Story of the Phoenix： Mythical Creature of Rebirth in Egyptian & Greek Mythology History & Origins

Trying out something new today. You may hear some dogs in the background. Only two of them are mine. Ancient writers, poets, and historians alike all tell of a bird unlike any other. Magnificent in size, vibrant in color, and shining like the sun. But the most dramatic aspect of this bird, the phoenix, is not its size or color, but its death in flames and rebirth from the ashes. Many birds in mythology around the world have been called phoenix, but we will focus on the rising and dying firebird. The mythical creature has risen to become one of the world's most enduring images, and a symbol of change for societies and for ourselves. My name is Sean. Welcome to Mythos & Logos. While there are earlier mentions Herodotus, the ancient Greek often called the father of history, is the first to tell of the phoenix in detail. Though Herodotus never saw the bird himself, in his travels in Egypt he recorded some local legends. In Heliopolis, the city central to Egyptian sun worship since the most ancient times, Herodotus learns of the sacred bird. It is a great rarity even in Egypt, only coming there once in 500 years, when the old phoenix dies. He comes all the way from Arabia, and brings the parent bird, all plastered over in myrrh, to the temple of the sun, and there buries the body. Now, it should be noted that Herodotus didn't literally believe in the story of the phoenix, but rather recorded the local legend as he heard it. But, on the other hand, more modern studies of Egyptian archaeology have confirmed the worship of a very particular bird deity in Heliopolis at the temple of the sun. The Benu bird, whose name roughly means to rise radiantly, is a creator deity associated with the sun. And while little is known about the Benu, much has been speculated. Its imagery has often been found in funerary contexts, and just as the setting sun rises again, it is possible that the Benu might signify a belief in rebirth. Though, because Greece and Egypt had so much contact, it's difficult to say if the Benu bird is indeed the original version of the phoenix, or if Greek and Egyptian stories influenced each other in turn. Either way, it is likely that the story told to Herodotus has something to do with the Benu bird. But regardless, the stories of the phoenix would not be contained within Egypt for long. From its earliest appearances in the written word, it has been clear that the phoenix operates on a scale much grander than the individual human life. In a surviving fragment of an ancient Greek text, the Precepts of Chiron, attributed to Hesiod, Chiron, the centaur who teaches Achilles, describes the phoenix and its lifetime outliving over 900 generations of humans. By Roman times, the lifespans are said to be much shorter. Still, around 500 years, we're dealing with the time span more applicable to civilizations than individuals. Ovid, in his masterpiece Metamorphoses, poetically links the phoenix to cultural rise and fall. Only a few lines after describing the phoenix rising from the ashes of its previous incarnation, he tells, Times are upset, we see, and nations rise. To strength and greatness, others fail and fall. Troy once was great in wealth and men, and gave for ten long years her lifeblood, humbled now. She only shows her ancient ruins for her riches, only the broken tombs of ancestors. Yet after telling of Troy's fall, Ovid recounts its rebirth through Aeneas, whose flight from Troy led to the establishment of Rome. And much like the phoenix carrying its parent to the Temple of the Sun, Aeneas carries his father on his back through his escape from Troy to found the Roman nation. From ancient times through modernity, leaders have invoked the phoenix as a symbol of authority and renewal. Queen Elizabeth I of England sat for a portrait in a gown embroidered with the image of the phoenix, and Shakespeare's Henry VIII refers to the virgin queen as a maiden phoenix, creating an heir to the throne out of her own ashes. Coming closer to our times still, having achieved independence from the Ottoman Empire, Greece chose an image of the phoenix as its official seal for the First Hellenic Republic. And even today, the phoenix appears as a symbol of cultural and social renewal. Here in the town of Rowlett, Texas, this phoenix sculpture was erected after a devastating tornado passed through, signifying the hope for rebirth of the city. The phoenix imagery is not limited only to political renewal and authority, but cultural renewal as well. Ezekiel the Tragedian, in the earliest known Jewish play, The Exodus, describes Moses encountering the phoenix in the desert during the defining event of Jewish culture. And Coptic Christian texts add to the phoenix's appearances. Abel's sacrifice in Genesis is taken up in flames by God, and God births the phoenix from the ashes. And in addition to the appearance in Genesis and the appearance before Moses, the Coptic text has one final appearance of the phoenix at the birth of Christ, when the resurrection hinted at for Abel is fulfilled. Throughout each of these texts, the phoenix appears at times that are transformational to the human story. But the symbolism of the reborn firebird has implications on a far more personal level to the human soul. Poetry provides some of the most beautiful depictions of the phoenix and its journey, allegorical to the journey of the human soul. A poem attributed to the Roman writer Lactantius paints a vivid picture of a land on the shore of the Eastern Sea where the sun's sacred grove is an eternal bloom. There's no rain. Instead, the fountain of life flows throughout. And atop the highest palm tree in this grove, the radiant phoenix greets the rising sun with its incomparable song each day. But time flows on even in the sacred grove of the sun. And after a thousand years pass, even the phoenix grows weary. So the phoenix sets out on its journey into the world to prepare for its rebirth. The only way forward into new life is for the phoenix to die. She perishes that she may live, that she may be born she desires previously to die. She is an offspring to herself, her own father and her own nurse, and always a foster child to herself. She is herself indeed, but not the same, since she is herself and not herself, having gained eternal life by the blessing of death. Even for a creature with the heavenly beauty of the phoenix, the same truth applies as for us. The old self must be cast aside to be reborn. Yet the phoenix does not simply discard the old self. It gathers incense and herbs, cinnamon, cardamom, and myrrh to prepare its pyre, both a nest and a tomb. When the rays of the sacred sun set the nest ablaze, the phoenix, both new and the same, is reborn from the ashes. The reborn phoenix has only one step left in its renewal, the event that first brought it fame, carrying the ashes of its past self and placing them on high at the Temple of the Sun. Lactantius, the author of the poem, served Emperor Constantine, who famously legalized Christian worship in Rome. The poet himself was a pagan convert to Christianity. While later medieval writers reworked the poem with more explicitly Christian themes, it is unclear whether Lactantius wrote the original before or after his conversion. On the one hand, it explicitly mentions the Roman gods. On the other hand, the phoenix dying to gain eternal life. Hints at the writer's conversion. In either case, the variety of cultures and faiths inspired by the phoenix attests to its universality. No matter who we are, we change constantly throughout our lives. This can be as simple as getting a haircut, or dropping an old hobby to take up a new one. Or it can be as dramatic as kicking an addiction or rebuilding oneself through therapy. In any case, there are always three distinct participants in a change. The old self, the new self, and the one who is present throughout it all. Just like each day brings a new rising and setting of the same sun. The phoenix has likely had such a lasting cultural impact because its death in flames and its rebirth from the ashes is so dramatic. But what strikes me most about the phoenix is what it does once it has been reborn. The old self is not thrown away, but carried. And it is carried not as a burden, but as an offering. And if we ourselves seek to rise from the ashes, we would do well to imitate the phoenix and honor who we have been alongside who we are becoming. Offering up our past selves can help us to understand and meet ourselves with compassion, or make all the difference in supporting a struggling friend. And in integrating who we have been and who we seek to become, we can better know the self that is present throughout it all. Just like we can better know the sun through the rising on each new day. Hello! Quick message from Sean and Juni while editing. Just wanted to first of all give big thanks to Sean and Tiffany, our newest patron members. Also, I mentioned a while back I wanted to start bringing things a little more into the real world. I created a series of journals. We have Spirit of Inspiration, Self-Knowledge, and Memory. Juni says they smell great, and they have this beautiful dotted clear paper so they can be used for art, note-taking, journaling. Also, if you enjoyed the Phoenix episode, this desk mat that I have been using. And patrons at the highest tier get one of those for free, by the way. Just having you here is a huge help already. I thank you for your support. It means the world. Don't feel like you need to do anything more, but if you're looking for one of those, I try to make something that adds a little bit more beauty into the world. In any case, I hope you have a wonderful day. So does Juni. And thank you very much for being here. Bye.