d be ground up and consumed for their medicinal value. Dragon bones inscribed with oracular predictions by ancient peoples are especially prized today … both in museums and still in pharmacies. Returning to The First Fossil Hunters, Ancient Chinese people happening upon the fossilized remains of extinct prehistoric species might help to explain certain features of traditional Chinese dragons, like antlers resembling those of prehistoric deer, who once roamed northern China and Mongolia. [12]

Fantastical winged creatures and snarling beasts permeate the artistic heritage of China. A long time ago in episode 8 about cicadas, we already looked at the monster mask commonly gracing ancient bronze vessels as early as the 2nd millennium BC and earlier jade carvings of the 3rd millennium. Winged creatures similar to dragons and griffins often blend into the decorative repertoire of early Chinese art. The distinctive features of the dragon gradually crystalized and soon became a favorite subject of Chinese artists. These meticulously crafted jade dragon pendants of the 5th to 3rd centuries BC gracefully capture the benevolent, ethereal nature of the mythical Chinese dragon as a creature of air and water. The Daoist celestial immortals are said to soar through the sky on the backs of dragons as in this pair of Han Dynasty clay figures in the Art Institute. I’m struck by the similarity to images of Greek Nereids riding their own dragons. What’s really interesting is if you go halfway in between Greece and China along the heavily traveled trade routes of the Gandharan region of ancient Pakistan, at around the same time, circa 1st century BC or AD, you get the same thing, a Nereid riding her sea dragon.

Unlike dragons of western folklore, the Chinese dragon is a nice example of a good dragon. To take a page from the Midwest Buddhist Temple podcast [13] Ok, maybe not as cuddly as Falcor, but hey, we’ll take what we can get. But like Falcor, the East Asian dragon is also a luck dragon. And with its association with water and rain, the dragon becomes a symbol of fertility and fecundity. That makes this a very special time, because 2012 is the year of the dragon. Associated with power and strength, the dragon is the symbol of the emperor of China, and the phoenix the symbol of the empress. Remember the Art Institute’s Ming dynasty blue and white vase from episode 8? Here we see a sinuous five-clawed imperial dragon swirling among wispy clouds with phoenix birds flitting about. It’s a harmonious combination of the feminine empress united with the masculine emperor. Like the the yin and the yang, two complimentary opposites brought together to form a balanced and unified whole.

To close, dragons, of course, continue to be widely celebrated today in both popular culture and fine art. Combining the time-honored traditions of the folding screen, painting, and calligraphy with modern abstraction, the 20th century Japanese artist Morita Shiryu enjoyed expressing his enthusiasm for the ancient creature. This screen in the Art Institute of Chicago called Dragon Knows Dragon literally spells out the title of the piece with the broad strokes of a gargantuan brush in highly stylized calligraphy. The artist used aluminum metallic paint covered by a yellow varnish to give the characters the appearance of shimmering golden dragon scales. The expressive forms of the words seem to animate like the coils of serpentine dragons, the figure to the right poised for the pounce, while the figure at left sails high among clouds with its long tail flitting behind.

I hope you enjoyed our exploration of the origins and appearances of dragons in ancient art. Don’t forget to head on over to ancientartpodcast.org for all sorts of goodies, like detailed credits for all the images, a big bibliography, and transcripts with footnotes. The whole social media thing may not be to your liking. So, to paraphrase one of my favorite podcasts, The World: Technology podcast, there are many ways you can ignore me on social media. You can not friend me at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and disregard me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. You may patently refuse to leave your comments on YouTube, iTunes, and Vimeo. But for the old school crowd, you can still get in touch with me via email at info@ancientartpodcast.org or send me your feedback on the web at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. As always, thanks for tuning in and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] Homeric Hymn to Pythian Apollo
[2] For a summary of references, see page 67 in Babette Stanley Spaeth, “The Goddess Ceres in the Ara Pacis Augustae and the Carthage Relief,” American Journal of Archaeology 98:1 (Jan. 1994), pp. 65-100.
[3] For a ridiculously large collection of ketos/sea-dragon images, check out the Flickr group Ketos (or Jonah & the seamonster).
[4] Found in Cerveteri, Italy according to Carpenter fig. 159 and p106.
[5] Carpenter mentions that the item on Perseus’s arm is the kibisis, κίβισις, “a pouch, wallet.” For more on the kibisis, see The Myth of Perseus and Medusa. The inscriptions tell us who the players are, but they may look a little funky to you even if you read Greek. It’s an archaic form of Greek substituting different characters.
[6] See Apollodorus, Library, Book II, Chapter 5, Section 9:
“But it chanced that the city was then in distress consequently on the wrath of Apollo and Poseidon. For desiring to put the wantonness of Laomedon to the proof, Apollo and Poseidon assumed the likeness of men and undertook to fortify Pergamum for wages. But when they had fortified it, he would not pay them their wages. Therefore Apollo sent a pestilence, and Poseidon a sea monster [κῆτος], which, carried up by a flood, snatched away the people of the plain. But as oracles foretold deliverance from these calamities if Laomedon would expose his daughter Hesione to be devoured by the sea monster, he exposed her by fastening her to the rocks near the sea. Seeing her exposed, Hercules promised to save her on condition of receiving from Laomedon the mares which Zeus had given in compensation for the rape of Ganymede. On Laomedon’s saying that he would give them, Hercules killed the monster and saved Hesione. But when Laomedon would not give the stipulated reward, Hercules put to sea after threatening to make war on Troy.” (Tran. Sir James George Frazer)  Link to original Greek
[7] See Apollodorus, Library, Book II, Chapter 5, Section 2:
“As a second labour he ordered him to kill the Lernaean hydra. That creature, bred in the swamp of Lerna, used to go forth into the plain and ravage both the cattle and the country. Now the hydra had a huge body, with nine heads, eight mortal, but the middle one immortal. So mounting a chariot driven by Iolaus, he came to Lerna, and having halted his horses, he discovered the hydra on a hill beside the springs of the Amymone, where was its den. By pelting it with fiery shafts he forced it to come out, and in the act of doing so he seized and held it fast. But the hydra wound itself about one of his feet and clung to him. Nor could he effect anything by smashing its heads with his club, for as fast as one head was smashed there grew up two. A huge crab also came to the help of the hydra by biting his foot. So he killed it, and in his turn called for help on Iolaus who, by setting fire to a piece of the neighboring wood and burning the roots of the heads with the brands, prevented them from sprouting. Having thus got the better of the sprouting heads, he chopped off the immortal head, and buried it, and put a heavy rock on it, beside the road that leads through Lerna to Elaeus.”
[8 Pausanias, Description of Greece, 6.19.8: “Heracles and the apple-tree of the Hesperides, with the snake (δράκων) coiled round the apple-tree.”
Hesiod uses ὄφις (serpent) in Theogony line 334.
[9] Adrienne Mayor, The First Fossil Hunters: Paleontology in Greek and Roman Times, Princeton University Press, 2000, p. 157 ff.
[10] Mayor, p. 22-23
[11] Flavius Philostratus, The Life of Apollonius, Translated by F.C. Conybeare, §6-10.Link to Life of Apollonius in original Greek.
[12] Mayor, p. 39, note 19.
[13] Dharmatalk: Midwest Buddhist Temple Podcast, 2012.01.08 – Rev Miyamura

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Credits:

guitarguy1985, buzzer.wav (ID: 54047), The Freesound Project <freesound.org>.
Anvil of Crom, Soundtrack to Conan the Barbarian (1982).
Limhal, The Never Ending Story (1984).

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

50: Images of Buddha

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Buddha at Sunset, Ayutthaya Historical Park

In some Buddhist traditions, people are encouraged to devote 100,000 miniature stupas, pagodas, or idols of Buddha as an act of extreme piety. Well, I’m not that pious. We celebrate 50 episodes of the Ancient Art Podcast with 50 images of Buddha. Enjoy this feast for the eyes of magnificent Buddhist treasures from the southern tip of India to the snowy peaks of the Himalayas, from the lush Southeast Asian tropics, stately caves of China, and serene bamboo groves of Japan.

Sound credits:

Jani Hirvonen, “Buddhist Monks Of Kathmandu Chanting In A Temple”

lectronice, “Singing bowl”

RTB45, “Ancient Pana Lhakhang Prayer Wheels-Bhutan.wav”

Timbre, “DJ Griffin’s Tibetan chant, (Freesound # 15488) with added harmonics, (a bit pan-pipe in places)”

Capuchin, “Flutes.mp3”

Capuchin, “Bells and drums .mp3”


51: Beer in Ancient Egypt

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Welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. I’m Lucas Livingston, your bartender in the pub of ancient civilizations. In episode 51 of the podcast, we examine the art, culture, history, and mythology surrounding the topic of beer in Ancient Egypt. We’ll look at the archaeological record to sort fact from fiction on the brewing process and maybe even dig up a recipe or two for Ancient Egyptian beer.

It’s tough to overemphasize the importance of beer in Ancient Egypt. Without this wonderful fermented beverage, Ancient Egyptian civilization, like so many others around the world, would have been hard pressed to take off. In an age before proper sanitation, beer was safer to drink than the water. All those nasty pathogens that love to wallow in still water can’t survive in even the modest alcohol level of beer. [1] There’s even evidence that beer served as a commodity or form of payment in Ancient Egypt. Looking back to episode 37, we learned a little something about the true pyramid builders and the quantities of meat that they received as part of their daily rations. Archaeological evidence also points to mass consumption of beer among the pyramid builders. [2]

To a lesser extent, wine was also pivotal in Ancient Egyptian society, but more so as an elite beverage and most of our evidence for wine in Ancient Egypt comes from tombs. Wine and beer played a key role as sustenance for the deceased in the afterlife. If you’ve been with the Ancient Art Podcast from the beginning, then you’re well acquainted with the Art Institute of Chicago’s wall fragments from the tombs of Amenemhet and Amenemhet (no relation). Both date to the 12th dynasty of the Middle Kingdom (circa 1976-1794 BC). On each fragment we see the deceased Amenemhet accompanied by members of his family. In one case, his mother Yatu. In the other, his wife Hemet and son Amenemhet, Jr. Piled high on the tables before them are the bounteous feasts that will nourish them for all eternity in the hereafter. Along with oxen, fowl, fruit, vegetables, and loaves of bread, we also see a number of ceramic vessels of the type for containing wine and beer. And just in case we aren’t sure what we’re looking at, the artists have thankfully give us descriptive captions. Down here in one example it says a “funerary meal.” And up above, we have the ubiquitous funerary prayer, which we call the “Hotep-di-nisw” and it says “An offering that the king gives consisting of a 1000 loaves of bread, 1000 jugs of beer, oxen, fowl, alabaster, and cloth, an offering of provisions, and everything good and pure on which a god lives for the revered one Osiris, lord of Djedu, great God, lord of Abydos.”

You can tell how critical beer was to the Egyptians by looking at their hieroglyphs. If you look really closely, you’ll of course find the word for beer (henket), which resembles a little jug with a slender neck and a stoppered spout. Looking at the inventory of the funerary feast, you’ll find similarly shaped ceramic vessels, although some of these are likely meant to depict wine jars and religious libation vessels. Beer jugs tended to be more stout and wide-mouthed.

If we switch over to the other Amenemhet for a moment, take a gander at what he’s hiding under his chair. Look at that squat, wide-mouthed jar. What’s that sticking out? If you’re familiar with Ancient Near Eastern art, you might recognize it more easily. Yeah, it’s a straw! It was quite common in ancient times to drink beer through a straw. In Mesopotamian cylinder seals we see people sitting around large vats drinking through long straws. Similarly, gracing the cover of Patrick McGovern’s excellent resource on ancient beer and wine, Uncorking the Past, we see this curious funerary stele in the Egyptian Museum of Berlin. This stele from c. 1350 BC comes from Akhetaten, the New Kingdom capital of the heretic pharaoh Akhenaten. Here we see a man with a Semitic-style beard and hairdo drinking his brew through a straw with the aid of a servant-boy. Opposite sits a woman in Egyptian-style dress.

Beer was brewed en-mass to be consumed as quickly as bread and water. It was often a communal drink shared between multiple people, hence the wide mouths and long straws for easier sharing. The straws also helped penetrate the floating dregs and yeasty foam on the surface. Egyptian beer wasn’t quite as nicely filtered as modern brews. A good reason beer was consumed quickly was because it’s didn’t preserve very well. Certain ingredients could have been added as preservatives, like tree resins (think the cedars of Lebanon), but there’s not a lot of evidence of this from Ancient Egypt. And another shocker, ancient beer didn’t have hops. Gasp! No India Pale Ales in Ancient Egypt. In fact, none of today’s beers would be found in ancient times. Pretty much all modern European and American styles of beer include hops as a primary ingredient. Hops was mandated as a beer ingredient in the German Reinheitsgebot of 1516 (AD, not BC). The resin in hops serves not only to add awesome flavor, but also as a great preservative.

Returning to one of the Middle Kingdom Amenemhet wall fragments, take a close look under the offering table to see something interesting. There’s a funny-looking spouted jug within a pot. It’s hard to say exactly what this is meant to represent. Likely a wine or beer container, but what about the odd design? Why put a jug in a pot? Well, my money’s on an Ancient Egyptian refrigerator! It’s a long-forgotten ancient technology using evaporation as a way to cool food or liquid. That would be especially welcome in a hot climate where edibles would spoil rather quickly. The technology of the nested-pot refrigerator (also called a “zeer pot”) is pretty simple. Just put one vessel inside another. They can be ceramic or metal; something heat-conductive, not insulating. Be sure there’s some space between the two pots. Fill that space with sand and water so the sand is totally saturated. Then cover the inner pot with a wet towel or some sort of insulating lid. Put the whole contraption in a warm, dry, shaded place. You might want to elevate it to let the breeze blow under. The water in the sand will evaporate, pulling heat from the inner vessel and causing the temperature inside to drop. This is a perfect science fair project that also promotes sustainability and social awareness for third world nations. For a great video demo of the nested-pot fridge, check out Revision3’s Scientific Tuesdays “Flower Pot Fridge” (or just google “Scientific Tuesdays flower pot fridge”). Also be sure to check out the footnotes to this episode at ancientartpodcast.org for more sources on modern applications of the zeer pot. [3] So, if my wholeheartedly conjectural and unsupported claim is correct, the Ancient Egyptians likely enjoyed their beer chilled. Aha, but the words of at least one Ancient Egyptian actually support this! A surviving testimonial against some petty robbers states that “They drew a bottle of beer which was [cooling] in water, while I was staying in my father’s room.” [4]

Back up in the inscription on the other Amenemhet fragment we see a complicated hieroglyph composed of the glyph for a house along with a loaf of bread, a jug of beer, and a thingamajig. All together, this means a “mortuary offering.” So, bread and beer were the quintessential foodstuffs of the afterlife and, by association, life on earth along the banks of the Nile at least four thousand years ago.

Bread and beer are closely related in the archaeological record. They involve the same primary ingredients: barely or emmer grain, water, and yeast (although the latter wasn’t discovered until much later … we’re talking Louis Pasteur in the 19th century). Beer is often dubbed liquid bread, but the two require rather different preparation processes. It’s popularly believed that, to make beer, the Ancient Egyptians took freshly partially baked bread, crumbled it up, soaked it in water, and fermented that concoction. Those of us with fond memories of the 2010 Discovery Channel series Brew Masters may recall the Ancient Ale episode where the Delaware-based Dogfish Head Craft Brewery developed its Ancient Egyptian-inspired ale Ta Henket. That episode certainly captured the mystique of Ancient Egypt, but it also perpetuated the notion that Egyptian beer was brewed from bread.

In the mid to late 90’s, archaeobotanist Delwen Samuel analyzed the ancient residues found inside Egyptian beer vessels. Her analysis found no microscopic evidence of milled and baked grain in these residues (so, no bread), but found plenty of evidence of malted and unmalted barley and emmer grain. [5] There’s a mildly alcoholic modern Egyptian beverage made from lightly baked bread called bouza, which is prepared today by Egyptian Coptic Christians. [6] It’s tempting to see this as a modern vestige of ancient practices, but to be serious, we need more than just speculation.

The Ancient Egyptians may have also included certain additives in their beer. Egyptian wine certainly included a variety of added ingredients like coriander, sage, thyme, mint, and other herbs and spices. And beer may also have had added fruits and spices. Grains are pretty stubborn when fermenting on their own under natural airborne yeasts, but the added sugars in fruit may have helped induce fermentation, as suggested by Patrick McGovern in Uncorking the Past [7], but Samuel counters that there is little direct evidence of this in the archaeological record. [8] If you want to delve deeper into Delwen Samuel’s research, head on over to ancientgrains.org where you can download plenty of interesting articles. But we can’t take any one particular study to be conclusive for all of Ancient Egyptian beer. There’s evidence for many different styles of beer across the vast geography and thousands of years of Egyptian civilization. There’s also strong evidence that bread and fruit additives played a role in ancient Mesopotamian ale, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if recipes were traded back and forth over time. [9]

I’d like to take a moment now for a word from the sponsor of this episode of the Ancient Art Podcast, Pharaoh Hop’n’khamun Ale:

After a long day of pyramid-building under the heat of the Egyptian sun, I like to unwind with a tall, frosty mug of Pharaoh Hop’n’khamun, an Ancient Egyptian beer with a modern twist. Brewed from the finest malted barley and emmer grain fit for a pharaoh and infused with the sweet resins from the Cedars of Lebanon, Pharaoh Hop’n’khamun takes you back to the incense-shrouded mysteries of Karnak Temple. A secret blend of fruit and spices extracted from the wine of King Scorpion’s tomb and the bitterness of American hops packs an aromatic punch sure to please the modern palette. So crack open a Pharaoh Hop’n’khamun today. Visit ancientartpodcast.org/brew to learn more. And now back to the program.

The notion of adding fruit to beer is explored in the ancient legend of the lion goddess Sekhmet, the ferocious enforcer of the gods, who went by the code name the “Eye of Ra.” According to the legend found in the tomb of King Tut among others, humans had plotted against the sun god Ra, because they thought he had grown weak and feeble in his age. Well, Ra wouldn’t have it. So he sent forth his assassin, the Eye of Ra, in the form of the cow goddess Hathor to destroy mankind. She went into the desert and butchered the cowering people, who rightly feared Ra’s vengeance. Ra was pleased with her work and transformed her into the bloodthirsty lioness Sekhmet (the “Powerful One”). All night Sekhmet waded in the blood of those she had slain. Ra grew concerned about Sekhmet’s blood lust and feared she would continue her rampage in the morning until all of mankind had been slain. So, he had his servants brew a massive quantity of beer mixed with the red fruit of mandrake in some versions of the tale, red ochre mineral in other versions, and pomegranate fruit in yet other versions. These 7,000 jars of blood-red beer were poured onto the ground where Sekhmet planned to begin her slaughter in the morning. As dawn broke, she came upon the lake of beer. Thinking it to be blood, she gorged herself until she was so entirely drunk that she couldn’t continue with her rampage. Then the fierce lioness Sekhmet transformed into the sweet, demure, pussy-cat goddess Bastet. [10]

Now, I wouldn’t go brewing mandrake ale just yet, but this tale does offer up an interesting ethnographic case study. Did the Egyptians brew a fermented beverage involving pomegranate? Did they exploit the hallucinogenic properties of mandrake in their alcoholic beverages or was that exclusively for subduing the wrathful Sekhmet? Perhaps time and further residue analysis will tell, but for now we’ll permit ourselves to run wild with frothy speculation. Now go have a cold one for me … and put it on King Tut’s tab.

Thanks for listening to the Ancient Art Podcast. Be sure to check out the footnotes and references at ancientartpodcast.org for this and other episodes, where you’ll also find image credits and links to other great online resources. And if you’re interested in following along as I delve deeper into the magical realm of home brewing with an ancient twist, check out my new brew blog at ancientartpodcast.org/brew. Don’t forget you can find me at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and on Twitter @lucaslivingston. I love reading your comments on YouTube, iTunes, and Vimeo. And you can get in touch with me on email at info@ancientartpodcast.org or send me your feedback on the web at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. As always, thanks for tuning in and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] McGovern, Patrick, Uncorking the Past: The Quest for Wine, Beer, and Other Alcoholic Beverages, University of California Press, 2009, p. 7, 243. See also Charlie Papazian, The Complete Joy of Home Brewing, 3rd Edition, HarperCollins Publishers, 2003, p. 25.

[2] McGovern 244 and Brian Handwerk, “Pyramid Builders’ Village Found in Egypt,” National Geographic News, updated 18 September 2002, retrieved 3 July 2012.

[3] Zeer-pot resources:

  1. “Pot-in-pot refrigerator,” Wikipedia, retrieved 3 July, 2012.
  2. Lloyd Alter, “Solar Fridge Invented (Again) by UK Student,” Treehugger.com, 8 January, 2009, retrieved 3, July 2012.
  3. “Zeer pot fridge: How a clay pot refrigerator can help beat hunger,” Practical Action, retrieved 3 July, 2012.

[4] Excerpt from Mariette G. Maspero, Etudes de mythologie et d’archéologie égyptiennes, vol. 3, 1898. Website retrieved 29 June 2012.

[5] Samuel Delwen and P. Bolt, “Rediscovering Ancient Egyptian Beer” in Brewers’ Guardian, 124:26-31 (December 1995) and “Archaeology of Ancient Egyptian Beer,” in Journal of the American Society of Brewing Chemists, 54 (1996), p. 3-12.

[6] McGovern 245 & Samuel, Delwen, “Brewing and Baking in Ancient Egyptian Art,” in Food in the Arts: Proceedings of the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cookery 1998, edited by Harlan Walker, Prospect Books, 1999, p. 174. As an aside, apparently there’s no etymological relationship between “bouza” and the English vernacular “booze.”

[7] McGovern 243.

[8] Samuel, Delwen, “Archaeology of Ancient Egyptian Beer,” in Journal of the American Society of Brewing Chemists, 54 (1996), p. 10.

[9] Kathleen R. Mineck, “Beer Brewing in Ancient Mesopotamia” in The Oriental Institute News & Notes, No. 201 (Spring 2009), 8-10.

[10] McGovern 246 & Lewis Spence, Egypt: Myths and Legends, London: George G. Harrap & Co., Ltd, 1915, Senate, 1994, p. 166-8 & Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature: Volume 2, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1975-76, p. 197-9.

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Credits:

Soundtrack to Pharaoh Hop’n’khamun advertisement:
Jim Boz, “Kendra” from the album Folkatronic
Available on iTunes

Additional media courtesy of:

Metropolitan Museum of Art
Art Institute of Chicago
Boston Museum of Fine Arts
drhawass.com
NOVA | PBS
British Museum
patmcgovern, flickr.com
+Russ, flickr.com
practicalaction.org
worldaware.org.uk
treehugger.com
dailymail.co.uk
globalpost.com
osirisnet.net
smithsonianmag.com
Arthur Chapman, flickr.com
johan.pipet, flickr.com
thoughtsonaplate.wordpress.com
Discovery Communications, LLC, discovery.com
LEGO® Harry Potter © 2012 The LEGO Group
Harry Potter © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
Harry Potter Publishing Rights © JKR
Wikimedia Commons
Apple

See the Photo Gallery for image credits.

52: Wine in Ancient Egypt

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Harvesting Grapes, Tomb of Nakht

Greetings, fellow swaggers, and welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. Previously in our pontifications on ancient indulgence, we explored the pivotal role of beer in Ancient Egypt as fuel for the pyramid builders, as an eternal offering to the gods and dead, as an excuse for inventing refrigeration, and as as an all-around-safer-to-drink-than-the-water beverage.

In this episode, let us turn away from the beverage of the unwashed masses to the finer drink, wine. As mentioned previously, wine in Ancient Egypt was something of a luxury commodity, a beverage for the elite. The earliest wine in Egypt from about 3,100 BC wasn’t even from Egypt. It was imported all the way from the Levant—what’s today around in the region of Jordan and southern Palestine. A massive cache of this imported wine was discovered in the tomb of King Scorpion I (yes, there really was a King Scorpion). This cache of wine would serve as sustenance for the king in the hereafter. While commoners like Amenemhet, whom we met last time, had to suffice with a mere reasonable number of physical offerings and a meager inscription promising a 1,000 vessels of alcohol, over 1,000 years earlier King Scorpion was buried with over 4,500 liters or about 1,200 gallons of the good stuff. It’s good to be the king.

Wine didn’t take long to establish a foothold in Egypt. We soon see royal wineries cropping up and the institutionalization of wine in religious practice. [1] Egyptian wine included a variety of added ingredients like coriander, sage, thyme, mint, and other herbs and spices. They weren’t all added at once, but chemical analysis of ancient residue reveals different ingredients in different quantities. So you’d have a variety of styles and flavors. Fruit like figs and whole grapes or raisins were also added to enhanced the taste and possibly even help kick-start the fermentation. [2]

Wine was a contributing factor in the development of writing. With all those different varieties of wine, you’d want a way to keep track of your inventory. Some of the earliest hieroglyphs from Egypt are found on jar labels for food and wine. They were made from incised cylinder seals rolled over wet clay, a technique borrowed from the Ancient Near East. [3] Distinctions found on more elaborate wine labels included the names for the regions of origin, sometimes even including the estate and vintner name. Much as we today have recommended pairings of certain wine with fish, filet mignon, and duck, the Egyptians indicated their wine as being “wine for merry making,” “wine for offerings,” or “wine for taxes.” And in their reviews of wine, Ancient Egyptians pretty much cut to the chase with descriptions including “genuine,” “good,” “very good,” and “very very good.” [4]

Fast forward over 1,000 years past King Scorpion to the New Kingdom and we see a highly developed art of Egyptian wine-making and wine-drinking. On the magnificent painted wall fragments from the tomb of Nebamun now in the British Museum, we see a most sumptuous affair celebrating the deceased’s eternal feast in the afterlife. In one section, numerous elegantly dressed guests seated at a cocktail party are handed small drinking cups by young nude servants. The cups are likely meant to hold wine and we see the fruitful bounty of the funerary feast to the left, including meat, bread, fruit, notably ripe purple grapes overflowing their baskets, and numerous stoppered carafes of wine at their feet. Now, that’s a funeral I’d look forward to. And not that the Ancient Egyptians liked to immortalize anything unflattering, but elsewhere we even see the occasional good jab at these hoity-toity parties with graphic expressions of what these parties were really all about: overindulgence. And lest we still think the Egyptians thought too highly of themselves, the Egyptian word for wine was “yirp,” which some scholars today interpret as an onomatopoeic rendering of the sound one might issue after a little too much indulgence in the good stuff. [5]

Not much later than Nebamun, the young King Tut reigned over Egypt. In the manner of a king, Tut was buried with an abundance of grave goods of the highest quality. Among his many coffins, statues, jewelry, glowing lamps, and furniture was a magnificent Egyptian alabaster chalice, the so-called wishing cup. So-dubbed by King Tut’s discoverer, Howard Carter, this chalice prays that Tut’s ka (his soul) spend millions of years sitting toward the north wind with his eyes beholding happiness. It’s flowering lotus shape is flanked by two lotus handles surmounted by the god of eternity, Heh, grasping in each hand the hieroglyphic phrase for eternal life.

It’s conceivable that this magnificent work of art could have been crafted specifically as a funerary item, but my guess is that King Tut enjoyed this chalice so much in life that his beautiful young queen Ankhesenamun thought it only fitting that he continue to enjoy it in death.

Wine was consumed in Ancient Egypt with an almost religious proclivity. In fact, wine forms a central role in Egyptian mythology and religious rites. Looking back again to episode 51 on Beer in Ancient Egypt, we wrapped things up exploring the ancient legend of the bloodthirsty lion goddess Sekhmet, who was tricked into drinking a lake of beer dyed red with pomegranate, thinking it was the blood of her victims. Her severe intoxication thankfully curtailed the mass slaughter of humanity and transformed her into the gentler kitty-cat goddess Bastet.

This legend was very popular in Ancient Egypt and was reenacted annually in a sort of Spring Break Daytona Beach Girls Gone Wild Passion Play kind of thing. Our friend the Classical Greek traveler and historian Herodotus may have been witness to this festival, as he describes it with interesting detail in Book 2 of his Histories:

[This is the scene at Bubastis]: they come in barges, men and women together, a great number in each boat; on the way, some of the women keep up a continual clatter with castanets (κροταλίζουσι – “they shake rattles”) and some of the men play flutes, while the rest, both men and women, sing and clap their hands. Whenever they pass a town on the river bank, they bring the barge close [to] shore, some of the women continuing to act as I have said, while others shout abuse at the women of the place, or start dancing, or stand up and [hike] up their skirts. When they reach Bubastis, they celebrate the festival with elaborate sacrifices, and more wine is consumed than during all the rest of the year. [6]

And the archaeological record might corroborate this too. A 2006 report by archaeologist Betsy Bryan on excavations at the temple to the goddess Mut [7] in the Luxor Temple complex unearths some interesting evidence, including imagery heavily laden with sexual innuendo, like women fixing their hair and making beds for, well, you know. You also see images of lettuce, which was apparently thought to be an aphrodisiac, and lovers sharing figs. [8] We also find reference to an apparent “porch of drunkenness” associated with Queen Hatshepsut, and to some mystical rite known as “traveling through the marshes,” which was most likely a euphemism for having sex (perhaps not entirely unlike “hiking the Appalachian Trail.”)

The Egyptian New Year’s festival, held during the first month of the year, just after the first flooding of the Nile, re-enacted the myth of Sekhmet with an all-out, slap-happy, drunken frat party. But this festival of drunkenness wasn’t all just fun and games. After the massive drinking had taken its toll, the slumbering revelers would be wakened by thunderous drumming. The goal wasn’t merely to get drunk, but to experience a state of godliness similar to that endured by the inebriated Sekhmet. This communal sacrifice of sobriety to the goddess would have her bestow blessings upon the community and preserve it from harm. [9] Right, and Akhenaten read Nefertahtahs for the articles.

Well, we certainly haven’t emptied the whole bottle in the discussion of wine in Ancient Egypt, but for now, we’re going to put a cork in it. You can look forward to a future episode, where we set sail northward for an exploration of the beverages of Bronze Age Greece.

Thanks for tuning in to the Ancient Art Podcast. Don’t forget, for more exciting learning, check out the footnotes and references at ancientartpodcast.org for this and other episodes. You’ll also unearth a treasure trove of detailed images, image credits, and links to other great online resources. And as I divulged last time, if you’re game for following along as I delve deeper into the magical realm of home brewing with an ancient twist, check out my brew blog at ancientartpodcast.org/brew. You can like the podcast at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and follow me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. I love reading your comments on YouTube, iTunes, and Vimeo, and you can email me at info@ancientartpodcast.org or send me your feedback on the web at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. As always, thanks for tuning in and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] McGovern, Patrick E., Ancient Wine: The Search for the Origins of Viniculture, Princeton University Press, 2003, p. 102.

[2] McGovern, Patrick, Uncorking the Past: The Quest for Wine, Beer, and Other Alcoholic Beverages, University of California Press, 2009, p. 166. See also Patrick McGovern, “Wine for Eternity,” Archaeology 51.4 (July/August 1998), 28-34.

[3] Uncorking the Past 166.

[4] Ancient Wine 123

[5] Ancient Wine 87

[6] Herodotus. The Histories: Book 2, section 60. Trans. Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Books, 1972, p. 152-3.

[7] Mut, Hathor, Bastet, and Sekhmet all tend to blur together in Egyptian religion by the time of the New Kingdom, the fancy word for that being “syncretism.”

[8] Abstract for a paper delivered by Betsy Bryan “Rituals in Ancient Egypt,” The 44th Annual Conference of New Horizons in Science, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Maryland, October 28-31, 2006.

[9] Alan Boyle, “Sex and Booze Figured in Egyptian Rites,” NBC News, October 30, 2006. Retrieved July 3, 2012.

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See the Photo Gallery for detailed photo credits.

Credits:

Metropolitan Museum of Art
British Museum
University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology
Johns Hopkins University
drhawass.com
patmcgovern, flickr.com
davidrumsey.com
osirisnet.net
smithsonianmag.com
dailymail.co.uk
touregypt.net
grisel.net
wallcoo.net
deshow.net
historyforkids.org
fineartamerica.com
Greg Reeder, egyptology.com
caculo, The Freesound Project <freesound.org>
Wikimedia Commons
Apple

53: Medusa, Mythic Monster

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Medusa, Mythic Monster (Ancient Art Podcast 53)

Greetings ghouls and gals. Welcome back to the Ancient Art Podcast. I’m your ghost of a host, Lucas Livingston. In the spirit of Halloween, with monstrous fiends and tortured souls lurking about in dark shadows, I bring you this haunting episode of a mythic monster from the Classical world, the Gorgon Medusa.

In the lineage of the earth goddess, Gaia, Medusa is a chthonic being, a creature born of the chaotic shamblings from Earth’s dark abyss, much as we encountered in previous episodes exploring dragons from ancient myth and legend, like Python and Typhon. The monstrous Medusa is well known to modern souls, so fiendishly ugly with twisting snakes for hair that a brief gaze upon her visage will transform you to stone.

In the 7th century BC poem Theogony, among the litany of the origins of the myriad of hybrid monsters and creatures conjured up in the minds of the Greeks or imported from neighboring cultures and myths, the poet Hesiod mentions the children of Ceto and Phorcys, themselves sister and brother by the earth goddess Gaia and the primordial sea Pontus. Among these children are Medusa and her two sisters, collectively known as the Gorgons, from the Greek word γοργός meaning grim, fierce, or terrible.

“And again, Ceto bore to Phorcys the fair-cheeked Graeae, sisters grey from their birth … and the Gorgons who dwell beyond glorious Ocean in the frontier land towards Night where are the clear-voiced Hesperides, Sthenno, and Euryale, and Medusa who suffered a woeful fate: she was mortal, but the two were undying and grew not old. With her lay the Dark-haired One [Poseidon] in a soft meadow amid spring flowers. And when Perseus cut off her head, there sprang forth great Chrysaor and the horse Pegasus…”
Theogony, ln. 270, trans. Hugh G. Evelyn-White, 1914.

We learn a lot from that short passage in the Theogony. We learn that the Gorgons were sisters to the Graiae. Those are the three elderly crones who share one eye and one tooth between them. And we learn about the three Gorgons, Stheno, Euryale, and Medusa. While Stheno and Euryale are immortal, Medusa learns the hard way that she, indeed, was not. Perseus, the hero of the modern film The Clash of the Titans, beheaded Medusa. And he was extra clever about it. As Medusa’s gaze would petrify any onlooker, Perseus observed Medusa indirectly through the reflective surface of the mirrored shield he had received from the goddess Athena. In the Metamorphoses, the Roman poet Ovid recounts the tale as Perseus approaches the lair of the Gorgon:

“Along the way, in fields and by the roads, I saw on all sides men and animals—like statues—turned to flinty stone at sight of dread Medusa’s visage. Nevertheless reflected on the brazen shield I bore upon my left, I saw her horrid face.

“When she was helpless in the power of sleep and even her serpent-hair was slumber-bound, I struck, and took her head sheer from the neck. To winged Pegasus the blood gave birth, his brother also, twins of rapid wing.”
Metamorphoses iv, 780-790, trans. Brookes More, 1922.

And in a manner of speaking, Medusa has children. In both passages, Hesiod’s Theogony and Ovid’s Metamorphoses, we learn that the blood spilt from the severed head of Medusa gave birth to two creatures, brothers, Chrysaor and the winged horse Pegasus. Yes, the majestic Pegasus sprung from the gore of Medusa. We’re all too familiar with Pegasus, from fairly tales and My Little Pony to Clash of the Titans and Dungeons & Dragons. And to be entirely faithful to Greek legend, there was only one Pegasus. Not like the teaming hoards of unicorns and fire mares. We don’t hear much about Chrysaor, though. His name essentially means “the dude with a golden weapon,” and, yeah, that’s pretty much all there is to say about Chrysaor, except that he also had a son named Geryon, which is the name of a pretty wicked slice at Dante’s Pizzeria in Chicago.

Back to the matriarch, though. Medusa wasn’t always such a beastly monster. In fact, even ancient authors relished in the ambiguous appearance of Medusa, at once both beautiful and terrifying. In an ode written in 490 BC, Pindar speaks of “fair-cheeked Medusa.” A few examples of Greek vase painting depict the slumbering Medusa as not entirely unattractive. And many later images show a much more attractive Medusa. A few lines later in that passage from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Perseus recounts the background story behind Medusa—the cruel curse that damned this once beautiful maiden:

“Beyond all others she was famed for beauty, and the envious hope of many suitors. Words would fail to tell the glory of her hair, most wonderful of all her charms—A friend declared to me he saw its lovely splendour. Fame declares the Sovereign of the Sea attained her love in chaste Minerva’s temple. While enraged she turned her head away and held her shield before her eyes. To punish that great crime Minerva changed the Gorgon’s splendid hair to serpents horrible. And now to strike her foes with fear, she wears upon her breast those awful vipers—creatures of her rage.” Metamorphoses iv, 792-802, trans. Brookes More, 1922.

So, to translate that poetic speech, Medusa was raped by the god Poseidon in the temple to Athena. As punishment for apparently allowing herself to fall victim to the attack on sacred ground of the virgin goddess, Athena transformed the beautiful Medusa into the fiend we commonly know.

At the end of that passage, Ovid also mentions the aegis, or the gorgonian, the face of Medusa worn upon the breastplate of Athena. Upon completion of his quests, Perseus gave the severed head of Medusa to Athena, which thereafter she would proudly sport as an apotropaic device, meaning to “turn away.” Even today the aegis is regarded as a talisman to ward off the evil eye, not unlike the Eye of Horus in some cultures today. Interestingly, the aegis and the Eye of Horus share much in common. In addition to both being protective talismans, they are both severed body parts, rent from the whole corpus in acts of violence. Despite that, they were both culturally and spiritually considered complete symbols in their own right—not mere fragments dislodged from some previous host. Both also entwine serpentine imagery about the central protective device.

Historians have often suggested that Medusa was not entirely the creation of the Ancient Greeks, but that she was part of a vast inheritance of myths, religion, and imagery from the Ancient Near East and from the Greek Bronze Age Minoan and Mycenaean civilizations. [1] It’s been suggested that the primordial Medusa could have been a snake goddess, a mistress of beasts, or perhaps a solar deity. [2] The Egyptian Eye of Horus is closely connected to the Egyptian snake goddess, Wadjet, the patron goddess of Lower Egypt, the Nile’s delta region. We often see Wadjet depicted as the uraeus, the snake entwined about the solar disk surmounting the heads of gods and perched upon the crown of Pharaoh. Wadjet and the Eye of Horus are quite conceivably one of the many pre-Greek influences that shaped the Gorgon Medusa.

The origins and imagery of Medusa is a startlingly vast topic, so we can only scratch the surface here. But do stay tuned for a future episode delving deeper into the primal realm of that nether being, the Gorgon Medusa. We’ll dare confront the petrifying gaze of the monstrous fiend as we closely examine wondrous salient works of ancient art exploring Medusa’s roots, influences, and evolutions.

Thanks for tearing in to the Ancient Art Podcast. Be-head yourself on over ancientartpodcast.organs to gorge yourself on a feast of high-resolution imagery with detailed credits for this and other episodes, and to chant the eldrich scroll that is the transcript. Your witch’s mirror of clairvoyance can scry the actions of the Ancient Art Podcast at http://facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and http://twitter.com/lucaslivingston. Do inscribe your mythic runes of commentary upon the walls of YouTube, iTunes, and Vimeo. And evoke the uncanny oracle of the podcast through diabolical incantations at http://feedback.ancientartpodcast.org or alight your broomstick to the email address of info@ancientartpodcast.org. As always, the shambling hoards of the Abyss and I, your host, Lucas Livingston, thank you for tuning in to the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] Gisela M. A. Richter, “A Bronze Relief of Medusa,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Mar., 1919), pp. 59-60.

[2] A. L. Frothingham, “Medusa Apollo and the Great Mother,” American Journal of Archaeology, Vol. 15, No. 3 (Jul. – Sep., 1911), pp. 349-377.

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See the Photo Gallery for detailed photo credits.

Credits:

Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959)
New York Public Library
University of North Carolina Greensboro Special Collections & University Archives
Classical Art Research Center & the Beazley Archive
Johnny Decker Miller, beardofmoss.blogspot.com
Apple

Creepy sounds courtesy of The Freesound Project, created by the following artists, and remixed by Lucas Livingston:
DJ Chronos, Horror Drone 001-006 (ID’s: 52134, 52135, 52136, 52137, 52138, 52139)
DJ Chronos, Suspense 001, 004-015, 017 (ID’s: 56885, 56886, 56887, 56888, 56889, 56890, 56891, 56892, 56893, 56894, 56895, 56896, 56897)
Sea Fury, Monster (ID: 48662)
Sea Fury, Monster 2 (ID: 48673)
digenisnikos, scream3 (ID: 44260)
thanvannispen, scream_group_women (ID: 30279)
rutgermuller, Haunting Music 1 (www.rutgermuller.nl) (ID: 51243)

 

Krampus videos and more!

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To go along with episode 54 of the Ancient Art Podcast: Krampus the Christmas Devil. Here are some of the best Krampus videos on YouTube. Check back later for more goodies.

First, we must, of course, include the world’s most authoritative and investigative Krampus video on the Internet, by Lucas Livingston of the Ancient Art Podcast. 🙂

 

Krampuslauf Graz, the best Krampuslauf video I’ve found:

 

A gruesomely humorous Krampus carol:

 

Krampuslauf Klagenfurt with an awesome Iron Maiden soundtrack (a cover band):

 

A very abridged history of Krampus:

 

A hilariously awesome animated Krampus song:

 

A slightly less awesome but delightfully creepier Krampus song (I mean the singer’s creepy, not Krampus):

 

A happy, kid-friendly Krampuslauf … at first. Then Hell’s unleashed. Is that Rammstein? From tiny, little Arzl, Austria:

 

A decidedly kid-UNfriendly excerpt from the Venture Bros. Christmas Special with Krampus punishing the wicked [Boo, flash! Get with the program, Adult Swim!]:

54: Krampus the Christmas Devil

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Kirchberger Perchtenlauf Krampus

Gather ’round young flock and prepare yourself
For an alternative tale of that old mystical elf,
Who goes house to house on cold winter nights
Visiting sleeping children, who’ve been naughty or nice.
‘Twas the eve of Saint Nicholas, when all round about
A silence so deathly was lurking throughout.
High ’bout the peaks and the Austrian snow,
Came a fiend with Saint Nicholas, whom naughty children well know;
Coarse pelts of goat hair as its grim sickly mantles,
And a sharp wicked crown of ram’s horns much like antlers;
Red tongue stretching long as a slithering snake
That can strike and tear flesh; children’s blood does it slake.
It’s the night of the Fifth of December kids fear,
When the judgment of children looms frightfully near.
For the beast of the holiday weighs your virtue and vice,
And doles out its torture based on naughty or nice.
‘Tis not falsehood, this tale of the great Christmas Devil;
Since the dawn of the ages in the Wild Man we revel.
Be warned that indeed his name you should know,
For it’s Krampus today who may well steal the show!
(©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org)

Krampus on rocking horseA wicked demon of lore calls home to the dark winter nights and snow-capped Alpine peaks. Clad in the coarse woolen hide of sheep and crowned with horribly twisted piercing horns, the Christmas Devil Krampus descends upon the unsuspecting at that singular time of year on the eve of the feast of jolly ole Saint Nick.

Krampus can be traced back centuries and is regarded mostly as an Austrian legend. In Austria, Germany, and other Alpine countries, the feast of Saint Nicholas on December 6th is celebrated not quite with the same fervor as Christmas, but as something of a teaser or Christmas dry run. On the night of December 5th, before going to sleep, children leave their shoes outside their bedroom doors. If you’ve been a good little boy or girl, St. Nick will come by in the night and fill your shoes with fruit, nuts, chocolate, and candy. Of course, today most snotty-faced brats will say “Yuck!” to the fruit and nuts, but this was a different time, when fruit and nuts were actually kinda special in winter. The treats in the shoes is not unlike the American tradition of hanging stockings. In both cases we have footwear serving as a vehicle for an early Christmas treat, at least in my house it was. The stocking was always fair game at 5 a.m. Christmas morning before the elders would get up.

Of course, if you’ve been naughty (see aforementioned snotty-faced brats), then we might expect a lump of coal in the stocking. Well, a hard lump of coal would be too good for the rustic Germanic youth. No, lashes doled out by the devilish Krampus are what you’d deserve! Grasping a switch of birch sticks to beat disobedient kids and a sack or basket on his back to drag off the especially naughty ones, Krampus is a Yuletide reality as much as Santa Claus, himself.

Krampus and Saint Nick are not adversaries. In fact, they’re very much a tag team. In Santa’s sleigh, Krampus rides shotgun, or sometimes the other way around. Krampus is one of Saint Nick’s many companions among various European traditions. Like Krampus, some of his companions form a stark contrast to the pristine, jolly, child-friendly, gift-giver. In the German Rhineland we find the fur-clad Belsnickel, who’s also popular among America’s Pennsylvania Dutch. In much of the rest of Germany, the gentler, bearded, brown-robed, Santa-like Knecht Ruprecht (Farmhand Rupert or Servant Rupert) can be seen helping out Saint Nicholas. His dirty robes and ashen face are smeared with the soot of chimneys from his special deliveries. And most popular even today throughout Belgium and the Netherlands is Zwarte Piet or Schwarz Peter. This finely dressed lad with a similarly sooty face also doles out Saint Nick’s treats. According to some historians, in fact, the companion giver of both gifts and punishments may be the more likely model for today’s Western consumerist Santa Claus, rather than some pious 4th century Turkish bishop. [1]

And not all of Saint Nick’s companions are human (of a sort). The saint is popularly said to ride upon a brilliant white steed, usually a horse, but sometimes a goat. The Yule Bock or Yule Goat is a popular Yuletide feature in Scandinavia. Made out of straw today, the Yule Goat is customarily set ablaze as a ritual reenactment of goat sacrifice during the pagan festival of Yule. And that pagan goat sacrifice is thought to be the celebration of an ancient Nordic legend. As chronicled in the 13th century Prose Edda, the god Thor drove his chariot drawn by two goats across the sky. Thor slaughtered the goats to feed his fellow gods and summarily resurrected the animals through the magic of his hammer. In the 1890 pioneering comparative study of mythology and religion, The Golden Bough, Sir James Frazer documents a Swedish performance of a man clad in goat hides as the Yule Goat:

The actor, hidden by a coverlet made of skins and wearing a pair of formidable horns, is led into the room by two men, who make believe to slaughter him, while they sing verses… At the conclusion of the song, the Yule Goat, after feigning death, jumps up and skips about to the amusement of the spectators. [2]

Could Austria’s fur-clad Krampus and the Scandinavian Yuletide goat-man have a common pagan ancestor? Krampus and the Christmas Devil get some attention in the 1835 German Mythology (Deutsche Mythologie, also commonly translated as Teutonic Mythology) by Jacob Grimm, one half of the famed titans of folk and fairy tales, the Brothers Grimm. While Krampus gets only a passing nod, our takeaway from Grimm’s analysis can be that the various threatening and sooty sidekicks of Saint Nicholas stem from Europe’s pre-Christian pagan festivals. And while they may have been incorporated into Christian, Christmastime, gift-giving narratives, these figures inevitably regress to exhibit some of their vestigial heathen characteristics. [3]

Despite the Church’s best efforts to stamp out or convert these Old World pagan elements, Krampus is alive and well during the Feast of Saint Nicholas. Krampus enjoyed an especially popular revival in the early 20th century as a fixture on greeting cards. Customarily expressing “Grüß vom Krampus” — “Greetings from Krampus!” — these cards served as something of a cautionary tale against the perils of misbehavior. We generally see Krampus exacting his punishment on naughty children, stealing them away in baskets or shackles, threatening them with his switch, and pulling on their ears. Inscriptions tell the recipients to be “brav” (obedient), [27] or they reprimand the unlucky, “weilst schlimm warst!” (“because you’ve been naughty!”) [29]

And still today, on the night of December 5th, amidst glowing candles and glorious aromas wafting through traditional Christmas markets in charming Austrian old town centers, rambunctious young men don costumes of fur, chains, bells, and horns to become Krampus for one exciting night of the Krampuslauf. You might call it a “Krampus Parade” or the “Running of the Krampus.” The Krampuslauf is not only extremely popular in present-day Austria, but it’s even making headway in American cities like Philadelphia with krampuslaufphiladelphia.com. The American Krampuslauf justifiably takes on a family-friendly nature. In the Austrian Krampuslauf, however, unfettered by American litigiousness, people would be well advised to keep their distance, as Krampus won’t hesitate to invade your personal space. And that can mean some serious wallops from a stinging whip.

With his bad-boy attitude and devilish good looks, Krampus also enjoys the reputation of being something of a ladies’ man. While a night at the Krampuslauf can leave the men with some bruises, the furry beast is more inclined to woo the ladies with a few strategic, teasing taps of his switch. And I’m sure all the ladies daydream of a dark, muscular rogue stealing into their bedchambers to abduct and punish them for being very naughty girls! And imaginations can run wild with that impossibly long tongue.

So with December 5th just around the bend
Or at most a year away,
Consider well whether your deeds to amend.
For it’s not on Christmas Day
When a nighttime visit from a dark mystical elf
Judges you naughty or nice.
No, punishment stems from fierce Krampus himself;
Let’s hope you’re not on thin ice!
(©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org)

I hope you’ve enjoyed our holiday feature. For more Krampus goodies, visit ancientartpodcast.org/krampus, where you’ll find links to some of the best Krampus videos and resources on the Internet, the transcript and footnotes for this video (including our fun, little poems), and a gallery with credits for all the images and audio from this episode — and for the seriously interested, you’ll also find some great references for further reading. I also recommend you check out krampus.com, which hosts a significant gallery of vintage Krampus greeting cards.

Thanks for tuning in to the Ancient Art Podcast. You can like the podcast at facebook.com/ancientartpodcast and follow me on Twitter @lucaslivingston. If you enjoy the podcast, please share it with your friends and give us a big thumb up on YouTube, iTunes, and Vimeo. I always love hearing from you on Facebook and YouTube. You can also email me at info@ancientartpodcast.org or send me your feedback on the web at feedback.ancientartpodcast.org. Thanks for tuning in and see you next time on the Ancient Art Podcast.

©2012 Lucas Livingston, ancientartpodcast.org

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Footnotes:

[1] Smith, John B., “Perchta the Belly-Slitter, and Her Kin: A View of Some Traditional Threatening Figures, Threats and Punishments,” Folklore, Vol 115, No. 2 (Aug., 2004), pp. 167-186.

In his study, Widdowson distinguishes three types of threatening figure. Class A comprises supernatural, fictitious and invented figures; Class B is made up of human beings with unusual characteristics; Class C consists of animals, objects, locations and natural phenomena (Widdowson 1977, 95). Among the threatening figures in Class A is, for instance, Santa Claus. To see him as such may seem strange, but he immediately qualifies when we realise that,in Newfoundland at least, he will take naughty children away in his sack or, in lieu of presents,leave them unpleasant objects in their stockings. Such punitive behaviour is not all that remote from that of Perchta and some of her counterparts or helpers such as Krampus or Knecht Ruprecht. (p. 178)

[2] “Yule Goat,” Wikipedia. Retrieved 2 December, 2012.

For a similar Yuletide practice of transforming and concealing once’s appearance:

On the South Shore of Nova Scotia, Canada, a Christmas tradition known as Belsnickling occurs, where, similar to mummering, people go from house to house within the communities dressed in multiple layers of clothing and with scarves around their faces to conceal their identity. These people are then given food and drinks (usually rum or eggnog) until their identities are guessed, and then they’re off to the next house.
“Companions of Saint Nicholas,” Wikipedia. Retrieved 2 December, 2012.

Also:

In Whittlesey, near Peterborough in East Anglia, the traditions of the Bear, the mummers plays, wassailing, and general midwinter tomfoolery combine into the Whittlesey Strawbear Festival. A man is costumed all in the very best straw from the local farms and touted around from house to house demanding money and booze before leading the circle-dance festivities and, eventually, being burned (just the costume, sans person, we hope) to make way for the following year’s crop.

“Santa: Last of the Wild Men,” The Old Weird Albion. Retrieved 2 December, 2012.

[3] Jacob Grimm, Teutonic Mythology, Volume 2, 1835, trans. from the 4th ed. with notes and appendix by James Steven Stallybrass, London: George Bell and Sons, 1882, p. 514-516.

… it is a darkening and distortion of their original nature in accordance with Christian sentiment. So it becomes clear, at last, how the once familiar and faithful friend of the family under heathenism has gradually sunk into a bugbear or a taunt to children: a lot which he shares with goddesses and gods of old. … And it is worth remarking how, in some districts at least, knecht Ruprecht, knecht Nicolas, appear at Christmas-time not by themselves, but in attendance on the real gift-giver, the infant Christ or dame Berhta: while these dole out their favours, those come on with rod and sack, threatening to thrash disobedient children, to throw them into the water, to puff their eyes out. … I can well imagine that even in heathen times the divinity, whose appearing heralded a happy time, had at his side some merry elf or dwarf as his attendant. … In Christian times they would at first choose some saint to accompany the infant Christ or the mother of God in their distribution of boons, but the saint would imperceptibly degenerate into the old goblin again, but now a coarser one. The Christmas plays sometimes present the Saviour with His usual attendant Peter, or else with Niclas, at other times however Mary with Gabriel, or with her aged Joseph, who, disguised as a peasant, acts the part of knecht Ruprecht. Nicolaus again has converted himself into a ‘man Clobes’ or Rupert ; as a rule, it is true, there is still a Niclas, a saintly bishop and benevolent being, distinct from the ‘man’ who scares children; but the characters get mixed, and Clobes by himself acts the ‘man’; the Austrian Grampus, Krämpus, Krambas, is possibly for Hieronymus, but how to explain the Swiss Schmutzli I do not rightly know, perhaps simply from his smutty sooty aspect? Instead of Grampus there is also in Styria a Barthel (pointing to Berhta, or Bartholomew?) Schmutzbartel and Klaubauf, who rattles, rackets, and throws nuts. Further, on this point I attach weight to the Swedish jullekar, Dan. juleleger, yule-lays, undoubtedly of heathen origin, which at Christmastime present Christ and certain saints, but replace our man Ruprecht by a julbock, julebuk, i.e. a manservant disguised as a goat. This interweaving of jackpudding, fool, Klobes and Rüpel, of the yule-buck and at last of the devil himself, into the rude popular drama of our Middle Ages, shows what an essential part of it the wihtels and tatermans formerly were, how ineradicable the elvish figures and characters of heathenism. The Greeks enlivened the seriousness of their tragedy by satyric plays, in which e.g. Proteus, similar to our sea-sprite, played a leading part.

For the notes to this section, see Teutonic Mythology, Volume 4, p. 1436. (PDF p. 172).

See also Chapter 4: “Satan Dons Furs” in Phyllis Siefker, Santa Claus, Last of the Wild Men: The Origins and Evolution of Saint Nicholas, Spanning 50,000 Years, Jefferson: McFarland & Company, Inc., 1997. Also page 15:

It seems obvious, therefore, that Santa Claus can be neither the alter ego of Saint Nicholas nor the brainchild of Washington Irving. . . If we peek behind the imposing Saint Nicholas, we see, glowering in the shadows, the saint’s reprobate companion, Black Pete. He, like Santa, has a coat of hair, a disheveled beard, a bag, and ashes on his face. . . In fact, it is this creature, rather than Irving’s creation or an Asian saint, who fathered Santa Claus.

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See the Photo Gallery for detailed photo credits.

Media courtesy of:

Apple Garageband
youtube.com/user/footageisland
krampus.com
krampuslaufphiladelphia.com
musopen.org
gutenberg.org
colonialsense.com
archive.org

Wikimedia Commons:
Albärt, Hayden120, Keith Edkins, Michell Zappa, San Jose

flickr:
Allie_Caulfield, Andreas Schalber, burnlab, celesteh, Der_Krampus, elisabetta2005, geek7, gholzer, girl_onthe_les, Giulio GMDB, goodiesfirst, Hanna Alicé, hans s, herbraab, HERRUWE, klachak, leo.laempel, loop_1, misterbisson, NiceBastard, patze001, pixel0908, plastAnka, PsychoScheiko, riptheskull, Udo Schröter, Vincenzo Caico, wege7, Weiko

The Freesound Project, freesound.org:
benjaminflack, DJ Chronos, hammerklavier, metamorphmuses

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