Ideology from Artifacts

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We tend to think of ancient objects as either useful or beautiful—or both. A bit of text scratched on a clay tablet is used to communicate or record information; a finely filigreed golden earring is thought to be lovely; an elegant stairway, perhaps leading into the adyton (inner chamber) of a temple, may be functional and pleasing to behold.

But there is more to objects, ancient or modern, than utility or aesthetics. Things carry information about the world in which they were made; they are social messages given material form.¹ The Statue of Liberty, for example, says a lot about American (and French) beliefs and ideas concerning freedom, immigration and international relations, among other things.

Take two objects from the Late Bronze Age (c. 1700–1200 B.C.) city of Mycenae, on the Greek Peloponnesus. One is the Lion Gate, perhaps the Mycenaeans’ best-known monument. For more than 3,000 years visitors have admired the huge limestone relief—with its heraldic scene of counterpoised 10-foot-high lions—surmounting the entrance to the city’s citadel. The other object is an ivory carving of sphinxes, measuring only a few inches from the tips of the creatures’ paws to the tops of their plumed hats. This carving was excavated from a Late Bronze Age house outside the citadel in 1953.² Each of these objects carries ideological messages that reflect Mycenaean society. To understand these messages, we’ll first have to take a look at Mycenaean society.

The Mycenaeans were a Greek-speaking people who formed a number of independent kingdoms on the Greek mainland during the Late Bronze Age. These kingdoms were centered at such sites as Mycenae (from which the term “Mycenaean” derives), Pylos and Thebes. Life in the Mycenaean period was dominated in many ways by the chief governmental and economic institution—the palace administration. Scribes at Mycenaean palaces kept records on clay tablets using a syllabic script called Linear B, which was adapted from an even more ancient script called Linear A, which had been developed by the Minoans on Crete. (Most scholars believe that Linear A has not yet been deciphered). The first archive of Linear B tablets on the Greek mainland was discovered at Pylos in 1939 by University of Cincinnati archaeologist Carl Blegen;^a more tablets 050inscribed with the Linear B script were later found at Mycenae, Tiryns and other sites. Linear B was brilliantly deciphered in 1952 by the British architect and linguist Michael Ventris, who showed that the script was an early form of Greek.

For the most part, these records are inventories of agricultural commodities, landholdings and personnel. Some inscriptions, however, refer to actual people by name, position, profession and even ethnic identity—including palace officials and lesser officials from towns throughout the kingdom. The highest-ranking figure mentioned in the Linear B tablets is the wanax, or king.³

Even though the Mycenaeans were literate, some scholars still refer to them as prehistoric, since no historical accounts have been found among their preserved writings. Nor are there folk tales, poems, prayers or other texts that are explicitly narrative or ideological in content. Most of what we know about Mycenaean society, then, comes from the material evidence. We are thus forced to find the history hidden in public monuments and quotidian objects—to “read” those social and ideological messages attached to objects made or used by men or women.

With that in mind, let’s return to the two relief scenes from Mycenae. The Lion Gate is the main entrance to ancient Mycenae’s fortified citadel—one of the Mycenaean “frowning castles” described by early archaeologists.⁴ These imposing walls might well be described as ideological statements in stone, since they were intended to express royal power as well as to meet defensive needs. Built of roughly hewn boulders, they epitomize a building style known as Cyclopean masonry (the Greeks of the first millennium B.C. imagined that only the Cyclopes—the one-eyed giants of Greek mythology—could have moved such large stones).

The lion relief not only enhances the sense of power expressed by the walls but also extends the symbolism. Lions were almost universally identified with kings in the ancient Near East; they were probably also symbols of the Mycenaean kings. The two lions are separated by a column that supports an abbreviated entablature. This same column-and-entablature motif is found in the citadel itself, especially in the megaron, or throne room. So both the lions and the architectural elements in the relief connect it with the palace.

The lions’ forepaws and the base of the column itself rest on a pair of altars. These are a standard type of altar that the Mycenaeans borrowed from the cult practices of their Aegean predecessors, the Cretan Minoans. The relief as a whole, then, represents royal authority firmly built upon a religious foundation.

The diminutive sphinx plaque doesn’t 051have the same monumental character as the Lion Gate. Although the composition of the ivory scene is similar to that of the stone relief, the plaque seems far more religious in nature. These lions have an otherworldly character—their leonine bodies are fitted with large outspread wings and smiling human faces. Sphinxes are often depicted as companions of divine figures in Aegean art. This religious element is also suggested by the repetition of the Minoan cult symbol known as the Horns of Consecration across the bottom of the plaque.

The ivory from which the plaque was made was imported from the eastern Mediterranean. This elegant, ethereal piece must have seemed an extraordinary object to the Mycenaeans: fantastic creatures depicted in an exotic foreign material. Even so, it was not necessarily a cultic object. The plaque originally adorned a wooden chest or some other piece of furniture that no longer exists. Since it was found in a house belonging to a member of Mycenae’s elite, the plaque was probably one of the trappings of private wealth passed down through the generations. The prestige expressed in and conveyed by the delicate ivory was quieter than the great public statement made by the imposing Lion Gate. Nonetheless, the plaque, with its counterpoised sphinxes and cultic images, represented a connection to the central power of Mycenae— through the symbolism of the lions and the very opulence of the piece.

Of course, the social messages embedded in these objects were not just part of some elegant symbolism. They represented the sometimes harsh facts of political and social power and justified a social reality that included not only kings and nobles but paupers and slaves—both the haves and have-nots. To those who worked the fields and repaired the walls, the Lion Gate promised that they would be protected from their enemies by the king’s forces centered in the citadel. Thus it implied that king and laborer—and all in between—were part of a natural system of relations that worked to the benefit of all.

Similarly, the ivory sphinx implied that the opulent lifestyle of its owners was justified by their connection to the palace, which, sanctioned by the gods, supported all of society. This kind of silent discourse between the haves and have-nots, carried on through gestures and objects, helps justify and maintain forms of social and political inequality.

Evidence from Linear B archives and archaeological excavations of palatial workshops demonstrates that the central 052administration directly supervised the production and distribution of certain materials, such as ivory, and the creation of prestige symbols. Raw materials were collected locally (wool, hides, oil) and from abroad (bronze, gold, ivory) and distributed to artisans, who produced a range of products.⁵

The details of this economic system are directly relevant to ideology and the experience of social inequality. Each person’s connection with, or independence from, the centralized system helped create his or her sense of identity and position in the socioeconomic hierarchy. The redistribution of basic commodities by the central authority created a dependence on the center and also contributed to the formation of the social identities of the peoples of the realm. For example, by collecting wool from a town’s shepherds and distributing it to weavers, the palace administration encouraged these groups to define themselves according to the distribution of labor. Such transactions also confirmed notions of gender and age, since textile workers were predominantly women and children, whereas shepherds, bronze smiths and carpenters were all men.

The administration used prestige goods to reinforce its position. For example, a painting from Pylos depicts a seated bard playing an ivory lyre. His song may well have been an epic tale, with the kinds of heroic episodes found in later Greek myth and poetry. Such an account would surely transmit values and ideas through narrative (obey the good king, for instance, or respect the wise elder), and the finely carved ivory lyre, a symbol of wealth and power, would lend further import to the messages expressed.

To secure power across the kingdom, the palace authorities could distribute luxury items to local elites. Indeed, such items were effectively employed in the transmission of ideology to outlying regions. Several specific artifact types, in addition to serving as tokens of a palace connection, were used in the power-building activities of the Mycenaean elites. These objects not only reflected the wealth of the elite but enabled them to proclaim their elevated standing.

Mycenaean seal stones and signet rings, for example, operated on several ideological levels. Seals were carved from stone, including such semiprecious gemstones as agate, amethyst and lapis lazuli, or carved in metal rings, usually gold. A ring or a stone seal tied around the wrist was not 053simply an adornment; it was a marker of economic credentials. The imprints they made when pressed into clay indicated ownership and identity. Though sealing practices served administrative and economic purposes, they were not limited to palace use.⁶ Seals also made exchanges between private individuals and institutions more official, and they communicated the roles played by their owners in economic transactions.

The engraved image achieved further impact through a seal’s repeated use, as its impression traveled with shipments of olive oil, wine or ivory. The iconography found on Aegean seals covers a wide range of images, from abstract designs and heraldic animal compositions to complex scenes of human interaction. One seal showing a pair of lions—clearly an abbreviated version of the Lion Gate scene—was no doubt intended to capitalize on the symbolic power of this royal monument.

Violence is one of the most basic forms of power. Representations of battles in palace frescoes suggest that war played an important role in establishing the state’s authority. Of course, the very act of mustering and organizing an army is a show of power. Women are left at home, and men are assigned their rank and positions, from foot soldiers, armed with short swords and spears, to officers equipped with long swords and armor. Bronze smiths, scattered across the kingdom, probably produced items from recycled metal for a variety of customers. The palace administration oversaw the delivery of new supplies of bronze to these craftsmen and kept stores of military equipment.

Maintaining power—which means maintaining a system of inequality—need not depend on coercion alone. There are more subtle forms of power. The ownership of weapons, for example, represented a particular kind of status and was a marker of identity for the warrior elite. In daily life the threat of force probably had as much power as the actual use of violence. Ceremonial weapons, decorated with engraved designs and precious materials, were manufactured for these symbolic purposes rather than for use in war.

Vessels made of precious gold, silver or electrum (an alloy of gold and silver) were among the most prestigious objects in Mycenaean society. Such pieces are listed in detail in the inventories of palace storerooms and were important display items at royal and cultic feasts. Most of the archaeologically known examples, however, are from tombs. The fragile structure of some of these vessels suggests that they were intended for burial use only. Even the simple, thin-walled examples, however, 054would have made an impression on those witnessing the deposition of rich goods as part of a funeral rite. Cups, bowls and pitchers with more detailed decoration invited closer inspection.

Perhaps the most elaborate vessels preserved from Mycenaean Greece are a pair of gold cups with scenes in continuous relief found in a wealthy tomb at Vapheio.⁷ Each of these vessels shows an attempt to capture a wild bull: a struggling bull has been trapped in a net on one cup; a docile one has been attracted by a female decoy on the other. In these scenes, we find not only beautiful examples of craftsmanship but also a lesson about power The more direct attempt to snare a bull has met with resistance and is unsuccessful. The use of an appealing prize proves to be the more effective strategy.

This carrot-and-stick approach is the principle behind the palace’s use of prestige artifacts. Some are needed to support the activities and lifestyle of the palace, while others are distributed to appease the lesser elites, who are also potential rivals. The palace kept its place at the top, in part, by producing and circulating ideologically charged artifacts.

All members of society functioned within this informal system of production and distribution—those who harvested the olives, those who pressed out the oil, those who traded the oil for foreign gold, those who worked the gold into finely filigreed earrings, and those who wore the earrings, whether in the presence of their superiors or their subordinates. Thousands of years later, archaeologists find olive pits, oil presses and both raw and worked gold. These artifacts are tangible symbols of the relations that once held between the classes, the sexes and the old and young. They are not just objects, and they are far from mute.

We tend to think of ancient objects as either useful or beautiful—or both. A bit of text scratched on a clay tablet is used to communicate or record information; a finely filigreed golden earring is thought to be lovely; an elegant stairway, perhaps leading into the adyton (inner chamber) of a temple, may be functional and pleasing to behold. But there is more to objects, ancient or modern, than utility or aesthetics. Things carry information about the world in which they were made; they are social messages given material form.1 The Statue of Liberty, for example, says a lot […]