Imaginings of the Other: A new interpretationof Oedipus and the Sphinx in Greek Vase

PaintingBy: Christie Vogler

Anyone familiar with ancient Greek culture will know

that myth accounts for many of the images found in ancient

Greece’s architecture, ceramics, and other art forms.

According to one statistic offered by Lowell Edmunds, the

estimated number of Greek painted vases and fragments alone

falls around eighty thousand pieces, with a large percent of

the depictions being mythological in nature (Edmunds 1990,

393). Decades of research involving classification of the

painted vases, studies of potters and their patrons, uses of

the vases, and finally, the vase trade as an element of

economic history leaves one to wonder if there is anything

that can still be said on the subject. I would argue that

there is much that can still be learned from these artifacts

and the ancient culture they represent. Edmunds seems to be

in agreement when he states, “Although scholars of Greek

vase painting have never overlooked this subject matter [of

mythological scenes], their agenda, until recently did not

Vogler 1

include the interpretation or study from a strictly

mythological standpoint” (Ibid.).

The scholar Carlo Brillante suggests that for the

ancient Greeks, myth and history were not necessarily two

mutually exclusive concepts, but instead were complementary

to the Greeks’ understanding of past events (Brillante 1990,

102). As a result, any object with mythical representations

or narratives could offer insight into how the ancient

Greeks conceptualized their past, and present circumstances

as fantastical tales. It is up to archaeologists to look at

these artistic representations of myth and apply theory,

along with good methodology, in order to try and tease out

the mindset of the people creating and “reading” those

images.

In this essay I will examine art and myth theory in

conjunction with Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood’s methodology

for reading and interpreting fifth-century mythological

scenes painted on Athenian vases, which were employed by the

ancient Greeks to construct cultural identity. After the

Persian Wars of the early fifth-century BC, the ancient

Vogler 2

Greek polarization of Greek and barbarian identities became

fully realized. In turn, the concept of ‘Greek versus Other’

began to be reflected in Greek literature and art. Edward

Said’s work Orientalism set the foundation for scholars such

as Sourvinou-Inwood and Joseph Skinner to explore the

phenomenon of ‘Othering’ as seen in ancient Greek art and

literature. However, in terms of art, much of the literature

has focused on images that read specifically as Greeks

versus the Persians.

For my research, I examined images of the sphinx in

Greek art dating before and after the Persian Wars, the

range falling between ca. 750 BC and 400 BC. These images

were retrieved from various online image archives such as

ARTstor, the British Museum and Louvré websites, and most

importantly, the Beazley Archive. The Beazley Archive is

part of Oxford University’s main classical library and it

contains the world’s largest collection of ancient Greek

pottery. A sample of the sphinx images discussed in this

paper can be found in the appendix.

Vogler 3

The intention of this paper is to perform a similar

analysis to Sourvinou-Inwood’s of an ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’

motif that becomes popular in Attic Greece during the fifth-

century BC. Unlike her work, which focuses on a motif

suggestive of ‘Greeks versus Persians’, I attempt to

understand how the Greeks, and more specifically the

Athenians, would have perceived another neighboring cultural

group: the Egyptians. This is achieved not only through an

analysis of images of Oedipus and the sphinx found on Greek

pottery, but also through an exploration of the role of myth

in ancient Greek culture and the history of interactions

between the ancient Greeks and Egyptians. My findings

suggest that unlike depictions of Greeks versus the

Persians, which often portray Greeks in pitched battle

against some kind of ‘Other’, the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif

is much less violent in nature. Yet the antagonism between

the monster and hero hints at an uneasy relationship between

the Greeks and Egyptians.

Critiques of Greek Archaeology

Vogler 4

Early on in its development, archaeology was considered

the ‘handservant’ of history, a concept originally developed

by historical archaeologist Ivor Noel Hume (Hume 1964).

Another historical archaeologist, Sian Jones expands upon

Hume’s concept by explaining how this ‘handservant’ approach

to archaeology attempted to seek out archaeological

correlates of historically known ethnic groups. As a

result, findings were flawed because they would ignore the

situated and subjective nature, or the biases of the

historical sources. Those results would also at times

disregard the qualitative differences in the manifestation

of ethnicity in written sources and material culture. The

author concludes that this practice “reflects the privileged

status traditionally accorded to the written word over and

above material culture in the study of ‘historical

periods’”(Jones 2010, 301).

Greek archaeology is no exception to the problem of

promoting literary evidence over archaeological evidence.

Since myths play such a prominent role in Greek art and

Vogler 5

architecture it is not surprising that scholars have

employed these stories to interpret their own ‘readings’ of

the images. As pointed out by Jones however, if scholars

apply only literature to the material culture then our

interpretations are limited. The situation becomes even more

complicated when we take into account the fact that there

are various versions of a single Greek myth.

In his text on Classical mythology, Barry Powell gives

a wonderful example of this with the Oedipus myth. He

writes, “In written works in which Greek myths have been

preserved, we often find strikingly different versions of

the same myth”(Powell 2012, 5). The Oedipus myth is

recounted in both the poet Homer’s work as well as the work

of Sophocles. In both accounts Oedipus, the king of Thebes,

kills his father and marries his mother. In Homer’s telling

(Od. 11.271-80) Oedipus continues to rule after the truth

comes out, whereas in Sophocles’ play Oedipus Tyrannous (lines

1330-1340), Oedipus pokes pins in his eyes and leaves the

city to become a wretched wanderer. Many Greek myths have a

multiplicity of versions, but more attention is paid to the

Vogler 6

best-known variants that come from some great literary work.

In this example, Sophocles’ extended version of the Oedipus

myth is better known than Homer’s passing reference (Powell

2012, 6). The problem with literary interpretations of

material culture should now be apparent. Even if we do use

myth to help us understand an image, which myth should we

even use?

This is not to say that we should totally disregard

myth when attempting to understand the material culture left

behind by the ancient Greeks. Instead we need to take into

account various interpretations stemming from mythological,

historical and archaeological approaches to gain a more

nuanced understanding of these objects. To begin, we need to

look at how art and myth function within societies in order

to infer the ancient Greek reasoning for creating art and

architecture that depicted mythical characters and

narratives.

Art Theory

Vogler 7

In order to classify the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif

found on Greek painted ceramics an art form, it is important

to first understand how art is defined by anthropologists

and the ways in which art functions. For a time,

anthropologists were disinclined to include art in their

research data since the early definition of art sprang from

a particular, overly narrow, Euro-American conception of

art. On the other hand, the authors Howard Morphy and Morgan

Perkins insist on the inclusion of art in anthropological

studies since it is closely associated with ideas about

culture. The authors write,

“Art is associated almost equally with the two senses of the word ‘culture’- culture asa way of life or body of ideas and knowledge,and culture as the metaphysical essence of society, incorporating standards by which thefinest products of society are judged”(Morphy and Perkins 2006, 1).

In this way, art as a part of culture stems from an

individual’s cultural knowledge and is subject to the social

norms of a given society. This being the case, an

anthropological understanding of art allows for a deeper

understanding of the culture producing the art.

Vogler 8

Yet one problem persists for anthropologists in trying

to define art since conceptions of the idea can vary across

cultures. Morphy attempts to address this problem by

creating a general concept of art instead of a strict

definition. He describes art as, “objects…with aesthetic

and/or semantic attributes (but in most cases both), that

are used for representational or presentational purposes”

(Morphy and Perkins 2006, 12). This is a simple definition

meant to encompass all the possible conceptions of art

across cultures, but I find it a little problematic.

Morphy’s concept defines arts as “objects”, suggesting

visual media and not other art forms like oral storytelling.

The authors address this by stating that the definition can

be applied with little modification across different media

of communication (Ibid.). That being the case, Morphy’s

general concept of art works well as a simple definition for

the purpose of this essay.

With this working definition in mind, art has two

important aspects: aesthetics, which means the object is

intended to create some sort of reaction within the viewer,

Vogler 9

and semantics, meaning that the artist and viewer can

understand the art within the context of their cultural

knowledge. The authors summarize this idea by stating, “art

making is a particular kind of human activity that involves

both the creativity of the producer and the capacity of

others to respond to and use art objects, or to use objects

as art” (Ibid.).

Along with creating a working definition of art, Morphy

and Perkins discuss the ways in which art functions within

societies. One the one hand, there is a very individualistic

aspect in both producing and subsequently understanding an

art piece. Although the art must be created within the

context of certain cultural ideas in order to have semantic

meaning for the artist and audience, the artist can employ

his or her art to either adhere to or challenge social norms

(Ibid., 13). Considering the production and initial

‘reading’ of an art piece is dictated by cultural knowledge,

whether that piece is upholding or challenging said

knowledge, it is important to place an art piece in its

Vogler 10

original context. For Morphy and Perkins, this is the

ultimate goal of the anthropology of art.

In order to understand the significance of an art

piece, anthropologists must place it in the widest context

possible. Morphy and Perkins argue that it is not possible

to understand an art piece’s immediate effect or

significance without first understanding the historical,

social, and cultural backgrounds of its production (Ibid.,

17). The purpose of this essay is an attempt to do just that

by focusing on the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif found on

fifth-century Attic pottery. One important aspect of these

ceramics is the myth they draw from as inspiration for the

images. In order to address the problem presented at the

beginning of this paper, it is essential for us to

understand how myth, like art, is defined by anthropologists

and the ways in which it functions within society.

Myth Theory

The best way to begin defining myth would be with the

ancient Greeks’ own understanding of the concept. Returning

Vogler 11

to Powell’s work, myth is originally derived from the Greek

word mythos, which simply means ‘authoritative speech,’

‘story,’ or ‘plot’ (Powell 2012, 2). However, later writers

used the term myth in more restricted ways. Powell proposes

a simple definition for myth as “a traditional story with

collective importance” (Ibid.). In order to be a

‘traditional story’ the tale must have contact with the past

and must pass inherited knowledge on to future generations.

The myth’s ‘collective importance’ means that it holds

meaning for the group and not just a mere individual (Ibid.,

3). The idea of a myth’s ‘collective importance’ is similar

to what we have seen in the previously mentioned

anthropological theories of art function.

However, Powell goes on to describe how the individual

also influences myths even though it has a collective

meaning for the group. When myths are not codified, they are

passed through oral storytelling or some other form of oral

transmission, which means the traditional tale is subject to

constant change based on the fancy of the teller. According

to Powell different narrators will have differing motives

Vogler 12

and will emphasize or embroider on different aspects of the

myth (Ibid., 5). This is why we end up with such a variety

of different versions of a single myth, even after they have

been codified by poets and playwrights like Homer and

Sophocles.

Does that mean the variability of myths is simply the

result of individual interests? That is not the case, for we

have to keep in mind that a myth still needs to have

‘collective importance’. The myth still needs to hold

meaning for the group or it won’t be successful. To better

understand the variability in myths it is time to turn to

other approaches in myth theory. As has already been

illustrated in Powell’s examples, even though myths may date

back for centuries, it does not suggest that they are in any

way unchanging. Scott Leonard and Michael McClure offer an

interesting statement to this effect in their overview of

the history of the study of mythology.

…myths are ancient narratives. But they are not static artifacts. They are not potsherds and weathered bone fragments. In many cases, they are living texts with which living people continue to write or narrate or

Vogler 13

perform their unique answers to basic human questions (Leonard and McClure 2010, 47).

This quote may be a bit disconcerting for an

archaeologist attempting to understand the role of myth in

material remains for a people long dead, but it does force

one to realize how myth was continuously changing for those

individuals. It is important to understand how myth

functions for people today in order to infer what it might

have meant for people of the past.

The definitions of myth and art presented by Powell,

and Morphy and Perkins illustrate two important influences

on myth: individual interest and social norms acting on that

individual. If we look at some other approaches to myth more

influences can be discerned. This brings us to Bronislaw

Malinowski’s concept of the ‘charter theory’ of myth. At the

beginning of the 20th century Malinowski objected to the

evolutionary understanding of myth as protoscience; that is,

he disagreed with the idea that myth was employed to explain

natural phenomenon not yet understood through modern

science. Instead he held that myth’s purpose was to serve as

Vogler 14

a ‘charter’ or justification for the way things are. For

Malinowski, myth is:

…a statement of primeval reality which lives in the institutions and pursuits of a community. It justifies by precedent the existing order and its supplies a retrospective pattern of moral values, of sociological discriminations and burdens of magical belief…The function of myth is to strengthen tradition and to endow it with a greater value and prestige by tracing it backto a higher, better, more supernatural, and more effective reality of initial events (Malinowski 1931, 629).

Malinowski’s concept of myth as ‘charter’ ties in

closely with the previous definitions of myth. Yet he looked

beyond just social structures and the individual. He brought

something new into consideration, environment and historical

context. In another one of his articles, Malinowski writes,

“There is no denying that history, as well as natural

environment, must have left a profound imprint on all

cultural achievements, hence also on myths” (Malinowski

2002, 31). This statement supports my initial critique

reading ancient Greek material culture only in terms of the

Vogler 15

mythological narrative. Such a reading does not take

cultural context into account.

Apparently this had been problematic for

anthropologists as well in the time of Malinowski: too much

focus on the text of the myth and not the context. “The

text, of course, is extremely important, but without the

context it remains lifeless” (Malinowski 2002, 33). For

Malinowski the myth comes into play when rite, ceremony, or

a social or moral rule demands justification, precedence and

importance.

Again, myth reaches into the past in order to justify

the present. As any anthropologist knows however, social

structures and norms change over time. Malinowski was also

aware of this and he came to the conclusion that myths must

change over time in order to accommodate shifts being

experienced by the society telling these stories. If social

arrangements change, the myth will change as well in order

to justify the new arrangements (Ibid.). As a result, to

understand a myth and its variations, one must recognize all

the possible influences that shape the myth’s structure.

Vogler 16

Another type of myth analysis comes from the

structuralist approach advocated by the French

anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss. Structuralism attempts

to seek out the underlying patterns of human thought that

are common to all humans despite variations in culture

(Lévi-Strauss 2010, 63). Myth becomes an important vehicle

for this type of analysis since most, if not all, cultures

possess some sort of mythology. For Lévi-Strauss, meaning

in a myth or traditional story was not conveyed by the

content, but by the structural relations behind the content

(Powell 2012, 705). This led the French anthropologist to

look for structures based on binary pairs such as hot versus

cold and male versus female. Along with binary pairs, he

searched for mediating factors within the story, which

served to bridge between the binary oppositions (Lévi-

Strauss 2010, 63).

Structuralism assumes that people by nature cannot

tolerate opposition for which intermediaries do not exist.

As a result, people tell stories in order to bridge those

perceived contradictions (Powell 2012, 706). An example of a

Vogler 17

structuralist analysis of myth comes from Claude Lévi-

Strauss’s article “Harelips and Twins: The Splitting of a

Myth”. In this piece, he compares myths shared by various

cultures throughout the Americas in order to understand why

many of those cultures associate twins with individuals with

harelips and/or those who were born feet first. Based on his

analysis, Lévi-Strauss was able to determine that

individuals with a harelip are a failed attempt of the fetus

splitting in the womb to create twins. He also notes that in

many cases twins are born feet first. As a result each group

is associated with ideas of twin-ness and splitting (Lévi-

Strauss 2010, 66). People with harelips and rabbits (which

is an animal with a harelip) are important characters within

many myths because they are the intermediary between twins

and normal individuals (Ibid.).

Lévi-Strauss is careful to note the critiques to his

own approach. He writes, “many people have reproached me for

this kind of procedure, claiming that myths of a given

population can only be interpreted and understood in the

framework of the culture of the given population” (Lévi-

Vogler 18

Strauss 2010, 64). Some argue that attempts to find deep

structural, and therefore universal meanings are very

difficult. It is hard to know when the “true” structure of

myth has been revealed since there are many different

possibilities for analysis. However, as Powell points out,

the structural method of interpretation has “considerable

exploratory power because it brings out hitherto unnoticed

facets of myth by bringing together whole systems of myth

and, beyond that, by relating myth to broader aspects of

culture” (Powell 2012, 706-707).

Despite this, I find the structuralism approach

problematic for my own research since the approach tends to

ignore the context of the myth. It is important to consider

the historical and cultural context in which a myth is being

told in order to better understand how people of the past

would have interpreted the story. In his article on the

Harelip, Lévi-Strauss briefly mentions this aspect about

twins within myth:

“And since these false twins had different fathers, they have antithetical features: oneis brave, the other a coward; one is the protector

Vogler 19

of the Indians, the other of the white people (emphasis mine); one gives goods to the Indians, while the other one, on the contrary, is responsible for a lot of unfortunate happenings” (Lévi-Strauss 2010, 64).

From there, Lévi-Strauss goes on to stress how various

native groups throughout the Americas share this twin myth.

He ignores the fact that the myth is very much

representative of cultural dynamics between native groups

and white colonizers. As Malinowski pointed out, myths will

change over time in order to accommodate for changing social

conditions. Although cross-cultural comparison of myth is a

very important endeavor, in my own research I wish to focus

more on how the social and historical context influences the

telling of a myth.

Ancient Greek Constructions of Myth and History

For anthropologist it is vitally important to take

context into consideration when analyzing the material

culture of a society in conjunction with their myths. This

is because art and mythology will be unique to each

Vogler 20

individual society and time period. In this case, it is

important to establish how the ancient Greeks specifically

comprehended their own myths. As I noted at the beginning of

this essay, the ancient Greeks did not specifically separate

myth from history as we tend to do in the modern world.

Carlo Brillante takes a more in-depth look at ancient Greek

constructions of myth and history in his article, “History

and the Historical Interpretation of Myth”.

Brillante begins his article by noting an important

distinction the ancient Greeks made in regards to their

myth. In Greek mythology certain stories take place during

“the age of the heroes” and others during “the age of the

gods”. For the ancient people, the Greek heroes were men who

had actually lived and inhabited the same cities and regions

in which they themselves, several centuries later, continued

to reside (Brillante 1990, 94). For Brillante this suggests

that the legends recounted in the heroic epic were situated

in a well-defined past and that “this past was neither

identified nor confused with ‘the age of gods,’ which was

understood as the ‘time of origins’ and felt to be

Vogler 21

profoundly different from the historical world of man”

(Ibid., 101-102). This leads the author to conclude that

the ancient Greeks did not feel strongly the opposition

between myth and history as we might in today’s world.

This is not to suggest that the Greeks blindly accepted

myth as historical fact. From a certain age on, the Greeks

began to question their myths and tried to gain new

understanding of their past and present world. In order to

achieve this, Brillante believes the Greeks subjected their

traditions to criticism by adopting a rational analysis that

“left no space for the marvelous” (Ibid., 102-103).

Brillante also takes into consideration the interesting

aspect of multiple versions of a single Greek myth

previously mentioned in this article. As suggested by the

theory on myth already discussed, alterations of myth likely

result from political motivation either on the part of the

individual teller or through the influence of greater

political powers. The author writes, “ Whether it depends on

oral or written, literary or popular sources, every story is

the result of a selection and organization of facts, within

Vogler 22

which certain relationships are established or privileged in

preference to others” (Ibid., 114).

It is this point that leads Brillante to argue that it

is important for scholars today to try and ascertain which

myths may have been altered for political purposes and why

(Ibid., 111). To do this Brillante provides some guidelines

in order to conduct a more accurate ‘reading’ of a myth.

Three things are necessary: one, various narratives of the

myth must be available; two, the historical circumstances

indicated as the more or less proximate causes must be

relatively clear; and three, scholars must possess a series

of parallel stories that show the originality of the

“altered” version (Ibid., 112).

Needless to say, it is very difficult to meet all these

requirements in order to conduct an accurate “reading” of

Greek myth, especially if one relies only upon text.

Brillante makes a mistake however when he writes, “For our

knowledge of Greek mythology we possess only traditions

known from literature” (Ibid. 113). What Brillante fails to

acknowledge is that Greek myth also comes to us in the form

Vogler 23

of visual media like pottery, architecture, and other art

forms. This brings us to methodology presented by Christiane

Sourvinou-Inwood.

Sourvinou-Inwood’s Methodological Approach

The question we face now is how do we apply all the

previously mentioned theory to the material culture of a

people that no longer exists? Some might argue that without

people you are lacking in context, and therefore must rely

more heavily on the text. This kind of thinking contributed

to archaeology’s early role as a ‘handservant’ to history

and is therefore problematic. As a result, some scholars

have risen to the challenge by reimagining our understanding

of the material culture. One way to reimagine material

culture is to view artifacts with mythological motifs as

myths being told through a medium that is not oral, but

visual. That being the case, we can look at these images and

try to understand the social structures and historical

events that may have shaped their creation in the same way

anthropologists have done with transcribed myths. A

Vogler 24

wonderful example of how this may be achieved is Christiane

Sourvinou-Inwood’s work on mythology and Greek vase

painting.

In her essay, Sourvinou-Inwood proposes a methodology

for reading ancient images that she applies to a case study

of mythological scenes painted on fifth-century Athenian

vases. She focuses particularly on the iconographic theme of

Theseus, with a drawn sword in his right hand, pursuing a

woman, who the author reads as Medea. The methodology

Sourvinou-Inwood proposes is a combined iconographic and

semantic analysis of the ‘Theseus with a sword’ theme

(Sourvinou-Inwood 1990, 395).

In order to gain a more complete reading of these

images, Sourvinou-Inwood suggests that scholars need to be

able to reconstruct the perceptual filters through which

images were inscribed and read in fifth century Athens, and

this is where her iconographic and semantic analysis comes

in. What the author means by iconographic is the

conventions, codifications, and modalities of the signifying

Vogler 25

system of Greek iconography. Semantic, on the other hand,

refers to:

“the knowledge, ideas, assumptions, and mentality that constitute the semantic fieldsrelated to, inscribed in, and called up by, the signifiers under consideration in the twoprocesses of meaning production, the inscription of meanings in the representations by the painters and the extraction of meaning, the making sense of the scenes, by the viewers” (Ibid., 398).

Both analyses are important for two reasons. The first

reason that the author offers is that iconographic symbols

can be highly variable in both appearance and what they

represent, and even the recognition of resemblance between

an iconic sign and the represented object is culture

dependent. The second reason for having semantic analyses

complementing iconographic analyses is because “the reading

of an image is a complex process involving a continuous to

and fro movement between the image and the reader’s semantic

universe” (Ibid., 399). This suggests to the author that the

fifth-century Athenians deployed their semantic assumptions

in the process of recognizing, organizing, and reading the

Vogler 26

iconographic elements that made up the images seen on vases

and this is why both analyses are essential to our own

interpretation.

By applying these two analyses to the ‘Theseus with

sword’ theme, Sourvinou-Inwood interprets the image as a

mythological paradigm for the Greek, and especially

Athenian, victories over the Persians. Theseus, a former

king of Athens, is chasing the Oriental woman Medea out of

Attica, which is an event referred to in Greek mythology.

According to the author, Medea was explicitly identified

with the invading Persian armies in fifth century Greece. A

connection was made between Medea’s ancestry to the Medes

and the Persian Wars. As a result, this theme “became part

of the mythohistorical discourse deployed as part of the

historical and political discourse of the present” (Ibid.,

413).

Finally, Sourvinou-Inwood’s approach to these painted

images speaks to the importance of context in order to fully

understand and interpret those images. She writes, “The fact

that the fleeing woman is a codified sign that occurs in a

Vogler 27

variety of subjects does not make it meaningless…signs

acquire meaning in context” (Ibid., 423). To build off this

idea, the variability of versions of myth and mythological

images in Greek archaeology should not be credited solely to

the whims of individuals, but to the ways in which social

and historical influences shaped that image within a

specific moment in time.

Applying Theory and Methodology to Greek/Egyptian Relations

Although the literature has provided much of our

knowledge on Greek myth and history, scholars like

Sourvinou-Inwood are proving that archaeological remains can

both challenge and/or augment that knowledge. Through the

use of good anthropological theory and methodology, it may

be possible to gain a fuller understanding of the ancient

Greek mindset.

In passing, Sourvinou-Inwood mentions how, like the

‘Theseus with sword theme’, many other themes came to

represent mythological paradigms of and metaphors for the

Persian Wars, including the Trojan War, the Amazonomachy and

Vogler 28

the Centauromachy (Ibid., 414). A lot of art history of the

Classical world has focused on these themes specifically.

For the rest of this paper I will illustrate how

archaeologists could use these theories and methodology in

order to discover other mythological paradigms that do not

pertain specifically to the Persians and the Persian War,

but to other cultures. For my own research I focus on

representations of the sphinx in ancient Greek material

culture, specifically the scene of Oedipus facing the Sphinx

sitting atop a Greek stylized column, which is depicted on

many painted vases. Like Medea’s assumed association with

the Persians, the Sphinx likely acted as a representation of

the Egyptians to the Greeks. By analyzing these images based

on the historical and cultural context in which they were

created, I hope to understand how the ancient Greeks

perceived their Egyptian neighbors.

Early Greek and Egyptian Interactions

In order to determine how the ancient Greeks may have

understood their Egyptian neighbors, it is important to know

Vogler 29

how the two cultures interacted with each other over time.

Close proximity of the two regions on the Mediterranean Sea

meant that the two groups were bound to come into contact

with each other at some point. The nature of this contact

appears to change over time. There are instances of peaceful

trade between the two regions, while at other times the

Greeks and Egyptians found themselves in conflict with each

other. This came to a head during the Persian Wars of the

early fifth-century BC.

Some of the earliest stories about interactions between

the Greeks and Egyptians center around a character known as

Sesostris. The ancient Greek historian Herodotus explains

how this Egyptian pharaoh conducted widespread conquests:

“According to the report of the priests, [Sesostris] took a

great army and marched over the continent, subduing every

nation which stood in his way” (Herodotus 2.102).

The name of Sesostris has been identified as a kind of

composite heroic Middle Kingdom ruler most likely

representing the 12th dynasty pharaoh Senusret III.

Senusret’s reign lasted from 1870-1831 BC and during that

Vogler 30

time he campaigned in Nubia which resulted in some very

bitter wars. The pharaoh was successful and he set up stele

in the fortresses of Semna and Uronarti with their

inscriptions reminding everyone of Senusret’s conquest and

punishments (Callender 2000, 166).

Herodotus suggests that Sesostris’s conquest was much

more widespread than that of Senusret’s however. He notes

that similar stele were set up in Syrian Palestine and even

in the Greek territory of Ionia:

“Moreover there are two figures of this man carved upon rocks, one on the road by which one goes from the land of Ephesos to Phocacia, and the other on the road from Sardis to Smyrna. In each place there is a figure of a man cut in the rock, of nearly seven feet in height, holding in his right hand a spear and in his left a bow and arrows, and the other equipment which he has is similar to this, for it is both Egyptian and Ethiopian…Some of those who have seen these carvings conjecture that the figure is Memnon, but herein they are very far from thetruth “ (Herodotus 2.106).

Originally some scholars discounted Herodotus’s claims

to this early interaction of conquest between the Greeks and

Egyptians. The brief mention of Memnon alludes to another

Vogler 31

conquest story attributed to Ammenemes II, also a 12th

Dynasty ruler of Egypt. Bernal suggests that both legendary

cycles and their connection to Greece may be true based on

an inscription of Memphis which details the conquests, by

land and sea, of two 12th Dynasty pharaohs, Senusret I and

Ammenmes II (Bernal 1987). This evidence suggests that it is

highly likely contacts with the Aegean existed during the

12th Dynasty, but it remains unclear to what extent Egypt

gained political or economic control over any parts of the

eastern Mediterranean (Shaw 2000, 325). Although it may be

impossible to determine which Egyptian pharaoh may have

first led a military campaign against Greece, it does seem

probable that the predecessors of the historical Greeks and

Egyptians experienced conflict during their early

interactions.

Early evidence of trade occurring between Egypt and the

Greeks’ predecessors, the Mycenaeans. Late Mycenaean (ca.

1500-1100 BC) pottery in the form of stirrup jars have been

discovered in some quantitiy on over a dozen different

Egyptian sites ranging from as far up the Nile as Thebes and

Vogler 32

as far south as Aswan and Nubia (Boardman 1999, 111).

Despite this evidence of contact, Boardman argues that the

jars are indicative of only a brisk trade in oil and not

proof of habitation of the Greek people’s predecessors

within Egypt itself (Ibid.). At this point in history,

archaeologists are confident that there is contact between

these two cultural groups, but not necessarily migration

between the two regions.

This begins to change with the introduction of the “Sea

Peoples” recorded during the reign of Rameses III (1184-

1153 BC). Before Rameses III, during the reign of Merenptah

(1213-1203 BC) some of these Sea Peoples had attempted to

enter Egypt from the west (Dijk 2000, 305). It was not until

Rameses reign though that sources began to indicate that the

Sea Peoples were not simply engaged in random acts of

plundering throughout the Mediterranean during this time.

Instead, it was a significant movement of displaced peoples

migrating into Syro-Palestine and Egypt (Shaw 2000, 328).

Located at the site of Medinet Habu in Egypt is a mortuary

temple built during the eighth year of Ramses III’s reign

Vogler 33

(Shaw 2000, 15). On the exterior of the north wall of this

temple is the deptiction of a sea battle with the Sea

Peoples (Dijk 2000, 305). The images of the Sea People

portray them not only as armies and warriors, but also as

families bringing over their possessions in ox-drawn carts

in order to settle in the places they have invaded.

Study of the “tribal” names associated with the Sea

Peoples as recorded by the Egyptians and Hittites has shown

that various groups of the Sea Peoples can be linked with

particular homelands. Two of these “tribal” names include

the Ekwesh and Denen which may be possible correaltions for

the Achaean and Danean Greeks of the Iliad (Shaw, Egypt and

the Outside World 2000, 328). During this time, it is quite

possible that Greeks began to migrate into Egypt itself.

Archaeologist Ian Shaw describes how from the earliest

times in Egyptian history, expeditions with the goal of

trade, quarrying, and warfare brought the Egyptians into

repeated contact with foreigners (Shaw 2000, 314). Though

there may have been some early contact between the Greeks

early predecessors and Egyptions during the 19th century BC,

Vogler 34

it wasn’t until the 8th century BC before trade between the

two regions picked up (Skinner 2012, 99). Egyptian trinkets

such as scarabs, beads, amulets, faience seals, ivories,

vases and figurines were all circulating widely by the mid-

seventh century. From the eighth-century onward, many small

portable objects were traded thoughout the Mediterranean via

Cyprus and Phoenicia. Meanwhile, workshops on the island of

Rhodes began to produce objects in faience in the early

seventh century. Many such “Egyptianizing” artifacts have

been discovered on the islands of Samos and Crete (Ibid.).

However, we only really begin to hear about a Greek

presence within Egypt with the rise of the Egyptian pharaoh

Psammetichos I in 664 BC (Boardman 1999, 112). This is also

where we have the first literary evidence for Greeks in

Egypt, again coming from Herodotus’s The Histories. In Book II

Herodotus recounts an oracle given to Psammetichos

foretelling the arrival of the Greeks:

“After he had sent to the Oracle of Leto…to him came the reply that vengeance would come when men of bronze appeared from the sea. Andhe was strongly disposed not to believe…but after no long time had passed, certain

Vogler 35

Ionians and Carians who had sailed for plunder were compelled to come to shore in Egypt, and they having landed and being clad in bronze armour, came to the marsh-land…Perceiving that the saying of the Oracle was coming to pass, [Psammetichos] dealt in a friendly manner with the Ionians and Carians…” (Herodotus 2.152).

At the beginning of Psammetichos I’s reign (664-610

BC), the pharaoh decided to enlist the help of foreign

mercenaries in a bid to assert his authority as ruler of

Lower Egypt as well as to get rid of the Assyrian invaders

(Skinner 2012, 101). Archaeological evidence of Greek

mercenaries in Psammetichos I’s army comes from a Greek

inscription carved on the leg of one of the colossi at Abu

Simbel. The inscription indicates that Greek mercenaries,

under Egyptian command, formed one of the two corps in the

army whose supreme commander was also Egyptian (Lloyd 2000,

372).

Boardman actually attributes this inscription to the

later reign of Psammetichos II (595-589 BC). In 591 BC the

Egyptian army campaigned against the Nubian kingdom which

had been threatening Lower Egypt. Various Greek inscriptions

Vogler 36

found at the Abu Simbel site are attributed to Greek and

Carian soldiers. Most of these inscriptions are hardly more

than “idle exhibitionist scratchings with which soldiers and

others can always be relied upon to deface any convenient

wall or monument” (Boardman 1999, 116). The inscription that

Lloyd alludes to reads:

“When King Psammetichos had come to Elephantine, this was written by those who sailed with Psammeitchos, son of Theokles, who went as far upstream as they could-above Kerkis. Potasimto led the foreigners and Amasis the Egyptians. This was written by Archon son of Amoibichos and Pelekos son of Eudamos” (Boardman 1999, 116).

Similar evidence suggests the pharaohs continued to

employ Greek mercenaries in their armies. During Necho’s

reign (610-595 BC) the pharaoh saw fit to dedicate his

armour from the Egyptian campaign against the Syrians in 608

BC. The dedicated armour was discovered at the temple of

Apollo at Branchidae located near Miletus. This suggests

Greek soldiers may have been included in the Syrian campaign

(Boardman 1999, 115). At the site of Carchemish similar

evidence of Greek participation in Necho’s army was

Vogler 37

discovered in the ruins of a well furnished house filled

with Egyptian objects. Some of the objects included sealings

naming King Necho as well as a Greek bronze shield. Boardman

infers that the shield may have been carried into the battle

at Carchemish in 605 BC by a Greek soldier in the pay of the

Egyptian king (Ibid.).

Whether these men were soldiers for Psammetichos I or

one of his later descendants is perhaps less important than

the evidence that Greeks acted as mercenaries in Egyptian

armies towards the end of the seventh-century BC. Those who

served the pharaoh were rewarded with grants of land close

to the sea on the Pelusian mouth of the Nile. According to

Skinner, the Carians settled on one side of the river and

the Ionians on the other. Psammetichos I also began to

actively encourage trade between Greece and Egypt (Skinner

2012, 101). Greeks would continue to serve as mercenaries

for the Egyptian army, but revolts are not unheard of later

on in the sixth-century BC (Lloyd 2000, 372).

After Psammetichos II’s reign ended, the pharaoh Apries

came into power. During his reign, which lasted from 589-570

Vogler 38

BC, there is evidence of a revolt of mercenaries at

Elephantine (Lloyd 2000, 372). Despite this, Apries

continued to use Greek mercenaries. Excavations at Tell

Defenna indicate the site was used as a permanent base for

Greek mercenaries. The site, believed to be constructed by

Psammetichos I, includes a civilian settlement which yielded

a substantial quantity of Greek infantry equipment (Ibid.,

373). Toward the end of Apries’s reign, Egyptian soldiers,

described by the Greeks as machiomoi, began to resent the

preference shown to foreign troops. Herodotus mentions how a

group of machiomoi mutinied and withdrew from Egypt due to

the privileged position of Greeks and Carians in the

military establishment (Herodotus 2.178-9). Ahmose II, also

known as Amasis within contemporary records, took advantage

of the displeasure of the machiomoi in order to mount an

attack against Apries and his army of mercenaries at

Momemphis in 570 BC (Ibid.). Apries’s army of 30,000 Carians

and Ionians was defeated, allowing Ahmose II to usurp the

throne. According to Boardman, this event is also recounted

Vogler 39

on a stele found in Cairo, known today as the Elephantine

Stele (Boardman 1999, 117).

Although Ahmose II originally opposed to the Greek

mercenaries, he too began too favor them during his reign

from 570 to 526 BC. Early on in his reign Ahmose II used the

Greeks in his battle against the Babylonian king,

Nebuchadnezzar. He also eventually married a Greek princess

from Cyrene (Boardman 1999, 117). However, this did not mean

that the strife between the machiomoi and the Greek

mercenaries had dissipated. Ahmose II was forced to move the

mercenary camps from Stratopeda to Memphis in order to

“protect him from his own people”. This lead Ahmose to

establish the settlement of Naucratis, an important site

for Greek production and trade (Ibid.). This same event is

also mentioned by Herodotus:

“These men king Amasis afterwards removed andestablished them at Memphis, making them intoa guard for himself against the Egyptians” (Herodotus 2.154).

Throughout Ahmose II’s reign, archaeological evidence

indicates that Greek pottery is arriving in Memphis, mainly

Vogler 40

East Greek in style (Rhodian, Fikellura, & Clazomenian)

suggesting that a Greek mercenary camp has indeed been

established there (Boardman 1999, 135). Ahmose II also

becomes the first pharaoh to take real interest in the Greek

people for more than just their fighting capabilities by

encouraging trade and mirgration between the two regions,

which allowed for the two groups to share and learn new

cultural ideas and technologies (Ibid., 142).

Enter Here the Sphinx

Now that some historical context between Greece and

Egypt has been established, it is possible to look at what

is happening on the cultural level. We know that the Greek’s

predecessors the Mycenaeans had some early contact with

Egypt as far back as the 12th century BC. Yet when Greeks

from Asia Minor were able to establish a colony at the site

of Naucratis in Egypt sometime during the seventh century

BC, it exposed the entire Greek culture to existing Egyptian

stone buildings. This encouraged Greek architects throughout

the Mediterranean to use more stable materials than mudbrick

Vogler 41

and wood, prompting the movement towards monumental Greek

architecture being produced in stone (Pedley 2012, 131).

Another aspect of the colossal Egyptian buildings that

the Greeks were exposed to were their use of columns.

Egyptian columns often included elaborately carved capitals

and bases. This is an important point, because although

Greek art was also being influenced by Near Eastern cultures

at this time, those cultures did not build columns out of

stone and they held comparatively little importance within

building structures (Boardman 1999, 143). Stone mouldings

and capitals were also virtually unknown in the Near East

cultures at this time, so the influence on Greek stylized

columns originates solely from Egypt. This is not to say

that the Greeks simply imitated Egyptian columns, but

instead adapted them to local traditional architectual forms

which resulted in the Doric order of architecture on

mainland Greece (Ibid.).

At about the same time the Greeks began experimenting

with monumental stone structure, they began to develop

techniques for making monumental stone sculptures. The

Vogler 42

inspiration, once again, came from Egypt where colossal

stone statuary was commonplace. This influence resulted in

the production of sculptures of nude youths known as kouroi.

Although modelled from Egyptian statuary, again the Greeks

declined to copy blindly and eventually developed their own

cannon for representing the human form (Boardman 1999, 144).

Nevertheless, the influence of Egypt on Greek art is

evident.

Boardman also points out how a number of Greek

sculptural forms besides the kouroi resulted from contact

with Egypt. “The great avenue of marble lions on the sacred

island of Delos must surely have been inspired by Egyptian

avenues of lions, sphinxes, or rams…” (Boardman 1999, 144).

He also argues that a processional way flanked by seated

figures and lions located near Miletus seemed to be

conceived in much the same spirit. One passage in The Histories

does suggest that the Greeks had been recently exposed to

these types of avenues:

“First in Sais [Amasis] built and completed for Athenē a temple-gateway which is a great marvel, and he far surpassed herein all

Vogler 43

before, both in regard to height and greatness, so large are the stones and of such quality. Then he dedicated the great colossal statues and man-headed sphinxes verylarge…” (Herodotus 2.175).

This is the first, and virtually the only mention of a

sphinx in Herodotus’s work. However, the sphinx has a long

history in both Egyptian and Greek culture before the fifth-

century BC. The sphinx is represented in both Egypt and

Mesopotamia from the first half of the third millenium and

it is probable that it began as a solar symbol in Egypt

(Bernal 1987, 374). It is also argued by Bernal that the

later winged form of the sphinx (used by the Greeks) also

developed in Egypt as an analogy for the griffin which was

also used to represent royalty throughout the Mediterranean

and Middle East (Ibid.).

Within Egypt, the sphinx is often connected with

royalty and conquest. It is believed that the Greek name

‘sphinx’ probably derives from the Egyptian phrase shesep-

ankh, which means ‘living image’ (Malek 2000, 97). The best

known example of a sphinx within Egypt is the Great Sphinx

included in Khafra’s pyramid complex built around the 26th

Vogler 44

century BC. Beginning during the early 18th Dynasty (c. 1550

BC) the Sphinx was worshiped as a local form of the god

Horus (Ibid.). A few decades after the Great Sphinx’s

construction (ca. 2400 BC) a building was built in front of

the Sphinx. This building is interpreted as an early sun-

temple, an important aspect for Egyptian pharaohs who liked

to designate themselves as ‘son of Ra’ (Ibid.).

Bernal is careful to note however that Syria always

played an important role in the sphinx’s iconographic

development and dissemination. At the site of Salamis in

eastern Cyprus, an island located in the far east of the

Mediterranean Sea, various ‘royal’ tombs include a wide

range of local and imported materials (Gunter 2009, 21).

Tomb 79, the most elaborately furnished of these tombs,

contained a spectacular collection of metal and ivory

artifacts, two of which depict a sphinx (See Sphinx

Catalogue #1-2).One of these images comes from an ivory

chair with Phoenician-style openwork cloisonné panels of

stylized trees and sphinxes (Ibid.). Although winged

sphinxes are more closely associated with Neo-Assyrian art,

Vogler 45

this sphinx wears the Nemes headdress along with the Pschent

or double crown worn by Egyptian pharaohs often referred to

as sekhemti by ancient Egyptians (Ibid.). Another sphinx

image from Tomb 79, this time engraved in bronze, again

depicts a winged sphinx with the Nemes headdress along with

a sun disk behind the creature’s head. These artifacts

suggest that images of a winged sphinx with Egyptian

associations did travel to Greece via trade networks in the

Eastern Mediterranean around the seventh century BC.

Boardman agrees that many early Egyptian motifs the

Greeks were exposed to may have been transmitted via the

Near East before the sixth-century BC. (Boardman 1999, 144).

However, this begins to change, and by the sixth century BC

the introduction of new art forms and images resulted from

direct contact between Egypt and Greece as seen by “a

peculiarly Egyptian lion [which] is adopted by Spartan

bronze workers and appears on the handles of bronze vases”

(Ibid., 144,147). For either scenario, Boardman deduces “the

ultimate origin of all is quite clearly Egyptian” (Ibid.,

144).

Vogler 46

Besides the archaeological evidence for an Egyptian

association with the sphinx, some of the early Greek

mythology draws connections between the human-headed lion

monster and Egypt. In his own work Bernal recounts the

origin myths for the Greek city-state of Thebes. Amphion and

Zethos were the first founder of Thebes, and its other

founder, Kadmos, arrives later from the Near East after the

original city of Thebes had been destroyed. Similar to the

famous Egyptian pyramids where the Great Sphinx keeps guard,

the tomb of Amphion and Zethos was associated with the sun.

Bernal also points out the close association between Greek

Thebes and the sphinx from the myth of Oedipus (Bernal 1987,

19).

Even if we look at the slightly mythologized accounts

of the Egyptian pharaoh Sesostris, connections between the

sphinx and Egyptian pharaohs is recognized by the ancient

Greeks. Bernal suggests that the Egyptian phrase for the

sphinx, shesep-ankh, possibly came from the Story of Sinuhe (lines

249-250) to describe the sphinxes that guarded the palace of

Sesostris (Bernal 1987, 374). Indeed it seems that Senusret

Vogler 47

I, one of the pharaohs on which the composite hero Sesostris

was based, exploited the stone quarries of Wadi Hammamat,

Sinai, Hatnub, and Wadi el-Hudi in order to extract enough

rock to make sixty sphinxes and 150 other assorted statues.

His numerous monuments were distributed from lower Nubia in

the south to Heliopolis and Tanis in the north (Callender

2000, 161). As a result, it seems reasonable to suspect that

Greeks had a long-standing association between Egypt and the

sphinx.

On the other hand, like all other artforms Greeks

adopted from the Egyptians, they did not simply imitate what

they saw. Instead, the Greeks transformed the sphinx in

order to meld it with their own local traditions. While the

Egyptians used the human-headed lion form of the sphinx as a

representation of conquest and the divine power of the

Pharoh, the Greeks reimagined the beast within their own

mythology. The Greeks changed the sphinx’s sex from male to

female andpermanently added wings. The Sphinx is called Phix

(Φίξ) by Hesiod in line 326 of the Theogony, but eventually

the Greek word Σφίγξ (sphinx) was adopted, from the verb

Vogler 48

σφίγγω (sphíngō), meaning ‘to squeeze’, ‘to tighten up’. As

mentioned previously in this essay, the Greek word seems to

be a corrupted translation of the sphinx’s Egyptian name

shesep-ankh (Malek 2000, 97).The sphinx became a deadly

monster that besieged the city of Thebes within Greek

mythology (Apollodorus 3.5.8).

Though the sphinx’s name and qualities have been

altered within Greek mythology itself, some of its Egyptian

qualities persisted in the new cultural context. In the same

way the Great Sphinx guards the resting place of Egyptian

pharaohs, sphinxes in Greece often appear in funerary

contexts on top of tombs including those in the Kerameikos

cemetery in Athens (See Sphinx Catalogue #4) (Pedley 2012,

185). One sphinx stands apart from those marking graves in

Athens and elsewhere. Around 560 BC the Greek Naxians

dedicated a sphinx statue at Delphi (See Sphinx Catalogue

#3). The dedication consists of a tall column with an Ionic

capital with widely separate volutes. The sphinx sits atop

the column standing at about 10 meters in height altogether.

Vogler 49

Pedley describes how the Naxian sphinx is “crouching

menacingly” (Pedley 2012, 185).

This piece is very intriguing because it is not

associated with a tomb and the sphinx sits atop an Ionic

column. I speculate that the Naxians were drawing a

connection between Egypt and the sphinx. Both the sphinx and

stylized columns were inspired by Egyptian monumental art

and it appears that the Naxians have one of the earliest

schools of sculpture in Greece dating back to the Archaic

Period (700-480 BC) (Ibid., 181-182). Though it is not clear

if the Naxians took part in the early mercenary groups in

Egypt, Herodotus does speak of Ionians in Naucratis

(Herodotus 2.154), the Greek trading post in Egypt

established during the reign of Ahmose II. The Ionians could

have inluded some Naxians who spoke in the Ionic dialect.

Even if that is not the case, Ionic people did have a direct

link to Egypt through the trading post Naucratis.

Like modern viewers, the Naxian sphinx may have

inspired feelings of ‘a looming threat’ for the ancient

Greeks. It is also possible that the sphinx served as an

Vogler 50

apotropaic device. Powell defines this as a magical means of

protection from the evil. The apotropaic device acts on the

magical principle that like is effective against like

(Powell 2012, 373). I am somewhat reluctant to say that the

threatening sphinx found on many fifth-century Attic pottery

served such a purpose. However there is an example of a

later Attic red-figure kantharos dating to 440-430 BC

depicting Oedipus and the Sphinx in conjuction with a relief

of a Gorgon head on the lid (See Sphinx Catalogue #15). In

contrast to the sphinx, the Gorgon head is often employed as

an apotropaic device in Greek art (Ibid.). In the case of

this piece, it is quite possible the sphinx, in in

combination with with the Gorgon’s head, is meant to ‘turn

away’ evil. As such, it would suggest that the Greeks viewed

the sphinx as an evil, or at least negative force that could

deflect other negative forces like the evil eye. Such an

interpretation is not out of the realm of possibility since

tensions between Egyptian soldiers and Greek mercenaries

were never truly addressed by the end of Ahmose II’s reign.

Beyond that, a much larger conflict awaited the Greeks and

Vogler 51

the Egyptians that would further exacerbate relations

between the two regions.

The Persian War and After-Effects

In the year of 525 BC the Persian empire invaded Egypt

not long after Ahmose II had established stong trade and

military relation with the Greeks. In that same year, the

Battle of Pelusium led to the defeat and capture of the

Egyptian pharaoh Psammetichos III by the Persian king

Cambyses. This event also marks the First Persian Period

(525-359 BC) where Egypt served under Persian rule (Lloyd

2000, 383). While under Persian control, Egypt was forced to

take part in the Persian Empire’s campaign against their

fellow neighboring people; the Greeks.

Before the Persions invaded mainland Greece in 492 BC

and then again in 490 BC, Egyptian craftsmen were employed

by the Persian Empire for building operations in both Egypt

and Persia. As a satrapy of the empire Egypt was also

exploited to the full in order to advance Persian imperial

expansion. This includes a naval assault against the Greek

Vogler 52

town of Miletus that brought the Ionian Revolt against

Persia to an end in 494 BC (Lloyd 2000, 384). Although Egypt

had worked militarily with Greek mercenaries in recent

history, as well as allowed for Greek immigrants to

establish towns within Egypt, the two cultures now found

themselves in direct conflict with each other under Persian

influence.

The first Persian War lead by Darius ceased with the

Athenian victory at the Battle of Marathon in 490 BC.

However the conflict continued when Darius’s son, Xerxes,

invaded the mainland Greek states with an even larger army

and navy in 480-479 BC (Mee 2011, 31). Herodotus testifies

that the Egyptians supplied ropes for Xerxes’s bridge of

boats across the Hellespont, as well as their assistance

with the construction:

“To this foreland they on whom this work was laid were making their bridges, starting fromAbydos, the Phenicians [sic] constructing onewith ropes of white flax, and Egyptians the other, which was made with papyrus rope” (Herodotus 7.34).

Vogler 53

Herodotus also reports on the 200 Egyptian triremes under

the command of Xerxes’s brother, Achaemenes. During the

battle of Artemisium, this contingent was able to capture

five Greek ships and their crews (Lloyd 2000, 384). However,

the Egyptians did not perform as well at the subsequent

battles of Salamis and Plataea. Herodotus recounts how

Achaemenes likes to place blame for the loss of the

Battle of Salamis on Persia’s conscripted allies, and not on

the Persian leaders themselves:

“Do not, king, let the Persians be an object of laughter to the Hellenes; for none of youraffairs have suffered by means of the Persians, nor will you be able to mention anyplace where we proved ourselves cowards: but if Phenicians [sic] or Egyptians or Cyprians or Kilikians proved themselves cowards, the calamity which followed does not belong to the Persians in any way” (Herodotus 8.100).

The loss at Plataea is described by Herodotus in a similar

manner and it is interesting to note how the historian seems

to believe there is disinclination on the part of Persia’s

conscripted allies to fight against the Greeks. Overall, it

would appear as if Herodotus believed that Persia was the

Vogler 54

responsible party for this war, and everyone else was a

reluctant participant.

Persia’s loss at the Battle of Plataea in 479 BC

effectively ended the war in Greece, but Egypt would not

gain its own indepedence until 404 BC. Most of our sources

for this time period are actually Greek and so likely

reflect the interests of classical observers and readers.

Despite Egypt’s role in the Persian invasion of Greece, the

Greek people still hold a strong interest in the neighboring

Egytptians. Even when independence from Persia was achieved,

Egypt had to cope with political instability due to

competition between Egyptian families making claims to the

throne. As a result, there is a long period of short reigns

of Egyptian pharaohs. Such claims are further complicated by

“the sectional interests of the native Egyptian warrior

class, Greek mercenary captains, and, less obviously, the

Egyptian priesthood” (Lloyd 2000, 385). This quote suggests

that Greece did indeed have a continued military and

political interest in Egypt.

Vogler 55

At the end of the Persian Wars, the Greek poleis

Athens and Sparta emerged as the dominant Greek

states.Victory inspired the Athenians to establish their own

empire which alarmed Sparta and their Peloponnesian and

Boetian allies. In order to keep the Athenians in check, the

Spartans led a number of military campaigns in the 450s and

440s BC (Pedley 2012, 250). Eventually, the rivalry between

the two Greek city-states escalated until a civil war broke

out in 431 BC, known today as the Second Peloponnesian War

(Mee 2011, 31). The Athenians also suffered another

devastating event in the summer of 430 BC when a plague

struck the crowded city of Athens (Pollitt 1972, 111). The

war lasted until 404 BC when Sparta was finally able to

defeat Athens. However internal conflict continued in Greece

until the rise of the Macedonian Empire led by Phillip II,

whose victory at the Battle of Chaironeia in 338 BC

effectively ended Greek independence (Mee 2011, 31-32). The

Peloponesian War and the plague that hit Athens forced the

Greeks to undergo a moral and social revolution which

affected Greek culture, including art (Pollitt 1972, 111)

Vogler 56

While the Greeks became more concerned with local

events, Egypt continued to maintain a military interest in

Greece, in part to help prevent Persia from taking control

of Egypt once again. For the most part, Egypt employed

diplomatic means and sometimes even bribery to keep out the

Persians, but that did not hamper the Egyptian rulers’

practice of hiring Greek mercenaries for the few instances

where direct military intervention by army or naval units

became necessary (Lloyd 2000, 388).

However, the old conflict between Greek and Egyptian

soldiers never really disappeared, especially at the high

command level of the Egyptian army. Jealousy between

Egyptian and foreign generals would often spark a revolt.

One such event took place beginning in 360 BC when the Greek

Agesilaus was given command of the Greeks only whilst the

pharaoh Teos (362-360 BC) controlled the Egyptian troops and

also retained overall command of the army. This worked only

for a short time, for when the pharaoh Nectanebo II 360-343

BC came into power, martial failings on his part (descibed

Vogler 57

as ineptitude and cowardice) eventually led to Egypt’s loss

of freedom to Persia once again (Lloyd 2000, 389).

Although tense relations between the Greeks and

Egyptians persisted after the end of the Persian Wars, over

time subsequent wars and other disastrous events in Greece

likely forced the ancient Greeks to shift their attention

away from their conflict with the neighboring Egptians

towards more internal affairs. The long-standing conflict

between Egypt and Greece and the later shift in focus on the

part of the Greeks are reflected in the introduction and the

subsequent abandonment of a particular mythological scene

used on painted vases during the 5th century BC.

“Othering” the Barbarians

With the end of the Persian War in 479 BC, the Greeks

began to undergo a cultural transformation. The threat of

the Persian invading forces “heightened a developing

collective Greek self-awareness” (Gunter 2009, 52). This

resulted in the elaboration of a rhetoric of Hellenic

Vogler 58

identity, which opposed Greeks versus barbarians, and

democracy against despotism.

Before the Persian War, the Greek worldview did not

embrace such a polarized division between the Greek and

‘barbarian’. At the time, the Greeks were more inclined to

find common ground with neighboring groups based on literary

representations present before the 5th century BC (Gunter

2009, 57). However, once such a division was established

with the end of the Persian War, it was “forcefully

articulated in antiquity, in the Classical period as well as

in later learned commentary” (Ibid., 52-53). On the other

hand, Gunter does acknowledge that before the Persian War,

the Archaic worldview was extremely complex and it exhibited

a gradually increased differentiation between Greeks and

non-Greeks (Ibid., 55).

This division between Greek and barbarian can be

thought of as a sort of stereotyping taking place for each

group. Stereotyping or ‘othering’ is one example of identity

formation, or at least the crystallization of identities,

resulting from conflict originally described in Edward

Vogler 59

Said's book Orientalism. Said’s work helped to pave the way

for anthropologists and scholars to theorize about how

‘other’ cultures are constructed. Such identity formation

does not only occur within the minds of individuals, but it

is also expressed in material culture. In his introduction,

Said claims,

“Orientalism expresses and represents that part culturally and even ideologically as a mode of discourse with supporting institutions, vocabulary, scholarship, imagery, doctrines, even colonial bureaucracies and colonial styles” (Said 1978, 2).

Skinner has built upon Said’s work by exploring the

ways in which the ancient Greeks categorized ‘Others’

through stereotyping. According to him, stereotypes and

stereotyping from a social-psychological perspective are “an

important means of making sense of the world and therefore

possess a certain moral ambivalence” (Skinner 2012, 115). He

argues that rather than simply focusing upon the extent to

which stereotypes form the basis for erroneous or pejorative

beliefs concerning particular groups, scholars should

instead try to understand how the social and historical

Vogler 60

context shapes those beliefs. Placing stereotypes within

their wider context illustrates how stereotyping serves as a

cognitive function designed to help individuals deal

effectively with social complexity on a day-to-day basis

(Ibid., 116).

That is not to say that all stereotypes are negative,

even within the context of ancient Greece. In some cases,

barbarians are represented as the pinnacle of refinement and

taste (Skinner 2012, 119). Gunter also mentions how a sort

of inverse or negative ethnocentrism can be discerned within

Greek thought. She gives the example of the Ethiopians known

as the eschatoi andrôn or “the furthest of men”. Peoples of the

most distant lands became the ethical or moral paradeigmata

for the Greeks. The Ethiopians for example, were termed as

the ‘blameless Ethiopians’ who “enjoyed a close association

with the gods, who frequently stayed with them, feasting in

their land of super-natural abundance” (Gunter 2009, 57).

Gunter concludes that ‘Other’ does not invariably correlate

with an unflattering of derogatory construction of ‘not us’

(Ibid.).

Vogler 61

Again, comprehending the context helps us to better

understand how the Greeks constructed such stereotypes and

whether those stereotypes had a positive or negative

connotation. Many stereotypes of a particular group or

polity may exist. Which stereotype is used and when it is

used will likely be dictated by the context. Skinner

suggests that stereotypes must be understood as occurring on

an ad hoc basis: “a process in which groups or individuals

selectively affirm, deny, or gloss over a variety of known

qualities and stock attributes associated with a specific

category of foreigner” (Skinner 2012, 117-118). This is very

similar to what Malinowski suggested in regards to the

historical and social context of myths. Stereotypes,

therefore, perform a very similar function to myth within

societies.

Another important aspect about stereotypes and

stereotyping is that it requires some sort of knowledge

about foreign peoples. Such knowledge does not need to be

accurate; it just needs to be associated with a known group.

In order for the Greeks to create a self-identity, they had

Vogler 62

to contrast based upon knowledge of ‘others’. The ubiquity

of epithets and stereotypes within ancient Greek literary

sources suggests the Greeks did indeed have some underlying

knowledge regarding the habits and customs of ‘foreign’

peoples (Skinner 2012, 120).

Based on what we know about the history of interactions

between the Greeks and Egyptians, such knowledge was likely

acquired by direct contact with foreign people via trade or

immigration. Knowledge could also be conveyed in the form of

gossip from those having direct contact with foreign

peoples, to those without such contact. On the other hand,

it has also been noted that direct contact between Egypt and

Greece was not well established until the 7th century BC at

the earliest. This is perhaps why we do not see strongly

established ideas about Greek versus the ‘non-Greek’

Egyptians until after the Persian War. Skinner writes:

“Although there is much uncertainty surrounding the manner in which collective identities emerged during the early Archaic period, establishing a consensus as to what was or was not ‘familiar’ must have played animportant role in a process in which

Vogler 63

knowledge of the foreign or exotic was necessarily implicated” (Skinner 2012, 141).

In other words, as the Greeks became well acquainted with

foreign cultures during the 7th century BC, they began to

develop ideas about group identity, which came to fruition

at the beginning of the Classical period.

Stereotypes and descriptions of ‘foreignness’ were not

limited to literary texts within ancient Greece.

Ethnographic discourse within the Greek world also had an

important iconographic dimension where visual cues to

foreign identities are pervasive within the archaeological

record. Such visual cues of foreignness can be found

adorning pots traded in agoras and potters’ quarters

throughout the Mediterranean. Images of foreign peoples are

also represented on coins, wrought metalwork, and sculpture.

Readings of these images are “selectively construed

according to a complex nexus of ideas and values, half-

truths and imaginings” (Skinner 2012, 140). Textual sources

can be employed to help us understand these images today,

but a much deeper analysis, as that described in Sourvinou-

Vogler 64

Inwood’s work, is necessary in order to discern how the

ancient Greeks themselves would have ‘read’ these images.

Skinner also acknowledges that, “it can be dangerous to

assume that the images we encounter on vases and elsewhere

should necessarily correspond to literary traditions with

which we are familiar” (Ibid., 141).

This is why we must place images of foreigners within

the historical and cultural context in which they were

produced and ‘read’ by those who were exposed to the images.

A historical context has already been established within

this paper which helps to illustrate why the Greeks likely

associated images of the sphinx with the Egyptians. In

focusing on a specific motif of the sphinx, namely of

Oedipus facing down the sphinx which was being produced

after the Persian War, it is imperative to also comprehend

the cultural mindset of the Greeks at this time. With an

understanding of the historical and cultural context in

which this specific motif was being produced, it is possible

to ‘read’ the image in a similar manner of an ancient Greek.

Vogler 65

Transformation of the Greek Mindset

Within Classical art history, the Archaic era of Greece

ends conventionally around the year 480 BC, which marks the

end of the Persian invasion of Greece. This era is followed

by a thirty-year period of transition leading to the High

Classical era within Greek art and history. This transition

period is denoted in the archaeological record by a

distinctive figural style termed as the Severe Style (Pedley

2012, 207). Scholars attribute this transition in Greek art

to an unprecedented rise in self-confidence and eagerness

resulting from their unexpected victory over the Persians.

Besides artistic expression, the Greeks also experimented

with new forms of thought and social organization as

illustrated by Gunter and Skinner (Powell 2012, 32).

With their astonishing defeat of the Persians, the

Greeks did indeed gain a new self-confidence, but they

acquired a new uneasiness as well. Confidence and optimism

arose from the victory, but this was tempered by ideas about

hybris or arrogance and unbridled ambition without restraint.

The Greeks believed that Persian hybris led to ate (folly),

Vogler 66

and finally nemesis (retribution) in the form of Persia’s

failed invasion of Greece (Pollitt 1972, 22-23). The Greeks

on the other hand, with their restrained, group-conscious

way of life, had received divine sanction and justification.

From henceforth, the Greeks needed be careful to not repeat

the follies of their Persian neighbors.

This new self-confidence as well as uneasiness has a

significant influence on Greek art as well. Pollitt

attributes the ‘new severity’ of Early Classical art to two

factors: “One is an anti-traditional feeling, which in this

period means to some extent an anti-oriental feeling” and

the other was “the new emphasis on personal and group

responsibility” (Pollitt 1972, 43). Focusing on the first

factor, as I discussed earlier, the Archaic Greek art style

was heavily influenced by the Egyptian and Near Eastern art

traditions, though the Greeks often adapted these art forms

to their own local traditions. After the Persian War

however, the Orient was increasingly viewed as ‘barbarous’

and contemptible.

Vogler 67

Another element to consider is how Greek tyrants who

had been on good terms with foreign monarchs, and often

modeled themselves after those monarchs had actually

fostered Archaic art in many ways. Pollitt suggests that

with the end of the invasion and a move towards more

democratic forms of governance (at least in Athens around

508/7 BC), the Greeks chose to renounce strict patterns like

that seen in the kouros stance. They also abandoned the

aristocratic love of jewel-like detail in favor of a new

repertoire of austerely unembellished but flexible forms,

which could be used to express a somber thoughtfulness. This

intentional move away from foreign influences allowed the

Greeks to achieve an artistic identity which was completely

their own (Pollitt 1972, 43).

Besides the rejection of strict patterns, Greek

sculptures display a tendency toward a reduction in

ornamental detail and a reduction of elongation in

proportions, which had originally been based on the Egyptian

canon for the human form (Pollitt 1972, 41). Pollitt also

suggests that Attic red-figure vase painting began to

Vogler 68

supplant the Archaic emphasis on decorative pattern with an

emphasis on emotional expression instead. Yet the red-figure

technique was actually developed during the last quarter of

the sixth-century BC well before the events of the Persian

Wars. One of the first practitioners of this technique was

the Andokides Painter whose works were produced around 525-

520 BC (Pedley 2012, 200-201). The technique reached its

peak in the last twenty years of the Archaic period around

500-480 BC (Ibid., 205).

This is important to note since the vase painting

medium offers much greater agency for an artist’s personal

whimsicality, consequentially making it easier to find

pieces which contradict these broad and essentially valid

generalizations (Pollitt 1972, 20). For instance, one group

of painters, among whom the Pan Painter was prominent,

preferred the old-fashioned conventions of the Archaic

period and their pieces reflect the influence of 6th century

art forms (Pedley 2012, 242). Another potter, known as

Sotades, favored vases with modeled parts (See Sphinx

Catalogue #10). Known as ‘plastic’ vases, Sotades produced

Vogler 69

these pieces following a practice that had flourished in the

Orientalizing period (Ibid., 244). Despite these exceptional

cases, Greek art does make a general move away from strict

patterns and ornamental detail popularized before the

Persian Wars.

Similar to the literary texts, art forms of

‘stereotyping’ were not necessarily negative. Likewise, not

all Greek artisans renounced the old forms influenced by

foreign peoples, though there was a general movement in the

culture to do so. Nevertheless, in order to create a

positive Greek identity, many ancient writers and artists

had to produce antithetical representations of foreign

people. Certain themes in art such as the Trojan War, the

Amazonomachy, and the Centauromachy aimed to do just that by

acting as mythological paradigms of and metaphors for the

Persian War (Sourvinou-Inwood 1990, 414). Ancient Greeks at

this time would have read those themes as “victory of the

civilized and superior (Greek) over the uncivilized and

inferior (barbarian)” (Ibid.). It is with this in mind that

I turn to a specific theme found on Greek pottery

Vogler 70

immediately following the Persian War; Oedipus facing down

the sphinx.

Oedipus Versus the Sphinx

Much of the modern understanding of the Greek myth

about Oedipus and the sphinx comes from Apollodorus, a

historian and mythographer living in Greece during the

second-century BC. He describes the sphinx’s origin and its

encounter with the hero Oedipus in his work Library.

The story of Oedipus and the Sphinx takes place soon

after Oedipus has left Corinth and his adopted family.

Eventually he arrives at Thebes, a city in turmoil due to

the Sphinx. The monster is a daughter of Typhoeus, and she

has taken up residence upon a hill nearby Thebes. The Sphinx

devours Thebans one by one after they fail to answer the

riddle she poses to them. Laius, the king of Thebes, had

gone to Delphi in search of help and was subsequently killed

by Oedipus (mistakenly). In Laius’s place, his brother-in-

law decreed that whoever solved the Sphinx’s riddle and

Vogler 71

freed the city could marry the queen and become the new king

of Thebes.

Oedipus takes the opportunity and successfully answer’s the

Sphinx’s riddle. The monster was so chagrined at the

successful answer that she threw herself from the cliff and

was dashed on the rocks below. No force on the part of

Oedipus was actually required to defeat the Sphinx, just

simple reasoning. Thus Oedipus was able to marry the queen

and become the king of Thebes (Apollodorus 3.5.8).

Similar to the story, the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif

found on Greek pottery following the Persian War shows no

physical altercation taking place between man and monster,

unlike other themes like the Centauromachy. One example

comes from the interior of an Attic drinking cup dated to

around 490 BC, which marks the end of the first Persian

invasion led by Darius (See Sphinx Catalogue #7). Powell

describes the image thusly:

“Oedipus is shown as a mature man, fully bearded, wearing a traveler’s broad-brimmed hat, his left hand poised pensively beneath his chin, his traveler’s staff between his legs. He ponders the riddle of the Sphinx, a

Vogler 72

winged lion with a woman’s head perched on anIonic column” (Powell 2012, 485).

His description of the Sphinx is very similar to

Pedley’s earlier description of the Naxian Sphinx dedication

at Delphi, and at this time, similar monuments of a sphinx

perched on top of an Ionic column serve as grave markers

within Greece. The myth of Oedipus and the Sphinx, along

with our already established cultural and historical

understanding of this time period, allows us to make

inferences about the ways in which the ancient Greeks would

have ‘read’ such an image.

Returning to Sourvinou-Inwood’s methodology, in order

to read the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif we need to

reconstruct the perceptual filters through which such images

were inscribed and read during their time of production and

consumption in fifth-century Greece. These ‘perceptual

filters’ have both an iconographic and semantic element. It

is acknowledged that such an analysis is still vulnerable to

the intrusion of our modern day culturally determined

notions (Sourvinou-Inwood 1990, 398). However, establishing

Vogler 73

a historical and cultural context for these images helps to

reduce such biases. By understanding the semantics, meaning

“the knowledge, ideas, assumptions, and mentality”, deployed

by fifth-century Greeks, it is possible to recreate the

process of recognizing, organizing, and reading the

iconographic elements that made up these images (Ibid.,

399).

Thus when an ancient Greek looked upon an image of a

human-headed lion, his knowledge of myth will tell him

“Sphinx” and “Monster of Thebes”, but his knowledge of

history and culture may also tell him “Egyptian”. The icon

of a human-headed lion draws upon the viewer’s personal

knowledge in order to give it some kind of meaning. By

joining this icon with other icons, namely the stylized

column and Oedipus, more, and sometimes different, meanings

are drawn from the iconographic schema. As noted by recent

historical events and trends in Greek art during and after

the Persian War, interpretation of the Sphinx and Oedipus

motif would have been influenced by a culturally conditioned

reception especially geared to seeing (certain types of)

Vogler 74

myths as metaphors for the Greek victory over Persia and its

allies (Sourvinou-Inwood 1990, 414).

Such images would have been especially popular in the

decades immediately following the war, for this is when

their messages would have resonated strongly with the Greek

population. Sourvinou-Inwood’s sample of production of

Theseus and Medea images on Greek pottery concentrates

around the decades of 460-440 BC (Ibid., 439). The art

historian Thomas H. Carpenter offers a simple summary of

images on Greek pottery depicting the Theban Sphinx.

Although the sphinx is present in both Mycenaean art and

Greek art from the Archaic period, it does not appear in

narrative scenes until early in the sixth-century BC

(Carpenter 1991, 167). At that time, the sphinx is popularly

depicted attacking or carrying youths in Attic black-figure

painting (See Sphinx Catalogue #6). During the first half of

the fifth-century, there are vases in both the Attic black-

and red-figure technique that depict Theban men and youths

conversing with the sphinx, presumably trying to answer her

riddles (See Sphinx Catalogue #14). While the Theban Sphinx

Vogler 75

is represented in these various motifs, the only part of the

Oedipus myth depicting the Greek hero that appears with any

regularity in Greek art is his encounter with the sphinx

(Carpenter 1991, 167).

According to Carpenter, an identifiable Oedipus and the

sphinx theme first appears around 540 BC on a Klazomenian

vase. Interestingly though, he notes that the scene does not

appear on Attic vases until early in the fifth-century when

the events of the Persian War take place (Ibid.). Similar to

what Sourvinou-Inwood discovered with the Theseus and Medea

theme, the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif appears on a few

black-figure vases and on red-figure vases starting in the

fifth-century and on into the fourth-century (Ibid.). When

the Greeks begin to experience internal conflict, eventually

leading to the Second Peloponnesian War in 431 BC, the

popularity of ‘Greek versus Other’ motifs on Greek pottery

drops off. Social realities are changing at this point in

time, for now it is ‘Greek versus Greek’, and as we know

from Malinowski, myth (including visual representations of

Vogler 76

myth) transforms over time to reflect the social and

political reality of contemporary times.

Keeping all of these factors in mind, how might an

ancient Greek ‘read’ the image of Oedipus and the Sphinx?

First, it is important to focus on elements of this motif

that are being produced over and over again. To start, we

have the Sphinx, which is depicted with the head of a woman,

the body of a lion, and is also winged. This depiction ties

in closely with how the Sphinx is described in myth.

However, as illustrated previously in this paper, the Sphinx

would have been closely associated with Egypt and its

people. Within the mythology, the Sphinx is a foreign

element (a monster with foreign parentage) threatening the

local Thebans (Greeks). The sense of menace is created

through the Sphinx’s crouched position, which alludes to her

intention of pouncing on, and devouring Oedipus once he

answers her riddle. Egypt’s role in assisting the Persians

during the war would have reiterated the idea of the Sphinx

as ‘threatening’ to the Greek people.

Vogler 77

Though it does not depict the hero Oedipus, there is

one particular red-figure piece dating to the second half of

the fifth-century that should be considered because it

appears to allude to Egypt’s role in the Persian War (See

Sphinx Catalogue #13). On the neck of the oinochoe lies a

sphinx, which overlooks a battle taking place between a

Persian soldier and a Greek hoplite on the base of the

ceramic. Although, the sphinx does not actively take part in

the battle below, its presence in the scene does not go

unnoticed by the viewer. This corresponds well with how

Herodotus described Egypt’s role in the Persian Wars. Though

the Greeks did not view the Egyptians as the instigators of

this conflict, neither did they ignore the Egyptians’ role

in assisting the Persians.

Returning to the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif, another

important element seen repeatedly is the stylized column the

sphinx crouches upon. This is interesting since within the

myth itself, she resides upon a hilltop just outside of

Thebes, not on a column. There is some inconsistency about

how the column is represented. Sometimes the column has

Vogler 78

Ionic volutes, which may be influenced by earlier funerary

and dedications depicting the sphinx such as the one seen at

Delphi (See Sphinx Catalogue #9). In other instances, the

column is represented in the Doric style (See Sphinx

Catalogue #8). Many of the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ images are

being produced within the Attic region on the mainland. The

original local architectural style in Attica was Doric, so

the painters were likely being influenced by local

traditions when creating the image. It is important to note

though that many buildings constructed on the Athenian

Acropolis during the fifth-century incorporated both Doric

and Ionic features (Pedley 2012, 252). This indicates the

choice to use a Doric or Ionic column may have simply been a

matter of the artist’s personal taste. In either case, the

use of a stylized column instead of a hill is interesting

and can again harken back to a connection with Egypt. This

particular architectural design was influenced by Egyptian

monumental architecture, and the ancient Greeks may have

recognized that.

Vogler 79

Finally there are the depictions of the hero and future

king of Thebes, Oedipus. It is interesting to note that in

this particular motif of Oedipus and the Sphinx, the Greek

hero is represented not as a warrior, but as a traveler. He

is often represented with a traveller’s cloak and a petasos

cap. Occasionally, a spear or a scabbard holding a dagger is

also depicted, but Oedipus never holds a weapon in a

position of attack. As we know from the myth, Oedipus does

not employ physical force to defeat the Sphinx. Instead, the

monster destroys herself once the Greek hero has outwitted

her.

Based on the historical and cultural context of the

times, there are a few possible ways an ancient Greek may

have read this image. For centuries, Greeks had travelled to

Egypt either as traders, mercenaries, or even as immigrants.

Oedipus’s travelling garb may allude to this long

relationship of travel between Greece and Egypt, though this

mostly speculative since Oedipus is described as a traveller

in the myth. In terms of the Sphinx’s crouching position

directed at Oedipus and his occasional possession of a

Vogler 80

weapon, this speaks to the tension that existed between the

two groups, both before and after the Persian War. Both the

Sphinx and Egypt are a possible threat to the Greek people.

At this point, the reading of the standard ‘Oedipus and

Sphinx’ motif becomes much more speculative. Knowledge of

the myth would have allowed the ancient Greeks to infer how

the scene between hero and monster would play out. No

physical altercation occurs, but instead the Sphinx is

defeated by Oedipus’s knowledge and cunning. Perhaps the

Greeks sensed a similar fate for Egypt, which was still

under Persia’s power. As noted by Pollitt, the Greeks’

victory over Persia and its Egyptian allies became a sort of

divine sanction and justification for the supremacy of Greek

culture over all other cultures (Pollitt 1972, 23). Oedipus

overcomes the Sphinx through knowledge, not physical force,

and so the Greeks overcome their Egyptian neighbors through

culture.

One interesting exception that actually depicts Oedipus

slaying the sphinx (See Catalogue #16) is seen on a red-

figure lekythos dated to around 420-400 BC. This piece

Vogler 81

depicts an alternate version of the myth as described by

Apollodorus. The scholar Lucilla Burns suggests that the

‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif presented on this vase is a more

‘Atticized’ telling of the myth. She bases this on the

presence of Athena (the patron goddess of Athens) as well as

the militarized Oedipus, which she argues is more

reminiscent of the Athenian hero Theseus (Burn 1987, 46-48).

Since this piece is produced at a later date than the more

standard versions of the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif, the

violence in the scene may be more indicative of events

taking place during the Peloponnesian Wars as opposed to the

Persian Wars.

While some of this ‘reading’ is speculative, it is

essential to recognize that all forms of myth are subject to

interpretation, both by those telling or representing the

myth and by those hearing or seeing the myth. The important

point here is that one particular motif is being produced

repeatedly, and so it must have spoken to the common

knowledge of those producing and consuming the image.

Therefore, it is impossible to do a completely accurate

Vogler 82

fifth-century Greek reading of the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’

motif. By using Sourvinou-Inwood’s methodology however, we

can infer why certain motifs became popular during certain

points of time in history and how such images represented

the historical and cultural context of those times. These

images would not have been produced and consumed if they did

not hold some kind of meaning for those who saw the images.

There is one other important factor that must be

considered in regards to the reading of the ‘Oedipus and

Sphinx’ motif on fifth-century Greek pottery. Although most

of these images are being produced in workshops within

Attica, many of the ceramics with these kinds of motifs

(Greek versus Other), are found outside of Greece, most

often in Etruscan tombs in Italy. It makes sense that

potters/painters would produce images that held meaning for

both themselves and their customers who share similar

cultural knowledge, but why would foreigners with no

contextual understanding of the images wish to possess these

painted ceramics?

Vogler 83

The scholars Michael Vickers and David Gill provide one

argument for this phenomenon in their book titled Artful Crafts.

The main premise of their book is that the notion that fine

Greek pottery was especially valuable in antiquity (in terms

of the way we value it in the modern day) “is based on

arguments which are at best weak and at worst wholly

misleading” (Vickers and Gill 1994, 32). Instead they argue

that such ceramics were actually a cheap commodity

throughout the Mediterranean. Greeks did not especially

value ceramic vessels and those wealthy enough would choose

to purchase things made of gold, silver, ivory or even

purple (dye) (Ibid., 33). Vickers and Gill argue that

ceramics are a kind of ‘cheap knock-off’ of vessels made of

more precious materials: “Taste in most societies is created

by a wealthy élite…” results in “A ‘trickle-down effect’

whereby fashions created in expensive materials were copied

in cheaper [materials]” (Ibid., 54).

On the other hand, such ceramics are being produced

with some kind of profit in mind. Potters must produce

something that people will purchase in order to make a

Vogler 84

living for themselves. Painted ceramics may be imitations of

more luxuriant products, but design and decoration would

still need to speak to and draw a customer’s attention.

Otherwise it would be impossible for the potter or painter

to make any kind of profit. Even Vickers and Gill concede

that these ceramics were the products of individuals hoping

to make a living (Vickers and Gill 1994, 95). In some cases,

artists even lay claim to their work by including their

signature on the pottery (Ibid., 155). Even though Vickers

and Gill are reluctant to accept the idea that potters and

painters were “highly skilled craftsmen” it does suggest

that some individuals took pride in their own work (Ibid.,

95).

Whether or not Greek pottery was especially valued

within Greek society during the fifth-century, there is

little doubt that it was being produced for some kind of

profit. Using decorations that held meaning for possible

customers was likely an important tactic in selling

ceramics. Yet the question remains, why do we see so much of

it ending up outside of Greece? A specialist in Etruscan

Vogler 85

archaeology, Nigel Spivey, describes how most painted vases

discovered in Etruscan tombs come from workshops in the

Athenian Kerameikos (Spivey 1991, 132). Many examples of

Greek pottery come from Etruscan sites such as Vulci,

Tarquinia, Cerveteri, Orvieto and Chiusi (Ibid.). Not only

is Greek pottery discovered in ostensibly wealthy burials in

Etruscan regions, but in Thrace and Scythia as well.

On the one hand is Vickers and Gill argument that

suggests Greek ceramics may have simply been acting as

surrogates for more luxurious vessels, or their value lie in

their exotic nature (Vickers and Gill 1994, 199-200). We

have a lot of archaeological evidence of exotic curios being

traded throughout the Mediterranean for centuries (consider

the Egyptian scarabs being traded and reproduced during the

7th century BC). Potters and painters still produced images

based off their own cultural knowledge, but foreigners

lacking that type of knowledge may have purchased the

pottery simply for its exotic factor. Such a practice is not

hard to imagine since it continues to this day.

Vogler 86

Spivey argues against this stance however stating that

Greek pottery in Etruria served more than just ‘saleable

ballast’ or surrogates for more precious vessels (Spivey

1991, 134). As evidence, he points out workshops in Athens

would sometimes employ special marketing strategies for

Etruscan demand by imitating Etruscan shapes of pottery

(Ibid., 140-141). Another interesting aspect of the Greek

pottery found in Etruria is that the images often had

ambiguous meanings that catered to both an Athenian and an

Etruscan market. Spivey contends,

“More generally, it is clear that the images produced for the aristocratic fraternities ofAthens more or less matched expectations of Etruscans in search of ostentatious burials… Etruscan viewers may have mistaken Athenian courtesans for wives, and the objects of Athenian pederastic desire for slave-boys. But much of the imagery is consonant with their own art” (Spivey 1991, 144).

In the end, motifs like Oedipus and the Sphinx are

being produced in Attica during the early to mid-5th century

BC because it held cultural significance for those producing

and selling such images on pottery. In regards to pottery

discovered abroad, Spivey is probably accurate in his

Vogler 87

conclusion that Greek vases in Etruria have two different

readings, but these readings are based on a cultural

understanding shared between the Greeks and Etruscans

(Ibid., 49).

With this in mind, I would argue the ‘Oedipus and

Sphinx’ motif speaks to the general attitude of Greek

superiority over barbarian cultures at the end of the

Persian Wars. However, as the cultural and historical

context begins to change due to an impending civil war,

Greek potters cease to produce the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’

motif. In fact, the archaeological record suggests that

although the practice of painting vases using the red-figure

technique continued, demand for such wares began to decline

towards the end of the fifth-century BC. Pedley writes, “

there are fewer and fewer signatures of painters in the

second half of the century and, by the early part of the

fourth century BC, signatures of potters, too, had

disappeared” (Pedley 2012, 283). At the same time, heroic

and mythological scenes like the Oedipus versus Sphinx theme

become less popular, with scenes of daily life taking their

Vogler 88

place: “Personal, self indulgent themes proliferate. Young

women at their toilette appear as a favorite topic…”

(Ibid.).

Pollitt offers some more insight into the Greek’s frame

of mind during the Peloponnesian War. He argues that the war

brings “a despairing recognition of the triumph of the

irrational, which breaks through the orderly façade of the

human intellect…” (Pollitt 1972, 114). He goes on to suggest

that such strife would be represented in the art as well,

but instead he finds that the art style of the late fifth

century “confounds one’s expectations” (Ibid.). Artists

begin to heavily improve upon the technical aspects of their

art, creating a new ‘wind-blown’ style of rendering drapery

as found in the reliefs of the parapet of the Temple of

Athena Nike on the Acropolis of Athens (Ibid., 115).

Even when there is a specific narrative content to the

art, their purely decorative character is very marked. This

leads Pollitt to suggest, “decorative manner, not subject

matter, is still what really engages the artist’s attention”

(Pollitt 1972, 118). One example of this seen in painted

Vogler 89

vases is an Attic red-figure hydria attributed to the

Meidias Painter and produced around 410-400 BC. The vase

depicts two different mythological scenes, Herakles in the

garden of the Hesperides on the bottom, and the rape of the

daughters of Leucippus on the top (Pedley 2012, 284). The

drawings of these scenes are very luxurious. Gilding is even

used on the necklaces and bracelets of the cult statue

depicted. Interestingly, the mood is warm and sensuous

rather than menacing. This seems unusual since “the ease of

the painted scenes is at odds both with the implied tension

of the activities shown and with the rigors of the

Peloponnesian War that was then engulfing Athens” (Pedley

2012, 285).

Pollitt’s final explanation for this art style is that

it acts an “escapist wish-fulfillment”. He concludes, “on

the surface it is all elegance, but underneath it may

reflect a despairing desire to retreat from the difficult

intellectual and political realities of the age and to take

refuge in gesture” (Pollitt 1972, 125). Pollitt’s assessment

of the Greek art styles of the late fifth century BC

Vogler 90

supports the idea that the ancient Greeks are turning their

focus away from external threats towards internal conflicts

instead, as reflected in the changing art trends.

Conclusion

The ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif found on fifth-century

Greek pottery is much more than a simple decorative feature.

The creation of that specific image is the result of various

cultural and historical influences acting upon the artist

and those who viewed the image, both in the Attic region and

Etruria. Although a mythological scene, the ancient Greeks

did not separate heroic myths from historical events, for

they were one and the same. King Oedipus existed for the

Greeks and his many adventures are true events. Yet as

Malinowski suggests, the myth of Oedipus transformed over

time, probably to reflect the social realities of people.

This is why we have multiple versions of the Oedipus myth to

this day.

In the case of ancient Greece, myth was not only spread

via oral storytelling or text, but also through artistic

Vogler 91

representations in painting, sculpture, architecture and

other visual media. As a result, we can think of visual

representations of mythological scenes as another sort of

‘telling’ of the myth. As we know from Malinowski, every

telling of myth is subject to the knowledge and intention of

the individual narrating the story. For the artist’s story

to be effective, it must also speak to the general knowledge

of those listening or viewing the story. If the story does

not have ‘collective importance’ for the group, then the

artist fails in his/her endeavor to communicate their

intention or meaning through the art. In the case of a

fifth-century Greek potter, he may fail to sell a product

because it does not draw the interest of his customers at

home in Athens or abroad. Theories about art and myth have

illustrated that to truly understand these visual

representations of myth in the same manner the ancient

Greeks would have, archaeologists must first understand the

cultural and historical context in which they were produced.

Once context has been established, we can employ Sourvinou-

Inwood’s methodology for ‘reading’ such images in order to

Vogler 92

gain insight into the Greek worldview during a specific time

in history.

If we reflect upon the art trends and cultural context

leading up to the fifth-century BC, a few different factors

come into play. Migration and trade between the Egyptians

and Greeks beginning around the seventh-century BC allowed

for the Greeks to come into contact with Egyptian monumental

architecture and statuary styles. This included the use of

stylized columns in architecture and statuary

representations of the sphinx. While very influential,

Greeks did not simply imitate the Egyptian art forms, but

instead adapted them to local traditions resulting in the

Doric and Ionic architectural styles, as well as the Greek

female, winged-sphinx form popularly used as funerary

markers and dedications. With the Greeks’ victory in the

Persian War, a theme of ‘Greek versus Barbarian’ and

‘Civilized versus Uncivilized’ becomes popular in Greek art

for the next few decades. As the Greeks begin to fall into

civil war starting in the mid-fifth century, the concern

with external threats becomes overshadowed by internal

Vogler 93

conflict. In turn, the art becomes more technical and

decorative, but less expressive and heroic and mythological

scenes come to be replaced by mundane images of daily life

in ancient Greece.

In terms of the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’ motif popularized

in Attica during and after the Persian Wars at the beginning

of the fifth-century, we must look to the long history of

interactions between Greece and Egypt. Archaeology and

historical texts show that the two cultures often traded

with each other and even worked together militarily.

However, tensions between Greek mercenaries and Egyptian

soldiers persisted for a couple centuries. This tension came

to a head when the Egyptians were forced to align themselves

with the Persian Empire and assist in the invasion of

Greece. Although Egypt was not the main instigator of the

Persian War, it is likely that their role in the invasion

created more strain in the relationship between the Greek

poleis and the Egyptian nation state.

This same tension is exemplified in the ‘Oedipus and

Sphinx’ motif, for it shows that the sphinx is ready to

Vogler 94

pounce upon and attack the Greek hero. Yet at the same time,

this motif is distinctive from the majority of ‘Greek versus

Other’ imagery found in Greek art during the fifth-century.

Studies such as Sourvinou-Inwood’s have focused on motifs

displaying battles or violence between a Greek hero and some

kind of ‘Other’ that is often read as Persian. With the

exception of the more ‘Atticized’ version of the Oedipus

myth found on a late fifth-century ceramic, the ‘Oedipus and

Sphinx’ motif, although antagonistic, does not illustrate a

physical altercation taking place between hero and monster.

This suggests that the Greeks recognized the Egyptians as a

threatening power but does not necessarily place blame on

the Egyptians for their role in the Persian Wars.

Classical archaeology has existed for nearly two

centuries now and scholarly interest in Greek texts and

culture dates back even further than that. Yet with new

developments in theory and methodology, archaeologist may

find that there is still much more to learn about the

ancient Greeks. My analysis of the ‘Oedipus and Sphinx’

motif of the fifth-century can shed light on the worldview

Vogler 95

of the Greeks at different points in history. Icons

representing other cultures that Greeks came into contact

with may be indicative of the type of relationship that

existed between the different groups of people. In order to

create a self-identity, the Greeks had to establish

different cultures as ‘Other’, but this does not tell us if

such a label as ‘barbarian’ held a positive or negative

connotation for the Greeks. It is up to archaeologists to

recreate the social and historical context of people long

dead through a multi-disciplinary analysis of myth, history,

and archaeological material.

Works Cited

Vogler 96

Apollodorus. "Library." Perseus Digital Library. Edited by Sir James George Frazer. April 15, 2013. http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/ (accessed April 25, 2013).

Burn, Lucilla. The Meidias Painter. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987.

Bernal, Martin. Black Athena: The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization.Vol. I and II. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1987.

Boardman, John. The Greeks Overseas; Their Early Colonies and Trade. Fourth Ed. New York: Thames & Hudson, 1999.

Brillante, Carlo. "History and the Historical Interpretationof Myth." In Approaches to Greek Myth, by Lowell Edmunds, 93-138. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990.

Callender, Gae. "The Middle Kingdom." In The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, by Ian Shaw, edited by Ian Shaw, 148-183. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Carpenter, Thomas H. Art and Myth in Ancient Greece. London: Thamesand Hudson Ltd, 1991.

Dijk, Jacobus Van. "The Amarna Period and the Later New Kingdom." In The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, by Ian Shaw, 272-313. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Edmunds, Lowell. "Iconography." In Approaches to Greek Myth, by Lowell Edmunds, 393-394. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990.

Gunter, Ann C. Greek Art and the Orient. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009.

Vogler 97

Hume, Ivor Noel. "Handmaiden to History." North Carolina Historical Review 41, no. 2 (1964): 215-225.

Herodotus. The Histories. Translated by G. C. Macaulay. New YorkCity: Barnes & Noble Classics, 2004.

Jones, Sian. "Historical Categories and Praxis of Identity: The Interpretation of Ethnicity in Historical Archaeology." In Contemporary Archaeology in Theory; The New Pragmatism. Second Ed., by Robert W. Preucel and Stephen A. Mrozowski, 301-310. WestSussex: John Wiley & Sons, Ltd., 2010.

Lévi-Strauss, Claude. "Harelips and Twins: The Splitting of a Myth." In Magic, Witchcraft, and Religion; A Reader in the Anthropology of Religion, by Pamela A. Moro and James E. Myers, 63-66. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2010.

Leonard, Scott, and Michael McClure. "The Study of Mythology." In Magic, Witchcraft, and Religion; A Reader in the Anthropology of Religion. Eighth Ed., by Pamela A. Moro and James E. Myers, 46-57. New York: McGraw Hll, 2010.

Lloyd, Alan B. "The Late Period." In The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, by Ian Shaw, edited by Ian Shaw, 369-394. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Malek, Jaromir. "The Old Kingdom." In The Oxford History of AncientEgypt, by Ian Shaw, edited by Ian Shaw, 89-117. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Malinowski, Bronislaw. "Culture." Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences. Vol. 4. Edited by Edwin R.A. Seligman. New York: TheMacmillan Company, 1931. 621-646.

Malinowski, Bronislaw. "The Role of Myth in Life." In Ritual and Belief: Readings in the Anthropology of Religion, by David Hicks, 29-37. Boston: McGraw Hill, 2002.

Vogler 98

Mee, Christopher. Greek Archaeology: A Thematic Approach. West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011.

Morphy, Howard, and Morgan Perkins. "The Anthropology of Art: A Reflection on its History and Contemporary Practice."In The Anthropology of Art: A Reader, edited by Howard Morphey and Morgan Perkins, 1-32. Malden: Blackwell Publishing Ltd, 2006.

Pedley, John Griffiths. Greek Art and Archaeology. 5th Ed. Londong: Laurence King Publishing Ltd, 2012.

Powell, Barry B. Classical Myth. Seventh Ed. Translated by Herbert M. Howe. Boston: Pearson, 2012.

Pollitt, J.J. Art and Experience in Classical Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972.

Said, Edward W. Orientalism Western Conceptions of the Orient. New York: Penguin Books Ltd, 1978.

Shaw, Ian. "Egypt and the Outside World." In The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, by Ian Shaw, 314-329. Oxford: Oxford University Pres, 2000.

Shaw, Ian. "Introduction." In The Oxford History of Ancient Egypty, by Ian Shaw, 1-16. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.

Skinner, Joseph E. The Invention of Greek Ethnography From Homer to Herodotus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012.

Sourvinou-Inwood, Christiane. "Myths in Images: Theseus and Medea as a Case Study." In Approaches to Greek Myth, Edited by Lowell Edmunds, 395-445. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1990.

Spivey, Nigel. "Greek Vases in Etruria." In Looking at Greek Vases, by Tom Rasmussen and Nigel Spivey, 131-150. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991.

Vogler 99

Vickers, Michael, and David Gill. Artful Crafts. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994.

Vogler 100

Vogler 101

Vogler 102

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 103

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 104

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 105

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 106

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 107

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 108

Vogler 109

Vogler 110

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 111

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 112

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 113

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 114

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 115

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 116

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 117

Appendix: Sphinx Vogler 118