Who's Scared of Medusa?

We all know about Medusa, do we not? Looking her up in The Oxford Classical Dictionary reveals that, according to the “canonical” version, she is the third and only mortal of the Gorgon sisters and that she was beheaded by Perseus. What exactly Bremmer means by “canonical version” is unclear, especially considering that there are at least six different literary transmissions of the myth including: Hesiod’ Theogony, Pindar’s Pythian Odes, Apollodorus’ Library, Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Diodorus Siculus’ Bibliotheca Historica, and Pausanias’ Description of Greece; not to mention the immense amounts of artistic representations. The most famous version of the myth today is probably the one reported by Ovid. According to him, Medusa was once a maiden with particularly beautiful hair who was raped by Poseidon in the temple of Athena. The goddess, disgusted by the immodest act, punished Medusa by transforming her into a monstrous being with snake hair. This version of the myth is often seen as emblematic of patriarchal systems that have shaped our society since ancient times, as the story of Medusa is one of the oldest recountings of victim blaming (along with plenty of other ancient Greek myths). The myth itself obviously derives from deeply patriarchal societies in which a woman’s position varied from having the same value as cattle to, if she was lucky, at least being able to exercise her own will within the confines of the household. This is obviously an extreme generalization of the condition of women in ancient Greco-Roman societies, which include numerous and diverse cultures with slightly different attitudes towards women. The limited length of this essay does not offer the possibility to analyse the patriarchal structures specific to one ancient Mediterranean society. However, a key concept for understanding how and whether the myth of Medusa actually reflects and reinforces systems of patriarchal violence is that of ‘epistemologies of ignorance’. According to this concept, women in antiquity were not only victims of patriarchal structures, but also involuntary perpetrators. As their complete knowledge about every aspect of life was not only controlled but also provided by men, they themselves perpetuated this violence by passing on this “patriarchal” knowledge to other women around them. This concept can also be applied to Ovid’s version of the myth of Medusa, as listeners do not just learn about a story of sexual violence, but also that it is part of their existence and that it is the victim’s task to try to avoid it, lest she be punished. Is the story of Medusa really an emblem of patriarchal violence, though? In this essay I am going to argue that the myth can in fact be seen as quite the opposite, i.e, a remnant of ancient matriarchal societies that were later replaced by patriarchal ones. I will prove this point in three sections: (1) the origins of Medusa and her original function; (2) the progressive changes in the myth and artistic representation throughout antiquity; (3) Medusa as a historical figure; (4) feminist contemporary receptions. Illustrations can be found at the end of the essay. 

(1) Medusa was not always a helpless girl in Athena’s temple. In fact, she was not even always a woman; or Greek, for that matter. An immense number of Gorgon representations can be found in Greece from as early as the 6th century BCE onwards. These were primarily antefixes on temples and had an apotropaic function, i.e., protecting the site with their fearsome appearance (Fig. 1). What is striking about these early representations, is that they depict Medusa from the front, rather than the typically Greek profile perspective. This detail suggests an older, different origin. In fact, the depiction is very similar to ones of the Babilonian demon-monster Humbaba (Fig. 2). Both are represented with wide faces and large eyes, nose and mouth. Furthermore, Humbaba, though a male being, had a very similar function to the gorgoneions on the temples, i.e., they were both protectors of a site. ‘The guardian of the cedars [of the god Enlil] is Humbaba’ and his only weapon for protecting these is his appearance, for this ‘Enlil has made him the terror of men’. Like the demon-monster in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the only power Medusa originally had was her ugliness: one would not turn away from her to avoid petrification, but rather because of her horrifying appearance. This more ancient version of the Gorgon was far away from the beautiful maiden of Ovid’s myth: she was ugly and powerful in being so. 

Another aspect Humbaba and Medusa have in common is their decapitation; in the case of the first at the hands of Gilgamesh himself and the latter by Perseus. This event is recounted in all versions of the myth, though, as will become evident further on, in slightly different ways. Hesiod, author of the oldest available literary source (8-7th century BCE), tells that ‘When Perseus indeed cut off the head, both the great Chrysaor and the horse Pegasus sprang forth.’ We are familiar with a similar motif through, for example, the birth of Athena from Zeus’ head; only in this case it is a woman birthing children without the involvement of a man. This detail is significant as some scholars believe Medusa to be connected to a more ancient Mother Earth entity similar to Gaia who creates Uranus without male assistance. Though in later versions of the myth Pegasus and Chrysaor are children of Poseidon, there is no mention of a father in Hesiod’s Theogony. The god of the seas is referred to in a single line, with whom Medusa has a consensual relationship. What therefore becomes clear is that while the myth of Medusa might develop into a story of patriarchal violence at some point in history, it had quite different, in fact almost opposite origins: the Gorgon was once a terrifying divine mother and protector; some scholars suggest, even the giver of life and death. 

(2) Whatever trace of an older matriarchal origin is gone by the 5th century BCE. At this point a complete perversion of the myth and representation of Medusa takes place: the Gorgon, whose power laid in her horrifying appearance, becomes beautiful. This change occurs both in literature and in art. In his version of the myth in the Pythian Odes Pindar describes her as ‘beautiful-cheeked [...] Medusa’ and the ‘sneaky head’ appears explicitly for the first time. This development of the myth from then on inspires artistic representations as well, for example, as depicted in what we nowadays call the Medusa Rondanini (Fig. 3). However, Medusa’s newly acquired beauty also becomes her curse, creating a clear connection between her objectification and suppression. By the 1st century CE Ovid tells us of her rape at the hands of Neptune due to her beauty and of Minerva’s consequently inflicted punishment. Later Apollodorus also names her beauty as the main reason for her beheading, as she dared compare herself with Athena. The myth acquires a new moralising function: it simultaneously shifts the responsibility for a woman’s physical appearance and also “consequences” (sexual violation) of this onto herself. Moral judgement of the rape is, on the other hand, painfully absent. The word itself that Ovid uses to describe the sexual violation, vitiare (4.798), can also mean “to make faulty” or “to damage”, therefore also semantically highlighting Medusa’s faults, rather than Neptune’s. Hence, an adaptation of the Gorgon from a fearsome goddess into a beautiful, objectified, raped and then punished woman occurs from the 5th century BCE onwards. This “new Medusa” is a perfect fit for ultra patriarchal ancient Greco-Roman societies that assert and dominate the Mediterranean from the 6th century BCE onwards.

(3) The Gorgon is not even given the chance to offer resistance against her murderer. In many versions of the myth Medusa is decapitated by Perseus in her sleep. This detail is also included in a historical take on the figure by Pausanias who, in describing the burial mound of Medusa in Argos, declares that he will omit the mythological tale in favour of historical facts. According to him, the Gorgon was the queen of the Lybians who led them into battle against Perseus, only to be then decapitated at night in her encampment by the latter.  This account is most likely based on Diodorus Siculus’ earlier version in which Medusa appears as the leader of the Gorgons, a female warrior population similar to the Amazons. Here Perseus merely fights against them and Medusa thus avoids decapitation for once. What is interesting about these two “historical” approaches—the first from the 2nd century CE and the second from the 1st century BCE—is that we can again find an echo of the more ancient origins of the Gorgon. She might be stripped of all divinity and any special power, but there remains at least the sense that she is connected to an older matriarchal society that is then subdued by a patriarchal one, represented by Perseus. 

The beheading of Medusa without struggle and, very significantly, guided by the hand of an Olympian goddess, acquires a new significance here because, before Ovid’s version of the myth, men are utterly irrelevant in Medusa’s existence if not in her death. As Khalifa-Gueta says, picking up on Cixous’ “Le Rire de la Mèduse”, ‘Medusa must die!’ because she represents a type of womanhood that cannot exist within a patriarchal society: i.e. a mother that bears children without male assistance and a non-objectifiable woman whose ugliness is her power. On the other hand, Athena, one of the new Olympian goddesses is everything the Gorgon is not: she is—in a literal sense—“men-made”, as she is born directly from her father, Zeus, who devoured her mother, Metis. As a ‘perpetual virgin’ she herself will never be a mother and, though being a female goddess, she much resembles male gods. She is beautiful, like all Olympian goddesses and therefore fights with weapons; differently to Medusa who relied on her very appearance to defend herself or the site she protected. In this new divine Olympian order, Athena represents an insurmountable limit of power a woman can achieve: that of resembling men as closely as possible, which also means losing roles typically associated with the female sphere, such as that of a mother. Medusa, who with her unarmed strength and at the same time creator of life by herself surpasses these limits, loses the right to exist. Athena, in a way, replaces her and therefore wears her head on her breastplate after she guides Perseus’s hand in the beheading of the Gorgon and a symbolic beheading of any remains of more ancient matriarchal societies. 

(4) The figure of Medusa is still undergoing developments today and is now routinely named ‘a feminist icon’. Multiple recent retellings, such as Medusa by Jessie Burton, Stone Blind by Natalie Haynes, and The Shadow of Perseus by Claire Heywood focus on giving her the voice that Ovid had denied her. Some survivors of sexual assault get tattoos depicting Medusa as ‘a symbol of survival, strength, and overcoming’ and in 2020, during the Harvey Weinstein trial, Garbati’s statue “Medusa With The Head of Perseus” (Fig. 4) was installed opposite of the court in Manhattan. It is unfortunate, however, that all these new feminist representations are based specifically on Ovid’s version of the myth, and that therefore Medusa, in order to be a symbol of female strength and rebellion, must first have suffered sexual violence. The interpretations of the myth mentioned above all have in common that the Gorgon’s strength lies precisely in overcoming the trauma she has suffered and using her anger to exact revenge, in a sense assuming that rape is inevitable and that the only way to reclaim female agency is to overcome it. One must ask whether this interpretation of the myth truly represents a break with the patriarchal structures present in Ovid’s recounting, since Medusa is used as an example of how to overcome sexual violence rather than posing the question of how to prevent it in the first place. Furthermore, it presupposes that to be strong, a woman must be able to overcome the assault she has suffered. Even in Garbati’s sculpture, which supposedly depicts the ultimate reversal of the myth in which the murdered becomes the murder, Medusa still appears not as a fearsome goddess one should rightfully dread and whose appearance is enough to scare evil (in 2020 Weinstein) away, but as a beautiful, naked woman, who, rather like Athena, uses a weapon to defend herself. It is a pity that the only version of the Gorgon that has reached us from antiquity is one already stripped of all significance and power she originally had. The fact that it is precisely the version of Medusa created and adapted to fit into patriarchal societies that is used today as a feminist icon is at best an irony of history or at worst a new attempt by the patriarchy to control any subversion. Perhaps Cixous set the foundations for a different approach towards Medusa in 1975 when she suggested that the Gorgon’s monstrosity is really just a projection of male fears and anxieties and that if one really beheld her for what she is, they would see her beauty. This interpretation best incorporates the duality and power of the original Medusa, as one should rightfully fear her if they mean harm, yet her watchful gaze is also what assures protection against evil. The original Gorgon is not a victim in search of revenge, but a fierce guardian that assures that no harm befalls what is under her custody. If men are unable to see how beautiful this power makes her, let them be scared away. Let Medusa be a monster to them and a loving mother to those who seek her protection.

In conclusion, it becomes obvious that perhaps we do not know about Medusa all that well; regardless of how popular she continues to be. The conception of her as a monstrous being of Greek mythology that was once a beautiful maiden before being defiled by Poseidon, not only barely scratches the surface of her origin, but also comes from and reinforces patriarchal systems that make the Gorgon into a weak, easily controllable woman. Investigating her origins, on the other hand, offers quite a different perspective. The Medusa we discover in first literary and artistic representations is a guardian goddess that can single handedly give both life through creation and death through her horrifying appearance. As the myth develops throughout antiquity, the ugliness is exchanged for beauty, which allows for an objectification of Medusa as nothing but a beautiful woman and finally reaches its full perversion in Ovid’s version of the story in which she becomes a punished rape victim. While remnants of a more ancient, more powerful Medusa can still be found in “historical” interpretations of the myth by Diodorus Siculus and later Pausanias, who both tell of the Gorgon as the leader of a matriarchal society, Ovid’s version remains the most well-known one up to today. The beheading of Medusa therefore also takes on the meaning of a symbolic suppression of more ancient non-patriarchal societies. Perhaps unconsciously, this suppression is still perpetuated through myth today, despite numerous feminist reinterpretations. The problem lies precisely in the choice of what is considered “the story of Medusa”, namely the one based on Ovid’s version, in which the Gorgon has already lost all agency and has been reduced to an object with a female body to be used to reinforce patriarchal structures through moralisation. The “rape issue” is resolved by adding an “epilogue” to the story, specifying that Medusa will later overcome the violence she suffered, rather than ensuring that the sexual assault does not happen in the first place. A problem is not solved by changing the outcome at the end, but by changing its factors. If the only Medusa whose story we continue to listen to is the one created by the patriarchy for the patriarchy, we are merely replicating the systems that have suppressed anyone but men for millennia. An alternative version of the Gorgon exists; one just needs to look, as Cixous says, beyond what was constructed to control the anxieties and fears of toxic masculinity. Looking back a little further, we discover a powerful guardian who needs no weapons or a petrifying gaze to keep those who seek her protection safe, and whom only those who would invade this protected space have reason to fear. Choosing to recount this version of the myth instead would be a better approach because Medusa certainly is a feminist icon, but it is certainly not the petrified, defenceless maiden. Poseidon would have run, had he been met with the more ancient version of the Gorgon and perhaps, as Cixous suggested, she would have laughed. 

Illustrations

Fig. 1: 6th century BCE antefix from West Greece.

Fig. 2: 2004-1595 BCE relief of Humbaba from Eshnunna.

Fig. 3: Medusa Rondanini (Roman marble copy of a Greek original from the Classical era).

Fig. 4: “Medusa With The Head Of Perseus” by Luciano Garbati.