Early Greek Myth A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources Timothy Gantz The Johns Hopkins University Press Baltimore and London‘© 1993 The Johns Hopkins University Press. All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper The Johns Hopkins University Press 2715 North Charles Street Baltimore, Maryland 21218-4319 The Johns Hopkins Press Ltd., London Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gantz, Timothy. Farly Greek myth : a guide to literary and artistic sources / Timothy Gantz. Pom, Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8018-4410-X (he) 1, Mythology, Greek. I. Title BL782.G34 1993 292.1'3—de20 92-26010 A catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.Contents Nn Preface xv The Early Gods 1 Theogonies and the Like 1 Primal Elements 3 Gaia and Ouranos 10 Gaia and Pontos 16 The Titans 27 The Titanomachia and Zeus’ Rise to Power 44 The Olympians 57 The Children of Kronos Zeus / Hera / Poseidon / Demeter / Hades / Hestia 57 The Children of Zeus Hephaistos / Ares / Hebe and Eileithuia / Athena / Apollo / Artemis / Aphrodite / Hermes / Dionysos 74 Olympos, the Underworld, and Minor Divinities 120 Olympos 120 Hades, Tartaros, Elysion 123 Minor Divinities 135 Prometheus and the First Men 152 The Line of Deukalion 167 The Children of Deukalion and Pyrrha 167 The Aloadai 170 viiviii Contents N oo The Aiolidai Salmoneus / Tyro / Kretheus / Sisyphos / Athamas / Perieres Deion / Minyas 171 The Children of Athamas: Phrixos and Helle 183 The Children of Tyro Neleus / Pelias / Amythaon / Aison / Pheres 184 The Descendants of Agenor 196 Other Early Families 198 The Descendants of Inachos 198 The Daughters of Atlas 212 The Daughters of Asopos 219 The Royal House of Athens 233 Early Bits and Pieces 233 Kekrops and His Daughters 235 Erichthonios and Pandion I 239 Erechtheus and His Daughters 242 Pandion II and Aigeus 247 ‘Theseus’ Journey around the Isthmos 249 Theseus in Athens 255 Nisos and Skylla 257 Minos and Krete 259 — , Minos, Pasiphae, and the Minotaur, 260 Daidalos in Athens 262 : Theseus and the Minotaur 262 The Children of Minos 270 Orion 271 Minos and Daidalos 273 Theseus’ Later Exploits 276 The Death of Aigeus and the Sons of Pallas 276 Peirithoos and the Lapithai 277 The Abduction of Antiope 282ix Contents 10 1 122 Phaidra and Hippolytos 285 The Abduction of Helen 288 The Descent into Hades 291 Theseus and Thebes 295 The Pursuit of Aithra 297 Theseus’ Death 297 Perseus and Bellerophontes 299 Akrisios and Danae 299 Danae and Polydektes 303 Perseus and the Gorgons 304 Andromeda 307 The Death of Polydektes 309 The Death of Akrisios and Perseus’ Children 310 Proitos’ Daughters 311 Bellerophontes 313 The Daughters of Thestios 317 Thestios 317 Hypermestra 318 Leda 318 The Dioskouroi 323 Althaia 328 Atalanta 335 Tason and the Argo 340 Aietes 340 The Argo and Its Crew 341 The Women of Lemnos 345 The Propontis: Kyzikos and Amykos 347 Phineus and the Harpuiai 349 Onward to Kolchis 356 Medeia and the Golden Fleece 358 The Return Voyage 362 Medeia and Iason in Greece 365x Contents 13 Herakles 374 Alkmene and Amphitryon 374 Theban Exploits 378 The Twelve Labors 381 Labor I: The Nemean Lion 383 Labor II: The Lernaian Hydra 384 Labor III: The Keryneian/Kerynitian Hind 386 Labor IV: The Erymanthian Boar 389 Pholos 390 Labor V: The Stables of Augeias 392 Labor VI: The Stymphalian Birds 393 Labor VII: The Kretan Bull 394 Labor VIII: The Mares of Diomedes 395 Labor IX: The Belt of Hippolyte 397 Laomedon, Hesione, and Troy 400 Labor X: The Cattle of Geryoneus 402 The Journey Back from Tartessos 408 Labor XI: The Garden of the Hesperides 410 Labor XII: Kerberos 413 Antaios, Bousiris, Emathion 416 Alkyoneus 419 Kyknos 421 Eurytion 423 ‘Augeias and the Moliones 424 Neleus and Hippokoon 426 Auge and Telephos 428 Deianeira, Acheloos, and Nessos 431 Eurytos, Iphitos, and ole 434 Delphi and the Tripod 437 Omphale and the Kerkopes 439 The Return to Troy and the Detour to Kos 442 ‘The Battle of the Gods and Gigantes. 445 Herakles and the Gods: Minor Tales 454 The Sack of Oichalia and Herakles’ Death 457xi Contents 14 15 16 The Apotheosis 460 Eurystheus and the Herakleidai 463 Thebes 467 Kadmos 467 Semele and Ino 473 Aktaion 478 ‘Agaue and Pentheus 481 Antiope, Amphion, and Zethos 483 Laios 488 Oidipous 492 Polyneikes and Eteokles 502 Adrastos, Eriphyle, and Amphiaraos 506 The Expedition of the Seven 510 Antigone and the Burial of the Seven 519 The Epigonoi 522 ‘Alkmaion and Eriphyle 525 Teiresias 528 The Line of Tantalos 531 Tantalos 531 Niobe’ 536 Pelops and Hippodameia 540 Atreus and Thyestes 545 Thyestes in Sikyon 550 Pleisthenes 552 The Trojan War 557 The Trojan Kings 557 The Birth and Childhood of Paris 561 Tyndareos and the Wooing of Helen 564 The Judgment of Paris 567 The Abduction of Helen 571 The First Mobilization at Aulis 576xii Contents 17 18 Iphigeneia and the Second Mobilization at Aulis 582 The Journey to Troy: Philoktetes and Tennes 588 ‘The Landing: Protesilaos, Kyknos, and the Embassy to Troy 592 Achilleus and the Early Years of the War 596 Troilos and Lykaon 597 Palamedes 603 The Actors of the Iliad 608 The Events of the Iliad 610 Penthesileia and Memnon 621 The Death of Achilleus 625 The Fate of Aias 629 The Return of Philoktetes 635 The Last Events before the Sack 639 The Fall of Troy 646 Aftermath: The Recovery of Aithra and Sacrifice of Polyxena 657 Hekabe and Polydoros 659 The Return from Troy 662 Menelaos and Nestor 662 Agamemnon 664 Orestes’ Revenge 676 Iphigeneia among the Tauroi 686 Neoptolemos 687 Teukros 694 Aias Oileiades and Nauplios’ Revenge 695 Idomeneus, Diomedes, Philoktetes, and Others 697 Odysseus 703 Aineias 713 Other Myths 718 Ixion 718 Orpheus 721 Lykaon and Kallisto 725 Smyrna/Myrtha and Adonis 729 Skylla and Glaukos 731xiii Contents Maira 733 Melanippe 734 Kresphontes 735 ‘The Daughters of Minyas 736 Appendixes 739 A/ Some “Deviant” Cosmogonies 739 B/ Editions of Ancient Texts Cited 745 C/ Catalogue of Artistic Representations 753 D/ Genealogical Tables 803 Abbreviations 823 Notes 831 Bibliography $83 Index 891Preface Handbooks of Greek myth are certainly nothing new. Indeed, the very word handbook has an eminent Greek pedigree in the term encheiridion, and Greek, too, is the concept of assembling stories from different literary sources into a more or less homogeneous narrative that traces events from the first gods and mortals to the time of the Trojan War. The poems of the so-called Epic Cycle, that is, those recounting events before and after the action of the Iliad, were pethaps a step in this direction. But the first work we know of to actually compile traditions from the whole range of Greek myths was the poem that came to be called the Ehoiai, or Catalogue of Women. Produced probably in the first part of the sixth century B.c. by a man we know only as the Catalogue Poet, this undertaking arranged myths on a genealogical basis—organizing, systematizing, grouping, all the while employing as reference points the vari- ous unions between mortal women and gods, whose offspring and the stories surrounding them could then be enumerated. To what extent this labor of systemization, of bringing together into a whole previously unrelated figures, was achieved by the Catalogue Poet himself, and to what extent he found such groupings already in his sources, we do not know. With the emergence of prose in the later sixth century such handbooks took on more the look of early his- tory, with as always a certain amount of local bias at work. Two names in particular which we know of are Akousilaos of Argos, writing perhaps at the end of the century, and Pherekydes of Athens (not to be confused with the Presocratic philosopher from Syros), who produced his account in the early part of the fifth century. These, in turn, were followed by numerous other prose writers, including Hellanikos and the Atthidographers, or local historians of Athens, who employed similarly systematic arrangements of mythic tradi- tions for a variety of purposes. All these works, however, are lost to us, save for bits and pieces in citations and (for the Ehoiai) occasional papyrus fragments. Our first preserved hand- book is that of Palaiphatos in (probably) the fourth century .c., although this is a modest effort relating few myths, and its author's sole purpose is to ratio- nalize their more fantastic elements, such as Daidalos’ flight from Krete and Atalanta’s conversion into a lioness. Other works of similar scope include the tales enumerated by Konon in the first century B.c. But the first truly compre- xvxvi Preface hensive collection of myths we have is that ascribed to one Apollodoros and written, we think, in the second century a.D. This Apollodoros (the ascription seems in error, but the name is as good as any other) presents us with a con- tinuous narrative account beginning with the family of Deukalion and ending with the returns of the Achaians who fought at Troy. In a verse preface to the work, the author boasts that his readers will have no further need to consult Homer, or elegy, or tragedy, or even painting, because everything is contained within the covers of this one book. Seen from that perspective he is, of course right; the readers he envisions for his compilation are those eager to find ev- erything neatly assembled in one package, thus obviating the consultation of numerous literary works with their inevitable gaps and conflicts. Admittedly, variants of name or detail are not entirely lacking, and at times the specific sources from which Apollodoros has drawn (or claims to have drawn) his infor- mation are cited—Homer on five occasions, “Hesiod” and Pherekydes perhaps a dozen each, Akousilaos ten, Euripides four, sometimes the tragic poets as a group. Yet these occasional ascriptions do not alter the fact that Apollodoros’ handbook, valuable though it may be, is an avowed synthesis, one designed to knit together disparate elements from many different sources (or earlier com- pilations of those sources) into a relatively seamless whole. As such, it inevi- tably promotes the concept of Greek myths as a cultural commodity, the prod- uct of a united Greek mind rather than contributions from many different tellers of tales in many different contexts over a great span of time Modern handbooks of Greek mythology offer, in many cases, the same kind of synthesis as Apollodoros and for the same valid reasons. Indeed, given that modern audiences have far less access to the original sources, such hand- books are often essential, and certainly there is no one interested in the subject who has not read and profited by them; in English, one thinks most readily of works by H. J. Rose and Karl Kerényi, which annotate (far more copiously than Apollodoros) the places from which they have drawn their information." Still, these annotations are relegated to small print in the back of each volume (where few of us bother to look for them, save on particular points), and they do not obscure the impression that ancient Greeks by and large knew and retold the same myths over and over again in much the same form throughout their history as a culture. What I have tried to do in the present volume is to stress rather the op- posite point of view, to “uncompile” these myths back into what we know of their constituent forms (even when that is very little) and to try to envision when those forms might have arisen. To that end, individual myths are not so much retold as broken down to see what we can establish regarding the origin of each narrative detail; in general, I have tried to determine where each such detail first appears in our literary or artistic sources. In most cases, of course, given the state of preservation for our sources, the answer to that question provides nothing more than a terminus post quem, which in turn leads to more questions and unprovable hypotheses. Nevertheless, these are important start-xvii Preface ing points for a better understanding of how myths develop: only when we know how early a detail does survive, and in what context, are we really in a position to speculate on where it might have come from and why. Some details are clearly attested for pre-fifth-century epic and lyric; others surface first in authors such as Apollodoros who often draw on early works (or epitomes of them), while still others emerge in Euripides, Kallimachos, Ovid, and the like, writers whom we suspect do not hesitate to rework, on occasion, the traditions they have inherited for the need of the moment. Whether a tale like Leda’s dalliance with a swan, first found in Euripides—as opposed to the earlier at- tested union of Zeus and Nemesis as geese—could be his invention is in no way assured (and is probably not the case), but we do begin to see more clearly the possibilities. Mention of specific authors leads us to the use of the word early in the book's title, I had originally projected a far more modest volume isolating only that information about the various myths guaranteed in one way or another for the Archaic period (defined as from Homer down through roughly Aischy- los and Bakchylides). In practice, however, such a method involved far too many gaps, places where details that must have existed in some form or other in the earliest versions survived only in post-Archaic accounts. Then, too, it seemed pointless to ignore Apollodoros, whose fondness for carly sources ap- pears all the more palpable now that we can appreciate his probable debt to the organizational structure of the Ehoiai.? And finally, a significant portion of our evidence for these early versions derives from less than certain authorities, in many cases scholiasts who assure us that the contents of their summaries are found in a given work but may mean only that the said work mentioned some- thing on the subject (see below). Accordingly, the book’ scope has been ex- panded, and while the focus is still on what stories were told (and in what forms) in earlier times, the range now includes details as they appear for the first time throughout Greek and Roman literature. By “earlier times,” I con- tinue to mean basically the Archaic period; 1 am interested above all in the versions of myths which would have been known to people like Aischylos and Pherekydes. This is, admittedly, an arbitrary cutoff point, and the sixth century (with Stesichoros depriving Helen of her flight to Troy) was perhaps no more conservative in its treatment of myths than Euripides in the later fifth. Given, however, that later authors are also represented when they have something new to offer, the consequences of such a dividing line are not very great. In practice, Thave tried to report everything of narrative interest attested in literary sources down through Aischylos, even when they duplicate other early sources; for later authors and artifacts the criteria are narrowed to include only material that seems to have some possibility of going back to an early source. This may seem subjective, but as the size of the book indicates | have tried not to exclude anything that might reasonably be of any interest on these terms, and sources such as Apollodoros and the Roman mythographer Hyginus are almost always cited. What the reader will not find is any systematic treatment of a myth’sxviii Preface development in later times for its own sake, for example, how motifs fully at- tested earlier are reworked or manipulated by Kallimachos or Ovid. Regarding this so-called early period, the emphasis is primarily chrono- logical, that is, on assembling the evidence for the period as a whole and nam- ing the source(s) for each detail. Inevitably, discussion of what might or might not have been found in individual authors is involved, but I have not gone out of my way to reconstruct individual lost works, or to interpret the use of myths in preserved ones, save where it seemed necessary to the book’ overall intent On the whole, I adhere to the concept of a general corpus of traditional tales known to professional storytellers of the time of Homer and earlier, and while each of these storytellers made his own selection (and, no doubt, some inno- vations), the appeal of this corpus surely derived from a certain canonical ele- ment maintained despite the diversity of individual treatment. From that view- point, the attestation of a particular detail as seventh- or sixth-century, in general, matters far more than our ability to assign it to Lesches’ Little Iliad rather than Arktinos’ Iliou Persis. For much the same reason, I have allowed the term “Homer” to stand in the text when referring to the Iliad and the Odyssey, even though I believe, with many, that these are not the work of the same poet; for present purposes, authorship is not crucial and the actual poem meant is always specified in the parenthetical references. Likewise given little consideration in the discussion, though for different reasons, is the matter of place. Unquestionably, local traditions in different parts of the Greek world played an enormously important role in the develop- ment of narratives, especially those designed to justify occupation of territory or to explain the first settlement of the various regions. If the present work is less diachoric than it is diachronic, that is only because I am not confident that we can, on the whole, recover these distinctions, at least not without specula- tion far greater than would be appropriate to a handbook. And however local in origin, many such traditions may have become considerably more wide- spread by the end of the Archaic period; the allusions of Pindar to quite a variety of myths, even when composing for non-Theban audiences, suggests that these tales were now “international” in their form, and could be exported without conflict or confusion. In presenting what we know of the early literary sources for the myths passed down to us, I have also tried where possible, as befits a handbook, to avoid subjective evaluations of source quality. One has only to follow the trail of Aristarchean criticism a short way through the scholia of Homer to discover that many of our most valuable references to myths in that author can be (and have been) athetised with relatively few strokes. I assume, in any case, that most of the supposed interpolations utilize material found elsewhere in the literature of the Archaic period; again, since specific citations are always given, I leave the reader to draw his or her own conclusions about the ancestry of the information involved. Only in the case of the eleventh book of the Odyssey, which contains much extraneous material whose dating is of interest, have Ixix Preface thought it worthwhile to indicate potential outside influence with the standard book title Nekuia. In the case of missing works, however, the matter is some- times far more serious. Some references to the lost epic and lyric poets consist of direct quotes, or attestations by known writers that such-and-such a work contained such-and-such a detail. In other cases, however, including almost all those involving lost mythographers, our sources are late epitomators or scho- liasts who often relate a given tale at length, adding at the end, “‘the story is found in [e.g.] Pherekydes.” Such a subscription may mean that their source made that daim, having actually drawn from the work in question, or that (in some few cases) they themselves did so, but it may also mean that they have copied their information from a handbook and then (to look more scholarly) added the name of an author who (we hope) related or at least mentioned the story somewhere. Again, I have taken these citations at face value, usually with indications where handbook-type summaries are involved, but anyone relying on this kind of information needs to evaluate the texts firsthand, something I hope this book will encourage. As for the artistic material utilized, no attempt has been made to offer anything like a complete assessment of the artifacts illustrating myths in Ar- chaic times; unlike the literary sources, the numbers of these are legion, and they are well documented in the invaluable Lexicon Iconographicum Mythol- ogiae Classicae, now close to completion. What I have tried to do rather is to select out those artifacts that attest for the first time to the presence of a myth, or (as with the literary sources) add some new detail to our knowledge of the narrative and its possible variations. Extremely early representations (i.e., of the Late Geometric period) are treated with some caution, as they are rarely specific enough in detail to guarantee that a myth is intended (the Moliones are an exception), and in any case do not usually advance our knowledge of the story. For later periods, there is often controversy over the interpretation of clearly mythic scenes; I have tried to indicate both the uncertainties and the possibilities. Variations of purely iconographic interest (i.e., pose, dress, com- position) have been omitted, as has consideration of the relative popularity of myths in different areas and time periods. This last body of evidence has (here again) undoubtedly important things to say about influence from lost literary works and even the existence of unsuspected ones, but it is again too speculative and too vast to fit into the present confines. The same is true of regional vari- ants or versions of myths as represented in art; attempts have been made to separate a Peloponnesian tradition of tales (seen especially in shield-bands at Olympia) from that found in Athens, but on the whole it cannot be said that we have a very clear idea of what sources either group of artists drew from, and for many other important items we have no firm notion of ultimate origin at all. The numerous pictorial representations that have been included as rele- vant to establishing narrative details are identified by museum number wher- ever possible; these can be used to refer to the Catalogue of Artistic Represen- tations (Appendix C) at the back of the book, where further bibliography isXX Preface available. For items of a highly disputed nature, I have tried to indicate in the brief endnotes places where fuller discussions (of whatever persuasion) and references can be found. I have also included in the notes some of the valuable recent monographs and books cataloguing certain scenes from myth in art: again, these will point the way to other literature in what is a much vaster field than one might imagine. I have not as a rule referred to the articles in the new Lexicon Iconographicum noted above; these, like the material in Pauly- Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopaidie or any work organized as an encyclopedia. should be both self-explanatory and, for the artistic tradition on any aspect of myth. the first point of consultation for the reader who has access to them. Appen- dix C includes LIMC item/illustration numbers for all pieces cited here which are now included in that work (through the first five volumes) Tappend here just a few remarks on procedure. In citing literary sources I have usually found it more economical to paraphrase than to quote directly. but these paraphrases are intended to be rigidly accurate, implying (or supply- ing) nothing that is not in the original, and noting any obscurities or uncer- tainties in the text. The parenthetical references to the original texts are like- wise intended to indicate for precisely what details each source is or is not responsible. To avoid excessively long parentheses, the names of sources have been abbreviated more drastically than usual (see Abbreviations), but as most of them appear quite frequently, it is hoped they will become familiar with a minimum of effort on the part of the reader. As for the method by which the material is set forth, I had originally thought it might be possible to arrange all the sources—both literary and artistic—in strict chronological sequence, regardless of the information they contained. In many cases, however, that proved impractical; evidence with an earlier pedigree often required immediate support from something later if it was to make sense, and the artistic tradition was often better taken as a body. Accordingly I have improvised, depending on the nature of the information in each case: at times, all the literary evidence is taken first, followed by that from art, while in others the two are interspersed, and in some instances it has even seemed advisable to begin from the latest literature and work backwards, on the grounds that the early material was too fragmented to mean anything without a frame of reference. No doubt such reliance on one own$ train of thought to bring coherence to scattered refer- ences, however objectively meant, has brought with it an undesired degree of subjectivity. But | hope this has not interfered too seriously with the goal of the book as a whole, which is to refer Greek myths, where we can, back to the specific writers, taletellers, and artists who gave them to us, and to reconsider what part of our world of Greek myth each of those sources knew. The shield-band illustrations throughout the book are from E. Kunze, Ar- chaische Schildbander (Olympische Forschungen II) (Berlin, 1950), and P. Bol, Argivische Schilder (Olympische Forschungen XVII) (Berlin, 1989)xxi Preface It remains only to thank several people for their welcome assistance. Jocelyn Penny Small of the U.S. Center of the Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae and Frances Van Keuren of the University of Georgia were both kind enough to read several chapters and make salutary comments from which the book has certainly profited. Johnna Hodges, Christopher Gregg, Erika Thor- gerson, and Lawrence Dean, all graduate students in my department at the university, rechecked many of the references for typing errors and other aber- rations. The university Research Foundation generously provided a grant to enable firsthand study of artifacts in London, Paris, Berlin, and Munich, and as well a small subvention toward the book's publication. My brother Jeffrey I thank for invaluable help in extricating materials from Widener Library at Harvard on a number of occasions, and my wife Elena for contributing the results of her research-in-progress on the Erinyes in Archaic thought and art, as if her support and encouragement over the many years of this book’ writing were not contribution enough. I want also to express my appreciation to the Press for permitting (indeed, inviting) the inclusion of notes citing secondary literature (something no longer customary in handbooks), and in general for their sympathetic reception of such a lengthy work. It goes without saying that a number of the Press anonymous readers made valuable suggestions, and I must thank as well Therese Boyd, whose copy-editing has restored numerous idiosyncracies to the realm of recognizable convention, and benefited the manuscript in countless other ways as well. The teacher of many years past who provided the impetus to this undertaking (whatever its merits) is men- tioned in the dedication.The Early Gods Theogonies and the Like Before proceeding to the actual narratives that will make up this chapter, we might do well to review briefly those ancient literary works known or assumed to contain information on the earliest stages in the world and the Greek gods who peopled it. We have first of all the authority the Greeks themselves most revered, Hesiod, whose Theogony (not necessarily Hesiod’ title) offers a brief account of the origins of the cosmos as preface to the extolling of Zeus’ rule. Since the purpose of the poem is largely to contrast Zeus’ organization of the world with the absence of such order in previous times, the lack of any great detail in this account is not surprising. Whether Greek storytelling had actually developed further details by the seventh century 3.c. is a more difficult ques- tion. Homer speaks only rarely of the period before Zeus; references to Kronos and the other Titans in Tartaros (where Zeus put them), to Okeanos as the _genesis of all the gods (whatever that means), to Tethys as caring for Hera, and toa first union of Zeus and Hera unknown to their parents, are about the extent of the information that the Iliad and the Odyssey offer. Such brief glimpses guarantee at least that Homer knew of an era before the reign of Zeus, and of Zeus’ seizure of power from his father, but we cannot be sure that the poet possessed anything like complete stories on these topics or, if he did, that they were the same as Hesiod’s. Indeed, Homer's apparent view of Okeanos’ role in the beginnings of things might suggest that they were not the same, or that he invented pertinent details as he needed them, without worrying about a consis- tent whole. Of other works to be considered in this context, the most important was probably the lost epic Titanomachia with its account of the battle between the Olympians and the Titans, and presumably what led up to that battle. As always, discussion of such a source inevitably involves us in the problems con- nected with the antiquity of the Epic Cycle: we simply do not know if the events recounted in those poems were concocted in a post-Homeric/Hesiodic period to flesh out earlier references, or drawn from a genuine pre-Homeric tradition, or combined from both. Photios does tell us that the Epic Cycle began with the union of Gaia and Ouranos and the birth of the Hundred-Handers and Kyklopes (as in Hesiod: Cyclus Epicus test 13 PEG), but it is not absolutely certain that he is referring to the Titanomachia.? On the other hand, definitely fe- The Early Gods from that work is the information that Ouranos is a son of Aither (Tit frr 1. 2 PEG), that Helios sailed in a cauldron (fr 8 PEG), and that Aigaion, son of Gaia and Pontos, fought on the side of the Titans (fr 3 PEG). These points suggest that the Titanomachia, like Hesiod’ poem, contained some description of the beginning of things as preface to the account of the battle. On the other hand, the first and last items are in direct contrast to Hesiod (if, as in Homer, Aigaion and Briareos are the same figure), so that the author of the Titanomachia may have made use of a version not simply fuller than what Hesiod has left us but in some respects different. In all, we really know very little of the extent to which the work may have resembled, influenced, or copied Hesiod’s account. Still other sources dealing with first causes bring us a variety of details, not always consistent with what we have seen above. In the sixth century, there surface (in fragments) the versions of early mythographers and philosophers such as Akousilaos of Argos and Pherekydes of Syros, and an entire Theozony was also credited to the Kretan Epimenides, with Aer and Nyx as the two first principles. Akousilaos would be extremely valuable if only we had more of him (as in Hesiod, everything began from Chaos); Pherekydes of Syros seems for his part more interested in the possibilities of new philosophic beliefs than in preserving traditions, and what survives from his work is here relegated ito- gether with the “Orphic” cosmogonies) to Appendix A. As for Epimenides, the Theogony recorded under his name is probably a product of the fifth century; with its novel ideas (Aphrodite as daughter of Kronos) it is no less interesting for that, but very little survives.* Definitely of the fifth century is Pherekydes of Athens, who like Hesiod produced an account (or section thereof) referred to as a “Theogony”’; Typhoeus and Tityos were included, and we hear of a few other minor gods, but we cannot assess the scope of the work. Perhaps a bit later is the Eumolpia ascribed to “Mousaios,” where all things began from a union of Tartaros and Nyx (2B14), although the poem seems to have focused primarily on Zeus.5 Of post-Archaic sources the most obviously relevant is the first section of Apollodoros’ Bibliotheke, where we find an account mirroring for the most part that of Hesiod. There are, however, several differences, notably that the Titans release the Kyklopes and Hundred-Handers before Kronos reimprisons them, Gaia and Ouranos predict to Kronos his overthrow by an offspring, Zeus on Krete is cared for by Adrasteia and Ida (daughters of Melisseus) and guarded by the Kouretes, and Zeus defeats Kronos with the aid of Metis and an emetic (ApB 1.1-2). On the other hand, Briareos here fulfills the same role as in Hesiod (i.e., supporter of Zeus). Thus (again, if Briareos and Aigaion are the same figure), we might well conclude that while Apollodoros did not use He- siod exclusively for his account, neither can he have drawn exclusively from the Titanomachia, since there Aigaion aids the Titans. He might, of course, have fused the two works together, but similarities with Orphic versions have prompted the suggestion that an Orphic Theogony (as part of the Epic Cycle) ‘was his source; * we will return to the question in Appendix A.3 Primal Elements Primal Elements As for artistic representations of these carly events and divinities, there are few clear examples; Greek artists understandably preferred as subjects he- roes and those gods actually worshipped. Nyx does appear in her chariot on occasion, alone or in conjunction with Helios and Selene (eg, Berlin:Ch F2524), and Gaia, as we shall see in subsequent chapters, is often shown de- fending her children Tityos and the Gigantes, or rising up out of the earth to proffer the child Erichthonios to Athena. But the fact remains that our knowl- edge of the origins of the gods is largely dependent on Hesiod, without our being really certain how widely held his views were in his own time or in the Archaic era that followed. In the beginning, according to the Theogony, there was (or came into being, since the Greek will allow both) Chaos, a neuter noun meaning “yawning” or “gap” (Th 116). Between what objects, precisely, Chaos might have been a gap, Hesiod does not say, and perhaps did not know; since this entity comes first, there is logically nothing to frame it. Later references in the poem suggest a place beneath the earth but not beyond Tartaros, one capable of feeling the heat of Zeus’ thunderbolts (Th 813-14, 700; cf. 740, where a chasma is located at the roots of Tartaros and Earth). If this is right, then Chaos is a kind of foun- dation. It has also been proposed, although it does not easily suit these pas- sages, that Chaos was originally the gap between heaven and earth, here reused by Hesiod in a different fashion.’ In any case Chaos is followed by the appear- ance of Gaia, the Earth, broad-bosomed and a secure seat for the gods yet to come (Th 117-18). Next is Tartaros (here in the neuter plural form Tartara), mistily dark in the recesses of the earth, and then Eros, the limb-loosener who conquers the hearts of mortals and gods (Th 119-22). Tartaros is elsewhere in the poem the lowest part of the cosmos (even lower than Chaos: Th 814) and the place of imprisonment for certain figures. On one occasion, however, he is sufficiently personified to father a child (Typhoeus) on Gaia (Th 821-22) As for Eros, the third of these primal forces, the remainder of Hesiod’s poem mentions him on one occasion only, as attendant at Aphrodite’ birth (Th 201); thus his chief function here seems to be as symbol of the process of sexual union and procreation that will populate the world. Asa god he does not appear in Homer at all (note, however, the impact of love at Od 18.208-13). Plato quotes a dactylic couplet, possibly from a Homeric Hymn, in which he is called Pteros because of his wings (Phaidros 252b). In Simonides we first find his familiar role as the offspring of Aphrodite and Ares (575 PMG), but this was not as commonly agreed upon as we might suppose: Sappho makes him the child of Ouranos and Gaia according to one source, of Ouranos and Aphrodite according to another (198 LP), while Alkaios calls him the offspring of Zephy- ros and Iris (a quote: 327 LP), Akousilaos that of Erebos and Nyx or Aither and Nyx (2F6), and the undatable “Olen” the child of Eileithuia (Paus 9.27.2) Such variation is obviously due to the appeal of allegory in the case of this particular figure, and perhaps a certain inability to pin down his identity. His4 The Early Gods ‘most common parentage in later times—that of Aphrodite and Ares—is prob- ably no more than a by-product of their own popularity as a couple. In Anak- reon, Eros comports himself as the playful tempter to love, the role that later becomes his stock-in-trade (358 PMG). Yet the bow and arrows with which we are so familiar do not appear in literature until the late fifth century, when Euripides speaks of them as the god’s weapon of love in the Medeia (530-31), and in the Iphigeneia at Aulis as producing good and bad effects (543-51); previously, Sappho has used the notion of being shaken when she discusses his power (47, 130 LP). The artistic evidence suggested at one time a similar development, with Erotes in the earlier fifth century wielding a whip (so Athens 15375) or goad (Berlin:Lost F2032: Zeus and Ganymedes). But a Red-Figure lekythos, as- signed to the Brygos Painter or his time and now in Fort Worth, does display an appropriate winged figure with bow (Kimbell Coll AP 84.16); probably, too. on the Parthenon's east metope 11, Eros carried this weapon.‘ Pindar (Nem 8.5; fr 122.4 SM), Bakchylides (9.73), and Aischylos (A: Hik 1043) all present the god as a plurality (i.e., Erotes), as often in art, but say little about his activities; Pindar does state, and Bakchylides and Aischylos imply, that his mother was Aphrodite. We will see him from time to time in this book as a small winged figure (or figures) in Attic vase-painting, attending his mother or hovering overhead on suitable occasions, such as the abduction of Helen by Paris. The preserved cast (the actual panel is now lost) of Slab 6 of the east frieze of the Parthenon shows him as a boy of about twelve, naked and winged, standing at his mother’s side. Although Eros and Psyche are popular allegorical figures in later Greek thought (and art’), the actual narrative about the god's love for a mortal of that name and their subsequent problems is a story found first in Apuleius in the second century a.p. With regard to all three of these figures—Gaia, Tartaros, and Eros—we should note that Hesiod does not say they arose from (as opposed to after) Chaos, although this is often assumed. Plato's Phaidros believes just the opposite (i.e., that Eros in Hesiod has no parents: Sym 178b), and the succeeding lines of the Theogony, where other parentages are explicitly detailed, may indeed suggest that in Hesiod’s mind these first entities simply appear, much as Chaos did. Next, and definitely born from Chaos, arise Erebos (Darkness) and black Nyx (Night) (Th 123-25). Erebos has virtually no character of his own: in both the Iliad and Odyssey, the word is used to indicate the Underworld (II 8.368, 16.326~27; Od 10.528, 11.37), while later in the Theogony it becomes the place below the earth into which Menoitios is thrown down and from which the Hundred-Handers are brought up (Th 514-15, 669). This Erebos does, however, mate with Nyx (the first sexual union) to produce Aither (Brightness) and Hemere (Day), figures who constitute in the remainder of the poem strictly physical aspects of the cosmos (compare the description of their alternate forays out into the world at Th 748-57). Nyx’ other children, produced without the aid of Erebos or any other5 Primal Elements partner, are detailed subsequently in the poem: Moros (Doom, Destiny), Ker (Destruction, Death), Thanatos (Death), Hypnos (Sleep), the Oneiroi (Dreams), Momos (Blame), Oizus (Pain, Distress), the Hesperides who care for the golden apples and fruit trees beyond the streams of Okeanos, the Moirai (Fates), here named as Klotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, the Keres who punish the transgres- sions of gods and men (unless these lines refer to the Moirai: see below), Nemesis (Indignation and Retribution), Apate (Deceit), Philotes (Love, here probably sexual), Geras (Old Age), and Eris (Strife) (Th 211-25). Some of these figures are strictly allegorized personifications, but others do have occasional functions to serve in the myths. The scholia minora to Iliad 1.5-6 tell us, for example, that Momos advised Zeus to marry Thetis to a mortal and himself beget a daughter (Helen) in order to precipitate the Trojan War; the scholiast adds that the story is found in the Kypria, though the lines he then quotes from that poem would seem to preclude Momos’ role (Kyp fr 1 PEG). Thanatos and Hypnos are sent by Apollo (at the command of Zeus) to carry the body of Sarpedon back to Lykia in book 16 of the Iliad (681-83); the scene is illustrated on several vases, including the late sixth-century Euphro- nios Krater in New York where both divinities have wings and armor (NY 1972.11.10). Homer specifically calls them twins, although he does not name the mother. Hypnos also appears in Iliad 14, when Hera approaches him with a proposal to lull Zeus to sleep (I! 14.231-91). In reply, he reminds her that once before he performed this service, when Herakles was leaving Troy, and that Zeus, upon awakening, would have thrown him into the sea had he not fled to Nyx, whom Zeus feared to anger. Nonetheless, the bargain is concluded upon Hera’s promise of Pasithea, one of the Charites, to wife, and Hypnos awaits his task in the highest fir on Ida, disguised as a bird. Subsequently, he even exceeds his commission by reporting events to Poseidon, so that the latter might stir up the Achaians (Il 14.354-60). Elsewhere, Hypnos and Thanatos are mentioned together again in the Theogony’s description of the ends of the earth, where Nyx and these two of her children have their homes (Th 756-66). Here Hypnos is described as roam- ing the earth with calm and benevolence for men, but Thanatos as having an iron pitiless heart, which makes him hated even by the gods. In fact, Thanatos is a curious divinity; Hades’ role as lord of the dead, and Hermes’ as conductor of souls, leaves this personification of death with very little to do in most myths. Nor is he always impossible to defeat: Pherekydes relates how, sent by Zeus to claim Sisyphos, the god is instead held in strong bonds by his intended victim, so that no one can die; finally, Ares contrives in some way to release him (Pher 3F119). Thanatos also had a role in Phrynichos’ lost Alkestis, appar- ently appearing on stage (as in Euripides’ play) and cutting off a lock of his victim’ hair to consecrate her (fr 3 Sn). Whether he, like Euripides’ Thanatos, wrestled with Herakles and lost we do not know, although it seems likely. Last, he is mentioned in Aischylos’ Niobe as a god who loves not gifts, and from whom persuasion stands apart (fr 161 R); probably this is for the most part6 The Early Gods poetic personification of an abstract concept. In literature Hypnos has little to do after the Iliad, but we will encounter him frequently in artistic versions of Herakles’ slaying of Alkyoneus, where as a small Eros-like figure he hovers overhead or actually sits on the sleeping giant. Of Nyx‘s other children, the Oneiroi as a race of dreams form part of the landscape to the far west (beyond Okeanos) on the suitors’ journey to the Underworld at Odyssey 24.12, while a single destructive Oneiros is Zeus’ in- strument to deceive Agamemnon at Iliad 2.5~6, The Hesperides are apparently included in the same family by virtue of their association with evening and the West, although one might have expected their name to indicate descent from a god of evening, Hesperos (so Paus 5.17.2). Elsewhere in the Theogony they are called “shrill-voiced” (Th 275: several post-Archaic sources make them singers) and located near Atlas and the Gorgons at the limit of Okeanos, toward the edge of night (Th 517-18). Hesiod will later describe as well the snake offspring of Phorkys and Keto who guards similar apples in the hollows of dark earth at its limits (a difficult geographical concept: Th 333-35) The initial reference to the Hesperides in the Theogony is the only men- tion in Archaic literature of their role as tenders of the golden apples (the next preserved allusion is Euripides’ Hipp 742; cf, HF 394-99), but for them and the snake there is some further evidence from art. A cedar-wood group by the mid-sixth-century Lakonian sculptor Theokles, apparently for Byzantion’s trea- sury at Olympia, portrayed Herakles, snake, tree, and five Hesperides: two Hesperides with apples also appeared on the throne of Pheidias’ Zeus statue (Paus 6.19.8, 5.17.2, 5.11.6). For his part, Pherekydes tells us that Gaia brought apple trees bearing golden fruit to Hera as a gift on the occasion of her wedding, and that Hera promised to plant them in the garden of the gods near Atlas, with a snake (Apollonios is the first to call him Ladon: AR 4.1396-98) to guard the apples from the depredations of Atlas’ daughters (3F16); another source adds in this connection that Pherekydes made the Hesperides daughters of Zeus and Themis (© Hipp 742 = 3F 16d; Jacoby argues confusion with the Eridanos Nymphai here). Akousilaos instead makes the Harpuiai the guardians (2F10), and the Epimenides Theogony identified these last with the Hesperides, if Philodemos is to be trusted (3B9). From the latter writer we learn that the author of the epic Titanomachia also discussed the matter, but Philodemos’ text breaks off just as the guardians are about to be named (Tit fr 9 PEG). Of Archaic poets, Mimnermos too places the Hesperides in the West (12.8 W), and a fragment of Stesichoros describes their golden homes on a lovely island, presumably in connection with Herakles’ acquisition of the apples as one of his Labors (or as part of the Geryoneis?: 8 SLG). For Apollonios they are three in number (Hespere, Erytheis, Aigle) and located in Libya, where the Argonautai encounter them mourning the recent death of the snake, guardian of the apples, at the hands of Herakles (AR 4.1396-1449). The later account of Apollodoros locates garden and Hesperides, instead, near the Hyperboreans (thus presumably in the far north), and names them Aigle, Erytheia, Hesperia,