(If the relationship between myth and dogma and dominant
paradigms interests you, also check out my paper "Moral of the Story." ) (right
sidebar).
We need to claim our myths, but our institutions (read: holders of power) are not going to
facilitate this grand awakening and expansion of consciousness. We are, by
understanding that we make myths and think metaphorically, and by looking for
our myths, waking up to our assumptions.
The Greek myth of Niobe is a simple albeit puzzling story
that is repeated by various Greek chroniclers: Apollodorus, Pausanias,
Herodotus, Homer, and Hesiod. They don’t all provide the exact same details. The
names of the children and their number, for example, varies from source
to source. Apollodorus said there were fourteen kids. Homer, who included his
version of the story in the Iliad, refers to twelve children, six boys and six
girls. Hesiod reported twenty, ten of each sex, and Herodotus counted only
four. The identity of the survivors is also unclear. Apollodorus refers to the
surviving son as Amphion, Pausanias mentions Amyclas who, quick to pray to Leto
for forgiveness and mercy, was spared. Apollodorus names the eldest daughter,
Chloris, who also made successful, last minute prayers to Leto, as a survivor.
Pausanias says that the surviving daughter's given name was Meliboia, but she was later known as
Chloris because she stayed pale with fear and grief over the murder of her
siblings. In Homer’s version of the myth, there are no survivors.
Why the inconsistencies? They’re probably the result of the
oral story moving to different regions at different times, but it’s reasonable
to say, don’t you think, that the exact number of Niobe’s children doesn’t
matter all that much?
Something more significant accurs when Ovid rewrites Niobe’s story for his
collection of tales, The Metamorphoses (Roman, 8 CE). Ovid's version of the story
is the longest and most colorful, and the one that is most often told. In the
Sixth Book, Ovid tells the tale of a foolishly proud Niobe, who recklessly
invites the destruction of her family and even persists in taunting the goddess
after her sons are massacred. In the ancient Greek versions, identifying the good guys and the bad guys is tough, but Ovid
squarely places Niobe in the tradition of inflated, arrogant mortals who are brought low by the gods.
The earlier Greek sources provide no details regarding how and when Niobe issued her fateful challenge. The queen's words could have been a casual slip, a private comment made to her husband or even herself. Ovid however, describes Niobe’s appearance at Laton’s (Leto’s) annual festival, and the manner in which she disrupts the proceedings with claims that she, with her many children, is more worthy of veneration. Niobe gets on Leto’s home turf so to speak, and outlines her own noble parentage, her physical beauty and grace, and the riches of the kingdom under the command of her husband, concluding her list of goddess-like qualifications with mention of her seven sons and seven daughters, and the many children that they, in their turn, will produce…
This is arrogant if not downright stupid, but Ovid’s Niobe then goes one step further and challenges the goddess.
She believes so firmly that her abundant children are her creation, her
accomplishment, her deserved reward, that she dares Latona (Leto) to try to
reduce her position be taking them all. “I could lode a couple of them," she says, "and still have plenty." Niobe’s disrespect shocks and frightens her community. The gentle goddess Leto cannot
tolerate this affront or allow Niobe’s challenge to go unanswered. She calls
on Apollo and Artemis and they are quick to jump to her defense. Ovid says
that Apollo doesn’t even wait to hear all of the details of the story, “long
complaint is nothing but delay”(6. 273) and he vividly describes the bloody
hunt on Mount Citharion and the death of each son; the chase, the cries they
utter, and where Apollo’s arrows struck.
When word of the massacre reaches
Niobe, she is full of indignation as well as grief, and defiantly calls
out to Leto again; “As wretched as my case doth seeme, yet have I left me mo
Than thou for all thy happiness canst of thine owne account. Even after all
these corses yet I still doe thee surmount” (6. 358-360). In other words, I
still have six daughters and you’re still the mother of only two.
Is this the same story? Which version do you prefer...?
A collaboration between the Joseph Campbell Foundation, OPUS Archives, and Pacifica Graduate Institute. Join the conversation, create the vision, deepen the study of myth.



