Recently discovered Greek papyri penned by an unknown poet give alternative versions of well-known Greek myths.
As we all know from grade school, the Greeks were prolific writers of myths. As M.I. Finley, in Early Greece: The Bronze and Archaic Ages, said, “There was a myth behind every rite and every cult-centre, behind new city-foundations, and for more or less everything in nature, the movement of the sun, the stars, rivers and springs, earthquakes and plagues.”
For the most part, Greeks loved and celebrated their tellers of myths as much as they loved the myths themselves. But the unknown writer of these versions seems to have remained uncelebrated because…well, he deserved to be.
For example:
The Oedipus Legend
Once you’ve heard the classic version of this story, it’s nearly impossible to forget. Oedipus, in an early fit of road rage (another chariot cut him off), unknowingly kills his father, whom he has never met, then marries his mother. Horrible, but in his defense, his parents had tried to kill him at birth by leaving him exposed to the elements before he was rescued and raised by a shepherd. (And today we think the families on Jerry Springer are dysfunctional.)
After a relentless investigation, Oedipus discovers the truth. Unable to bear what he has done, he puts out his own eyes and wanders blind ever after.
In the newly discovered version Oedipus, rather than blinding himself, goes into counseling with Aescapulus, the god of healing, until he understands that everything that has happened to him was because of his internal conflicts, that is, his Oedipus complex. Healed, he moves from Thebes to Athens and opens a chariot-making business.
The Fall of Troy
In the classic version of this myth, Paris the shepherd steals Helen from her Greek husband and runs off to Troy with her. The Greeks swear oaths to bring her back, thus beginning the ten-year long siege of Troy that is the subject of Homer’s Iliad.
As the English poet Christopher Marlow states, Helen is a beautiful, tragic figure: “The face that launched a thousand ships/ and burned the topless towers of Illium” (a.k.a. Troy).
In the version of our newly discovered poet, Paris, like the philanderer he is, takes up with a river nymph after a while and kick Helen out. Helen greets the Greeks shortly after they make landfall near Troy and the Greeks satisfy themselves by torching a few shepherd’s huts (again with the shepherds!) rather than Troy’s ancient skyscrapers.
Even the translator of our newly discovered poet has conceded that that ancient writer was too addicted to psychological realism to be much of a storyteller.
The Riddle For The Sphinx
Finally, our poet felt the need to relate a tale about the Sphinx found nowhere else in the myths. In the standard versions the Sphinx, a beast with a man’s head and lion’s body, always asked mystifying riddles. Failure to answer these riddles had serious consequences, and there were no make-up quizzes. Oedipus, before he learned about his troubled heritage, had saved Thebes (and himself) by successfully answering one of the Sphinx’s riddles.
In our poet’s version, a six-year-old girl stumbles upon the Sphinx while he is sleeping and wakes the beast up. (“Where were her parents?” our poet asks angrily.) The Sphinx gives her his usual spiel-- she must answer his riddle or face the consequences.
The little girl is happy and excited. She likes riddles. But before the beast can open his mouth, she squeals, “Me first!”
For the Sphinx, this is a new situation, and his curiosity is piqued. “Very well.”
“What’s black and white and red all over?”
“What?” The Sphinx has a bit of a growl in his voice.
The little girl asks again, twice.
A long silence, then finally, “I don’t know.”
That doesn’t really bother the little girl. She likes asking riddles; she doesn’t much care if anyone answers them. She continues.
“Why did the chicken cross the road?”
The Sphinx ponders this for many minutes as the sun paces slowly overhead. He reviews his deep and ancient knowledge of human and Sphinx philosophy, searches wisdom he has learned from the sea and considers the hot desert beneath his paws, the unfathomable sky above and the sinking sun. He scratches his head and growls so loudly that several miles away, shepherds drop their staffs and stare at each other in abject terror.
The little girl waits very patiently (for her), shuffling from foot to foot and humming a dithyramb. But soon she can take it no longer, and asks again.
But there is no answer, nor would there ever be -- the Sphinx has turned to stone.
