The Myth of the Minotaur: Monster or Victim?

Theseus: A Hero, or a Villain?

Natalie Haynes, a brilliant comedian turned classical historian and podcaster, describes Theseus as a serial killer. Venerable philosopher and historian Plutarch tells us that this audacious and impulsive demi-god is mostly known for murder, rape, and child abduction. Hero material? Well, he had some rollicking adventures and helped sow the first seeds of democracy in Athens, but you wouldn’t want him to date your daughter.

Subverting Stories

Often given to us as a story about sacrifice, love, and heroic action, a modern reading of the story of Theseus and the Minotaur might reveal a wife cruelly punished for the crimes of her husband. It might reveal a disabled child, born from a transgressive relationship who is locked away in isolation and then murdered. Is it time for the “hero vs monster” relationship to be subverted?

A Solitary Creature

Back in 1947, the novelist Jorge Luis Borges wrote one of his shortest stories titled House of Asterion. Told from the perspective of the Minotaur, our sad protagonist wanders his empty rooms, wondering about his lonely existence.

The story was inspired by the painting shown above by George Frederick Watts. A solitary creature stares longingly out to sea, gripping a crushed bird in his hand. This Minotaur is like Lennie from John Steinbeck’s novel Of Mice And Men—unnaturally big and strong, but with limited capacity to understand his own mind or his own power.

Poseidon’s White Bull

The classical Greek story begins with the greed of King Minos, who asks the god Poseidon to gift him a beautiful white bull from the waves. He believes this will prove to his people that he has divine approval to rule. Minos promises that he will sacrifice the bull to Poseidon. But the disrespectful King reneges on the deal. Minos keeps the wondrous white bull and sacrifices another animal in its place. The god Poseidon is furious. But he turns his wrath onto the wife of Minos, Pasiphae. Poseidon makes Pasiphae fall passionately in love with the white bull. She becomes pregnant, birthing Asterion, half-man, half-bull.

Horrified, King Minos locks the child away in a winding and complex maze built by the king’s craftsman, Daedalus, and his son, Icarus. The huge maze housing the beast is known as the Labyrinth. In a further display of horror, he decides that Athens must send a group of young men and women to Knossos in tribute every seven years, to be eaten by the Minotaur.

Yes, you read that right—a half-man, half-bull child is imprisoned in isolation, goes slightly mad trying to escape an impossible maze, and is fed other young people at the behest of the King.

Sacrifices to the Minotaur

Pasiphae loved and cared for her boy Asterion, but as he grew, it was impossible to find a food source for a half-beast creature, and so it is said that he lived on human flesh. Bulls are herbivores, but okay, perhaps this is another curse from the swaggering god Poseidon or an extra layer of suffering imposed by King Minos.

Theseus, in a rare moment of compassion, believes feeding children to a half-bull creature is unacceptable. He decides he will put a stop to it, and takes himself off to Knossos as one of the “sacrifices” being sent into the labyrinth, plotting to kill Asterion—the Minotaur.

Ariadne

Asterion the Minotaur has several half-brothers and sisters, one of whom is Ariadne. This young woman (understandably) wants to flee her dreadful father Minos. She betrays her brother, giving Theseus a ball of thread to help him navigate the labyrinth. With Ariadne’s help, Theseus finds the pitiful creature and kills him. Legend has it that poor Asterion does not even resist death.

Theseus escapes with Ariadne but abandons her later on so he can marry her sister Phaedra. Ariadne goes on to marry Dionysus (yes, the god!) who makes her immortal and raises her to Olympus, so at least she had a jolly ending.

Villains and Victims

We might say that Theseus was a product of his time. Bronze Age Athens was at the extreme end of cultural misogyny, where women were completely under male domination. Gods and mortal heroes of Greek stories could murder, rape, and conquer with impunity. The personality cult of the strong, violent man is firmly entrenched in so many mythical stories of this time. Victims here are abundant—the mother Pasiphae, the child Asterion, the daughter Ariadne. And the aggressors are equally obvious—Poseidon, the god who treats mortals like playthings; King Minos, the cruel and arrogant ruler; and Theseus—the brutal killer.

Pablo Picasso

The father of uber-masculinity, Pablo Picasso, produced a series of Minotaur works. The bullfight is, of course, a key image of violent masculine energy, even in modern Spain. In his works, the bull sometimes looks tormented and some say Picasso turned to the Minotaur figure when he was facing a crisis in his marriage. But over one hundred paintings, sculptures, engravings, ceramics and tapestries certainly prove this was an ongoing obsession.

Did Picasso, proud of his monstrous sexual appetites, identify with the Minotaur as an example of virility, unquenchable desire, and domination?

Artists and Minotaurs

Salvador Dali, another artist bursting with arrogance and testosterone, also found the Minotaur to his liking. Pre-Raphaelite Edward Burne-Jones (below) showed both Theseus and the Minotaur as slightly more timid and secretive creatures. And Surrealist Leonora Carrington gave us the mysterious daughter of the Minotaur. Ancient pottery, whether in use everyday or for display has many examples of Minotaur imagery.

Monsters

Monsters bring chaos. They represent our darkest impulses and our deepest fears. The very word means a warning of something strange or hideous.

In fairy tales and folklore, stories about monsters remind communities to be alert to danger. We crave these archetypal stories, they feed our primal brain. But we must also remember that many of our myths and legends were written, translated, and circulated by powerful men, who celebrated power and dominance above all else.

Reinterpretation

What if, instead of fearing some of our ancient monsters, we looked again? Maybe some of them would turn out to be heroes? Certainly, many look more like victims, alienated by their community and society. We can, and must, reclaim and reimagine myths and legends. Remember that there is no “one true version” of a story.

Interpretations can be updated. Patriarchal norms can be questioned and challenged. Within the myths and legends of old, are forgotten voices and alternative narratives that need to be heard and celebrated.

Morally Dubious

Are the classic stories morally dubious and outdated? Then let us re-examine, deconstruct, and reconstruct them. Let the toxic masculinity supporters bleat ‘woke’ as much as they want! Look at works by Margaret Attwood, Jennifer Saint, Natalie Haynes, Pat Barker, and Madeline Miller for feminist re-interpretations of classics.

Think carefully about who needs to be subdued—is it the rejected and misunderstood Minotaur who hid away in a maze? Or is it the murdering rapist Theseus? We can all be monstrous; we can all be heroic.

Who Is Your Hero?

Stories of gods and monsters help to explain our world and impose order on the chaos. These stories must say something about the cultures around us, about our fears but also our aspirations. We need complex (and even flawed) characters who reflect our myriad current crises, but we crave the familiar timeless storytelling techniques of our ancestors. Beware of easy answers and violent solutions—pick your heroes wisely!