Chapter 4 continues the theme of the European Mythology of the Indies (II), exploring the intellectual framework employed by Europeans (specifically Spanish, French, and British) to situate native peoples within a European worldview, taking the narrative from the sixteenth century, through the seventeenth century, and into the early eighteenth century. The chapter considers the use of the terms “civilization” and “barbarism” to characterize indigenous peoples, traditions of millennial thought and prophecy among the Franciscan friars, theories of demonology and witchcraft as applied to native inhabitants, and the myth of the so-called pre-Hispanic evangelization of the Americas and the identification of the Christian St. Thomas with the Mesoamerican god Quetzalcoatl, the myth of indigenous peoples as descendants of the Lost Tribes of Israel, and finally the myth of the noble savage.

Chapter 6 completes the theme of the European Mythology of the Indies (III) and analyzes the impact of Enlightenment thought (French and British) on interpretations of Native Americans and Pacific Islanders. The chapter explores myths of primitivism and progress, showing how appeals to scientific authority grew at the expense of reference to biblical texts. It then examines the impact of the scientific voyages of Bougainville and Cook. On the one hand, the manner and customs of some of the South Seas peoples evoked the same kind of comparisons with classical antiquity as had been made in the Americas, especially the Golden Age of Antiquity, and appeared to offer confirmation of the myth of humankind in its infancy. So it was not just the Polynesians who interpreted the first Europeans in terms of their own myths; the same was true vice versa. On the other hand, the “enlightened” scientific expedition produced new data on non-European peoples which laid the foundations for rethinking theories of development of humankind, whether through progress or degeneration. Increasingly towards the end of the eighteenth century, notions of race became more salient in how non-European peoples were understood.

A great deal of figurative decoration on Greek painted pottery relates to mythology. But what made particular painters choose to paint particular scenes at particular times? This chapter assembles the evidence for what was painted on Athenian painted pottery from the seventh to the fourth century, showing how different scenes peaked in popularity at different periods, and how although some scenes were perennial favourites, others attracted interest only briefly. The chapter then explores the implications of the patterns both for changing degrees of engagement with one particular set of texts, the Homeric epics, and for the way in which changing values affected the myths, and the literary instantiations of those myths, that were in vogue at any one time. While the questions of what it is to be human, how men relate to women, and how to behave at a party are of lasting interest to users of pottery, engaging with issues of divine power is popular in the sixth century, with issues of sexual relations and extreme situations arising from war popular around 500, and issues about decision-making as popular in the fifth century.

The twin principles Help Friends and Harm Enemies are fundamental to the structure of Oedipus at Colonus. At the outset Oedipus reveals Apollo’s prophecy which he wishes to fulfil, and whose fulfilment will constitute the action of the play. He is to find rest at Athens, ‘bringing profit by dwelling here to those who welcomed me, but doom to those who sent me away, driving me out’). The dual theme is restated more explicitly when he tells the chorus that if they help him they will gain ‘a great saviour for this city, and troubles for my enemies’. For the first 700 lines of the play, until Creon arrives, Oedipus’ two-edged hopes and emerging power to implement them are constantly stressed. He shows his benign aspect to the Athenians, to whom he promises soteria and benefits if they help him. The arrival of Ismene shows his love for his daughters, and through her message his power over Thebes is revealed. It gradually emerges how he intends to use that power, and the scene culminates in a curse on his sons and a prayer that he may indeed have the control over their fate which the oracle has promised him. Later, in his long speech to Theseus, it is made clear that the same event will simultaneously bring help to his friends and harm to his foes, and Theseus’ response shows a full understanding of this.

This chapter focuses on the reception of Old Norse-Icelandic literature. It begins with a discussion of the definition of the term ‘reception’ and moves on to describe the beginnings of medievalism in Europe and its roots in social and political change. The relationship between nationalism and a ‘Nordic’ or ‘Germanic’ racial identity is explored, and the role of Old Norse myth in politics, ideology and propaganda is analysed. Following a survey of early modern and eighteenth-century European responses to Old Norse literature, including the work of Paul-Henri Mallet, and nineteenth-century translations of Old Norse literature and the work of Jacob Grimm, the discussion moves on to German nationalism and Old Norse, culminating in the National Socialist appropriation of Old Norse mythology and motifs. The use of medieval Icelandic literature to reconstruct a supposed pre-Christian Germanic religion is outlined, and the anti-Christian and anti-Jewish attitudes of so-called völkisch thought explained. The subsequent rise of Neopaganism throughout the world is the subject of the rest of the chapter, with special attention to the racist ideology evident in various Neopagan groups.

The mythology of Scandinavia as the inspiration for a significant amount of Old Norse poetry, from pre-Christian times and on into the Christian period, is the subject of this chapter. It begins with a critical analysis of the main mythological poems in the first twenty leaves of the Codex Regius: Þrymskviða, Hymiskviða, Lokasenna, Skírnismál, Alvíssmál, Vafþrúðnismál, Hárbárðsljóð, Grímnismál, Völundarkviða and Hávamál, before moving on to consider Völuspá, the poem which opens the collection. The discussion then considers the ways in which mythological thinking also informs some of the poems in the so-called ‘heroic’ section, the Helgi poems, the Sigurðr poems, and poems such as Helreið Brynhildar. Eddic poems from outside the Codex Regius, such as Hyndluljóð, Baldrs draumar and Grottasöngr, are also discussed. Particular attention is paid to metre, poetic language and kennings, and mythological references in skaldic poetry are also described.

This chapter focuses on Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda, providing a thorough introduction to this important text. It argues that few books have been as foundational to several fields of study as Snorri’s treatise has been for the investigation and appreciation of Norse myth, poetry and religion. The opening section of the chapter discusses the work’s title, structure and authorship, and describes the most significant manuscripts and modern translations of the text. It emphasizes the heterogenous character of the Edda, suggesting that the work’s variegated and intertextual nature has given rise to sharply divergent critical impressions of the text and competing theories about its origins and function. The most notable of these different perspectives are summarized, with a comparison of contrasting views on how the Edda came together and what its purpose may have been. Each section of the text is then considered in turn, discussing in detail its content, sources, form and purpose, and the relationship of each section to the compilation as a whole.

This chapter considers the impact of Greek on Latin Literature. Unlike the expectations of modern post-colonial theory, the imperial Romans were captured by Greek culture. Latin literature’s relation to Greek becomes a key moment in the cultural self-definition of Rome. This cultural history is explored first through Cato the Elder as a figure who publicly was scornful of the impact of Greek culture on Rome, and who became thus for later Romans an icon of conservative opposition to cultural change. The chapter then considers how much Latin Greek writers might be presumed to know and, conversely, how Romans explicitly paraded their adaption and adaption of Greek material and Greek language in their writings. Third, the chapter considers the politics of code-switching between Greek and Latin. Fourth, the chapter looks at how this cultural conflict becomes a matter of Christian ideology as part of a politics of translation between Hebrew, Greek and Latin: what changes when God’s word is transformed between languages? Finally, the chapter asks what is known by Latin literature that Greek does not know (and vice versa)? What boundaries should we place between Greek and Latin literature?

This chapter explores hybridity by exploring the figure of the Minotaur in the context of a number of similar ancient creatures, such as the centaurs and satyrs, and of the god of shepherds, flocks, and the wild: Pan. It illustrates that the peculiar hybridity of the Minotaur and the ancient story explaining his genesis raise questions about the scope and limits of human intervention into the realm of nature. It shows that, rather than exploring the limits of the human in positive ways, the figure of the Minotaur manifests the monstrous consequences of human transgression.

The African buffalo has interacted with human societies for millennia across its vast African range. It is part of the bestiary of the few African imaginaries and mythologies that have managed to reach us. These representations of the species in African cultures seem to have percolated more recently into the imaginaries of European cultures, especially from the angle of hunting and photographic safaris. The buffalo is also at the centre of services and disservices to different actors, providing uses but also generating conflicts in African landscapes, the species being central in so-called Human–Wildlife Conflicts. For animal health services, the buffalo represents in some instances a public enemy, influencing meat trade policies, land uses and boundaries in many parts of the continent. The African buffalo is therefore an emblem of the coexistence between humans and nature in Africa.

With its large distributional range across Europe, the Middle East, and Asia, and an ability to co-exist as a commensal with many human habitations, not surprisingly, the Little Owl has figured prominently in many cultural beliefs, and in a variety of ways. The common names given to this species across the countries are linked to its activity, to its voice, to its morphology, to its food, to beliefs, to its habitat, and to mythology. In Greek mythology, Athena was the daughter of Zeus and originally a Mycenaean palace goddess, guardian of cities, war goddess, patroness of arts and crafts, and promoter of wisdom. A particularly interesting example of the cultural use of Little Owls comes from Crespina, Italy, which was a center for the rearing of owls in captivity to be used for hunting small passerines. They were sold at the Little Owl market while tied up on a roost. The nobility (upper-class people) commonly hunted in the countryside using the Little Owls as bait. The history and traditions of the Little Owl are truly long, rich and varied, and grow with additional recoveries of artefacts from archaeological sites, as well as evolving cultural views. In closing this chapter, we urge reviewers of owl myths, traditions and lore to closely scrutinize the information they assemble, to determine whether the ideas and symbolism described in text and artefacts still apply in contemporary societies, or whether they are part of the colorful but quaint past.

The millennial novels of Roger McDonald, Kim Scott and Alex Miller negotiate a tension between mythology and philosophy in attempting to progressively address the pernicious neocolonial mythology of the Australian tradition. All three writers have a history of work experience in rural and regional areas outside of their literary careers: one is Australian born of British heritage, another Australian born with Indigenous heritage, the other an English born migrant. Each of them has established a significant oeuvre over the last quarter century, and each has figured consistently in national and State awards. They are writers with a substantial public reputation, who have attracted the attention of the key institutions involved in curating Australian literature, and on occasion they have exceeded those spaces in becoming a topic of conversation within a broader public sphere interested in the character of a nation and the condition of its social contracts. Each of them is also deeply involved in consideration of the Australian tradition and the mythology that has expressed its identity and purpose. In this chapter the point of interest in grouping these specific texts by these specific male writers is to enquire into the extent to which they invoke, rework and displace the neocolonial mythology of the Australian tradition with familiar narratives that nevertheless predispose a wider public to a more open and inclusive accommodation of difference.

This chapter explores the wider contexts of how Salman Rushdie deploys myths and mythologies and critiques them in his novels. Rushdie’s work has in many ways been influenced by the secular mythology that emerges in Nehru’s seminal book, The Discovery of India. This mythology links Rushdie to ideas of ‘unity in diversity’ and a distinctively Indian form of secularism that produces equal respect for the range of religious communities that inhabit this geopolitical entity. That said, Rushdie engages with a wide range of myths and mythologies, drawn from Islamic traditions, especially Sufism, but also Buddhism, Hinduism, Greek mythology, and Christianity. Rushdie also considers new myths and mythologies, especially in his engagement with popular culture, rock music, and the cult of celebrity, as well as the emergence of consumer culture and capitalism.

One can ascribe a double origin to surrealism in 1924, André Breton’s First Manifesto of Surrealism and Louis Aragon’s A Wave of Dreams. If one can see these texts as a double manifesto recapitulating previous experiments and launching a programme, they also plant the seeds for a later divergence. I locate the roots of the breakup between Aragon and Breton less in their politics than in opposed conceptions about the role of the novel and its power to explore the unconscious. Such a divergence is founded upon different interpretations of Freud’s concept of the unconscious. The two founders of surrealism could not agree about the place of a collective unconscious in a surrealist mythology, which can be verified by comparing Anicet and The Paris Peasant on the one hand, and Nadja on the other. I conclude by returning to Walter Benjamin’s critical assessment of surrealism. Halfway between Breton and Aragon, Benjamin identified some pitfalls in a surrealist mythology of the unconscious but intuited what could be gained from a writing capable of exploring reality and surreality together.