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The Anger Of Achilles, Painted By Jacques Louis David (c. 1748 – 1825)

This painting, by the French artist Jacques Louis David (c. 1748 – 1825), was inspired by one of several arguments between the ancient mythical figures, Achilles and Agamemnon. In particular, this scene occurred in one of the earliest stages in their saga, set before the Greek forces set out for the Trojan War. As the story goes, when Agamemnon, the king of Mycenae, was pulling together the Greek forces and their ships for the upcoming long campaign across the Aegean, the gods—especially Artemis—refused to grant the Greeks favorable sailing weather conditions until a sacrifice was performed. Artemis wanted no mere offering of wine, grain, or livestock. She, instead, requested a human sacrifice, and Agamemnon’s seer, Calchas, prophesied that the goddess would only be appeased by the sacrifice of King Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphigeneia. Agamemnon’s commitment to his mission of the Trojan War was such that he agreed to fulfill the prophecy. Yet, others were not so gung-ho about sacrificing the young princess, and that leads us to the other characters seen in the painting.

Agamemnon, dressed in red, is displayed in front of two women—his wife, Clytemnestra, and their daughter, Iphigeneia. Facing the troubled royal family is the great warrior, Achilles, who is shown with his back to the viewers of the artwork. As told in the play, Iphigenia in Aulis by Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE), these additional characters were pawns in a scheme hatched by Agamemnon to achieve his sacrificial goal. Knowing that Clytemnestra would not consent to allowing her daughter to be killed, Agamemnon lured his wife and daughter to the site of the sacrifice by deceitfully telling them that he had arranged for a marriage to occur between Iphigeneia and Achilles. Euripides, in his play, had Agamemnon confess, “I wrote in a folded scroll and sent to my wife, bidding her dispatch our daughter to me on the pretense of wedding Achilles” (Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis, approximately line 100). The ruse worked, but Clytemnestra quickly realized something was amiss when she began to speak to the guests at the supposed wedding venue. She eventually found Achilles and asked him about the wedding, but the alleged groom was none the wiser about the arranged match. As written by Euripides, Achilles said, “What wedding do you speak of? Words fail me, lady; can your wits have gone astray and are you inventing this?” as well as, “Lady, I have never courted your daughter, nor have the sons of Atreus ever mentioned marriage to me” (Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis, approximately between lines 835-845). After this shocking discovery, Clytemnestra soon ferreted out information about Agamemnon’s true intentions for Iphigeneia. With the truth in hand, she went back to Achilles and recruited the hero as her ally in the fight to save her daughter’s life. Achilles, hearing about the plot, launched into a speech about the rage he felt at the news, as well as his desire to keep Iphigeneia safe. Euripides, in the voice of Achilles, wrote:

“My proud spirit is stirred to range aloft…I will, by every effort in a young man’s power, set right, investing you with that amount of pity and never shall your daughter, after being once called my bride, die by her father’s hand; for I will not lend myself to your husband’s subtle tricks; no! for it will be my name that kills your child, although it does not wield the sword. Your own husband is the actual cause, but I shall no longer be guiltless, if, because of me and my marriage, this maiden perishes, she that has suffered past endurance and been the victim of affronts most strangely undeserved” (Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis, approximately between lines 920-945).

Despite this emotional vow, Achilles and Clytemnestra were not able to avert Agamemnon from carrying out his horrific ploy. Interestingly, it was Iphigeneia, herself, who eventually stepped in and prevented Achilles from fully going on the warpath against Agamemnon and the sacrificial plan. In the end, the sacrifice of Iphigeneia to Artemis was completed, giving Agamemnon the favorable winds that he needed for his campaign against the Trojans. The move, however, left some bitterness in Achilles, and an even more deadly grudge began to fester in Clytemnestra, who would eventually have her revenge on her murderous husband.

Achilles’ stance in the artwork, with him shown with his hand on his sword, recalls a later time when Achilles and Agamemnon erupted into a different feud over a woman. That instance occurred after the Greeks reached the Trojan lands and captured two local women named Chryseis and Briseis. The first of the two was taken by Agamemnon, and Achilles claimed the second woman. Chryseis, it turned out, was the daughter of a priest of Apollo, and the god avenged the girl’s capture by ravaging the Greek army with a terrible plague. In order to end the plague, King Agamemnon needed only return Chryseis to her father, yet the king loathed to lose his spoils of war. The plague eventually forced Agamemnon to let the girl go, but he decided to make up his losses by taking a prisoner from the other leaders in his army—in particular, he wanted Briseis, who was with Achilles.

Although Achilles balked at the demand, King Agamemnon, who was the leader of the Greek coalition, ultimately used his authority and status to force Achilles to give up Briseis. During the argument between the king and the hero, egos flared and insults were thrown in both directions. Achilles became so angry that he seriously considered the option of killing the king. The poet, Homer, described this scene, writing, “These thoughts were racing through his mind, and he was just drawing his great sword from his sheath when Athene came down from the skies…Athene stood behind Achilles and seized him by his auburn hair. No one but Achilles was aware of her; the rest saw nothing” (The Iliad, book 1, approximately lines 190-200). Through the goddess’ restraining hand, Agamemnon survived the argument and succeeded in forcing Achilles to relinquish Briseis, but the incident infuriated Achilles to the extent that he refused to lead his troops into battle and even called upon his divine relatives to sabotage the Greek army’s good fortune. Homer’s scene of Achilles being tempted to draw his sword against Agamemnon is similar to the way Jacques Louis David envisioned Achilles enraged response to Agamemnon’s decision to sacrifice Iphigeneia.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Tale Of The Ritualistic Founding Of The Zhou Dynasty City Of Luo

By the mid-11th century BCE, the long-ruling Shang Dynasty of ancient China was crumbling, marking the end of the royal clan’s hegemony that had flourished approximately between 1600 and 1046 BCE. According to the old legends and writings, the Shang Dynasty’s downfall was put in motion by a certain King Wen, who placed his own Zhou family atop a powerful coalition of peoples from the west and used this force to invade the Shang Dynasty’s territory. King Wen’s war of conquest, or at least the post-war stabilization and administration process, was completed by King Wen’s heir, King Wu of the Zhou Dynasty (r. 1046-1042 BCE). During King Wu’s inaugural reign, the new ruling family knew they would need to build some additional bases of operations, including another capital city, so as to better control all of the recently conquered territory that they had acquired by dethroning the Shang Dynasty. These proposed building projects, however, evidently did not come into fruition during the relatively short time that King Wu had absolute power. Instead, construction was said to have begun during the reign of King Wu’s young son, King Cheng of Zhou (r. 1042-1020/1005), whose rule was complicated by his many overbearing uncles—numbering around nine—as well as disgruntled remnants of the dethroned Shang Dynasty family.

In the early years of King Cheng’s reign, when the ruler was still young enough to require regents and counselors, the Zhou Dynasty made note of land along the banks of the Luo River (also called Luoyi, approximately in modern Luoyang, Henan) as a promising place to build a new capital city. This project was put off for several years as young King Cheng matured, but the ruler eventually dispatched two of his ablest uncles—the Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao—with the task of overseeing the rituals and construction concerning the new capital city, called Luo or Luoyang.

The Zhou Dynasty believed that ensuring the support of spirits and Heaven was just as important as keeping the living people docile, so they did not cut any corners while they sought to bless the site of the new capital and to appease the spiritual world before the city’s construction. As the story goes, both the Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao spent great amounts of time consulting with oracles and diviners about the site of the capital city, making sure Heaven showed no signs of displeasure with the site. Rituals and ceremonies involved in the founding of the city were commented upon in the Shang Shu, a text variously translated as The Book of Documents or The Most Venerable Book, which has its origins in the days before Confucius (c. 551-479 BCE). The Duke of Shao, also known as Grand Protector Shao, was described as overseeing some of the divination experiments, with the Shang Shu saying, “the oracle was consulted about where the new city should be built. The augury was good, so the plans were laid out for this site” (Shang Shu, chapter 40). Additionally, the Duke of Zhou reportedly carried out his own much more extensive consultation of oracles and soothsayers, similarly asking them where the new city should be built. In a speech attributed to him in the Shang Shu, the Duke of Zhou allegedly said:

“I as well as the Grand Protector have taken it upon myself to visit the Eastern Lands and to investigate them thoroughly to find a site for the new capital…[W]e came to the city of Luo and there I consulted the oracle to ask about the area of the River Li which lies to the north of the Yellow River. I then asked the oracle about the areas that lie to the east of the Jian River and to the west of the Chan. And all of the oracles favoured Luo as the site of choice” (Shang Shu, chapter 41).

With oracles and divination out of the way, it was time to offer sacrifices at the chosen spot. Vassal rulers of the Zhou Dynasty were directed to send tribute to the site, but certain animals were also gathered for blood sacrifices. A specific selection of the sacrificial animals was taken by the Duke of Zhou, and he carried out the duty of ritualistically offering them to Heaven and earth. As told by the Shang Shu, the Duke of Zhou “performed the ritual sacrifice of two bulls, and the following day he performed the proper ritual sacrifice to the Earth God, offering a bull, a goat and a pig” (Shang Shu, chapter 40). More animal sacrifices were carried out when King Cheng arrived at the site. According to the Shang Shu, “the king came to the new city and he performed the winter sacrifice, offering a red bull to both [his late grandfather and father] King Wen and King Wu” (Shang Shu, chapter 41). Such were some of scenes of divination and sacrifice that were carried out before the building of the new Zhou capital. In order to also appease the likely-angered spirits of the ancestor kings from the toppled Shang Dynasty and their supporting deities, King Cheng was advised to perform some rituals borrowed from the Shang court during the dedication of the new city. After completing the prescribed sacrifices and rituals, one of the last acts that the king carried out during the new capital’s complicated dedication process was to pour out a libation intended for an unspecified entity at the site of the city’s Great Hall. Hopefully the Duke of Zhou liked the city he was building, for King Cheng tasked him with staying there for the foreseeable future to oversee the region and attend the needs of government.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Classic of Filial Piety, c section 13, chapter 16, by Li Gonglin (c. 1041–1106), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

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The Triumph of Alexander the Great in Babylon, By An Anonymous Follower of Charles Le Brun (c. 1619-1690)

This painting, by an anonymous follower of Charles Le Brun (c. 1619-1690), was inspired by accounts of Alexander the Great’s entrance into Babylon. The Macedonian conqueror visited the famous city twice. The first occasion was in 331 BCE, while Alexander was campaigning against Darius III of Persia (who would be murdered by his own followers the next year). Alexander and his warriors were warmly welcomed into the city of Babylon, as the Babylonians disliked Persian rule and were happy to have Alexander overthrow the Achaemenid Empire to which Darius III belonged. Ancient biographers of Alexander, such as Diodorus Siculus (1st century BCE) and Arrian (c. 90-173 CE), recorded similar stories about Alexander’s entrance into Babylon—that Alexander’s army was met with cheers, celebration, and general wining and dining with the best food and drink that the city had to offer. Diodorus Siculus described the scene, writing that Alexander “arrived with his whole army at Babylon. Here the people received him gladly, and furnishing them billets feasted the Macedonians lavishly. Alexander refreshed his army from its previous labours and remained more than thirty days in the city because food was plentiful and the population friendly” (Library of History, 17.64). Years later, Alexander the Great would come back to Babylon during his return trip from campaigning in the borderlands of India. It was during this second visit to Babylon, in 323 BCE, that Alexander the Great mysteriously became ill and died.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Humble Life And Fragrant Death Of The Constantinople Nobleman, Gregory

A man named Gregory was the son of a brother of Emperor Heraclius of Constantinople (r. 610-641). Gregory’s father, Theodore, had played a prominent role in Emperor Heraclius’ reign, leading troops into battle, carrying out important diplomatic missions, and otherwise acting as a trusted agent of the emperor. Theodore’s son, Gregory, contrastingly, decided to stay out of the limelight. Gregory evidently did, however, follow his father’s example in regard to loyalty and support for the ruling line of the family, making no personal bids for power or influence, and he also pointedly kept out of the way and off the toes of Emperor Heraclius’ successors, Emperors Constantine III (r. 641), Heraklonas (r. 641) and Constans II (r. 641-668). Rather than throw himself into the peril of medieval politics and family power struggles, Gregory instead kept to himself in cities away from the imperial court of Constantinople. He eventually found himself living at Heliopolis, where he ultimately died around 652 or 653. At the time of his death, Gregory had successfully maintained his impeccable reputation, and the respect that he had cultivated during his life was reciprocated in the way Gregory’s remains were treated, and how the funeral procession was carried out by the officials of Constantinople and Emperor Constans II. As was recounted by the chronicler, Theophanes (c. 750s-818), “In this year [Annus Mundi 6144 or 652-653 CE] Herakleios’ nephew Gregory died at Heliopolis. His body was embalmed in myrrh and brought to Constantinople” (Theophanes, Chronographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6144). Such was the reward of Gregory’s loyal and untroublesome way of living—he lived a full life, was preserved with expensive myrrh, and his body received a hero’s welcome in Constantinople.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Fragment of a Floor Mosaic with a Personification of Ktisis, c. 500–550, with modern restoration, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

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  • Theophanes, The Chronicle of Theophanes, translated by Harry Turtledove. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982.

The Meeting Of Antony And Cleopatra, By Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (c. 1696–1770)

This painting, by the Italian artist Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (c. 1696–1770), strives to re-create (albeit with historically inaccurate wardrobes) an early encounter between one of the ancient world’s most famous power couples. Standing in a yellow dress with the large white collar is Queen Cleopatra of Egypt (r. 51 BCE-30 BCE). In front of her, seen kissing the queen’s hand, is the prominent Roman general and triumvir, Mark Antony (c. 83-30 BCE). Inspiration for this scene was likely drawn from elaborate ancient descriptions recorded about Cleopatra and Antony’s romance, such as this passage from the biographer, Plutarch (c. 50-120), who described an encounter between Antony and Cleopatra at the Cydnus (Berdan) River. He wrote:

“She came sailing up the river Cydnus, in a barge with gilded stern and outspread sails of purple, while oars of silver beat time to the music of flutes and fifes and harps. She herself lay all along under a canopy of cloth of gold, dressed as Venus in a painting, and beautiful young boys, like painted Cupids, stood on each side to fan her. Her maids were dressed like sea nymphs and graces, some steering at the rudder, some working at the ropes. The perfumes diffused themselves from the vessel to the shore, which was covered with multitudes, part following the galley up the river on either bank, part running out of the city to see the sight. The market-place was quite emptied, and Antony at last was left alone sitting upon the tribunal” (Plutarch, The Parallel Lives, Life of Antony, chapter 26).

Giovanni Battista Tiepolo’s painting, in contrast to Plutarch’s description, is much more landlocked in its scope. Pieces of a ship, however, can be seen in the background, with the stern and the mast of the vessel peeking out from behind the buildings and people at the forefront of the painting. After this encounter (or at least after the encounter that Plutarch described), the relationship between Antony and Cleopatra advanced in the natural way—they planned a dinner date. Impressively, at that later meetup, the banquet that Cleopatra prepared was said to have been even more extravagant than the luxurious barge on which she had sailed down the Cydnus.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Thousand and One Nights

The Thousand and One Nights
(a large collection of anonymously-authored stories of Indian, Persian and Arabian origin, compiled and edited between the 9th and 15th centuries)

“Whoever helps those who deserve no help,
Will be like one who rescues a hyena.”

  • This quote comes from The Thousand And One Nights (specifically the story of The Fisherman and the ‘Ifrit). The translation used here is by Malcolm C. Lyons (Penguin Classics, 2010, 2019).

The Roman Senatorial War Against Gymnastic Games

Ancient Romans loved the Greek culture and had a habit of assimilating Greek philosophy, arts and mythology into the Roman culture and way of life. Yet, not all Greek customs were received with equal enthusiasm in Rome. In particular, the Romans had a difficult time accepting Greek gymnastics. On the one hand, the Romans recognized that gymnastics had athletic and military value, especially if they augmented Greek gymnastic techniques for their own intended Roman purpose. Yet, many philosophers and statesmen of Rome also thought that gymnastics, in its original Greek form, focused too much on artistry and body aesthetics to an excessive extent that it was detrimental to potential Roman warriors.  The Greek-Roman scholar, Plutarch, wrote of the Roman attitude toward gymnastics, writing, “[T]he Romans used to be very suspicious of rubbing down with oil, and even to‑day they believe that nothing has been so much to blame for the enslavement and effeminacy of the Greeks as their gymnasia and wrestling-schools, which engender much listless idleness and waste of time in their cities, as well as paederasty and the ruin of the bodies of the young men with regulated sleeping, walking, rhythmical movements, and strict diet; by these practices they have unconsciously lapsed from the practice of arms…” (Plutarch, Moralia, Roman Questions, section 40). Despite this attitude being held by a large group of Roman statesmen, the practice of gymnastics nevertheless spread in the Roman Empire and some cities sponsored Gymnastic Games.

One of the most prominent Roman Gymnastic Games was held in the region of Gallia Narbonensis, hosted by the Rhône riverside city of Vienna (modern Vienne). Vienna’s Gymnastic Games were so prevalent that the senators and emperors of Rome took notice and began contemplating shutting the games down. The clamor to end the games reached a height during the socially-focused reigns of Emperors Nerva (r. 96-98) and Trajan (r. 98-117). Local anti-gymnastics officials and politicians kicked off the movement to close down the city’s games, and the emperors in Rome decided to support the campaign. One man who was involved (at least as a consultant) in closing the gymnastics games was the avid letter-writing lawyer and official, Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113). Concerning this business, he wrote, “I have just answered a summons to act as assessor to our noble Emperor during an inquiry he is holding on the gymnastic games at Vienna. These used to be celebrated under the terms of some person’s will until Trebonius Rufinus (a distinguished citizen and friend of mine) became a local magistrate and took steps to have them suppressed and abolished” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 4.22). Although Trebonius Rufinus faced some pushback from the locals of Vienna, he eventually had his way, especially when other senators and the Roman emperor decided to support his campaign. On the end of the gymnastic events at Vienna, Pliny the Younger wrote, “It was decided to abolish the games at Vienna, for they had long been a corrupting influence in the town” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 4.22). Ironically, similar Gymnastic Games were also held in the city of Rome. Although these games, too, were seen as a corrupting influence, the senators found the gymnastics events in Rome to be more difficult to ban than those in the Gallic city of Vienna.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section of a terracotta stamnos (storage jar) depicting athletes, c. 525–500 BCE, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

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Muse and Poet, by Alfred Edward Chalon (c. 1780-1860)

This ink and wash artwork, by the English artist Alfred Edward Chalon (c. 1780-1860), depicts an ancient scene of a young poet lounging with one of the Muses of ancient Greek mythology. Chalon did not specify if the youth was anyone in particular, but the scene is similar to the backstory of the famous ancient Greek poet, Hesiod (c. 8th century BCE). He claimed to have met the Muses on Mount Helicon in Boeotia, Greece, where the generous goddesses gave him wisdom about the gods and infused him with a great talent for poetry. Speaking of himself, Hesiod poetically wrote:

“And once they taught Hesiod fine singing, as he tended his lambs below holy Helicon…and they gave me a branch of springing bay to pluck for a staff, a handsome one, and they breathed into me wondrous voice, so that I should celebrate things of the future and things that were aforetime. And they told me to sing of the family of blessed ones who are for ever, and first and last always to sing of themselves” (Theogony, approximately line 29).

Alfred Edward Chalon’s artwork displays a similar scene of a muse and an aspiring poet spending time together in a peaceful environment of nature. Unlike Hesiod, the poet in the illustration does not have on or around him any gifts from his patron muse, such as Hesiod’s staff. Otherwise, perhaps the poet and muse are still getting to know each other before any gifts are exchanged, or, contrastingly, maybe the two have known each for a long time and the poet chose to leave his muse-given gifts at home for this particular trip to the wilderness. Whatever the case, all the poet really needs is words and a muse.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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Euripides

Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE)

“They say that to keep one’s principles unswervingly in life
leads to a fall more often than it brings joy
and fights a greater war with our health.
And so I praise excess
less than moderation.
And wise men will agree with me.”

  • From Euripides’ Hippolytus (approximately between lines 260-270), translated by James Morwood in Medea and Other Plays (Oxford University Press, 1997, 1998, 2008).

The Legend Of Chi You—The Ancient Chinese Founding Father Of Rebellion

As was told in ancient Chinese mythology, legend and folklore, the worldwide violent human proclivity for rebellion and war all began with a curious primordial figure named Chi You. His life occurred, so the stories tell, in the pre-history age of the ancient Chinese god-monarchs, such as the Five Heavenly Emperors (known as the Green, Red, White, Black, and Yellow Emperors). He was often associated with the court or followers of the Red Emperor, but some versions of the tale even claimed that Chi You might have been the revered Yellow Emperor’s half-brother. Despite the possible familial connection, Chi You became a great enemy of the godly Yellow Emperor.

Prior to Chi You’s ascendance, as was hinted above, the world allegedly knew little of revolt or warfare, and was at relative peace. As a result of such tranquil coexistence, there had also supposedly been little in the way of weapon development, for there had been no need for such weapons of bloodshed. Chi You’s ascendance, however, would change things. As the story goes, he began inventing weapons and used the new tools of destruction for his unique and new concept in that primordial time—the idea of war and rebellion.

After equipping his followers with weapons and teaching them in the ways of rebellion and war, Chi You began attacking the territories of rival factions that neighbored his own. Chi You’s introduction of the concept of rebellion was mentioned by the Shang Shu (variously translated as The Book of Documents or The Most Venerable Book), an intriguing text that originated in the days before Confucius (c. 551-479 BCE). The Shang Shu stated: “The ancient stories tell us that the first person to launch a rebellion was Chi You, chief of the Miao people, and that this had a deep impact on all the ordinary people” (Shang Shu, chapter 55).

Due to Chi You’s wars and the resulting waves of opportunistic crime and violence that emerged in the war-torn regions, the Yellow Emperor and his forces had to stoop to Chi You’s level and launch a war of their own. As told by the Shang Shu, “The Imperial Ruler was moved to pity by the suffering of the innocent masses who were being killed. In response, he brought down his wrath upon the Miao tribe [and Chi You]. Initially he curbed them, but ended by wiping out the entire tribe so that they would have no succeeding generations. They were exterminated for ever” (Shang Shu, chapter 55). With such a law and order conclusion to the tale, it is no surprise that the story of rebellious Chi You was also associated with the beginning of the so-called Five Punishments of ancient China—including branding, nose-slitting, amputation (of body parts such as ears and feet), castration, and, of course, execution (sometimes extending to three generations of the criminal’s family). Despite the Yellow Emperor’s crushing of Chi You’s rebellion, and the imposition of the Five Punishments, the concept of war and rebellion, nevertheless, could not be stamped out. Chi You, too, even after being killed, continued to hold influence. As a founding father of war and rebellion, he came to be known as something of a war deity.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Dish with three heroes from Water Margin, painted by an artist from the Qing dynasty (1644–1911), specifically the Kangxi mark period (1662–1722), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

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