sdi

I wonder if we have a conflation of historical and mythological in the accounts of Hyperborea.

Diodoros of Sicily tells us (Library of History II xlvii) that Hyperborea is an island larger than Sicily north of Celtia, noting that Leto was born and Apollon peculiarly honored there. He says that the moon is much closer there, so much so that one can even see the mountains on it.

Bakkhulides (Ode 3) tells us that King Kroisos of Ludia, when his city was besieged, set a pyre for himself and his family, but that Apollon put out the pyre and took he and his family away to Hyperborea on account of his piety. Herodotos (Histories I §87) gives a more mundane account, recognizing the rescue of Apollon but simply saying that he became the slave of Kurus the Great.

We see in the contrast of Bakkhulides and Herodotos a sort of mundanizing of the mysterious: what to Bakkhulides is a spiriting away is merely the learning of a lesson to Herodotos. I wonder if we see the same in Diodoros: was Leto's Hyperborea originally a purely mythic place, which was later conflated with a more mundane "Hyperborea" by Diodoros? This would at least be no surprise, as Diodoros explicitly mentions his indebtedness "to those writers who have composed universal⁠ histories" (referring certainly to at least Herodotos), and thus he might be expected to follow Herodotos's historicizing tendency.

If this is so, it is perhaps mistaken to think that Apollon came to Greece from the literal, physical island of Britain; one might presume that the Hyperborea is "beyond the north wind" in a metaphysical sense, thus perhaps linking it with Ploutarkhos's middle world (related, as we are told, from people beyond Britain, who also describe the geography of the lunar surface); that is, the world where we go after the first death but before the second; that is, the world of Water.

This is all to perhaps lend weight to the arm of the scale which holds that Apollon simply came from beyond the sensible world to offer those of us poor mortals who cry for help in this dark world of Earth a faster way out than the usual should we require it.

[The Egyptian priests'] philosophy, which, for the most part, is veiled in myths and in words containing dim reflexions and adumbrations of the truth, as they themselves intimate beyond question by appropriately placing sphinxes before their shrines to indicate that their religious teaching has in it an enigmatical sort of wisdom.

(Ploutarkhos, Isis and Osiris §9, as translated by Frank Cole Babbitt.)

Therefore also the Egyptians place Sphinxes before their temples, to signify that the doctrine respecting God is enigmatical and obscure; perhaps also that we ought both to love and fear the Divine Being: to love Him as gentle and benign to the pious; to fear Him as inexorably just to the impious; for the sphinx shows the image of a wild beast and of a man together.

(Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis V v, as translated by William Wilson.)

You know, for being the high priest of Apollon at Delphi, Ploutarkhos was a fucking prude.

He was already squeamish enough to censor a bunch of episodes from the Horos myth: where Horos got his eye gouged out, where Seth gets his testicles ripped off, where Isis gets beheaded by her own son, and where Horos gets flayed by the council of the gods. (And that's to say nothing of the wild homoerotica in The Contendings of Seth and Horos, or the fact that Ploutarkhos doesn't consider leaving baby Anoubis to be eaten by dogs worth censoring!)

On top of all this, though, there's parts of the myth he didn't even consider! The story of Horos doesn't begin with Geb and Nut; rather, it begins with Atum:

1. Atum masturbates, swallows the semen, and spits it back out to produce twin children, Shu and Tefnut. [Pyramid Texts 1248a–d, 1652a–3a; the Shabaka Stone; the Bremner-Rhind Papyrus.]

2. Shu is given the throne. Tefnut quarrels with Atum (over marrying Shu?), flees to Nubia, transforms into a lioness, and tears anyone who approaches her to pieces. Shu, with the aid of Thoth, pacifies Tefnut and coaxes her back to Egypt. Tefnut gives birth to Geb and Nut. [Papyrus Leiden 384.]

3. Geb and Nut continually have intercourse, but since they remain in contact, Nut cannot give birth. At Atum's request, Shu separates them. Geb, enraged, rebels against Shu, seizes the throne of Egypt, and marries Tefnut. [That Shu separates Geb and Tefnut, see Pyramid Texts 1101a–d. That Geb subdues Shu and marries Tefnut, see Naos 2248 of Ismalia.]

After these, the myth continues more-or-less as I mentioned before, with Geb gracefully yielding the throne to Osiris (though, as far as I can tell, he kept his mom for himself). For the latter two points, the sources I reference are fragmentary; I refer those interested in digging up sources to Geraldine Pinch's excellently-cited Handbook of Egyptian Mythology, and also note the close relationship of point 2 to the Greek Aiguptioi and Danaides, and the similarly close relationship of point 3 to the Greek Oidipous, Laios, and Epikaste.

Now, I don't think Ploutarkhos intentionally censored these points from his retelling of the myth; this is because point 3, above, renders the Ra, Iah, and Thoth story that he does recount (and for which he is our only source) unnecessary: Ra has no need of preventing Nut from giving birth since Geb was already in the way. (It is also the case that all the corroboration we have for Ploutarkhos's version of the story are from the Ptolemaic period onwards; so it seems plausible to me that he simply only had access to a late version of the myth.) But if he did have access to the rest of the myth, I can't imagine he would have approved: Atum's masturbating the cosmos into existence, Tefnut's murderous rampage, and Geb's incestuous hissy-fit make the rest of the myth look pretty tame by comparison.

Now, the Greeks hated what they considered to be the moral emptiness of the myths and mysteries. Plato's Socrates condemns them in book II of the Republic (starting at 377e):

There is, first of all, the greatest lie about the things of greatest concernment, which was no pretty invention of him who told how Uranus did what Hesiod says he did to Cronos, and how Cronos in turn took his revenge; and then there are the doings and sufferings of Cronos at the hands of his son. Even if they were true I should not think that they ought to be thus lightly told to thoughtless young persons. But the best way would be to bury them in silence, and if there were some necessity for relating them, that only a very small audience should be admitted under pledge of secrecy and after sacrificing, not a pig, but some huge and unprocurable victim, to the end that as few as possible should have heard these tales. [...] Neither must we admit at all, that gods war with gods and plot against one another and contend—for it is not true either—if we wish our future guardians to deem nothing more shameful than lightly to fall out with one another; still less must we make battles of gods and giants the subject for them of stories and embroideries, and other enmities many and manifold of gods and heroes toward their kith and kin. [...] But Hera's fetterings by her son and the hurling out of heaven of Hephaestus by his father when he was trying to save his mother from a beating, and the battles of the gods in Homer's verse are things that we must not admit into our city either wrought in allegory or without allegory. For the young are not able to distinguish what is and what is not allegory, but whatever opinions are taken into the mind at that age are wont to prove indelible and unalterable.

(You know Socrates, he continues like this for pages and pages, but that is enough to give the idea.)

Clement of Alexandria similarly whines about the myths in book II of his Exhortation to the Greeks:

These [who have imported the mysteries into Greece] I would instance as the prime authors of evil, the parents of impious fables and of deadly superstition, who sowed in human life that seed of evil and ruin—the mysteries. [...] O unblushing shamelessness! Once on a time night was silent, a veil for the pleasure of temperate men; but now for the initiated, the holy night is the tell-tale of the rites of licentiousness; and the glare of torches reveals vicious indulgences. [...]

Call me Apollo; this is Phœbus, both a holy prophet and a good adviser. But Sterope will not say that, nor Æthousa, nor Arsinoe, nor Zeuxippe, nor Prothoe, nor Marpissa, nor Hypsipyle. For Daphne alone escaped the prophet and seduction.

And, above all, let the father of gods and men, according to you, himself come, who was so given to sexual pleasure, as to lust after all, and indulge his lust on all, like the goats of the Thmuitæ. [...] You make Zeus venerable, O Homer; and the nod which you ascribe to him is most reverend. But show him only a woman's girdle, and Zeus is exposed, and his locks are dishonoured. To what a pitch of licentiousness did that Zeus of yours proceed, who spent so many nights in voluptuousness with Alcmene? For not even these nine nights were long to this insatiable monster. [...]

But [the goddesses] are [even] more passionately licentious, bound in the chains of adultery; Eos having disgraced herself with Tithonus, Selene with Endymion, Nereis with Æacus, Thetis with Peleus, Demeter with Jason, Persephatta with Adonis. And Aphrodité having disgraced herself with Ares, crossed over to Cinyra and married Anchises, and laid snares for Phaëthon, and loved Adonis. She contended with the ox-eyed Juno; and the goddesses un-robed for the sake of the apple, and presented themselves naked before the shepherd, that he might decide which was the fairest.

(He, too, rants at great length, railing at the debauchery of the myths and mysteries—breaking, I might note, his own oaths of silence in the process.)

Sallustius even felt the need to rebut all this in §3 of On the Gods and the World:

But why have they put in the myths stories of adultery, robbery, father-binding, and all the other absurdity? Is not that perhaps a thing worthy of admiration, done so that by means of the visible absurdity the Soul may immediately feel that the words are veils and believe the truth to be a mystery?

Personally, I think that the shock-value of the mysteries are the whole point. To explain, I should perhaps detour for a moment and talk about koans.

A lot of practice in Zen Buddhism revolves around the koan. A koan is a riddle given to students; two famous ones are, "You know the sound of two hands clapping, but what is the sound of one hand clapping?" and "What did you look like before your father and mother were born?" The important points about these is that they're brief, so they're easy to remember, and that they're open-ended and don't have any one correct answer. Masters would give these to their students for two reasons:

1. Much of spiritual practice centers around contemplation and meditation, but it is easy for the mind to wander and get lost, which prevents any of the benefits which meditation is supposed to provide. A koan is supposed to act as a focus, drawing the mind back from its wanderings and getting it back to stillness.

2. Koans also acts as gates; a master would give one to the student and would meet with the student every so often and ask them the answer to the riddle. Of course, there is no correct answer: the point is for the student to find their own meaning in the riddle rather than find "the right answer." Nonetheless, any master worth their salt should be able to see pretty easily whether a student has really penetrated the koan and found some meaning, or whether they would benefit from continuing to beat their head against it.

I think the myths of the mystery schools worked the same way as these koans; but they differed due to their different environments. In a monastery, it's no trouble at all for a student to return again and again to their master; so having a koan be short and to the point is reasonable. The student will easily remember the single sentence, and when they've passed that gate, the master can simply give them another.

But the mysteries didn't work the same way: initiations were rare and expensive, and initiates didn't have constant access to a master but had to go back to their regular lives and ponder the mysteries in their quiet moments. Under such constraints, it is necessary to give the initiate a lot of gates and a lot of riddles all at once; but how does one make them remember all that content that they might meditate on it? Why, make them scandalous, of course! Very few initiates are born ascetic; it seems wise to use their lusts and desires against themselves, to cause the bestial mind to latch onto and take hold of all these things that they might remain in the mind and heart for a long time thereafter, and thus draw the mind back to them that they might reflect on them.

I think this was done quite consciously: after all, if these riddles are symbolized by the Sphinx, it must be remembered that patricide and incest follow in her train. Contra Socrates, the myths aren't examples of how one should live: they're meant to provoke confusion and disgust, to "prove indelible and unalterable" in the mind so that one can't help but reflect on them. But in reflecting on them, one develops: as Thomas Taylor observes,

Fables, when properly explained, call forth our unperverted conceptions of the gods; give a greater perfection to the divine part of our soul, through that ineffable sympathy which is possesses with more mystic concerns; heal the maladies of our phantasy, purify and illuminate its figured intellections, and elevate it in conjunction with the rational soul to that which is divine.

The purpose is to stimulate the student to reflection. Any and all means were considered fair game in doing so. I doubt such a means works for all, but I do not doubt that it works for some.

I realized something fun while trying to read one of my favorite parts of the Iliad in Greek:

ἐν μὲν γαῖαν ἔτευξ’, ἐν δ’ οὐρανόν, ἐν δὲ θάλασσαν,
ἠέλιόν τ’ ἀκάμαντα σελήνην τε πλήθουσαν,
ἐν δὲ τὰ τείρεα πάντα, τά τ’ οὐρανὸς ἐστεφάνωται,
Πληϊάδας θ’ Ὑάδας τε τό τε σθένος Ὠρίωνος
Ἄρκτόν θ’, ἣν καὶ Ἄμαξαν ἐπίκλησιν καλέουσιν,
ἥ τ’ αὐτοῦ στρέφεται καί τ’ Ὠρίωνα δοκεύει,
οἴη δ’ ἄμμορός ἐστι λοετρῶν Ὠκεανοῖο.

On it, he made the earth, the sky, the sea,
the sun that never sleeps, the swelling moon,
and all the signs which circle the heavens:
the Pleiades, the Huades, mighty Orion,
and the Bear (which they also call the Wagon),
which always spins in place, watching Orion closely,
and, alone, being free of bathing in the Ocean.

(Hephaistos decorates the shield of Akhilleus. Homer, Iliad XVIII 483–9, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly.)

This is, in fact, almost all that is said of the hieroglyphs on the walls of the great Temple by the archaic Poets. The Homer of the Iliad makes one other reference to the skies:

τὸν δ’ ὃ γέρων Πρίαμος πρῶτος ἴδεν ὀφθαλμοῖσι
παμφαίνονθ’ ὥς τ’ ἀστέρ’ ἐπεσσύμενον πεδίοιο,
ὅς ῥά τ’ ὀπώρης εἶσιν, ἀρίζηλοι δέ οἱ αὐγαὶ
φαίνονται πολλοῖσι μετ’ ἀστράσι νυκτὸς ἀμολγῷ,
ὅν τε κύν’ Ὠρίωνος ἐπίκλησιν καλέουσι.
λαμπρότατος μὲν ὅ γ’ ἐστί, κακὸν δέ τε σῆμα τέτυκται,
καί τε φέρει πολλὸν πυρετὸν δειλοῖσι βροτοῖσιν:

And first the old man Priamos saw him with his eyes
charging the plain and shining like that star
which rises in late summer, whose conspicuous twinkling
outshines the many stars in the dead of night,
and which they call by the name "the dog of Orion."
It is the brightest of all, but it is made out to be an evil sign,
for it brings much heat to wretched mortals; [...]

(Priam sees Akhilleus in his divine armor. Homer, Iliad XXII 25–31, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly. The precision of "dead of night" is doubtful, since ἀμολγῷ is a hapax legomenon, but the gist is clear enough.)

Meanwhile, Hesiod adds agricultural timing to the rising and setting of these but mentions no other celestial figures. "The Bear" is the Greek name, and "the Wagon" the Mesopotamian name, for the constellation we Americans call "the Big Dipper." That Orion and the Big Dipper and Sirius are emphasized is surely no surprise, as even a city kid like me in a misbegotten age like this one recognizes these three beyond all others. The Pleiades and Huades are a little surprising—even knowing where to look I have not managed to identify them—but I suppose that, given their intimate connection with trade (Pleiades means "sailors") and agriculture (Huades means "rain-bringers"), their import to the Greeks is obvious enough.

But let me focus on the Bear's behavior: always watching Orion and never going near the water. "The sea" must be the horizon, as the Big Dipper is far enough north that it remains in the sky all year round at the latitude of Greece. Presumably, then, the sky is simply heaven, and the "underworld" is the part of the sky below the horizon which we do not see.

Now, I have said before that Osiris is Orion, the "great man of heaven;" that Horos is Sirius, his son and the brightest star of heaven, literally following Orion's footsteps; and that Isis and Anoubis are Argo Navis and Canopus, searching for Osiris in their little boat together. We might see Egypt as heaven, the sea as the horizon, and Bublos as the underworld. The original home of Osiris is obviously heaven, but Seth kills him and he floats to the ocean, which seems a clear reference to Orion falling below the horizon; Isis follows him and brings him back from the underworld, which is just as clear a reference to Argo Navis following Orion in the sky and Orion rising back up above the horizon again. (Indeed, after he returns, the boat becomes visible again, as Isis searches for Osiris's pieces.) That Osiris is "king of Duat" may be a reference to the fact that he is the most conspicuous constellation in the southern sky, and perhaps then it is no surprise that Odusseus saw Orion when he went to Haides.

I wonder if the Greeks got their star lore from Egypt (presumably via Syria—noting Homer's reference to "the Wagon," and noting that the name Orion is believed to be from Akkadian uru-anna "light of heaven"); if so, then perhaps it is no accident that the Bear is the only other constellation mentioned. Who watches Osiris carefully and never leaves Egypt? Why, Seth does; and Plutarch even tells us (Isis and Osiris §21, though be advised that I ignore his celestial associations for Isis and Horos) that the Egyptians associate the Bear with Seth. (I can even sorta see the Seth-animal in the shape of the Bear.) So perhaps we have another piece of the myth, still written in the stars.

As for the Pleiades, these are not directly referenced as far as I can tell in the Egyptian myth (though perhaps these are the servant-girls of Astarte which invite Isis into the palace). It seems noteworthy that Osiris was forced to the sea unwillingly, while Orion chases the Pleiades into the sea; perhaps this is why the Greeks emphasize sensual desire as the cause of the fall of the soul, while the Egyptians seem to have seen it more as simple necessity.

Very speculatively, I wonder if Thoueris and the serpent are the Little Dipper (an obvious choice for the consort of the Big Dipper) and the constellation Draco, respectively; the Little Dipper defecting to Horos because Polaris points the way North, and Horos begins his upward journey once she joins him. Certainly, the Staff of Asklepios—another symbol of the soul's purification—is a reference to the world axis, topped by Polaris, around which a great serpent is coiled...

ἦ τοι μὲν ξανθὸν Γανυμήδεα μητιέτα Ζεὺς
ἥρπασε ὃν διὰ κάλλος, ἵν᾽ ἀθανάτοισι μετείη
καί τε Διὸς κατὰ δῶμα θεοῖς ἐπιοινοχοεύοι,
θαῦμα ἰδεῖν, πάντεσσι τετιμένος ἀθανάτοισι,
χρυσέου ἐκ κρητῆρος ἀφύσσων νέκταρ ἐρυθρόν.
Τρῶα δὲ πένθος ἄλαστον ἔχε φρένας, οὐδέ τι ᾔδει,
ὅππη οἱ φίλον υἱὸν ἀνήρπασε θέσπις ἄελλα:

You know how most-clever Zeus spirited away blonde Ganumedes
because of his beauty, to be among the deathless ones
and serve wine to the gods in the house of Zeus,
a sight to behold as he is honored by all the immortals
as he draws crimson nectar from the golden bowl.
But incessant worry gripped the heart of Tros, since he didn't know
whither the heaven-sent cyclone had caught up his beloved boy.

(Aphrodite consoles Ankhises. Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 202–208, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly. Yes, it really says "cyclone!")

τὸν δ’ αὖτε προσέειπε περίφρων Πηνελόπεια:
ξεῖν’, ἦ τοι μὲν ὄνειροι ἀμήχανοι ἀκριτόμυθοι
γίγνοντ’, οὐδέ τι πάντα τελείεται ἀνθρώποισι.
δοιαὶ γάρ τε πύλαι ἀμενηνῶν εἰσὶν ὀνείρων:
αἱ μὲν γὰρ κεράεσσι τετεύχαται, αἱ δ’ ἐλέφαντι:
τῶν οἳ μέν κ’ ἔλθωσι διὰ πριστοῦ ἐλέφαντος,
οἵ ῥ’ ἐλεφαίρονται, ἔπε’ ἀκράαντα φέροντες:
οἱ δὲ διὰ ξεστῶν κεράων ἔλθωσι θύραζε,
οἵ ῥ’ ἔτυμα κραίνουσι, βροτῶν ὅτε κέν τις ἴδηται.
ἀλλ’ ἐμοὶ οὐκ ἐντεῦθεν ὀΐομαι αἰνὸν ὄνειρον
ἐλθέμεν: ἦ κ’ ἀσπαστὸν ἐμοὶ καὶ παιδὶ γένοιτο.

And then prudent Penelopeia said to him,
“Stranger, dreams are wayward and mysterious
things, and they don't all come true,
since they stray through not one gate, but two:
one made of horn and the other of ivory.
Those that come through the carved ivory
are wily and carry false messages,
but those that come out of the polished horn
come true whenever one might see them.
But I doubt my weird dream came from there;
oh, it would've been so welcome to me and my son...”

(Homer, Odyssey XIX 559–69, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly. There's some cute alliteration in the original: elephantos “ivory” with elephairontai “wily,” and keraon “horn” with [etuma] krainousi “come [true].”)

Something in the air of late—may your dreams issue through the gate of horn...

There is a lot of overlap between the Mysteries and the Epic Cycle:

(I have omitted the Telegoneia as it concerns Odusseus and not Orestes, who is a different hero.)

If my associations are correct, then Osiris=Helene, Isis=the Akhaian host (e.g. those oathbound to Menelaus, notably not including Akhilleus who was too young to woo Helene), Seth=Eris, Anoubis=Iphegenia, Bublos=Troia, Astarte's unnamed son=Troilos (and the first Troian war generally), Diktus=Akhilleus (and the second Troian war generally), Horos=Orestes, Osiris as a jackal=the Puthia, Seth as a red bull=Aigisthos, the council of gods=the Athenian jury.

The only difficulty, really, is that it is Osiris that is divided up upon his return to Egypt and not Isis, whereas it is the Akhaians who are divided up on their return to Akhaia (and not Helene). This is a really significant symbolic difference and is necessary for the two narratives to work. From the pattern in the myth, Agamemnon should presumably have to be Osiris's penis, which I guess shouldn't be too surprising, since anybody who's read the Iliad can tell you he's a dick.

Despite that problem, though, the stories are so close there must be something to it. I still don't have a convincing thesis for what's going on here; I'm presently wondering if the version of the Horos-myth we have is, in fact, late and Syrian (presumably the oldest versions of the Horos-myth don't involve Bublos)—in which case it could have been influenced from both sides of the Mediterranean. I'm going to need to go over the Pyramid Texts with more care, I think...

Βασιλεύς. τὸ πάνσοφον νῦν ὄνομα τοῦτό μοι φράσον.

King Pelasgos. Now, tell me his masterly-devised name.

(Aiskhulos, Suppliant Maidens 320, as translated by yours truly.)

ὣς ἄρα οἱ εἰπόντι ἐπέπτατο δεξιὸς ὄρνις,
κίρκος, Ἀπόλλωνος ταχὺς ἄγγελος: ἐν δὲ πόδεσσι
τίλλε πέλειαν ἔχων, κατὰ δὲ πτερὰ χεῦεν ἔραζε
μεσσηγὺς νηός τε καὶ αὐτοῦ Τηλεμάχοιο.

As he was saying so a bird flew towards him on the right,
a falcon, the swift messenger of Apollon; and with its feet
it plucked a pigeon it was holding, and feathers fell to the ground
between Telemakhos and his ship.

(Homer, Odyssey XV 525–8, as translated by yours truly. Emphasis mine, too.)

I can't believe I didn't notice this before now! In Greek, κίρκος kirkos means "falcon" or "hawk," obviously as suited to Apollon as it is to Horos. But this is the same word as Κίρκη Kirke, daughter of the Sun and initiator of Odusseus.

τὸ δ’ ἐν Σάει τῆς Ἀθηνᾶς [...] ἕδος ἐπιγραφὴν εἶχε τοιαύτην “ἐγώ εἰμι πᾶν τὸ γεγονὸς καὶ ὂν καὶ ἐσόμενον καὶ τὸν ἐμὸν πέπλον οὐδείς πω θνητὸς ἀπεκάλυψεν.”

The statue of Athena [=Neith] at Sais has the following inscription: “I am all that was and is and will be and no mortal has yet uncovered my dress.”

(Ploutarkhos, Isis and Osiris IX, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly.)

Ah, but there was a mortal who uncovered Athena's dress (albeit accidentally): the great seer of Thebai, Teiresias. Many conflicting stories are told about him (her?), and I spent a few days trying to sort out his (their?) myth. Here is my best guess at a reconstruction, with a few observations:

1. Kadmos ("pre-eminent") is led to the spot which would become Thebai by a cow with a moon-shaped spot on it. The nearby spring is guarded by a dragon; Kadmos slays it and, on the advice of Athene, sows its teeth. The teeth grow into a host of warriors, and Kadmos throws stones into the group, which causes them to attack each other until there are only five left, who pledge allegiance to Kadmos. One of these five, Oudaios ("from the ground"), has a son named Euerous ("well-built"). Euerous marries the nymph Khariklo ("famous for her beauty"), who is a favorite attendant of Athena, and they have a son, Teiresias ("prophet"). [Apollodoros, Library III iv, vi.]

   1. Euerous is only said to be "of the line" of Oudaios, but two considerations require Teiresias to be within two generations of him: first, he is blinded some time before Kadmos's grandson, Aktaion, is killed; second, Teiresias becomes seer to Kadmos, and so is at least partially contemporaneous with him.

   2. Teiresias having one parent's line being literally sprung from the earth and the other being divine has the same crucial resonance with other heroes, but perhaps none more than Aineias, who's paternal grandfather was the brother of the founder of Troia (like how Oudaios was the close associate of the founder of Thebai), whose mother was Aphrodite (who, like Khariklo, is a divinity "famous for her beauty"), and who rescued those who could be from the sack of Troia.

2. One summer day, Athena, Khariklo, and young Teiresias are traveling through Mt. Helikon. Teiresias goes off to explore while Athena and Khariklo bathe in the spring of Hippokrene ("horse spring"). At some point, Teiresias comes back to the spring to get a drink, sees Athena naked, and is blinded for it by the law of Zeus. Athena is upset about this, but cannot override her father; so as to make amends to Khariklo, she gives Teiresias the gifts of prophecy, augury, long life, retaining his wits after death, and a magic staff of cornel-wood which would "guide his feet." [Kallimakhos on the Bath of Pallas; Apollodoros, Library III vi.]

   1. The Hippokrene is also where the Muses bathed before giving Hesiod the gifts of an inspired voice and a staff of laurel-wood. [Hesiod, Theogony 1–35.] Both seem to me reminiscent of how initiates of Osiris were purified and given heather stalks, or initiates of Dionusos were purified and given thursoi.

   2. The Bath of Pallas, which gives wisdom even as it inflicts punishment, is, of course, life in the material world, which is almost always treated as a purification or cleansing of the soul. (Indeed, Empedocles's famous poem on the topic, which I have used as the basis of my interpretation of the hero-myths, is called Purifications.)

   3. Teiresias's blindness and gifts, of course, are exactly the point of spirituality: one loses the ability to engage in the material world but gains the ability to engage in the spiritual world both now and after they die.

   4. Kallimakhos explicitly links this story to that of Aktaion. Both beheld their patron deity naked (Athena for Teiresias, Artemis for Aktaion), but Teiresias made good of evil, while Aktaion did not. I wonder if seeing one's patron naked is the point of no return in spirituality: after that, one must either cease to be mortal or cease to be—there is no longer a middle ground, and this is why Neith's statue says that no mortal has uncovered her dress.

   5. There is an alternate version of the story (made famous by Ovid) where Teiresias was blinded when he settled a bet between Zeus and Hera, saying that sex is ten times better for women than men. I dismiss this one out of hand, because it is of a popular nature and because spiritual teachings are unitive rather than divisive.

3. While traveling through Mt. Kullene, Teiresias comes upon two serpents entwined in sex and crushes them with his staff. This so incenses Hera that she changes Teiresias into a woman. Teiresias becomes a priestess of Hera, marries, and has a daughter named Manto ("prophecy"). At some point, Apollo tells Teiresias that if she comes upon a pair of serpents, to repeat her prior action, which happens in the eighth year after the first time, and she is changed back into a man. [Phlegon, Book of Wonders; Apollodoros, Library III vi.]

   1. Mt. Kullene is the birthplace of Hermes, and his symbol, the kerukeion, is two serpents entwined around a staff. Even today we call androgynous people mercurial. Teiresias being initiated by Hermes (if only figuratively) and Athena is shared by other hero myths, like Perseus and Odusseus.

   2. Surviving sources disagree about which serpent or serpents are crushed in each event. Most sources are either ambiguous or say both each time (and this is what I've followed), though others say that the female was crushed each time, or the female the first time and the male the second time. Whatever the case, the sex-change is an obvious reference to reincarnation; the killing of the serpents inadvertently is a symbol of dying without purpose, but the killing of the serpents intentionally is a symbol of dying with purpose. This is the same as the myth of Perseus, where the Gorgons ("grim things") represent death; but while Stheno ("forceful") and Euruale ("far-ranging") are immortal, indicating that death cannot be overpowered or outrun, Medousa ("she rules") is mortal, indicating that death doesn't need to control us (and, indeed, can be put to good use—as Plotinos says, why should death trouble an immortal?). Therefore, Manto represents the realization of one's true self, the soul which animates the body, which only comes through experience.

   3. The serpentine symbolism is also present in the Kadmos myth, where he kills the serpent of Ares, serves Ares for eight years, marries Ares's daughter Harmonia, and finally is transformed with his wife into a pair of serpents.

   4. Archbishop Eustathios of Thessalonike, following an elegiac poet named Sostratos, tells an alternate version of the story in which Teiresias was born female and changed sexes six times before finally being turned into mouse (and presumably eaten by a weasel). I also dismiss this out of hand, because it is of a popular nature and is impossible to reconcile with both of the only reliable fixed points of the Teiresias's life: his rescue of Thebai and the necromantic ritual of Odusseus.

4. When the Seven attack Thebai, the Thebaians ask Teiresias how they should be victorious, and he advises that if Menoikeus ("strength of the house"), son of Kreon, willingly sacrifices himself to Ares, that the Thebaians would be victorious, which he does and they are. Ten years later, when the Epigone attack Thebai and king Laodamas ("tamer of the people") is killed by Alkmaion (general of the Argives), Teiresias advises the people to send a herald to negotiate with the enemy and secretly flee meanwhile, which they do. Apollo shoots him with an arrow as he drinks from the spring of Tilphoussa and he dies there, but the people continue on to found Haliartos (about fifteen miles from Thebai). Manto, however, is captured by the Argives and, since they had promised "the most beautiful of the spoils" to Apollo, send her to Delphi. She becomes a priestess of the god and he sends her to Colophon to found an oracle. There, she marries Rhakios ("rag"), and has a son by him, Mopsos, who is also a celebrated seer and the rival of Kalkhos in the Nostoi. [Pausanias, Descriptions of Greece VII iii, IX xviii, IX xxxiii; Apollodoros, Library III vi–vii, Epitome vi.]

   1. Tilphoussa is the spring where Apollo first tried to institute his oracle, but the water nymph dissuaded him; after taking over the oracle at Delphi, he later returned and cursed the spring. [Homeric Hymn to Apollo 239–76, 375–87.]

   2. I have a theory that the myth of the house of Kadmos represents the mysteries, just like the myth of the house of Atreus or the myth of the house of Atum. If that is so, then the reason why Teiresias participated in the seven generations of Thebai up to the epigone (Kadmos→Poludoros→Labdakos→Laios/Kreon→Oidipous→Polunikes/Eteokles/Ismene/Antigone→Laodamas/Thersandros) is because he participated in the mysteries and, having mastering these, he was able to, on the one hand, save the women and children of Thebai, and on the other, guide future heroes (e.g. Odusseus) on the way home.

   3. Tilphoussa is on Mt. Tilphosium, which is right next to Mt. Helikon (which is where the Hippokrene was). There is something very Wizard of Oz about Teiresias's life ending where it "began."

   4. That Teiresias ("prophet") dies but Manto ("prophecy") lives on to serve others is, of course, a common motif in spirituality and reminds me more of Plotinos than anyone.

   5. Manto marrying Rhakios ("rag") certainly shows how the mystery teachings are valued in the world: that is to say, not at all, and I wonder to what degree we possess the likes of Plato today because of his homosexual pedophilia, or Plotinos because nobody knew what to make of him, or Apollodoros because the mysteries were hidden in silly stories that nobody took seriously. Mopsos became celebrated precisely because he recognized the hidden value of those rags, though.

5. While lost at sea, Odusseus travels to Haides and summons Teiresias, receiving advice on how to safely return home. [Homer, Odyssey X–XI.]

Happy Ares-day!

Since so many of you asked, and I’ve never tried my hand at translating a lengthy section, I figured I’d go ahead and give it the old college try... but yipes! this took forever, and, anticipating that, I went rather more quickly than usual (managing a dozen lines a day); so it’s probably a lot less precise than I usually strive for. Consider it a first draft!

(Homer, Iliad XX 103–352, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly.)

Notes:

104. Hero: ἥρως, literally “hero” in Greek, too. Hero comes from the Egyptian heru “falcon,” referring to the god Horos; that is, a “hero” is a little-H horos (rather than the big-H Horos). Many sources (Herodotos, Histories II cxliv; Diodoros, Library of History I xxv; Ploutarkhos, Isis and Osiris XII) equate Apollon with Horos, implying that Apollon is the god of heroes. If the god of heroes himself calls you a hero, I imagine you’re doing something right! In fact, Aineias is much beloved by the gods, being saved from certain death by each of Aphrodite, Apollon, and (as we see here) Poseidaon. He was also the only Troian hero to survive the fall of Troia.
109. Weary you: the pun is mine; the Greek is ἀτειρέα "unable to be dulled" and ἀποτρεπέτω "turn you away."
110. Prince: ποιμένι λαῶν, literally “shepherd of his people.” Homer has a higher opinion of nobility than I do, but then, I guess I always was more of a Hesiod sort of guy!
179. Itching to fight me: ἦ σέ γε θυμὸς ἐμοὶ μαχέσασθαι ἀνώγει, literally “did your heart command you to fight me?”
185. Orchards and fields: Greek distinguishes “land planted with field crops” (wheat, barley, etc.) and “land planted with anything else” (e.g. orchards, vineyards, gardens, etc.), and these are the two kinds of land being described.
193. Day of freedom: what a serendipitous turn of phrase!
194. Led them away: this was when Akhilleus captured his favorite girl-toy, Briseis, the fight over whom started off the events of the Iliad.
195. Like you think they will: ὡς ἐνὶ θυμῷ βάλλεαι, literally “as is set in your heart.”
198. Only an idiot makes the same mistake twice: ῥεχθὲν δέ τε νήπιος ἔγνω, literally “even a child learns from experience,” but I wanted to clarify it since Akhilleus is implying that Aineias would be foolish to try his luck again.
202. [...]: I know I make Aineias sound like a stoic, actions-speak-louder-than-words type of person here, but you should know that he goes on at excruciating length about the lineage of princes of Troia. He's actually much more of a kinda square, by-the-book sort.
258. Spears: χαλκήρεσιν ἐγχείῃσιν, literally “bronze-tipped spears,” but the excessive repetition of the word “bronze” was galling.
259. That marvelous shield: the beautifully-crafted shield that Hephaistos, god of smiths, forged for him the night before and inlaid with beautiful imagery. Its description is one of the highlights of the Iliad, and can be found in XVIII 478–608.
270. The Clubfoot: Hephaistos, who was born lame.
272. [The middle] one of gold: gonna be honest, it seems pretty strange to use tin (which is brittle) and gold (which is both soft and very heavy) in a shield, especially on the inside where their corrosion-resistance and beauty aren't on display!
281. Massive shield: ἀσπίδος ἀμφιβρότης, literally “shield which covers both sides of a man.”
284. Double-edged sidearm: ξίφος ὀξὺ, literally “sharp-pointed xiphos,” which was a backup weapon, a large dagger or short sword sharpened on both sides, meant for both slashing and stabbing.
293. I ache for great-hearted Aineias: Throughout the Iliad, Poseidaon sides with the Akhaians. His regard for Aineias is therefore quite special!
310. You do you: αὐτὸς σὺ μετὰ φρεσὶ σῇσι νόησον, “decide for yourself within your own heart.”
314. Little Athene: Παλλὰς Ἀθήνη, usually transliterated “Pallas Athene,” but Παλλάς from πάλλαξ, “child below the age of puberty.” I suppose that’s why she’s always said to be a virgin...
317. Martial: ἀρήϊοι, literally “of/like/devoted-to Ares,” which is the equivalent to "martial" (e.g. “of/like/devoted-to Mars”) in English. I edited this on 8 May 2025, and had originally translated this word as "warlike." The comments below reference the original.
317. So long as the [...] Akhaians kindle it: sheesh, talk about vindictive!
318. But when Poseidaon [...] had heard this: I like to think he rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh before rushing off to save Aineias.
331. Piercing with words fletched as arrows: φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα, literally “speaking feathered words,” usually translated “winged words.” Like “the wine-colored sea” of the Odyssey, this is one of those phrases that classicists have been arguing over forever. I can’t for the life of me tell why, since the meaning seems obvious enough?
334. Dearer to the immortals than you are: yeah, maybe his mommy got him some fancy-pants armor, but you don't see anybody rescuing Akhilleus from the battlefield, do you?
343. To himself: πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν, literally “at his own mighty heart.”

I think I've found the mistake that I've been making: I've been mixing and matching my myths up! I have noted that the Horos-myth concerns growing up and gaining one's inheritance, while the Greek myths concern exile-and-return, but I'm starting to think that these are not two different takes on the same idea; rather, I think they're two different myths and I have been conflating them.

Let me start somewhere else and hopefully it'll become clear as we go. No less than Hesiod tells us that the Theban Wars and the Troian War are the two major events of the age of Heroes:

• In the former, Europe was snatched away from Tyre to Crete, and her son Kadmos left Crete (simultaneously by choice and compulsion) to found Thebai, which was ruled by his descendents. Eventually, Thebai was besieged by the Seven, who failed (with six of the Seven dying), and the Epigone (their "offspring," including Diomedes and Eurualos), who successfully sacked the city ten years later, carrying Europe's magic necklace and robe and Manto away.

• In the latter, Helene was snatched away from Argos to Troia (simultaneously by choice and compulsion) by Paris. The Danaans sent an envoy to Troia, and when that failed, they (including Diomedes and Eurualos) besieged it for ten years (during which many of their heroes died), eventually sacking the city and carrying Helene and Kassandra away.

Mythically speaking, though, these have the same meaning: the stories of both follow largely the same events, with the only meaningful difference between them being that individuals in the Troia myth are represented by bloodlines in the Thebai myth. We see a very similar story in the Theseus myth, too: the Athenian Youths are snatched away from Athens to the labyrinth (mostly unwillingly, though Theseus by choice). He enters the labyrinth, slays it's inhabitant, and carries the Athenian Youths and Ariadne away. (It is noteworthy that labyrinths are called "Troy-Towns" in England and Scandinavia to this day.)

These don't follow the pattern of the Horos myth, since Horos never leaves Egypt; instead, he avenges his father and claims his birthright. So if Horos represents one category of myth (the Hero-myth), I think the three above constitute a second one; let's call it the City-myth.

Now, I've been looking at a bunch of myths so far, and treating them all as following the Hero-myth model. But I think this is a miscategorization and causes problems (which is why I pulled my Hero Myth Rosetta Stone some weeks ago). The Perseus and Orestes myths clearly follow the Hero-myth model. The Odusseus myth does too, but only if we treat the Odyssey as self-contained, treating the Odusseus of the Iliad as a separate mythic character.

But Kore of the Persephone-myth isn't Horos, she's Europe! Just as Europe is beguiled by Zeus-as-a-bull and a crocus, Kore is beguiled by Hades (the "Khthonic Zeus") and a narcissus. Just as Helene is snatched away to the house of Paris, Kore is snatched away to the house of Hades. Here, though, the envoy from Olumpos (that is, Demeter and her attendants) manage to secure a truce rather than the house of Hades being destroyed. (That is, it covers the first half of the myth but not the last half.)

There's another City-myth I haven't discussed: the Aesir-Vanir War and Ragnarok. Here, Freyja goes (by choice?) to Asgard, the Vanir send an envoy, and the war ends in a truce with Freyja being held hostage by the Aesir. Then things settle for a long time before Asgard is eventually destroyed during Ragnarok (a second, separate war mostly involving the children of the first war, like with Thebai). Frustratingly, while there are tantalizing similarities (for example, Freyja has the Brisingamen and a magic cape, matching Europe's magic necklace and robe), what remains of the Asgard myth—or at least my understanding of it, from my light studies so far!—seems fragmentary...

Now, while I think these are separate myths, there is an interesting way these fit together. The first half of the Hero-myth (that is, concerning Osiris, Danae, etc.) matches the City-myth: beautiful and wonderful Osiris being Europe, Helene, the Athenian Youths, Kore, Freyja, etc., but the second half of the Horos-myth has nothing to do with it. Now, Thebai, Troia, the labyrinth, Asgard, etc. are all obviously the material world in which we live. Horos is born of Isis (in the material world), so if we're looking for a Horos-equivalent in the City-myth, we're looking for someone on the "side" of the city (rather than an invader) and who avoids it's destruction (since Horus is not present for any city's destruction). (That is, even though Homer treats the Danaans as the protagonists of his tale, we should be wary of them, since we are the Troians!) There was exactly one Troian hero who survived the sack of Troia: Aineias, son of Ankhises and Aphrodite, most pious of the Troians, called "hero" by Apollon himself, and most beloved by the gods. I think he's our Horos, and the parallel is made explicit by Dionusos of Halicarnassos, who tells us that Aineias's father warns him before Troia falls, causing him to withdraw to Ida; this is the direct correspondence with Osiris coming to Horos from Hades, and is the point at which the Hero-myth diverges from the City-myth: with the City going on to its destruction while Horos goes on to do something else.

There's two things interesting about Aineias. First, I've always considered Virgil's Aenead to be a second-rate knock-off of the Odyssey, but if I'm right and Aineias is Horos, then this makes sense, since the Odusseus of the Odyssey is also Horos, and thus they ought to tell the same myth. Second, I had been assuming that Baldr was the Germanic equivalent of Apollon or Horos, but Snorri Sturluson identifies Aineias as Víðarr, slayer of Fenrir and one of the only Aesir to survive Ragnarok, and who goes on to found a new city. Thus, presumably Víðarr is also Horos; and if (as Ploutarkhos says) that Seth is to be identified with the eclipse, then Fenrir (who gobbles up the Sun) is presumably Seth (or, more likely, one of his avatars, perhaps the red bull Horos fights).

In the same way, I assume Daidalos (successful) and Ikaros (cautionary) are the Horos-equivalents in the Theseus myth, literally taking on wings and leaving the labyrinth behind to its fate.

Please consider this a first-draft conjecture, there are many, many details that I have yet to chase down, but it resolves the discrepancies that caused me to need to rework my Hero Myth Rosetta Stone, which I will of course be working at as time permits.

It also carries with it the uncomfortable thought that Troia has not yet fallen: the material world is still here, the old gods are not yet dead. Hesiod is unclear on the end of the Heroic age and the beginning of the Iron age—they seem to blend together—but on the basis of his descriptions of the end of the Iron age, the Voluspa's descriptions of the prelude to Ragnarok, and of course my own theories that the old ways remain open (but probably not for much longer), the sack of Troia presumably comes soon. I urge to you to keep a weather eye out for Troian horses and to heed the warning of Laocoon which prompted Ankhises and Aineias to flee:

Timeō Danaōs et dōna ferentēs.

I fear the Danaans, even those bearing gifts.