Tag: mythology

📜💡In a jaw-dropping archaeological breakthrough, a mysterious ancient scroll has been discovered in the depths of a remote Libyan cave, revealing untold secrets of Greek mythology! But here’s the real shocker: it was impossible to read—until now! Cutting-edge technology has cracked the code, and the revelations will leave you speechless. Read on to uncover the myths!” 🌟🔍🧜‍♂️ (*Newsfiction* – see Footnote*)

In a groundbreaking archaeological discovery that has sent shockwaves through the academic world, a team led by renowned archaeologist Dr. Callista Evandros has unveiled a once-illegible ancient scroll found hidden deep within a remote cave in Libya. The enigmatic scroll, believed to date back over two millennia, remained an unsolvable riddle until the application of cutting-edge technology provided new insights into its cryptic contents.

The breakthrough came when Dr. Evandros and her team employed an innovative digital imaging process that unveiled the scroll’s faded script, previously deemed indecipherable. The scroll, believed to be an integral part of the classical Greek literary tradition, has already begun to revolutionize our understanding of ancient Greek mythology, shedding light on previously obscure aspects of this rich cultural tapestry.

Dr. Evandros, elated by the discovery, remarked, “This extraordinary find not only adds to our comprehension of ancient Greek mythology but also underscores the invaluable role that modern technology plays in bridging the gap between the past and the present. The scroll’s newfound legibility offers a tantalizing glimpse into a bygone era and reaffirms the importance of technological advancements in archaeology.” The scroll’s revelations promise to rewrite chapters of history and ignite fresh scholarly debates among classicists and historians alike. (Update: the scroll has now yielded further stories, such as The Maiden who Caused the Seasons by Breaking Taboos and Thespis amongst the Pelasgians and The Clever Crow.)

Included here below is an English translation of the newly found myth.

The Great Metamorphosis: Birth of the Revel

Oh, my dearest Callias, lend me your attentive ear, for I am compelled to share with you a tale of divine wonder and mythic grandeur, a tale that has been entrusted to me by none other than the very Muses themselves. As I, Pseudohesiod, trod upon the sacred path of our forefathers, I found myself upon the gentle slope of a hallowed mountainside. ‘Twas on this warm summer afternoon, bathed in the golden radiance of Helios, that I sought the tranquil embrace of nature’s sanctuary. Beneath the boughs of a venerable oak tree, whose branches whispered secrets of time immemorial, I reclined and closed my eyes, my senses attuned to the ancient murmurs of the Earth. It was in this serene and rustic refuge that the Muses, those Pelasgian maids robed in animal skins, who till not the soil, but draw wisdom from the wilderness, chose to grace me with their presence. There, in that enchanting tableau, they unfolded a story, a story they named both “The Great Metamorphosis” and “The Tale of How the Revel Came to Be.”

I have written a few lines of verse about this in the style of Lysander of Helicon:

ὑπὸ δρυὸς ἀγκών, ὅπου σκιαὶ χορεύουσιν,
οἱ Πελασγικαὶ παρθένοι ἐν δερμάτινοις προάγουσιν.
ἐν φύσεις κόλπῳ, τὴν ἐπισιτισμόν τεύχουσιν,
ἐν καρποῖς καὶ καρύοις, τὴν χαρμονιὰν αὐτῶν εὑροῦσιν.

Τὸ περιττὸν ἱμάτιον, ταπεινὸν τῆς γῆς καὶ ξύλου,
ἀθωότης καὶ ἄγριον, ἐν ὁμονοίᾳ ἐνούσης ὁρῶμεν.
ἐν ταῖς ἀταμείταις ὁδοῖς, ἡμερινὴ μνήμη,
χρόνου ὅτε πάντα τὰ ζῷα ἄγρια καὶ ἐλεύθερα βόσκεται.

ἡ παρουσία αὐτῶν, ψιθύρισμα τῆς μακρᾶς ἀνάπαυσις,
ἀνάμνησις κόσμου, ἔνθα ἡ ἀθωότης διαμένει.
ἐν ταῖς ἄταμείταις ψυχαῖς, σύνδεσμος ἐκείνων πιστός,
πρὸς κόσμον φύσεως κάλλους, οὐδέν ἄνωθεν ὑπερέχοντος.

Beneath the oak’s embrace, where shadows dance,
The Pelasgian maids in animal skins advance.
In nature’s bosom, they find their sustenance,
In berries and nuts, their joyful resonance.

Their rustic garb, a tapestry of earth and tree,
Innocence and wildness, in harmony we see.
In their untamed ways, a primal memory,
Of a time when all beings roamed wild and free.

Their presence, a whisper of ages long past,
A reminder of a world where innocence would last.
In their untamed souls, a connection held fast,
To a world of nature’s beauty, unsurpassed.

(Translation by Evelyn Thornefield.)

In the distant epoch of which they spoke, the realm of fauna bore a peculiar resemblance to the human domain. In a world where creatures walked upright and conversed with tongues as articulate as those of men, a conflict of providence had arisen within the divine family of Dionysus, the god of wine and mirth.

This celestial dispute hinged upon a matter as mundane as sustenance, for it pertained to the onerous task of gathering unpalatable tubers and roots to form the staple of their diet. Alas, none among them harbored the fervor for such labor, nor did they possess a fondness for the uninspiring fare that lay before them.

It was at this juncture that the capricious Dionysus, ever the harbinger of innovation, conceived a novel solution to alleviate their culinary woes. With deft hands, he kneaded red clay into form, sculpting a creature heretofore unseen by mortal or divine eye—the first of a new breed of beings destined to traverse the realm of existence as game animals.

To this clay construct, he bestowed life, imbuing it with qualities, potencies, and essences culled from a plethora of celestial and earthly ingredients. As he labored, he also sought out arrow poison, for he harbored an intention: that the pursuit of these game animals would be a formidable endeavor, a quest embarked upon but once in a lunar cycle. As it has been written by Thalassa of Thessaly in Οἱ Αοράτοι Χοροί (Hoi Aoratoi Choroi) The Invisible Dances:

Χερσὶ θείαις, εὔχαριν δώσεν κατὰ πάντας ἄνδρας,
ἐκ θείων συνθέμεν, ἰδέαν διδούς τε καὶ ἠθέα.
ἐξ ἄρουρας πηλὸς εἰς σάρκα μετέβαλλεν ὑλακά,
καινοὺς δ’ ἐξ ἐτέρων προσήγαγε γένος ἄνθρωπον.

With hands divine, he bestowed them with grace,
From celestial ingredients, he formed their face.
The clay became flesh, their essence to embrace,
A new breed of beings, a novel, vibrant race.

(Translation by Evelyn Thornefield.)

Dionysus envisioned that these creatures, once birthed into the world, would be elusive, requiring considerable skill to hunt, lest the fragile balance of nature be disrupted by wanton slaughter. So, the divine decree was to shoot them with arrow poison and then embark upon a protracted pursuit that would span days and nights, a fitting trial for mortals.

Yet, as the god of wine ventured forth to secure the additional elements of his creation, a calamity of dire consequence unfolded in his absence. Unbeknownst to Dionysus, a cadre of Badger people had chanced upon the first of his newly formed game animals—a deer.

In a grave deviation from the god’s intended design, these creatures had not waited to learn the secrets of the hunt, nor did they possess an understanding of the proper ritual surrounding the consumption of their newly found sustenance.

When Dionysus, bearing his trove of ingredients, at last returned to the site where he had left the clay creature, he encountered telltale traces of crimson upon the ground. These vivid marks, akin to droplets of liquid rubies, led him unerringly to the place where the Badgers had seized the prize, engaging in an unsanctioned feast. Various other animal people had come to this feast and had begun to taste the unctuous new food.

It was a sight that filled the god with righteous fury, for the sacrilege was twofold—it violated both the sanctity of creation and the dignity of Dionysus’s grand plan. Angry as the wine-dark sea in tempest, he beheld the transgressors with eyes aflame.

And thus began the epochal transformation, known to all as the “Great Metamorphosis.” Dionysus, in his divine wrath, set about to alter the very essence of those who had dared to transgress his vision. The Badger people, in the bloom of their impudence, were stripped of their human form, their limbs transformed into powerful limbs of quadrupeds.

Beneath the wrathful gaze of the god, they now walked on all fours, their hands devolving into shovels for earth, and their once-hoped-for feast of cooked game forever out of reach.

With unparalleled severity, Dionysus turned his divine ire toward a corpulent Beaver person who, in his haste to preserve his ill-gotten meat, had proffered the god a woeful substitute—a mere piece of wood. All the while the actual slab of meat that he had, this Beaver person sat upon, to conceal it from the god. Such affronts to divine providence could not go unpunished.

As retribution for this grave offense, Dionysus transformed the Beaver person into a creature bound eternally to gnaw upon the very substance he had offered—a life consigned to the ceaseless mastication of wood, with the meat-slab upon which he sat becoming his cursed tail.

The fate of the Cicadas, who had been dancing in jubilation, shaking their rattles with wild ecstasy, did not escape the gaze of Dionysus. While he had been moved by the music they had composed and admired their tempestuous dance, they had partaken of the forbidden fruit, the meat of game. Thus, the god metamorphosed them into insects, allowing them to retain their rattles so that they might continue to make music, albeit in miniature form.

Among the revellers, a crane, long-legged and graceful, had joined the merriment. In a rare display of leniency, Dionysus chose not to strip away the crane’s dance, despite the metamorphic transformation into a feathered creature. Such was the capriciousness of the god’s divine judgment.

However, the celebration continued, unabated, as Dionysus’s gaze turned to the Goat people and the Horse people, who had reveled in the dance with fervor so profound that they had yet to partake of the tempting game meat. In recognition of their innocence and their unwitting avoidance of transgression, Dionysus elected not to condemn them to the same fate as the Badger and Beaver people.

Instead, the god of wine decided to emphasize the distinction between these fortunate creatures and the rest. He would strip them of their animal attributes—their horns, their hooves, and their tails—and elevate them to the realm of the first true humans, the progenitors of the modern race.

In this newfound humanity, they would retain the precious gifts of fire, clothing, and speech, and they would feast upon the savory meat of game, indulging in the fruits of their untainted innocence.

And yet, the new humans, blessed as they were, yearned for a connection to the old ways, to the Trance Time of ecstatic dances. In their gratitude, they beseeched Dionysus to grant them access to these sacred rites, to be transported once more to the ethereal Trance Time. In a display of benevolence, Dionysus, the god of both mirth and revelry, took pity upon their plea. Thus, he began to impart to them the ancient knowledge of creating hypnotic melodies and the art of dancing in such a manner that the boundaries of reality would blur, allowing them to transcend the confines of their newfound humanity.

Under his divine tutelage, the newly anointed humans learned to craft entrancing rhythms and melodies that would lead them back, feeling themselves become once again the Satyrs and Silens. They discovered the secrets of movement and rhythm that, when performed with uncanny precision, transported them to a state of ecstatic communion with the ancient spirits. And so, as Melanthe has it in the play Ἡ Ποίηση της Αυγής” (Hē Poīēsē tēs Augēs) The Poetry of Dawn:

ἐν τοῖς βάθεσι τῆς ἐκστάσεως, δῶρον θείωτατον,
οἱ ἄνθρωποι ἐγένοντο Σάτυροι, ἐν τῇ ἱερῇ γραμμῇ.
ἡ ένθεσις αὐτῶν, χορός ἐν αὐγῇ σελήνης,
ἐν τῷ Κυκλώπου τῇ ὥρᾳ, αἱ ψυχαὶ αὐτῶν ἐνθυλάσσονται.

μετὰ ὑπνωτικῆς μουσικῆς, αὐλίσσοντο καὶ ἄγοντο,
ἐν τῇ ἄγριᾳ ἀπορρύθμισι Σατύρων, μία ἐγένοντο.
ἐν τῷ Συνεδρίῳ ἐκείνῃ, ἡ ὁδὸς αὐτῶν ἤρξατο,
πρὸς χώραν ὅπου τὸ πρωτόγονον καὶ θεῖον πλεκόταν.

τὸ κληρονομία τοῦ Διονύσου, ἐν πάσῃς τῇ στροφῇ καὶ πηδήματι,
ἐν τῷ Συνεδρίῳ ἐκείνῃ, αὐτοὶ τὴν ἐκστάσιν εὑρίσκουσι.
ἄνθρωπος καὶ θηρίον, ἐν ὁμονοίᾳ χορῶντες,
σύνδεσμος πρὸς τὸν ἀρχαῖον, ἐν τῇ ἐκστάσεις αὐτῶν ἀμφικαλυπτόμενος.

In the depths of trance, a gift most divine,
The humans became Satyrs, in that sacred line.
Their revelry, a dance in the moon’s soft shine,
In the heart of the Trance Time, their souls entwine.

With hypnotic music, they swayed and spun,
In the wild abandon of Satyrs, they became one.
In the Revel’s embrace, their journey had begun,
To a realm where the primal and divine were spun.

The legacy of Dionysus, in every twirl and prance,
In the Revel’s fervor, they found their trance.
Human and beast, in harmonious dance,
A connection to the ancient, in the trance’s expanse.

(Translation by Evelyn Thornefield.)

This, dear Callias, marked the genesis of what would come to be known as the Revel—a ritual of sublime abandon and communion with the primal forces of existence. It was a dance that transcended the boundaries of the mortal realm, where the participants, once clothed in the trappings of civilization, would feel themselves momentarily shedding the veneer of humanity, becoming Satyrs and Silens, creatures of unfettered passion and abandon.

Their bodies moved in a rhythmic union with the earth, and their spirits soared high above the mundane, tethered only by the intoxicating power of Dionysian music. In this dance, they became vessels of Dionysus himself, conduits for the divine ecstasy that flowed through their veins.

The strains of ancient melodies, played on the sacred pipes and lyres, sent shivers down their spines. They twirled, leaped, and cavorted in wild abandon, their senses aflame with the beat of the drums. In their trance-like state, they were transported back to an age when humanity was not yet fully human, when the boundaries between the civilized and the wild were fluid and ever-shifting.

And so, my dear Callias, the Revel came into existence—a ritual of unparalleled intensity and significance. It was a celebration of the duality of human nature, a remembrance of the time when our ancestors walked the line between beast and man, when the forest and the vineyard were one, and when the boundaries of self dissolved in the ecstatic embrace of Dionysian revelry.

The gods themselves looked down upon this sacred dance with favour, for it was a tribute to the very essence of their divine nature—a testament to the enduring connection between the mortal and the immortal. In the Revel, mortals could touch the divine, if only for a fleeting moment, and in that moment, they became more than mere humans; they became living embodiments of the divine ecstasy that courses through the universe.

But the story does not end here, dear Callias, for there is one more remarkable chapter to be told—a chapter that reveals the genesis of game, the meat that would forever alter the course of human history. It is a tale of transformation and creation, a tale of blood and ochre, and a tale that connects us to the very heart of the natural world.

From the blood of the first game animal that had fallen to the insatiable hunger of the Badger people, a profound transformation began to occur. As the life essence of the creature mingled with the earth, it left behind a vibrant ochre deposit—a scarlet stain upon the verdant tapestry of nature.

This deposit, this earthly residue, was no ordinary mark upon the landscape, for it retained within its rich pigment the very essence and potency of the game animal that had met its untimely end. It was as if the spirit of the fallen creature lingered, forever intertwined with the ochre-hued earth.

Dionysus, in his divine wisdom, saw the potential in this sacred ochre, this living remnant of a once-vibrant existence. He recognized that within its depths lay not only the memory of the game animal but also the essence of the very creation from which it had sprung.

Taking up the ochre-stained earth with reverence, the god mixed it with a measure of the animal’s fat, carefully blending the two until they formed a paint—a paint imbued with the primal energy of the fallen creature. It was a medium that bridged the realms of the divine and the earthly, a substance teeming with life’s essence.

With the paint thus prepared, Dionysus turned his gaze upon the walls of a rocky shelter, their surfaces a blank canvas awaiting the brush of divine creation. Guided by the hand of inspiration, he began to paint—the images of red deer, creatures of sustenance taking shape upon the rocky canvas.

As the god’s brush moved, the images seemed to come to life, their forms pulsating with vitality. The red deer, though still confined to the rock, bore the unmistakable semblance of life and motion. They were trapped between the realms of existence and imagination, ready for release.

And then, in an act of divine transfiguration, Dionysus called forth these painted creatures from the rock itself. With a flourish of his hand and a whispered incantation, they emerged from the stone, as if reborn from the very essence of the earth.

The red deer, now corporeal and living, roamed the world, becoming tangible manifestations of the sustenance that humanity had so fervently desired. It was a gift from Dionysus himself, a testament to his creative power and his deep connection to the natural world. Melanthe wrote of this too in The Poetry of Dawn:

ἐκ χυθέντος αἵματος καὶ γῆς ὄχρης, γενεὰ γέγονεν,
γραφῆς πρωτόγονον, ὅθεν ἡ ζωῆς ἐφώνησεν ᾆσμα.
εἰκόνες κεράοντος ἐρυθροῦ, ἐν πέτρῃσιν ἐχέφθησαν,
γέφυρα μεταξὺ κόσμων, ὡς αὐτῶν μορφαὶ συνηρτήθησαν.

ὄχρης πορφυροῦσα χροιὴ μνημοσύνην κατέχει,
ἐν πάσῃς τῇ ποικιλίῃ τοῦ θείου, κόσμος συνεχής.
ἐκ τῆς γῆς βάθρων πρὸς τὸν οὐρανίου νοῦν,
μαρτυρία τῆς πλάσεως, ἐν ὄχρῳ ἡμεῖς εὑρίσκομεν.

καί, ὡς Διόνυσος προσέκλαγξεν, ἐξ ἄντρου εἱλίσσοντο,
οἱ γραφόμενοι κεραοί, ζωῆς πνεῦμ’ ἔνιον ἤδη.
ἐν τῇ χάριτι καὶ παρουσίᾳ, ἡ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἐφάνη,
σύνδεσμος πρὸς τὸ άγριον, ἐν τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς αὐτῶν ἐσπόη.

From spilled blood and earth’s ochre, a creation birthed,
A paint of primal essence, from which life’s song was rehearsed.
Images of red deer, on rock walls they surged,
A bridge between realms, as their forms converged.

Ochre’s vibrant hue, a memory enshrined,
In every stroke of the divine, a world intertwined.
From the earth’s core to the celestial mind,
A testament to creation, in ochre we find.

And as Dionysus beckoned, they emerged from stone,
The painted deer, a living essence, newly grown.
In their grace and presence, great beauty was shown,
A connection to the wild, in their eyes, was sown.

In this sacred artistry, the game’s legacy sealed,
A gift from the divine, a revelation revealed.
Through ochre’s embrace, a truth unconcealed,
That in nature’s embrace, our destiny’s concealed.

(Translation by Evelyn Thornefield.)

These creatures of divine artistry, imbued with the essence of game, would forever change the course of human history. They provided not only nourishment and clothing but also a profound connection to the primal forces of nature. They were a reminder that humanity, despite its trappings of civilization, remained inexorably linked to the wilderness from which it had emerged.

And so, dear Callias, the story comes full circle—the tale of transformation, creation, and divine providence. It is a story that intertwines the destinies of gods and mortals, a story that echoes through the ages as a testament to the enduring connection between humanity and the natural world.

In the annals of history, this narrative shall be remembered as a parable of our place in the cosmos—a reminder that, no matter how far we may stray from the wilderness, we are forever bound to the primal forces that shaped us. It is a tale of reverence for the earth, for the creatures that inhabit it, and for the divine spark of creativity that resides within us all.

My dear Callias, I share this tale with you not merely for the sake of entertainment, but also with the fervent desire to impart a lesson that transcends the boundaries of time. For it is in the stories of old that we find the threads of wisdom woven into the very fabric of existence. Two of my dearest philosopher friends, Aristodamus of Phocaea and Theronidas of Thessalonica, have engaged in spirited discourse regarding the profound meaning held within this narrative. Aristodamus, a poet and philosopher of great repute, perceives in this transformation a metaphor for the ceaseless cycle of life, death, and rebirth—a reminder that change is an integral part of our existence. He argues that the tale beckons us to embrace this change and seek harmony with the natural world, recognizing the interconnectedness of all things.

On the other hand, Theronidas, a philosopher-poet of equal stature, interprets the transformation differently. To him, this tale serves as a cautionary beacon, a warning against the recklessness of human ambition and impulsiveness. He believes it underscores the dire consequences that may befall us should we disrupt the delicate balance of nature, emphasizing the sanctity of life and the imperative to show reverence for it.

Personally I this this latter interpretation has more to it, but there is something in both. I also feel, however, that there is a third lesson: the important of Dionysian revel. I extend to you an invitation, should you find time to leave the city and come to my villa. Here we may initiate you into the Mysteries of Dionysian revel.

And now, my dear friend, as the story finds its conclusion, I leave you with the wisdom of the ancients and the knowledge that the threads of myth and reality are forever entwined in the tapestry of our existence. May you carry these lessons with you as you navigate the labyrinth of life, and may the Revel of Dionysus forever echo in your heart as a testament to the enduring connection between humanity and the natural world.

*Footnote

Of course, this is “newsfiction” – I have invented this story of the discovery of the scroll, and indeed I have invented the figure of Pseudiohesiod as well as his nephew, and furthermore the entire series of letters is my own creation, using AI to help with the stylistic aspects, to help create the veneer of authenticity. You might be wondering what inspired me to recast a series of Greek myths in a hunter gatherer context. I am still trying to put my finger on my own motivations, to understand my own muse as it were, but I think have some insight into why it fascinates me.

I have long been a fan of ancient Greek mythology, but in recent years have developed a great fascination with the stories of hunter gatherer peoples such as the “San” peoples of South Africa, as well as the indigenous Australians. Then I noticed opportunities to marry the traditions. To do so, is in fact not un-Greek – the Greek empire was just that – an Emporium – a place of trade, which included the trade of ideas just as much as goods. What I am doing is just a continuation of that process – stories from afar drifting into the Greek marketplace and being taken up and used.

Though we don’t know for certain what stories hunter gatherer people were telling back in the time of Ancient Greece, there is nothing in the tales that we do know that could not have formed part of stories that were being told by hunter gatherer peoples at that time. The Greeks had a method of dressing up their tales, using rhetorical motifs, the classical style, and this can be applied to the core plots of other stories. Imagine if the Greeks had come across the stories of hunter gatherers during their travels and then given them the Greek treatment. For all we know, some of the famous Greek tales could have had this type of non-agricultural origin.

Taking themes from hunter gatherer myths and fusing them with the classical tradition allows us to make stories that could have been created in ancient times, if only these groups of people had met and interacted at that time.

This gives fresh blood to the classical tradition. Without such fresh blood, a tradition can ossify. The same old stories, again and again. Pump the old classical tradition with new blood, and suddenly it comes back to life. It becomes a living tradition. I am fascinated with the idea of the classical tradition not as a dead museum piece, but as an ongoing living tradition. Why not?

Another reason I am attracted to this process is that it makes a point: there is a tendency to view the tales of classical mythology as artefacts of High Culture, and to view the mythologies of hunter gatherers as some how ‘primitive’ by comparison. But the actual stories, once you get beneath the classical rhetoric, are of a similar type. Once you get under the skin of the hunter gatherer narratives, understanding them ontologically, from the perspective of their own way of being in the world, you realise how they are no less engaging and sophisticated in their own way. My aim is to demonstrate this by giving them a Greek makeover.

More generally, I have a very strong dislike of the idea that civilisation began with agriculture. This is simply not true. Mythology, painting, dance, storytelling, song, decorative artefacts – these are although things that human hunter gatherers have invented time and again without any contact with agriculturalists.

These stories from the fictional “Evandros Scroll” are my own inventions, but they resonate, I hope, with a deeper truth: culture existed long before agriculture came on the scene. We cannot now return to pre-agricultural times, but we should move beyond the idea that dominating the natural world is a prerequisite of civilised living.