Don’t Know Much About® Mythology (34 page)

In this legendary civilization, which supposedly flourished more than ten thousand years ago, “the most civilized men,” as Plato described them, were descended from the sea god Poseidon and had created an earthly paradise. Food was plentiful, and the buildings and temples were magnificent. One of these temples, according to Plato’s description, was “coated with silver save only the pinnacles and these were coated with gold. As to the exterior, they made the roof all of ivory in appearance, variegated with gold and silver….”

As Plato described it, Atlantis was a great military power that could muster an army of more than a million men. But its people turned corrupt and greedy, so the gods punished them. During one day and night, great explosions shook Atlantis, and the continent sank into the sea. Plato’s apocalyptic tale of Atlantis has fascinated people ever since, providing both serious archaeologists and plenty of more imaginative “occult” theorists with an appealing target for their investigations and theories. Over the years, numerous expeditions have attempted to locate the remains of Atlantis, but so far none has discovered a “lost island” beneath the Atlantic Ocean. Among the most popular of these theories was that of Edgar Cayce, a famed American clairvoyant and psychic healer who died in 1945. In best-selling books that have attracted millions of readers over the years, Cayce claimed that Atlantis was a highly advanced society that possessed the equal of modern technology, and he prophesied that Atlantis would rise again in the latter part of the twentieth century. Needless to say, that prophecy has not been fulfilled.

Aristotle, Plato’s student, had what may be a sounder theory. He suggested that Plato had made up the story in order to illustrate his own philosophy of ideal government, thoroughly summarized in
The Republic
. In this utopia, an intellectual elite ruled. Drawn from the ablest people of all backgrounds and sexes, these educated, qualified people were to rule as “philosopher kings.” In this ideal society, they would live communally, share food, lodging, spouses, and own no property. Ruled by knowledge, they would govern for the benefit of all the other classes in a virtuous society embodying the ideals of wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice.

While Plato was speaking allegorically, there may still be some historical basis to the Atlantean legend. The consensus among many archaeologists and historians is that the myth of Atlantis is probably based on the first major civilization in the region of Greece, which arose on Crete, an island that separates the Aegean Sea from the Mediterranean. Occupying a central position in the eastern Mediterranean, with proximity to Egypt, the Near East, and mainland Greece, Crete developed the first great seagoing power of the ancient world, beginning about 3000 BCE. It was this island culture, which produced lavishly decorated palaces, indoor plumbing, elegant pottery, and jewelry, that may have been the source of the legend of Atlantis.

Today, many scholars believe the cause of the cataclysmic destruction in the Atlantis legend was actually a volcano on the island of Thera in the Aegean Sea, about 70 miles (110 kilometers) north of Crete. Volcanic eruptions destroyed most of Thera about 1550 BCE, largely wiping out the Minoan civilization, which had flourished on both Thera and Crete. “Minoan” got its name from King Minos, the legendary ruler of Crete and central character in one of the most significant Greek myths—the story of Theseus and the Minotaur.

Is Theseus and the Minotaur just another “bull” story?

If you’ve ever been lost in a maze, played the game Labyrinth, or been accused of telling a “bull” story, you’ve been connecting with a famous Greek myth. What’s the whole story of Theseus and the Minotaur?

According to the myth, Crete’s king Minos asks the sea god Poseidon for a sign of favor. A beautiful white bull emerges from the sea, and Minos is then expected to sacrifice this wondrous animal to Poseidon. Instead, Minos keeps the white bull and substitutes a lesser animal. As anyone remotely familiar with the Greek gods knows, holding out on an Olympian is never a good idea. Poseidon angrily curses Minos by causing his wife, Pasiphaë, to fall in love with the white bull.

This is where the story takes a kinky turn. To satisfy her lust for the bull, Pasiphaë has Daedalus, the Athenian statue-maker, make her a wooden cow. While hiding inside of it, Pasiphaë is impregnated by the white bull and gives birth to a monster—a bull with a human head called the Minotaur. (Ovid relates this story in a poem in
Art of Love
, which concludes: “Well the lord of the harem, deceived by a wooden plush covered dummy/Got Pasiphaë pregnant. The child looked just like his dad.”) In order to keep this grotesque reminder of his wife’s bestial infidelity hidden from view, Minos orders Daedalus to build beneath his palace an escape-proof secret maze called the Labyrinth, to house the Minotaur.

Enter Theseus, one of the legendary men of the Heroic Age and the greatest hero of Athens. The son of King Aegeus of Athens, Theseus had been raised away from his home, unaware of his royal blood. But his father, the king, had once buried a sword and a pair of sandals beneath a rock. He told the mother of Theseus that when her son was strong enough to move the rock, he could claim his inheritance—an ancient inspiration for King Arthur’s later “sword in the stone.” At sixteen, Theseus found rock, sandals, and sword, and went to Athens to reclaim his place as heir.

When Theseus reaches Athens, his father does not recognize him. But the sorceress Medea, now married to the king, knows exactly who he is. She tries to have Theseus done in, but he survives all of her tricks.

Theseus’s most dangerous adventure now lies ahead of him. Ever since some Athenians had killed the son of Minos, the city of Athens has been compelled to send seven youths and seven maidens to Crete each year to be eaten by the Minotaur. To end this tragic deal, the heroic Theseus announces that he will go as one of the youths to be sacrificed, and kill the Minotaur. The Athenian victims always sail for Crete aboard a black-sailed ship. Before departing Athens, Theseus promises his father that if all goes well, he will return in a ship flying white sails.

In Crete, Theseus encounters Ariadne, the daughter of King Minos, who immediately falls in love with the young hero and decides to help him kill the Minotaur. Ariadne gives Theseus a ball of thread she has received from Daedalus and tells the young man to trail it behind him as he descends into the Minotaur’s lair. In one of the most memorable moments in myth, Theseus kills the Minotaur and retraces his steps through the maze’s twisting passages by following the string. With the Minotaur dead, Theseus sails back for Athens. (There are different versions of Ariadne’s fate. In the happy account, she marries the god Dionysus. But another says she died of a broken heart.)

What should be a triumphal moment for Theseus turns painfully tragic. First, in Crete, when Minos learns that the inventor Daedalus helped Ariadne in the plot to kill the Minotaur, he throws the inventor and his son Icarus into prison. While imprisoned, Daedalus constructs two sets of wings made from feathers held together by wax. According to Ovid, Daedalus tells his son where to fly—halfway between sun and water. But Icarus is daring and wants to fly higher. When he flies too close to the sun, the wax melts, and he plunges into the sea. According to Barry Powell, the story of Icarus is a mythical illustration of the Greek maxim “Nothing too much,” one of the proverbs inscribed over the temple of Apollo at Delphi. Powell comments in
Classical Mythology
: “Doubtless because overdoing things was a common weakness of the Greeks, their sages were fond of preaching the virtue of the ‘Golden Mean.’”

The second tragedy involves the heroic Theseus, who has forgotten his assurance to raise white sails if he should come back alive. In his hurry to return home, Theseus forgets to take down the black sails, and when Aegeus sees the returning ship, he jumps into the sea, thinking Theseus is dead. (The Aegean Sea is named for the dead king of Athens.)

With his father dead, Theseus became the king of Athens, and his rule is marked as the legendary beginnings of Athenian democracy. Theseus supposedly abolished the monarchy, minted the first coins, and created a unified state. Aristotle later viewed the story of Theseus and the Minotaur as an allegory for the victory of democracy over tyranny, and the story of Theseus became a national myth, Athenian propaganda. Historically speaking, the myths of Theseus are just that—myths. But as classicist Barry Powell puts it, “History and myth are a perennial tangle; humans are mythmaking animals, retelling ancient stories to fulfill present needs.”

In actual history, Athenian democracy had its beginnings under the lawmaker Solon (639?-559? BCE), who led Athenian government until his retirement. One of his accomplishments was to reform the harsh Athenian laws drawn up earlier by Draco—a code so harsh it inspired the word “draconian.” After Solon’s retirement, Athenian democracy backpedaled under Solon’s cousin, Pisistratus, and did not fully arrive until the thirty-year period under Pericles. Beginning about 460 BCE, Athenian democracy—while far from perfect—began to flourish. As historian Charles Freeman points out in
Egypt, Greece, and Rome
, “It remains unique as the world’s only example of a successfully functioning and sustained direct democracy. It lasted for nearly 140 years—a remarkable achievement in a period of history where instability was the norm. It involved its citizens as officials, legislators and law enforcers in a way few modern democracies would dare to do and it is remarkable for breaking the traditional connection between political power and wealth. And all this when the city was also acting as a major and innovative cultural center.”

What was the Delphic Oracle?

Of the many sacred places in ancient Greece, none was more significant than Delphi, home of the oldest and most influential religious sanctuary in ancient Greece. It was not just an important center—it was the center, literally. Delphi had come to be regarded as the omphalos, or navel, of the world, and the site was marked with a large conical stone. The sacred stone at Delphi was supposedly the very stone Rhea tricked Cronus into swallowing at the time of the Creation. After eating his first five children, the father god had swallowed this stone, wrapped in swaddling clothes, instead of the sixth child, Zeus. When Zeus later forced him to vomit forth the other children, this stone came out, too.

Delphi is near the Gulf of Corinth, on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, and a religious shrine was founded there sometime before 1200 BCE. Originally a shrine to Gaia, the earth goddess, the temple at Delphi by the eighth century BCE was dedicated to Apollo, the god of prophecy. For at least twelve centuries, the oracle at Delphi spoke on behalf of the gods, advising rulers, citizens, and philosophers on everything from their sex lives to affairs of state. The oracle spoke out, often deliriously, exerting wide influence.

As part of the ritual at Delphi, a petitioner brought an offering of sacred cake, a goat, or a sheep, before consulting the Pythia, the priestess of the shrine. After careful purification, Pythia sat on a tripod and fell into a trancelike state in which she received messages and prophecies from Apollo. In this trance, and sometimes in a frenzy, she would answer questions, give orders, and make predictions. Some scholars say her divine communications were then interpreted and written down by male priests, often in ambiguous verse. But others say the oracle communicated directly with petitioners.

For years, modern scholars have dismissed the theory that vapors rising from beneath the temple floor were responsible for the “inspiration,” which is how the Greeks explained it. Despite many efforts, no underlying fissure or source of intoxicating fumes was ever found, and the vapors were assumed to be mythical, like much else about the site. But recent scientific work at the site is shaking that view. As reported in the
Scientific American
in August 2003, a geologist, an archaeologist, a chemist, and a toxicologist have uncovered a wealth of evidence that suggests the ancients had it exactly right. They have solid evidence that petrochemical fumes from the region’s underlying rocks could rise to the surface to help induce visions. Specifically, the team found that the oracle probably came under the influence of ethylene—a sweet-smelling gas once used as an anesthetic, and which, in light doses, produces feelings of euphoria.

With the rise of Christianity, the temple eventually decayed and fell from favor. Around 361 CE, the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate tried to restore the temple, but the oracle wailed that her powers had vanished. In 390 CE, the Christian Roman emperor Theodosius permanently closed the temple as part of his drive to stamp out any vestiges of pagan worship.