Love, jealousy, vengeance, and a multitude of other thrilling emotions give lasting intrigue to the tales of ancient Greek mythology. With such passionate feelings and magical allure, it is no wonder that many of these stories have become muses for some of the world’s most famous operas. The relatable themes, lessons, and emotions of these stories, though they have significant religious, cultural, and historical roots, make them timeless and malleable for artists across generations and across the world. Many productions of these operas feature contemporary costumes or settings that exist beyond a given place, adding to the mysteries and magic within their storytelling.   1. Ariadne auf Naxo, Richard Strauss Bacchus and Ariadne, by Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini, circa 1720s. Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art   Ariadne was born a princess on the island of Crete, where she helped the hero Theseus defeat her monstrous sibling, the infamous Minotaur, before their escape together. There are a variety of endings that conclude Ariadne’s story, but all lead to the island of Naxos, a territory owned by the god of wine and festivity: Dionysus.   Richard Strauss’s opera, Ariadne auf Naxos, set to Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s libretto, plays a unique spin on the classical myth and picks up Ariadne’s story in the scenario wherein Theseus intentionally abandons her on the island of Naxos before traveling on to Athens. Though she is resolved to die, Ariadne finds new hope and new love when Bacchus (the Roman name for Dionysus) promises himself to her and they rise to the heavens together.   Strauss conceived the final version of his opera by listening to critiques and ideas about the original version. When his work first premiered, it was performed following a play which he had composed music for in 1912, but this frustrated audiences who did not enjoy waiting for the opera to begin. A few years later, Strauss replaced the play with a prologue to the opera that sets the chaos into motion.   The plotline of the myth itself is wrapped in a wider story of a theatrical group actually putting on the opera of Ariadne Auf Naxos, but the production is complicated by a variety of factors and characters. The group is forced to put on the opera simultaneously with an Italian comedy. Despite strange obstacles and heartbreak, the opera ends on a hopeful note with new love and a heartfelt duet.   2. Dido and Aeneas, Henry Purcell Aeneas Departs from Carthage (Aeneid, Book IV), by Master of the Aeneas, circa 1530-35. Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art   Aeneas was a Trojan warrior and son of Aphrodite who managed to escape his fallen city after the Greeks masterfully took control. Aeneas brought a group of his former countrymen with him to seek out a place of refuge and, inevitably, adventure. Queen Dido of Carthage took pity when she welcomed the runaways into her home. Whether through natural circumstances or due to the gods’ intervention, Dido and Aeneas became lovers. Despite the joys of his new relationship, Aeneas considers the great destiny that lies ahead of him: founding Rome. During his departure, Aeneas breaks Queen Dido’s heart. In her devastation, Dido brings about her own death.   In Henry Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas, the pressing tensions and beautiful desires of the couple’s affair are musically amplified. Nahum Tate’s libretto for the famous work explores the dramatic emotional struggles that the characters face as Dido chooses love and Aeneas chooses political success, bringing victory to the scheming sorceress who had plotted Dido’s downfall and securing the future of a powerful Roman empire.   Dido and Aeneas had connected over past experiences of loss—the deaths of loved ones—and political power—hopes for establishing Carthage and Rome—but their separation seemingly predicted a future tragically void of love for the enthrallment of war. Rome and Carthage would later be engaged in what became known as the Punic Wars, also called the Carthaginian Wars, for nearly a century.   Venus giving arms to Aeneas, by Jean Cornu, circa 1704. Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art   Purcell’s opera premiered in the late 1600s, and though it is believed that its first performance took place at a boarding school, some researchers have speculated about possible connections with England’s royalty through its performance and thematic structure. In addition to the work’s musical and romantic ingenuity, the leading lady’s Dido’s Lament, the final aria of Purcell’s opera, has remained a particularly popular piece among sopranos for centuries.   3. Elektra, Richard Strauss The Tomb of Agamemnon, by Louis Jean Desprez, circa 1787. Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art   Electra’s hunger for revenge stemmed from a long bloodline of familial flaws and murderous acts. Her mother, Queen Clytemnestra, killed her father after his return from the seemingly endless battle at Troy.   According to Greek mythology, Queen Clytemnestra had designed to kill her husband as vengeance for sacrificing their daughter, Iphigenia, to the goddess Artemis in exchange for a fair wind that would help Agamemnon’s army sail to Troy for battle. Their younger daughter, Electra, never blames King Agamemnon for the sacrifice; thus, her mother’s act of murder does not bring her peace but rather a maddening desire for another round of bloodshed.   Elektra is another opera composed by Richard Strauss with a libretto by Hugo von Hofmannsthal. It premiered at Court Opera in Dresden in 1909 and began the lasting and fruitful collaborations between Strauss and von Hofmannsthal. Elektra is a unique character who frantically drives the climax of the story into action but does not actually commit the act of murder herself, leaving an odd mixture of emotions stirring within her. It is Elektra’s brother, Orestes (“Orest” in the opera) who sinfully yet vengefully kills his own mother. In her strange sense of victory that has been interpreted as a tragic kind of madness, Elektra engages in a dance while she urges everyone around her to remain in silence. She then collapses to her own death.   The modern and at times dissonant style of the music makes Elektra a truly powerful work and one of the most famous operas inspired by Greek mythology.   4. Medea, Luigi Cherubini Medea, by William Wetmore Story, carved 1868. Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art   Similar to Ariadne, Medea was born a princess in Colchis but assisted the hero Jason, who comes to her homeland to take the famed golden fleece that has been in her family’s protection. Medea runs away with Jason, and her skills as a sorceress continue to help Jason succeed as a hero and as a leader. The two have children together, but Jason later decides that he must marry the princess of Colchis to achieve an even higher and more politically secure status.   Luigi Cherubini’s opera, with François-Benoît Hoffman’s libretto, begins with Jason’s betrayal of Medea. Enraged by the upcoming nuptials, Medea drenches a dress in poison and gifts it to Jason’s unknowing bride-to-be. The bride’s father tries to help his daughter remove the cursed dress, but they both perish. Medea’s vengeful acts do not end there: she takes her children and strikes up a massive flame that consumes them as a final punishment for Jason.   Cherubini’s opera has a long and complex compositional history. The work was originally an opera comique sung in French. It was called Medée and premiered in 1797 at the Théâtre Feydeau. Several years of edits and translations finalized the work as an Italian opera called Medea, a compilation featuring Cherubini’s composition combined with the efforts of Franz Lachner and several translators. This finalized version was made especially famous thanks to the renowned performances of the leading role by Greek-American soprano, Maria Callas.   Medea is a challenging role for sopranos, requiring both expert vocal technique and a powerful stage presence. Nevertheless, those who can manage it have succeeded in capturing the awe of audiences across the world, who appreciate the tragic tale and passionate music.   5. Orfeo ed Euridice, Gluck Orpheu, by Cristoforo Stati (Cristofano da Bracciano), circa 1600-01. Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art   Orpheus’s story begins and ends with his great love for Eurydice, who is taken from him by a fatal snake bite. Because of his profound talents in poetry and music, the depths of Orpheus’s sorrows are heard by people everywhere as well as by the gods. Willing to take any chance at having Eurydice back at his side, Orpheus accepts the challenge of venturing into the Underworld and retrieving her, despite the fact that mortals are not typically allowed to return to Earth from the Underworld. He is promised that his journey will be successful, so long as he does not look back at Eurydice as she follows him out. Nearing the exit, Orpheus gives in to the emotions that overwhelm him and glances behind him, thus condemning Eurydice back to the Underworld.   Christoph Willibald Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice features a libretto by Italian poet Ranieri de’ Calzabigi that gives the famous lovers a happy ending: distraught by his failure, Orfeo, as he is called in the Italian opera, decides that he must die as well so that he can eternally be united with Euridice. To his surprise, the goddess of love appears and brings Euridice back to life. The opera concludes with a celebration of love and its unmatched power.   Gluck’s opera premiered at the Court Theatre (Burgtheater) in Vienna in 1762. The work sought to be revolutionary and artistically inspiring for new generations of artists, and it is often performed with compelling dance choreography that melds with the poetry and musicality of the productions. The role of Orfeo is one of opera’s most popular pants roles, leading many mezzo-sopranos as well as contraltos to fame and success across the world’s stages, which regularly position Gluck’s opera in their seasonal lineups.

  When something is 100% certain, we often say that it’s “as sure as the sun rises in the east.” That’s because the sun is the most dependable thing in all of human history. Except perhaps in Japanese mythology. Personified by the goddess Amaterasu (lit. “Heaven Shining”), one of the most important deities in the Shinto pantheon, the Japanese sun has been known to be a little fickle from time to time. Or perhaps she was just reacting properly to challenging circumstances. Here is her story.   The Sun Rises Late Amaterasu emerging from a cave by Utagawa Kunisada, 1856. Source: Wikimedia Commons   It took a while for Japan to see its first sunrise. According to Kojiki (An Account of Ancient Matters), the oldest text in Japanese history, when the heavens and earth first formed, three generations of gods appeared and then “concealed themselves.” The fourth generation, however, stuck around. A sun deity still was not among them, but the group did contain the siblings Izanami and Izanagi. They created the first Japanese island when Izanagi plunged his spear into the primordial waters below the heavens and a drop fell from his weapon when he pulled it out, creating the isle of Onogoro (Yasumaro, 2014, pp. 7-8).   Descending onto the island, the siblings got married and proceeded to create the rest of Japan via intercourse and childbirth. Islands, trees, mountains and all natural features were all born from Izanami. Unfortunately, one of Izanami’s children was a god of fire who fatally burned her when coming into the world. Stricken with grief, Izanagi ventured into the Underworld to retrieve his wife. Just like in Orpheus and Eurydice, something went wrong, and Izanagi ended up angering the undead Izanami who used hell-hags to chase him out. After his misadventure in the land of the dead (considered impure in Shinto), Izanagi decided he needed a cleansing bath (Yasumaro, 2014, The Kojiki, pp. 13-16).   The God Izanagi Purifies Himself by Bathing in the River, Natori Shunsen, 1916. Source: “Nihon no Kami-sama: Kojiki Ehanashi” via Wikimedia Commons     Washing himself in a river, he created a total of 14 gods, chief among them Amaterasu, who was born when Izanagi washed his left eye. Cleaning out his right eye gave us Tsukiyomi, the deity of the moon, while blowing his nose birthed Susanoo, the fearsome god of winds and storms.   A Murder Estranges the Sun and the Moon Shinto Moon God Tsukuyomi-No-Mikoto, Unknown, pre-19th century. Source: Shoto Museum of Art in Tokyo via Wikimedia Commons   All grown up, Amaterasu ruled the heavenly plains while keeping an eye on the goings-on below. Hearing rumors of Ukemochi who took on the role of the goddess of food, Amaterasu sent Tsukiyomi (also known as Tsukuyomi) down to Earth to wait on her. According to the Nihongi chronicle of myths, legends, and genealogies, Ukemochi prepared for the visit by arranging a wonderful feast using her mouth. Facing the sea, she parted her lips and brought all manner of fish into the world. Facing the land, she created boiled rice. Facing the mountains, land animals came to life from her mouth. All were then arranged into delicious dishes that filled up more than 100 tables. Unfortunately, Tsukiyomi was not pleased with the goddess’ offering.   “Filthy! Nasty!” he yelled, accusing Ukemochi of feeding him vomit. “That thou shouldst dare to feed me with things disgorged from thy mouth.” Then Tsukiyomi pulled out a sword and killed Ukemochi. Amaterasu never forgave Tsukiyomi for that, proclaiming: “Thou art a wicked Deity. I must not see thee face to face” (Aston, 2008, p. 32). Ever since then, the sun and the moon became separate, always keeping their distance from each other. As for Ukemochi, her dead body sprouted food meant for humans like wheat, rice, millet, and beans (Aston, 2008, p. 33). Even in death, the gracious deity continued to provide.   The God of Wind Angers the Sun Actor Portraying Susanoo in a Kagura Play, 2012. Source: Wikimedia Commons   After having seemingly proven his non-antagonistic intentions, Susanoo was welcomed by Amaterasu to the heavenly plains. However, his wild nature (befitting a deity whose name has been translated by Gustav Heldt as “Rushing Raging Man”) eventually got the better of him. While under the influence of drink, Susanoo ruined Amaterasu’s rice paddies, burying the ditches around them, and then defecated in the great hall where his sister held her harvest festival.   Many would probably consider the toilet prank to be the worst of all, but the agricultural destruction might have been more deadly. Many centuries later, after the death of Emperor Chuai, the imperial court made a list of the greatest sins possible to identify which evils they had to eliminate in order to purify the land. Destroying rice paddies and ditches was near the top of that list, sharing the designation of a great sin with transgressions like incest, flaying alive, or bestiality (Yasumaro, O., 2014, The Kojiki, 113).   Amaterasu tried to downplay Susanoo’s behavior, blaming it on the wine. “As for his ruining the paddy ridges and burying their ditches, my mighty brother must have done this because he thought good land was going to waste,” she proclaimed (Yasumaro, 2014, p. 22). That only seemed to embolden Susanoo. Later, while Amaterasu was overseeing the work in her sacred weaving hall, Susanoo lobbed a flayed horse inside, scaring one of the weaver maidens into accidentally pricking herself with a needle, which ended up killing her. This time, Amaterasu had enough.   The Day the Sun Disappeared Origin of the Cave Door Dance, Wada Yujiro, 1889. Source: Museum of Applied Arts, Vienna   Angry at her brother, Amaterasu secluded herself in the Heavenly Rock Cave, blocking the entrance to it with a boulder that no other god could move. Because she was the personification of the sun, this threw the world into eternal night, drawing out hordes of demons. All the other gods got together to find a solution. One of them, the goddess Ame-no-Uzume, had an idea. Her unorthodox plan was to do a frenzied, comedic dance on an overturned barrel, exposing her breasts and eliciting great laughter from her heavenly audience.   Eventually, intrigued by the noises outside, Amaterasu moved the boulder to her cave to have a peek when one of the more powerful gods pulled her out. Everyone then implored her to stay and bring light back to the world. Amaterasu agreed (Yasumaro, 2014, The Kojiki, pp. 23-24). Susanoo, on the other hand, was banished to Earth where he reformed his image by slaying Yamata no Orochi, a dreaded eight-headed serpent who kept devouring young maidens. After that, Susanoo became a respected and feared god and even obtained a legendary sword out of the ordeal. Ame-no-Uzume’s dance, on the other hand, became the mythical origin of kagura theater, possibly the oldest form of performing art in Japanese history.   The Sun Sets Her Eyes on Earth Ame-no-wakahiko Shooting an Arrow, 2020. Illustration by CycoMa. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Amaterasu eventually decided that the lands below the heavens should be under the control of the heavenly gods. Her actual words, according to the Kojiki, were: “The realm of plentiful reed plains, of a thousand and five hundred long autumns of fresh rice ears, will be a realm ruled by our heir” (Yasumaro, 2014, p. 41). The sun goddess sent the young Ame-no-Wakahiko ahead as a scout but he ended up liking Earth so much, he decided to ignore his mission and stay there. Amaterasu sent a messenger bird to check up on him so Ame-no-Wakahiko shot it with an arrow that kept going and eventually reached the heavens themselves.   Finding the blood-covered arrow, the gods sensed that something was amiss, so they sent the arrow back, which immediately hit and killed Wakahiko. During Ame-no-Wakahiko’s funeral, the god Ajisukitakahikone showed up looking exactly like the deceased. Being mobbed by mourners who thought that Wakahiko came back to life, Ajisukitakahikone was so insulted by being compared to a corpse that he pulled out his sword, called the Great Leaf Reaper, and destroyed the mourning hut, kicking it away whereupon it became a mountain known as Mount Mourning (Yasumaro, 2014, p. 44). This is why it is considered impolite to point out physical similarities between living and deceased people in Japanese society.   Statue of Ninigi-no-Mikoto at Kunimigaoka Viewpoint, Takachiho, Miyazaki, Japan, 2013. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Amaterasu eventually got her conquest under control, preparing the physical realm for the arrival of heavenly gods, and ultimately sending her grandson Ninigi down to Earth. Today, he is considered the ancestor of all Japanese emperors who for millennia claimed direct descent from him and, more importantly, his grandmother: the moon-shunning, flayed horse-fleeing, eternal darkness-bringing goddess of the sun. Modern Japanese emperors no longer consider themselves divine, but the link between the imperial household and Amaterasu remains strong, with some considering the sun goddess a representation of Japan itself.   Sources   Translated by Aston, W. G. (2008). Nihongi Volume I – Chronicles of Japan from the Earliest Times to A.D. 697. Cosimo Inc. (Original translation published 1896).   Yasumaro, O., translated by Heldt, G. (2014). The Kojiki, An Account of Ancient Matters. Columbia University Press.

June 27, 2025 — Today's Conservative Cartoon

Before they invented heavy metal, Black Sabbath were a blue band called Earth…

Scroll through any Christian athlete’s social media and you’ll likely see #AO1. Whether playing in front of 5 or 50,000, Christian athletes have been encouraged for decades to play for an “Audience of One.” The phrase began with Athletes in Action. A recent article quotes them when it explains the phrase is intended “to help Christian players remember that everywhere in life—even in a stadium full of people—‘we live and move and have our being in Him,’ so ‘it’s His pleasure we should pursue above all else.’” Learning to play sports for God’s glory, for an “Audience of One,” was revolutionary for me in my young faith. I was 17 years old when, at a summer camp, the Christians in Sport leaders helped me connect my love of sports with my faith. I’d never before considered what my discipleship could look like on the field or in the locker room. Ever since, I’ve used the phrase like a mantra to center my athletic training and performance on God. But there’s a problem: This practice is only helpful if we understand who the One we train and compete before is. Is God a Fickle Fan? Fans are odd creatures—fiercely loyal and incredibly fickle at the same time. Players feel and fear this volatile love. Manchester United star Eric Cantona once said, “I’m so proud the fans still sing my name, but I fear tomorrow they will stop.” Learning to play sports for God’s glory, for an ‘Audience of One,’ was revolutionary for me in my young faith. Fans are also distant. They sit in the stands behind the barriers. They think they know the players, but they only see the athletes’ performance once a week on the field. Do we think of God the same way? If we do, we’ll live as though a good performance once per week in church is what counts, even if the rest of our lives are half-hearted and compromised. Is God a Hard-to-Please Coach? From a young age, athletes are asked to perform to impress authority figures. Coaches decide your fate as you progress from high school to college and even in professional sports. Every metric is measured, every performance judged. It’s easy to think of God merely as another authority figure who rates our performance and rewards or cuts us accordingly. Ashley Null, an academic and a sports chaplain who has discipled elite athletes over six Olympic Games, points out a danger Christian athletes face when they think of God this way: “[Audience of One] is so helpful in getting athletes to stop thinking about using sport to earn the approval of parents, coaches, fans, countries and even of themselves. However, it still suggests that athletes are doing something for God instead of with him.” If God is merely a coach, you have no security. Your worth is in what you’ve won. World-record-holding 400-meter hurdler Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone narrated a story common for athletes: “If I won, that was my worth, my value.” Is God a Demanding Dad? Pressured by his dad, Andre Agassi achieved tennis greatness, but he never found happiness in tennis—and, sadly, he never felt love from his father. “I’m seven years old, talking to myself. [It would feel great] to never play tennis again,” Agassi writes. “But I can’t. . . . My father [would] chase me around the house with my racket. . . . Nothing sends my father into a rage like hitting a ball into the net. . . . He foams at the mouth.” What would the 7-year-old, or even 17-year-old, Agassi have understood if he’d heard a Christian tell him “God is your Father”? Surely he’d have imagined a looming, frowning, cosmic presence: Run faster. Work harder. You’ve let me down. What are you doing! God Is Your Loving Father A 2012 interview with Olympic swimmer Chad le Clos’s father went viral when he yelled delightedly into the camera about his “beautiful” boy. His words came after Le Clos won a gold medal, but they should remind us of the words heard from heaven at Jesus’s baptism: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:17). Christian athlete, because you’re in Christ, you’re beloved, win or lose. If God is merely a coach, you have no security. Your worth is in what you’ve won. God isn’t a fickle fan, distant and brittle in his love. God isn’t a hard-to-please coach, cutting us if we don’t perform. God isn’t a demanding dad, frowning at our inadequacies and shouting at us to try harder. No, our Audience of One is our loving Father. The good news of the gospel is that the Father loved us enough to send his Son to die for our sins. Jesus didn’t stay up there “in the stands” but came down to dwell among us, and now he comes to live within us by his Spirit. This makes every part of life, including sports, a means by which we can encounter God, worship God, and please him. The triune God needs nothing from us. He didn’t create us because he was deficient but out of an overflow of his love. He saved us not because of our performance but because of his grace. He walks with us not to berate us but to guide and strengthen us. Christian athletes may know all this, but we only find freedom as we learn to live these truths in the locker room, on the field, and after the game. As long as we think of God as fickle, hard-to-please, and demanding, sports will hinder our ability to build a solid Christian identity. We’ll always be striving, and we’ll always be insecure. Our successes will go to our heads, and our failures will crush our hearts. Thankfully, our identity as God’s children is received, not achieved. This is wonderfully good news for everyone, but for the athlete living in a performative sporting world, it’s essential.

In this keynote message from TGC’s 2009 National Conference, John Piper unpacks 2 Timothy 1:1–12 with a powerful call to “fan into flame” the gift of God, urging believers to live with courage, love, and self-control. He highlights the role of grace and the Word in strengthening us to speak and suffer for the gospel without fear or shame. Drawing from Paul’s example and Timothy’s sincere faith, Piper encourages pastors to feed the flame of God’s calling through deep dependence on God’s power and purpose.

Death is not something people want to talk about every day. Sure, they will discuss a celebrity’s unfortunate demise to death (no pun intended). But when it comes to their own mortality, they shy away. This fear of the unknown, basically what the fear of death is, expresses itself in various forms. Most people do […] The post 10 Death Superstitions That Will Give You the Creeps appeared first on Listverse.

The founders of the Microbiota Vault, a project that aims to preserve microbial diversity, have announced that they are ready to grow their frozen microbe collection to 10,000 samples by 2029.