The Great Sphinx of Giza is one of the most iconic monuments of the ancient world. With the body of a lion and the head of a man, it has gazed across Egypt’s desert sands for thousands of years. But while millions have marveled at its majesty, one question continues to puzzle experts and enthusiasts alike: Who built it?
Carved from a single block of limestone, the Great Sphinx stretches an astonishing 240 feet or so in length and towers 66 feet high. Its massive form faces east, greeting the rising sun each day — a position that may have symbolized the connection between the king and the sun god in ancient Egypt.
Though today the Sphinx appears weathered and colorless, traces of red paint on the face, yellow on the headdress, and blue on the beard hint at its once-vibrant appearance. Over the centuries, the desert sands buried the Sphinx almost to its neck, helping to protect it from erosion, though modern threats such as pollution and smog now pose new challenges.
By some estimates, the statue’s construction would have taken 100 workers, using stone hammers and copper chisels, about three years to complete. That’s a remarkable feat of engineering and labor, given the tools available more than4,000 years ago. But who commissioned this ancient marvel? There are a few theories.
Most archaeologists believe the Sphinx was built around 4,500 years ago during Egypt’s Old Kingdom, under the reign of King Khafre (also called Chephren). Khafre ruled from about 2558 to 2532 BCE and is credited with building the second of the three pyramids at Giza.
Why do many experts suspect the Sphinx was commissioned by Khafre? For starters, the monument is part of a complex that includes Khafre’s pyramid and temples. And a life-size statue of Khafre, carved from volcanic rock and found in an adjacent temple, bears some resemblance to the face of the Sphinx. A stone ceremonial pathway within the complex also suggests a connection, as it links the temple next to the Sphinx to a mortuary temple next to Khafre’s pyramid.
Additionally, an inscription known as the Dream Stela, placed between the Sphinx’s paws by Pharaoh Thutmose IV more than a thousand years after Khafre’s time,asks the people of Egypt to worship the “resting place or sanctuary of … Khaef,” a name that has been interpreted as Khafre.While not conclusive proof, this has strengthened the Khafre theory in the eyes of many scholars.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Credit: DEA / ICAS94/ De Agostini via Getty Images
Could Khufu Have Been the Builder?
Yet not everyone agrees that Khafre was the mastermind behind the Sphinx. Some researchers argue that it was actually Khafre’s father, King Khufu — the builder of the Great Pyramid of Giza — who commissioned the statue.
This theory draws on geological and archaeological clues. The Sphinx was carved from a limestone outcrop that may have been quarried during Khufu’s construction projects.Also,some archaeologists suggest that Khafre’s causeway and temples appear to be designed around the already-existing Sphinx, indicating the statue predated his reign.
Stylistic comparisons fuel the Khufu hypothesis as well. The broad, square features of the Sphinx’s face don’t match well with Khafre’s statues. Instead, some experts see a closer resemblance to known images of Khufu.
Credit: DEA / ICAS94/ De Agostini via Getty Images
Alternative Theories
Other candidates have been proposed, though with less evidence. Khafre’s brother Djedefre and son Menkaure have both been suggested as possible builders. Djedefre in particular is thought to have commissioned smaller sphinxes at his own pyramid complex.
An even more radical theory proposes that the Sphinx is much older than the Old Kingdom — perhaps dating back to 7000 BCE — based on interpretations of erosion patterns. However, this idea is largely dismissed by mainstream Egyptologists.
Some have also argued that certain features of the Sphinx’s headdress resemble those seen during the reign of Amenemhat II, about six centuries after Khafre. Yet this view remains on the fringes of academic debate.
Interestingly, the name “Sphinx” comes not from ancient Egypt, but from the ancient Greeks, who visited the site more than 2,000 years after the statue was built. They likely named it for its resemblance to their mythical sphinx — a creature with a woman’s head, a lion’s body, and an eagle’s wings.
The ancient Egyptians, by contrast, may have called the statue Horemakhet, meaning “Horus of the horizon,” linking it to the sky god Horus and reinforcing its role as a symbol of divine kingship and protection.
While the debate over who built the Sphinx continues, the monument’s grandeur and significance are undisputed. Whether the work of Khafre, Khufu, or another long-ago ruler, the Sphinx remains a powerful symbol of ancient Egypt’s ingenuity, artistry, and fascination with the afterlife. We can only hope it will endure for another 4,000 years.
For the ancient Greeks, Romans, and folks in other cultures, dreams were far more than idle nighttime fancies. They were powerful, often sacred experiences that shaped lives, politics, religious practices, and art.
While ancient people likely dreamed about many of the same themes we do today — love, fear, death, power, the divine — their dreams were widely seen as significant messages, often believed to come directly from gods or supernatural forces. Ancient dreamers sought meaning in their visions, often finding answers to illness, moral dilemmas, or matters of state, and they acted on their dreams with great seriousness. Here’s a look at what people in ancient times likely dreamed about, and what they believed those visions meant.
Credit: Culture Club/ Hulton Archive via Getty Images
Divine Messengers and Prophecy
One of the most common types of dreams in antiquity featured divine or semidivine figures delivering a message — what later Roman thinkers such as the scholar Macrobius classified as “oracles,” and later scholars have called “epiphany dreams.” These dreams usually involved a god, ancestor, or venerable figure announcing future events or prescribing actions to take.
A prominent example is Penelope’s dream in Homer’s Odyssey, where she sees an eagle slay her flock of geese. The eagle speaks, revealing himself as Odysseus and foretelling his return and vengeance. In another example, from ancient Sumer, King Eanatum I dreamed that Ning̃irsu — the Sumerian god of thunderstorms and floods — told him he would triumph in a war. And in Egypt during the 15th century BCE, a deity told Prince Thutmose IV that he would become pharaoh if only he freed the Sphinx from the sand engulfing its body.
In some early Christian writing, dreams offered opportunities for moral instruction, although it can be hard to distinguish between sleeping dreams and what we’d now be more likely to call visions. But it wasn’t unusual for dreams to influence early religion: Ptolemy I Soter, one of Alexander the Great’s generals, had a dream of a giant statue that led him to found the cult of Serapis.
For many ancient people, especially those in the Greco-Roman world, dreams were not only forecasts but also instructions for therapy. The prominent Greek physician Galen reported that he had performed surgery based on instructions received in a dream. (In fact, Galen owed his entire career to a dream his father had.)
In Roman times, the orator Aelius Aristides kept extensive dream journals detailing his interactions with the god Asclepius, the god of healing. In his first such dream, the deity directed him to walk barefoot in cold weather. Aristides also wrote of being instructed to plunge into a freezing river in winter. Despite the bitter cold, he followed the divine command and emerged feeling renewed, with a “certain inexplicable contentment” that lasted through the day and night.
The temple of Asclepius in Pergamum, where Aristides spent years undergoing dream-based treatments, was a center of “incubation” — a practice in which patients slept in the temple in hopes of receiving a healing dream, or simply being healed by the god while they slept. Aristides believed his ailments were not only healed through these dreams, but that the dreams themselves revealed a deeper layer of his identity.
Not all dreams in the ancient world were seen as straightforward. Some were symbolic puzzles requiring interpretation. The second-century dream theorist Artemidorus, in his book Oneirocritica (or The Interpretation of Dreams), distinguished between direct (“theorematic”) and allegorical dreams. The former might show you exactly what was coming (for instance, dreaming of a shipwreck and waking up to discover it coming true), but the latter cloaked meaning in metaphor.
In symbolic dreams, one thing signified another — an eagle could mean a king; a journey, an impending change; a flood, internal unrest. Interestingly, interpretation relied not on fixed meanings but on context, such as who the dreamer was as well as their emotional state, social status, health, and personal concerns.
Dreams also fed ancient literature and drama. The playwright Aristarchus of Tegea reportedly wrote a tragedy at the command of the god Asclepius, who appeared in a dream after the playwright’s recovery from illness.
Homer’s famous epics are also infused with dream logic and imagery. In the Iliad Book 2, Zeus sends a deceitful dream to Agamemnon in the form of a person urging him to attack Troy. It’s an example of dreams as political tools used by gods to shape human affairs.
Of course, not everyone in the ancient world took dreams so seriously. In the fourth century CE, the philosopher Diogenes the Cynic had this to say about people who got worked up about dreams: “They did not regard what they do while they are awake, but make a great fuss about what they fancy they see while they are asleep.”
Yet as with most things, Diogenes was an outlier. For many in the ancient world, dreams were seen as legitimate and often essential tools for navigating illness, ethics, and divine will. Ancient people dreamed of gods and ghosts, rivers and birds, death and healing, fear and redemption. And whether interpreted as prophecy, therapy, or metaphor, those dreams were treated with reverence and awe.
The Bronze Age was a period of extraordinary transformation that unfolded across many parts of the world between roughly 3300 and 1200 BCE. During this time, people mastered the process of smelting copper and tin into bronze, a durable metal that reshaped how humans farmed, fought, and built.
Like the Stone Age that came before it and the Iron Age that followed, the Bronze Age marked a major stage in the evolution of civilization. But it wasn’t defined by metallurgy alone: It was also a time of urbanization and cultural advancements. Civilizations in Mesopotamia, the Indus Valley, Egypt, and the area around the Aegean Sea built cities, formed governments, and established trade networks. This interconnection led to an exchange of ideas that laid the foundation for the ancient world and beyond. Here’s a glimpse at how the Bronze Age shaped human society.
The development of bronze was so impactful it gave the era its name. Indeed the newly smelted metal tools and weapons were stronger and more durable than stone, and they could be cast, hammered, and sharpened as needed. But the period saw a wave of other inventions that changed how people lived, worked, and traveled. The groundbreaking discovery of the wheel came into widespread use during the Bronze Age, particularly after the invention of the spoked wheel around 2000 BCE, which allowed for smoother and more reliable transportation.
The first complex writing systems also emerged in several regions during this era. In Mesopotamia, beginning around 3500 BCE, Sumerian scribes used cuneiform script on clay tablets to track trade, property, and taxes; it remains the world’s oldest known writing system. Around the same time, in Egypt, hieroglyphs recorded religious and royal texts. Other innovations that appeared during the Bronze Age include swords, rope, and early forms of soap.
The Bronze Age saw an explosion of creativity that, like most aspects of the era, varied by region as civilizations developed at different speeds and with their own styles and techniques. In Mesopotamia (around modern-day Iraq), sculptors carved detailed figures from stone and bronze, while in the Aegean world, particularly among the Minoans on the island of Crete (in modern-day Greece), pottery was a canvas as much as it was a vessel. Even everyday items such as frying pans were detailed with elegant nature scenes and designs. Bronze bells, meanwhile, were a staple of musical rituals in late Bronze Age China, around 1050 BCE, believed to symbolize virtue.
It was also, despite limited writing systems, a significant time for literature. The most famous work to survive from the Bronze Age — and one of the oldest surviving works of literature — is The Epic of Gilgamesh. First written on clay tablets in cuneiform in ancient Sumer around 2100 BCE, the story follows the tale of Gilgamesh, the king of the city of Uruk. The story and its themes of mortality, Mesopotamian religious beliefs, and societal values are considered foundational aspects of the heroic epic genre.
Permanent settlements and early cities existed long before the Bronze Age, but the era saw the rise of the first organized and complex urban societies. These were densely populated, politically organized, and connected through trade, communication, and technologies such as the mastery of bronze metallurgy and irrigation systems.
In Mesopotamia — often called the cradle of civilization — the Sumerian city-state Uruk flourished in 3500 BCE. Estimates of its population vary, but at its peak, it’s thought to have been home to between 50,000 and 80,000 people. It introduced key features of urban life: monumental temples that doubled as religious and administrative centers, a centralized government led by priests and kings, and the invention of cuneiform writing for managing trade and resources. The cities of Babylon and Nineveh later expanded these innovations, developing vast trade networks and astronomical records. The Babylonians also pioneered a comprehensive legal system with the Code of Hammurabi, established around 1750 BCE.
In South Asia, the Indus Valley Civilization (modern-day Pakistan and North India) planned cities such as Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro with remarkable precision, with uniform brickwork, public baths, and complex drainage that set the standard for urban sanitation. In the Aegean, the Minoans on Crete built a 150,000-square-foot palace complex in the city of Knossos, and were pioneers of maritime trade and early syllabic writing systems.
In the Bronze Age, religion was often observed at temples, but it certainly wasn’t confined to them. Religion and its accompanying rituals were woven throughout much of daily life, as most people believed their fates were influenced by supernatural forces. In regions such as ancient Britain, where the Bronze Age started around 2500 BCE, communities such as the Beaker people held sacrifices to the gods at stone circles. In Egypt, meanwhile, religious life centered around the afterlife: Massive tombs and ornate burial customs demonstrated a belief in a world after death. Bronze Age religious spaces were often natural sites, too: The River Thames, for instance, served as a sacred place where people left thousands of objects, believed to be offerings to its spirit.
After thriving for centuries, the advanced and interconnected civilizations of the Bronze Age began a collapse sometime around 1200 BCE that took just a few decades, ending in about 1150 BCE. Cities across the eastern Mediterranean were abandoned or destroyed and trade routes crumbled. In Mycenaean Greece, palace complexes were destroyed. The Hittite Empire in Anatolia (modern-day Turkey) vanished. Even Egypt, though it partially survived, was badly weakened and never regained its former power.
Historians have pointed to a variety of potential and overlapping causes, including drought, famine, earthquakes, and invasion, but the scale and suddenness of the collapse is difficult to fully account for. Though the Bronze Age collapse was sudden in the timeline of history, its impact was long-lasting. Many regions entered a so-called “dark age,” with fewer historical records — writing systems such as the Aegeans’ Linear B vanished — and simpler societies. The shadow lingered until the Iron Age was well established in many regions by around 1000 BCE. Iron was more accessible than copper, and using it to make steel meant tools and weapons were stronger. A boost in agriculture helped population growth, fueling the rise of new states and the gradual return of urban life, trade, and culture.
Ancient Egypt has fascinated people for centuries — its towering pyramids, mysterious mummies, and richly decorated tombs have inspired everything from Hollywood blockbusters to bestselling novels. But beyond the legends and larger-than-life stories, historians now know more than ever about what everyday life was really like for the people who lived along the Nile thousands of years ago.
Thanks to archaeological finds, new technology, and ongoing research, we can piece together a surprisingly detailed picture of how ancient Egyptians worked, worshipped, and went about their daily routines. From the powerful pharaoh to the educated scribe to the hardworking laborer, every member of society had a role to play in keeping this remarkable civilization running.
So what did a typical day look like? Let’s look at three very different types of people — a ruler, a writer, and a farmer — to see what life was like in this ancient civilization.
Life in ancient Egypt started early. For a farmer, the cooler hours of the early morning were the best time to get work done. After a quick breakfast — usually some coarse bread, onions, and beer — they headed to the fields. Depending on the season, they planted wheat, chickpeas, lentils, sesame, or flax; checked on their crops; or worked hard to bring in the harvest before the midday heat set in. While women might work alongside the men during harvesting, they were more likely to be in the home, tending to the household chores and caring for young children.
Things looked pretty different in the royal palace. The pharaoh’s morning was all about ceremony. Surrounded by priests and attendants, the king or queen took part in prayers and rituals to honor the gods — especially Ra, the sun god, whose rising was seen as a sign that all was right in the universe. The pharaoh didn’t exactly dress themself, either; they were bathed, perfumed, and dressed by their attendants in fine linen and gold, ready to represent divine power throughout the day.
In the city, the scribe started their day with a light breakfast of bread, dates, and beer. Then they headed to work — maybe at a temple, government office, or even a granary where they documented grain quantities. Scribes were part of a small, educated group of women and men in Egyptian society, and their writing skills were essential for keeping records, managing resources, and making sure everything ran smoothly.
By late morning, the farmer was busy in the fields. Whether plowing, sowing, or harvesting, they often sang songs or worked alongside the rest of the family, making the long hours a bit more bearable. Animals were fed, irrigation channels were checked, and grain was carefully stored for the future. The work was physically demanding, with little time for breaks, except perhaps a short midday rest and a quick snack.
Meanwhile, the pharaoh’s day was generally filled with matters of state. They met with high-ranking officials, reviewed reports from distant provinces, and made important decisions about military strategies, construction projects, or new decrees — decisions that scribes quickly recorded. The pharaoh was seen as a living god, and as such their duties were deeply connected to religion. They often visited temples or oversaw grand state ceremonies, all designed to maintainma’at — the divine balance that kept the universe in harmony.
The scribe’s midday looked a bit different. Sitting cross-legged with a papyrus scroll on their lap, they might have copied tax records, written land deeds, or transcribed religious texts, using reed pens and ink. In addition to their writing tasks, they might have overseen operations at a grain warehouse, checked inventories, or accompanied inspectors to ensure tax compliance in the nearby villages.
As the afternoon sun climbed higher, the farmer pressed on with their work. They might have reinforced irrigation dikes, tended to livestock, or gathered reeds (to make baskets or mats) or papyrus (to make paper) along the Nile. The river shaped every part of their world — its annual flooding, known as inundation, could wash away homes, but it also left behind rich, fertile soil that made farming possible. During the months when fields were underwater, many farmers were called to help with state projects such as digging canals or even working on temple construction.
The scribe’s afternoon sometimes took them away from their writing board and out into the field. They often accompanied officials to survey land, checked on tax records, and delivered documents between government offices. Scribes were responsible for various administrative tasks, including recording census data, managing tax records, and drafting legal documents.
Scribes didn’t live in luxury, but their education offered them a level of stability and social status that few others had. Even with long hours and modest pay, the role came with opportunity — scribes could ascend the ranks of bureaucracy, with some rising to prominent positions such as vizier (a high-ranking political official) or even pharaoh, such as Horemheb in the 14th century BCE.
Meanwhile, the pharaoh’s duties extended into the afternoon with ceremonies, council meetings, or visits to key sites. Their duties included touring construction projects, presiding over temple rituals, and meeting with diplomats bearing gifts and tributes. Even when they weren’t issuing decrees or overseeing matters of state, their presence carried symbolic weight — every move reinforcing their divine role in maintaining harmony across the land.
As evening settled over Egypt, the pace of daily life slowed. The farmer returned to their mud-brick home, tired from the day’s labor, and often sat down to a simple meal with the family — lentils, flatbread, vegetables, and, if they were fortunate, some fish or duck. The evening hours were quiet, filled with conversation, stories, and a bit of rest before the cycle began again at dawn.
The scribe’s work came with some comforts, but their schedule was still shaped by the responsibilities of recordkeeping and administration. They ended their long work day by cleaning their tools and putting away scrolls. At home in their apartment complex near the mortuary or temple, they might have dined on a dinner of vegetables, bread, meat, and beer and then spend time reading, writing, or relaxing with music and family.
Even with the privileges of royalty, the pharaoh’s day often followed a similar rhythm of tradition, ceremony, and decision-making. At the vibrantly decorated palace, the ruler’s dinner was an elaborate affair, prepared by a team of cooks and often served alongside music and entertainment. Afterward, they sometimes meet with priests or advisers, or simply wound down in private quarters for the night.
The famous story of the burning of the Library of Alexandria, and the centuries of knowledge that went up in flames along with it, is often told as a single dramatic event — but that’s somewhat misleading. While fires did occur, the library wasn’t destroyed all at once. Rather, it succumbed to a slow decline over centuries. Its destruction is now shrouded in myth and mystery, but what is certain is that the Library of Alexandria was one of the largest and most significant collections of the ancient world, and its eventual loss was an intellectual tragedy.
Likely established during the reign of Ptolemy II in the early third century BCE, the Library of Alexander formed part of a larger research institute in Alexandria, Egypt, called the Mouseion (meaning “shrine of the Muses,” the origin of the word “museum”). This great undertaking represented humanity’s most ambitious attempt to collect and preserve human knowledge.
The library flourished for some six centuries, but by the fifth century CE it had all but ceased to exist. The infamous — and often overstated — fire occurred during Julius Caesar’s occupation of Alexandria in 48 BCE, when he ordered his troops to set fire to enemy ships in the harbor, possibly causing some collateral damage to the library. But Caesar certainly didn’t burn down the whole library. In reality, the collection’s slow demise was due to various factors, many of which were tied to Alexandria’s centuries-long decline as an intellectual center. The library’s books were sold or destroyed, its buildings were eventually razed or converted into churches or mosques, and, in the end, the library simply faded away.
Exactly what happened to the ancient library and precisely what was lost when it ceased to exist remain areas of debate among historians. We do know that the Ptolemy dynasty that ruled Egypt from 305 to 30 BCE sought books from far and wide. The bulk of the books were written in Greek, but other languages, including Egyptian, were also represented in the vast collection. Estimates of the total number of books vary, but it’s possible that the library, at its height, contained between 200,000 and 700,000 books — by far the greatest collection of human knowledge ever assembled at that time.
According to historical records, the archives contained works by many of the famous Greek writers of classical antiquity. This likely included the philosophers Plato, Aristotle, and Pythagoras; the historian and geographer Herodotus; and the dramatic poets Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. The works of Aristotle were among the library’s biggest treasures, possibly acquired through a large sum of money. There were also medical texts by Hippocrates and scientific tracts by Thales, Democritus, and Anaximander.
It's worth noting that even if the library had burned down in its entirety, its major works would not all have been lost. In many cases, copies (or the originals) would have been kept in other collections, whether in Egypt or beyond. According to historian Garrett Ryan, all “the most important [works] were widely disseminated elsewhere. What perished with the library were, overwhelmingly, lesser-known works of literature and philosophy, commentaries and monographs: all the residue and introspection of an extremely sophisticated literary culture.”
One often-cited example of what was lost are the works of the Archaic Greek poet Sappho. Sappho composed 10,000 lines of poetry over her lifetime, which historians believe were collected into nine books held at the Library of Alexandria. Today, only about 650 of those lines survive. It’s sometimes claimed that her body of work was lost with the destruction of the library, but that is speculation; the nine-volume tome might have endured as far as the Middle Ages.
As with Sappho, there is a tendency for any lost ancient works to be linked with the Library of Alexandria, often without strong supporting evidence. It’s perhaps a testament to the library’s enduring influence and fame that so many lost tomes are connected with it — but in all likelihood, most of these texts were simply lost to time.
Still, the loss of any works valuable enough to be housed in the Library of Alexandria marks a significant blow to scholars both then and now. Each book or scroll destroyed — whether through fire, mishandling, or simple decay — represents untold stories, forgotten discoveries, and intellectual achievements now vanished. In this sense, the Library of Alexandria has long stood as a reminder of the fragility of human knowledge and the importance of preserving intellectual heritage.
Although scent and memory are intimately intertwined, it’s not always easy to figure out what the past smelled like. But in the case of Egyptian mummies, historians may actually have an answer, and it’s “surprisingly pleasant.”
Recently, researchers from the University College London collaborated with the Egyptian Museum in Cairo to analyze the scents of nine mummies from a range of time periods in ancient Egyptian history. The resulting study, published in February 2025 in the Journal of the American Chemical Society, combined somewhat traditional sensory analysis — a panel of trained human “sniffers” who described their findings — with techniques to pinpoint the chemical compounds the mummies were emitting.
They looked at nine mummies, dating from Egypt’s New Kingdom (roughly 1539 to 1077 BCE) to its Roman period (30 BCE to 642 CE), and the most common olfactory descriptors people noted were “woody,” “spicy,” and “sweet.” Less commonly, the mummies were described as smelling “incense-like” or “stale, rancid.” The human sniffers were also asked to describe the pleasantness of mummy aromas, technically known as their “hedonic tone.” The average hedonic tone was rated as “slightly pleasant” — not bad, 5,000 or so years after death.
Credit: PHAS/ Universal Images Group via Getty Images
Some of the most common odor compounds isolated by the more high-tech analysis were “nonanal” (described as smelling fresh and similar to wax, orange peel, and fat), “furfural” (described as being sweet and reminiscent of wood, almonds, and bread), and terpenoids such as α-pinene, d-limonene, l-verbenone, and borneol. Terpenoids usually suggest the use of plant products such as juniper oil, myrrh, and frankincense, which have all been well documented as part of the mummification process.
Indeed, the smells emitted by the mummies come in large part from the materials used to preserve the corpses. While techniques and materials varied over time, Egyptian mummies were often embalmed with resins from trees such as pine, cedar, juniper, and mastic, as well as gum resins (such as myrrh and frankincense), incense, animal fats, waxes, and various other woods, spices, herbs, and flowers. The preservation process also often involved natron salts — a mix of sodium carbonate, hydrogen carbonate, and small amounts of chloride and sulfate.
Credit: Buyenlarge/ Archive Photos via Getty Images
That said, the smells reported in the study didn’t just come from the original mummification materials. The analysis also found aromatic traces coming from plant oils used for more recent conservation; synthetic pesticides (some of which smelled a lot like original mummification materials); and microbiological deterioration products such as mold. Some of the aromatic molecules even came from items such as the sarcophaguses and mummification fabric. That means these mummies might smell somewhat different today than they did when first preserved.
The techniques used to embalm Egyptian mummies changed over time, the study noted, and also varied by region and socioeconomic status. While mummification in Predynastic Egypt (around 5000 BCE) was largely a natural process accomplished by hot, dry desert sand, the Old Kingdom (roughly 2700 to 2200 BCE) saw the use of natron salts, plant resins, gums, and the removal of internal organs. Mummification quality peaked during the New Kingdom (around 1570 to 1069 BCE) and declined during the Ptolemaic and Greco-Roman periods (332 BCE to 395 CE). After the Arab conquest of Egypt in 641 CE, mummification was no longer practiced in the region. Yet it’s fair to say that while the ritual was practiced, it probably produced scents somewhat similar to those noted by the study.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Credit: UniversalImagesGroup via Getty Images
The researchers didn’t just study mummy scents as a curiosity, though. They hope a more detailed understanding of the scents will help preserve the relics, by expanding our understanding of embalming methods and improving conservation techniques that could help protect the mummies from further damage.
Although the study claims to be the first to systematically study the smells of a collection of mummies, one previous study looked at the residues in 3,500-year-old canopic jars (vessels used to store mummified organs) from the tomb of an Egyptian noblewoman named Senetnay. The scientists who scraped the residues from the now-empty jars, found in 1900 by Howard Carter in the Valley of the Kings, identified traces of beeswax, plant oil, fats, bitumen, and resins from various trees, including pine and cedar.
But this time, the researchers didn’t just present their findings — they actually attempted to recreate them. The scientists who worked on the project, including German archaeologistBarbara Huber, worked with French perfumer Carole Calvez and “sensory museologist” Sofia Collette Ehrich to recreate the scent of the embalming materials found in the jars. Speaking about the results of their recreation, Huber told CBC radio, “The dominant aroma is definitely a woody kind of pine-like scent, but it also has a hint of bitumen, a little bit of beeswax, something sweet, and you might even be able to pick up a fresh, citrusy note of pistachio.”
The aromatic creation was dubbed “Scent of Eternity,” and while it wasn’t for sale, it became part of “an immersive, multisensory experience” at the Moesgaard Museum in Denmark in October 2023. The exhibit, “Ancient Egypt–Obsessed With Life,” used the scent to help tell the story of Egyptian beliefs about the afterlife and the mummification process. It’s part of a recent trend of incorporating scent in museum exhibits and other ways of experiencing history. After all, our ancestors used all five of their senses, and so we should, too.
When we think of ancient Rome, we often think of the toga, generally depicted as a flowing white garment arranged in folds around the body and typically worn over a tunic by senators, philosophers, and citizens in grand marble forums. It’s an image that has persisted for thousands of years and has been reinforced in mythology and history. In the epic poem “Aeneid,” the Roman poet Virgil refers to Romans as “masters of the world, and people of the toga.” And in Roman folklore, Romulus — the founder of Rome — is depicted wearing a toga.
To ancient Romans, the toga represented a symbol of citizenship, status, and identity — and not everyone was entitled to wear it. The evolution of the garment spans centuries and came to symbolize Roman culture and values. As Rome changed, so did its fashion, but the toga remains a lasting image of a civilization that shaped the Western world.
While the toga is quintessentially Roman, similar garments existed in other ancient cultures. The Greeks wore thehimation, a large rectangular cloth draped over the body like a cloak. While less structured than the toga, it also served as a marker of status and decorum. The Etruscans, another ancient Italian society whose culture greatly influenced the Romans, wore the tebenna, a garment resembling the toga that didn’t carry any particular symbolic associations.
What set the Roman toga apart was its evolution into a distinctly Roman symbol. The toga became a visual marker of Roman citizenship, distinguishing Romans from the diverse peoples they ruled, and remained a symbol of Rome long after it fell out of fashion. Roman dress borrowed and incorporated elements from other cultures in the empire, resulting in a variety of toga styles and colors over the centuries that reflected the diversity of the Roman Empire.
Despite its iconic status, the toga wasn’t everyday wear for most Romans. In the early days of the Roman Empire, both men and women of all classes wore the toga. But after the second century BCE, the toga became a garment exclusively worn by male citizens of Rome, with the notable exceptions of prostitutes and women divorced for adultery, who wore the toga as a symbol of their disgrace. Most Roman women replaced the toga with thestola, a long, modest dress worn over their tunic.
Wealthy patricians, senators, and officials wore togas to signify authority and respectability, and how it was worn was as much a mark of distinction as the toga itself. Because of the complex folds and cumbersome bulk of the material, which often required assistance to arrange properly, ordinary citizens typically only wore the toga for special occasions such as public ceremonies, religious events, or legal proceedings. Enslaved individuals, Roman exiles, and noncitizens were prohibited from wearing the toga — and wearing one in order to claim citizenship was punishable under Roman law.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Credit: Culture Club/ Hulton Archive via Getty Images
Togas Came in Different Colors and Styles
While many Roman togas were indeed white, symbolizing simplicity and moral virtue, other colors and embellishments denoted specific roles and ranks. The toga’s variations of color, style, and occasion for wearing served as a visual language, communicating the wearer’s status or societal role. For example, thetoga praetexta worn by magistrates and young boys of noble birth featured a purple stripe along the edge — a color associated with royalty and divine favor. Thetoga picta, worn by emperors for special occasions, magistrates during public gladiatorial games, and generals celebrating triumphs, was embroidered with gold and often dyed a deep purple to symbolize imperial authority.
Some togas were only suitable to wear during certain events. In periods of mourning, Roman citizens would don the toga pulla, a dark, somber version of the garment. There was also a specific type of toga called thetoga virilis, or “toga of manhood,” which teenage boys wore during a coming-of-age ceremony, marking their transition from childhood to adulthood and their acceptance as full members of Roman society. And candidates for public office wore the toga candida, a bright white version treated with chalk to symbolize their purity and integrity.
The toga was the traditional garment of the Roman people for centuries, but it started to fall out of favor in the late first century BCE. In a bid to reestablish the ancient values and customs of Rome, the Emperor Augustus required all Roman citizens who conducted business in the forum to wear a toga to distinguish themselves from noncitizens. Despite his efforts, the toga’s prominence as a standard of dress continued to wane. Over time, the complexity and sheer impracticality of wearing a toga made it less common, a relic of a different era that was replaced by simpler and more functional attire.
Even the wealthy elite, who had enslaved people to help them manage the complex folds of the toga, gradually replaced the toga with simpler and more comfortable clothing such as thepallium and lacerna, cloaklike garments that allowed for greater freedom of movement. The toga was eventually limited to ceremonial use, surviving mainly in official contexts before fading out altogether by the end of the Roman Empire.
The use of measurements has become such an indispensable part of everyday existence that it’s virtually invisible. We check the clock to determine how much time we have before running out the door. We put on clothes that are generally tailored to our bodily dimensions. We measure out a cup for our favorite recipe, run a mile for our daily exercise, or tell the barber to take an inch off the top. And these basic actions don’t even touch on the immense calculations behind the machinery that powers our phones, computers, homes, and vehicles.
It’s difficult to imagine life without these widely accepted designations to provide order to our actions. Indeed, it was in large part the consolidation of disparate measurements within the earliest human communities and villages that enabled the world’s first great cities and nations to take shape. From Babylonian minas to Egyptian cubits, here are some of those earliest known units of measurements.
Prehistoric People Formed Primitive Measuring Devices
There’s evidence that our prehistoric ancestors used tools to fashion rudimentary measurement systems. The 40,000-year-old Lebombo bone and the 20,000-year-old Ishango bone are two such examples. Unearthed in Africa, both are notched at regular intervals to indicate functionality as a ruler, and the latter bone was possibly also used to track lunar cycles.
Some of the earliest measurement systems began to coagulate around the Neolithic people who settled in Mesopotamia. Clay tokens used to mark possessions and transactions appeared as far back as 7500 BCE, and these eventually morphed into the cuneiform indentations that appeared around 3500 BCE and were largely used for accounting purposes. While the Sumerians of this era developed a complex counting system, by around 3100 BCE it had been simplified into the base-60 sexagesimal system (60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour, 360 degrees in a circle, and so on) that went on to enable developments in timekeeping and astronomy.
As described in James Vincent's bookBeyond Measure: The Hidden History of Measurement From Cubits to Quantum Constants, some of the earliest unifying forms of measurement involve those inspired by body parts. Such systems have been adopted by cultures around the world: The Aztecs of Mesoamerica had measurements that included the tip of the fingers to the armpit and shoulder, while the Indigenous Māori of New Zealand had sizes that ranged from a finger joint to the length of a person's body with arms raised above the head.
The Egyptians are credited with developing perhaps the earliest and best known of the body measurements: the cubit. Created around 3000 BCE, this basic unit derived from the length of the arm from the elbow to the tip of the middle finger. The primary subunit was the digit, with 4 of those making up 1 palm, 5 becoming a hand, 12 comprising a small span, 14 a large span, 16 named a t’ser, 24 equal to a small cubit, and 28 serving as the amount for a royal cubit. The cubit was used to measure the Nile's floodwaters, from which estimates of crop production could be determined, and provided for symmetrical construction of the Great Pyramid of Giza.
The Egyptian system of weights was based on the kite, which varied from 4.5 grams to nearly 30 grams throughout its history. Building from this basic unit, 10 kites equaled 1 deben, and 10 deben marked 1 sep. Liquid measurements were based around the unit of the hin, which was about 0.48 liters; 10 hin equaled 1 heqat, with 10 of those adding up to 1 khar.
Civilizations in Asia Devised Their Own Measurements
Around the same time the Egyptians were thriving, the Harappans leveraged a standard system of measurements to raise their own civilizations in the Indus Valley of Central Asia. Although much remains to be learned about their methods, discoveries have revealed a system of weights that increase by consistent ratios, as well as length markers that roughly correspond to those of the modern foot and Egyptian digit.
Additionally, the Chinese independently formulated a system of body-based measurements similar to those in Egypt, with a noticeable difference in the form of an acoustic element. Following the establishment of the 12 fundamental pitches of the octave, known as the lü, in the third millennium BCE, measuring containers were required to produce a specific sound when struck, as evidence of conformity to a standard size.
Babylonians Made Their Mark With the Mina and Shekel
Emerging as the dominant culture of Mesopotamia following the Sumerians, the Babylonians developed a calendar with the familiar components of 12 months at 30 days each by 2000 BCE, and contributed other forms of measurement that became widely recognized throughout the region.
Chief among these was the mina, a unit of weight with known variances between 640 grams and 978 grams. Sixty minas were the equivalent of 1 talent, while 1 mina was the same as 60 shekels. All the way at the lightest end of the scale was the grain, of which 180 equaled 1 shekel.
The smallest unit of length was the barleycorn or she, equivalent to about one-tenth of an inch. Six she made 1 shu-si (or finger), while 30 fingers equaled the standard unit of the kush, similar to the cubit. Larger sizes included the 12-cubit nindan (approximately 20 feet), the 120-cubit cord or rope (roughly 200 feet), and the 180-cord league (roughly 7 miles).
The Babylonians also possessed a system of liquid measurements featuring the qa, which held approximately 100 milliliters. Three hundred qa was equivalent to 60 gin or 1 gur, a volume of approximately 80 gallons.
Influenced by their Mediterranean predecessors, the Greeks incorporated many of the same units, if not the same exact sizes, into their collection of measurements. These included the lengths for small distances including the cubit, finger, and palm. The Greeks also created larger units that could be applied to longer distances covered by sailing, such as the stadium, equivalent to around 600 feet.
The Greek system then passed to the Romans, who put their own mark on this process of categorization with names and values that are familiar to modern eyes. The Roman foot, for example, measured about 11.65 inches, with 5,000 feet equal to 1 mile.
By this point, of course, humanity had reached a point where tens of millions of people of different nationalities and faiths could coexist under a system of numerical standards applied by a ruling entity. Although distinct regional forms of measurement endured for centuries in less populated areas and among Indigenous cultures, there was no turning back from the push for inclusive systems that helped unite large swaths of the globe.
Whether you’re enjoying a glass of cabernet with a meal or downing IPAs with friends, you’re taking part in the multifaceted, multicultural act of alcohol consumption that dates back many thousands of years.
Indeed, although the dangers of excessive drinking are well known, and even small amounts of alcohol are now believed to come with health risks, imbibing has been part of the fabric of human existence since the dawn of recorded time. Some anthropologists argue that alcohol featured prominently in social customs that facilitated the rise and progression of civilizations. Others suggest that civilization itself was formed as a result of people settling in one area to domesticate crops for the production of alcohol.
Because spirits such as whiskey or vodka involve a more complex distillation process, beer and wine (and wine’s less-prominent cousin, mead) are the earliest forms of alcohol, left over from a time before any of humanity’s famous names, wars, or inventions etched themselves into history. Which sets up the ultimate bar debate: Which of these two ancient libations is older?
Early Humans Likely Discovered Alcohol by Accident
To let some of the air out of the suspense, we’ll note that it’s difficult to pinpoint when people first began drinking wine or beer, since proto-versions of both drinks can be formed with little to no human intervention.
Ethanol, or drinking alcohol, is created through the fermentation process that takes place when sugar meets yeast. In the case of beer, that occurs when a grain such as barley is exposed to moisture and its starches are converted into sugar, priming this component for catalyzation by deliberately introduced or naturally appearing yeast. Similarly, crushed or even overripe fruits with high sugar content including grapes or figs will naturally begin to ferment, creating the basis for wine.
It’s likely that early humans (or even animals) stumbled upon the intoxicating effects of fermented grains and fruits, and maybe even figured out how to replicate the experience by leaving their collected wares out in the elements for too long. We can only speculate on the concoctions that may have been experimentally produced by pre-Neolithic people, although they were almost certainly different from the beers and wines that emerged under more controlled conditions in later epochs.
Unsurprisingly, such conditions were well established by the civilizations that introduced writing and other major advancements in math and science: the ancient Mesopotamians and Egyptians.
Along with the 5,000-year-old remnants of barley beer discovered at the Godin Tepe ruins in modern-day Iran, evidence of a Sumerian drinking culture has surfaced in the cuneiform receipts of beer sales as well as in the “Hymn to Ninkasi,” an ode to the Sumerian beer goddess, which includes a recipe for brewing. Grain-rich beer provided nutritional benefits for Bronze Age drinkers, and may have been safer to consume than the water from rivers, which could be contaminated with animal waste.
Beer also figured prominently into the lives of Egyptians around the same time; it’s believed that workers on the pyramid of Giza received more than 10 pints per day in rations, while even children consumed low-alcohol varieties.
Meanwhile, non-native wine grapes were grown in both areas, although wine was typically reserved for the palates of royalty and priests. The Egyptians were the first known culture to document their winemaking, and left behind records of the process to go with jars of their handiwork in the burial chambers of rulers and other prominent figures.
A 9,000-Year-Old Wine-Beer Hybrid Was Found in China
Of course, humans lived in settlements for thousands of years before these celebrated civilizations emerged, and alcohol played a part in many such early cultures.
Thanks to the discovery of drinking vessels in prehistoric Andean sites, archaeologists believe that the popular South American maize-based beer known as chicha may have been around since 5000 BCE. Going back even further, the detection of wine residue in jars and grape pollen in the soil around two sites near Tbilisi, Georgia, dating to around 6000 BCE showed that the residents of these former villages were among the earliest known wine producers.
To date, the earliest confirmed chemical evidence of an alcoholic concoction is neither specifically beer or wine, but something of a combination of the two: As detailed in a 2004 paper, an examination of 9,000-year-old pottery jars from the Jiahu Neolithic site in northern China revealed the residue of a fermented beverage of rice, honey, and fruit.
Meanwhile, ongoing discoveries continue to push the beginnings of boozy beverages even further and further into the past.
While it was once thought that humans domesticated grapevines no earlier than 8,000 years ago, a 2023 study of the DNA of more than 3,500 vine samples showed that wine grapes were domesticated in the Caucasus region of Western Asia and Eastern Europe as far back as 11,000 years ago. Table grapes were also domesticated in the Middle East around that same time, and it was these crops that were crossbred with wild versions to launch the wine varieties that became popular throughout the continent.
The idea of an 11,000-year-old wine is certainly impressive, but the archaeological record suggests the possibility of an even older brew: In 2018, a Stanford University research team found the 13,000-year-old remains of starch and plant particles called phytolith, which result from wheat and barley beer production, at a Natufian gravesite near modern-day Haifa, Israel. Although critics believe the evidence points to breadmaking, the Stanford team contends that both bread and a thick, grog-type beer were created at this site.
For now, we’ll give the edge in this battle of seniority bragging rights to beer. But with more discoveries sure to pop up in the coming years, it's likely this debate will be revived — and continue past many a closing hour.
Whether relayed by way of a novel, poem, movie, or word of mouth, stories have served as a means of connecting people through shared experiences and emotions since we first learned to communicate with one another.
Some of the most famous stories have endured for hundreds or thousands of years. William Shakespeare penned his celebrated plays in the 16th and 17th centuries. Beowulf was written several hundred years before that, while the Iliad and Odyssey epics push back even further into the first millennium BCE.
And yet there are even older and far more obscure examples of storytelling that won’t turn up in a college literature course. Which inspires the question: How far back do we need to travel to find the world’s oldest story?
The “Epic of Gilgamesh” Is the Oldest Surviving Written Tale
The ancient Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh is often cited as the oldest known surviving story. This epic poem tells the tale of King Gilgamesh, the part-divine ruler of the ancient city of Urek, who battles terrible monsters sent forth by spiteful gods and seeks out a plant that brings eternal youth. Derived from sources that date back to approximately 2100 BCE, the first full version of Gilgamesh appeared on cuneiform tablets early the following millennium.
But while this would be an early example of a story that could be held and read, it’s more accurate to refer to Gilgamesh as the oldest known work of narrative literature. If you consider visual art capable of telling a story, then there are plenty of surviving creations that predate the written word.
Neolithic Carvings Have Been Shown To Portray Narratives
One such creation is the collection of carvings at the ruins of an 11,000-year-old settlement in modern-day Turkey. Found on a limestone bench in a communal building, the carvings show ferocious animals surrounding a male figure who conspicuously holds his genitalia.
According to archaeologists, the carvings represent separate scenes meant to be read together, rendering this display the oldest narrative sequence on record. However, while some believe the carvings are meant to convey a show of masculinity, the exact story being communicated is a mystery.
If a single image can tell a story, then a recently discovered cave painting on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi is the oldest physical example of a story. Depicting three humanlike figures with sticks alongside what appears to be a giant pig, the painting is believed to be more than 50,000 years old.
This scene may be the abstract representation of a hunt, but again, we can only guess at the narrative being depicted in this ancient painting.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Credit: Florilegius/ Universal Images Group via Getty Images
Aboriginal Dreamtime Myths May Be Even Older
Given the absence of a concrete narrative in prehistoric art, better candidates for the world's oldest story are found among the Dreamtime creation myths of the First Nations (Aboriginal) people of Australia. Shared by way of song, dance, and body painting, these stories describe the world's spiritual beginnings in the foundational period of the Dreamtime, also known as the Dreaming, the mythology of the Aboriginal culture.
Because the First Nations people lived on the continent for more than 60,000 years before Europeans arrived in the late 18th century, they were able to pass along their oral stories without outside influence for hundreds of generations. What’s more, the events depicted in creation myths have been shown to coincide with geologic and cosmic events that allow experts to deduce when the stories may have been spawned.
For example, the Palawa of Tasmania have a story about when the strip of land connecting the island to Australia was submerged in a flood. By examining the terrain and deposits around the Bass Strait, which now separates Tasmania from the rest of the continent, a research team found that the land bridge was swallowed by a rising ocean around 12,000 years ago, making that time period the likely origin point of the story.
The Palawa also tell of a "Great South Star" named Moinee, which never budged from its position in the night sky. Determining this to be the star now commonly known as Sirius, the team analyzed astronomical data to find an epoch when the celestial marker seemingly never moved, a period between 12,000 and 14,000 years in the past — likely around the same time the story was first told.
The Budj Bim Creation Story May Be More Than 30,000 Years Old
Which brings us to the creation story of Budj Bim. According to the Gunditjmara people of Southwest Australia, a god named Budj Bim emerged from the earth in the form of a volcano, his head becoming the rocky protuberance, his teeth forming the basalt deposits, and his blood spilling over the land as lava. The volcano still exists, albeit in dormant mode as a feature of the Gunditjmara ancestral lands, now known as the Budj Bim Cultural Landscape.
In the 1940s, an artifact known as the "Bushfield axe" was found beneath a layer of ash from the Tower Hill volcano complex, located about 25 miles from the Budj Bim complex. More recently, thanks to advancements in radiocarbon dating, scientists were able to determine that both Budj Bim and Tower Hill last erupted more than 30,000 years ago.
Since the axe was found beneath the ash, it stands to reason that people inhabited the region at the time the volcano erupted. As such, the local Dreamtime myth about the lava-spewing god that changed the landscape may also be more than 30,000 years old.
Constellations May Have Inspired an Even Older Story
Is there an older story still? According to a pair of astronomers, the answer can be found by again turning to the stars.
The Pleiades are a cluster of stars commonly known as the "seven sisters," although only six are visible to the naked eye since two of them are close enough to appear as one. As described in a 2021 paper by researchers Ray Norris and Barnaby Norris, stories about the missing sister can be found among European, African, Asian, Native American, and South Pacific cultures. Specifically, the Greeks of antiquity and First Nations people of Australia share similar tales about the sisters escaping the lustful yearnings of the nearby constellation Orion, despite there being no contact between the two cultures.
They did have a common ancestor, however, as humans are believed to have begun migrating out of Africa approximately 100,000 years ago. At that time, the seven sisters were more visibly distinct, providing reason to think that the original Pleiades-Orion story crystallized in Africa in this mind-bogglingly distant era.
There are reasons to be skeptical, however. One critic cautions that many cultures ascribe male and female identities to constellations, so this alone is not strong evidence that the stories came from a common source. Also, a period of 100,000 years is far longer than most oral traditions are thought to survive.
Which isn’t to say the Pleiades-Orion story is not the world’s oldest story, only that we don’t know for sure. After all, one can easily envision this tale being dreamed up by stargazers in the plains of Africa, using the same power of imagination that has spurred the creation of the greatest stories known to humanity.