From the Andes and Amazon to the Mediterranean

1 Parallel Worlds?

Throughout history, different civilizations have developed singular ways of understanding the world, nature, and the sacred. Yet, among cultures distant in space and time, patterns of symbolic organization often emerge that, while not indicating direct contact, reveal analogous modes of structuring human experience in the face of ecological, social, and metaphysical challenges. This essay proposes a comparative exercise between two such civilizations: the pre-colonial Andean world – especially within the Inka context and other highland societies – and ancient Greece, as expressed in the narrative, ritual, historical and cosmological traditions of the Archaic and Classical periods. This comparison is not based on evolutionist criteria or hypotheses of cultural diffusion, but on a structural analysis of how complex societies articulate nature, narrative, politics, and sacrality from mountainous landscapes and verticalized cosmologies.

Within this comparative framework, striking convergences emerge between the Andes and ancient Greece, particularly in the symbolic treatment of mountainous landscapes. In both cosmologies, mountains were not conceived as inert geographical formations but as animated, sacred beings integral to the organization of the world. The Andean apus and Mount Olympus in Greece functioned simultaneously as dwellings of the divine and as axial points of political, territorial, and ritual structuring. In the Andes, the sacrality of mountains is embodied in apus, tutelary deities associated with specific peaks, who act as protectors of communities and intermediaries between the human world (kay pacha), the upper world (hanan pacha), and the underworld (uku pacha). As demonstrated in the ethnographies of Catherine Allen (1988) and the cosmological analysis of Juan Ossio (2002), the recognition of mountains as living beings endowed with agency remains central in both contemporary Andean ritual practice and colonial records of Inka religiosity. Mount Olympus in Greek tradition was not merely the symbolic dwelling place of the gods, but the summit of a vertical cosmology, wherein the divine inhabits the heights and governs, observes, and intervenes in human affairs – as attested by Homeric epics and Hesiodic theogonies (Vernant 1983; Detienne 2008). This vertical ordering of the sacred is reflected also in their ritual economies, in which pastoral life played a central role. Llamas and lambs were not only sources of material sustenance but also protagonists in sacrificial circuits, where the act of offering was less an annihilation than a gesture of reciprocity – essential to sustaining equilibrium between the human and the divine.

Another axis of convergence between the Andes and ancient Greece lies in the cultural centrality of weaving as a mode of cosmological and epistemological expression. In both worlds, the loom was not merely a tool of domestic labor but a symbolic device through which order, identity, and cosmic structure were articulated. In Andean societies, textiles bearing tocapu – geometric motifs woven into elite garments – functioned as visual codes of ethnic identity, territorial affiliation, and political hierarchy, whose interpretation depended on shared symbolic systems (Murra 1980; Rowe 1996; Cereceda, reference). Weaving was primarily a feminine practice, yet also a privileged medium of visual knowledge, shaping and reflecting the structure of the world (look for reference in Descola’s Les forms du visible). In the Greek tradition, narratives such as those of Arachne and the Moirai establish the loom as a metaphor for fate and the ordering of time. As Jean-Pierre Vernant (1988) argues, the act of weaving, attributed to women, rendered the invisible visible – transforming time into texture and narrative into material form.

Moreover, the intellectual traditions cultivated by these American civilizations reveal a remarkable depth. Their achievements in astronomy, cosmology, ethics, and metaphysics attest to sustained engagement with both celestial cycles and human order. Their artistic and material productions – particularly in textiles, ceramics, and monumental iconography – operated not only within aesthetic registers but also as vehicles of knowledge and memory, encoding sacred narratives, moral teachings, and historical consciousness. The fusion of the sacred and the quotidian, expressed through stylized depictions of deities, calendrical motifs, and scenes of everyday life, mirrors analogous modes of visual abstraction and symbolic inscription found in the Greek world.

Both civilizations also developed several systems of recording and transmitting knowledge, deeply rooted in embodied practice. The Andean quipus, with their intricate grammar of knots, spacing, and color, constituted a sophisticated technology of inscription, capable of encoding numerical data and possibly narrative content (Urton 2003). In ancient Greece, prior to the consolidation of alphabetic writing, foundational narratives and ethical codes were preserved through oral performance – most notably by aoidoi and rhapsodoi – who employed formulaic structures and rhythmic composition to ensure memorability (Hartog, reference). The parallel between quipucamayocs and rhapsodoi suggests that in both contexts, knowledge was not confined to written language but embedded in the body, voice, and performance. Thus, memory and meaning were not only preserved through inscription but also enacted, woven into the very fabric of ritual and performance.

Liquid offerings to chthonic deities are another point of resonance. Andean chicha and Greek wine, poured onto the earth in honor of Pachamama or Gea, express a sacrificial ethic that recognizes the earth as an active matrix and subject. The organization of time – conceived not as a linear continuum but as a cycle – likewise structured the ritual calendars of both cultures. Ceremonies such as Thargelia in Greece and Inti Raymi in the Andes marked agricultural rhythms and at the same time reactivated foundation narratives, renewing cosmic and political order through cyclical ritual repetition. This symbolic verticality was further accompanied by a logic of ritual reciprocity that traverses both systems. In the Andean world, as shown by Tom Zuidema (1964), Teresa Gisbert (1999) and Thérèse Bouysse-Cassagne (2018), animal sacrifice – particularly of llamas – formed part of an offering regime intended for the preservation of ecological and cosmic balance. The pago rituals to Pachamama, involving food, drink, and animals, reveal an ethic of reciprocity and interdependence that also informed major state ceremonies. In Archaic and Classical Greece, the sacrifice of lambs, bulls, and pigs at the altars of the gods was not reducible to a theology of oblation, but was embedded in a ritual economy likewise governed by notions of gift, mediation, and return. The classic study by Marcel Detienne and Jean-Pierre Vernant (1989) on Greek sacrifice demonstrates how these practices articulated cosmos, polis, and temporality within a dense and reiterative symbolic grammar.

The sacralization of time, in turn, stands as one of the most evident traits of cosmological convergence: the Andean calendar was structured by solar and lunar cycles that marked the periodic renewal of alliances between humans and deities, particularly through solstitial rites that reaffirmed the bond between the Inka ruler and the sun god. In Greece, Thargelia and Panathenaia served as periodic reintegrations of the community into a broader time conception, symbolically recreating the foundations of the polis and the bonds with tutelary gods (Parker, 2005). In both cases, ritual time operates cyclically, not linearly: mythical past and political present are woven together in performative acts that reaffirm the world’s order.

In both the Mediterranean basin and the highlands of Mesoamerica and the Andes, divinity permeated all aspects of human life. Deities presided over cycles of nature and existence – planting and harvest, birth and death – while elaborate rites reaffirmed cosmic balance and collective belonging. The capacity of these civilizations to adapt agriculture to their respective ecologies – terraces in the Andes, chinampas in the Valley of Mexico, dry-farming in the Cyclades – underscores a convergence in “technological ingenuity” anchored in sacred worldviews. Furthermore, the political trajectories of the Inca and Greek worlds exhibit moments of imperial consolidation, ideological expansion, and religious legitimation that shaped the ordering of conquered spaces and peoples.

In fact, from the early colonial period onward, the fields of history, archaeology, and anthropology frequently interpreted these cultures through the lens of Hellenic paradigms. Hellenism and Hellenistic studies provided some of the earliest conceptual models through which European travelers and scholars sought to make sense of the civilizations they encountered in the Americas. While these analogies facilitated certain forms of recognition, they also imposed limiting frameworks – frequently universalizing Greek categories at the expense of indigenous ontologies.

The fact that such comparable achievements arose independently, in vastly different ecological and historical contexts, underscores the capacity of human societies to produce analogous responses to shared civilizational challenges. Rather than reducing these parallels to mere coincidence or forcing them into inherited Western categories, a structural and historically situated comparison allows us to appreciate the creative plurality of cultural solutions to questions of governance, sacrality, and order – without erasing difference or presuming derivation.

A crucial distinction between Greek and American antiquity lies in the vastly unequal recognition they have received within the canon of Western thought. Ancient Greece has, for centuries, occupied a privileged position as one of the foundational pillars of the West. With the advent of the printing press in the late 15th century, a significant portion of Europe’s intellectual production became devoted to the history, philosophy, and artistic legacy of classical Greece. The concepts elaborated by Greek philosophers and poets deeply shaped the imaginations of Enlightenment thinkers and modern theorists alike. To this day, when we evoke “antiquity” or “ancient history,” the imagery that surfaces is almost invariably Hellenic: the Parthenon bathed in Aegean light, the austere beauty of Doric and Ionic columns, marble statues and sanctuaries consecrated to gods and goddesses. Greek culture not only provided a symbolic lexicon for the West but also left an indelible imprint on its linguistic foundations. More than 90% of the vocabulary used in modern Brazilian Portuguese, for example, derives directly from Greek and Latin roots – an enduring testament to the cultural reach of the Hellenic world. Much of what reached Lusitania through Latin had already been profoundly shaped by the Greek language. Greek served as an intellectual and lexical matrix for Roman thought, law, philosophy, religion, and science – domains that, in turn, deeply influenced the formation of the Romance languages. Thus, by the time Latin lexical structures and cultural models arrived in the Iberian Peninsula, they already bore the imprint of Hellenic civilization.

In a comparable manner, the cultural construction of national identity in Greece, Mexico, and Peru drew heavily on their respective historical and archaeological legacies. In the case of Greece, this process emphasized a direct and idealized continuity with a romanticized classical past – an era of glory, reason, and aesthetic perfection. In contrast, the emerging republics of Latin America often marginalized or selectively appropriated the Indigenous legacy. Rather than serving as a unifying foundation, the pre-Columbian heritage was frequently relegated to the symbolic periphery of national narratives. In both contexts, however, a process of historiographical and ideological reframing took place. Just as Byzantine rule in Greece came to be viewed as an age of decadence and obscurantism – something to be overcome in the name of national rebirth – European colonialism in the Americas was likewise cast as an interlude to be superseded. Nation-builders across the Atlantic selectively evoked an “original” European or criollo past – exemplified in Brazil by the glorification of the bandeirantes – while simultaneously appealing to an “autochthonous” Indigenous origin, particularly within abolitionist and romantic nationalist discourses. These dual gestures, of distancing and appropriation, express the ambivalent foundations upon which modern national imaginaries were constructed.

Paradoxically – or perhaps not – Greeks and Latin Americans today share more than surface impressions might suggest. Despite the geographical and historical distances, both peoples are widely perceived – and often perceive themselves – as warm, hospitable, expressive, and emotionally resonant. In terms of symbolic imagination and affective habitus, a Greek may feel closer to a Brazilian or a Mexican than to a German or a French citizen, and vice versa. Their shared sensibilities – marked by exuberance, pathos, and a deep attachment to communal ritual – point to underlying affinities that defy conventional geopolitical classifications.

Within this broader context, Greece has long produced its own distinct visions of other peoples, cultures, and historical regimes. From Herodotus to Thucydides and beyond, Greek-speaking authors – regardless of national boundaries – have contributed to alternative ways of narrating and conceiving the world. Even before the formation of the modern Greek nation-state, Hellenic culture functioned as a transhistorical lens through which alterity was interpreted. In the nineteenth century, as universal history consolidated itself in France and other European centers – often marginalizing non-European pasts – Greek intellectuals undertook an inward epistemological archaeology, reasserting the centrality of Hellenic antiquity. The construction of Greek national identity was neither linear nor homogeneous; only gradually did the idea take hold that classical antiquity was not only a national inheritance but also Greece’s enduring gift to humanity. This process was bolstered by global currents of philhellenism, which cast Greece as both cradle and compass of Western civilization, reinforcing the symbolic stature of its ancient legacy.

In the 1910s, as Greece revised its constitution and annexed Thracian territories formerly under Ottoman control, the first images of Machu Picchu and other monumental American sites began to circulate. Some European photographers produced a series of images that would become iconic representations of American antiquity. The reception of these images was closely linked to the emergence of new discourses about America and Americans, emphasizing the existence of alternative regimes of historicity and temporalities outside the prevailing Eurocentric model of antiquity. Continental Europe had long been steeped in narratives of the “New World” and its exotic inhabitants – narratives that multiplied after 1492 through the accounts of travelers and chroniclers.

On the other hand, Greece did not exist as a sovereign political or cultural entity at the time. Ottoman rule imposed severe restrictions on the circulation of ideas and printed materials; virtually all Greek-language publications in the early modern period were produced in Venice and other European cities. As a result, Greeks did not “learn” about the New World through the same textual circuits that shaped Western European representations. This allowed for the emergence of a more original and distinct Greek perspective on Latin America – one that, in retrospect, reveals significant points of resonance. Over the course of the nineteenth century, the political trajectories of Latin America and Greece proved to be more closely aligned than is often assumed. Both worlds experienced different forms of colonial domination and both gave rise, under varying historical conditions, to rebels, resistance movements, and national heroes. Each developed a sense of identity grounded in past experiences that had been buried – yet not erased – by the long shadows of empire.

The analogies suggested here are not intended to flatten specificities or erase the historical differences between the two cultural formations, but rather to highlight how distinct highland societies, confronted with analogous ecological and cosmological challenges, developed convergent symbolic responses. By placing the Andes and Greece in comparative perspective, we can perhaps seek a deeper understanding of how human cultures inhabit time – structuring meaning, memory, and sacrality in the folds of landscape.

These axes of comparison reveal that, although radically different in their historical expressions, the Andean and Greek worlds articulated symbolic and practical answers to fundamental questions: how to dwell in a sacred territory? How to narrate and transmit the meaning of existence? How to inscribe order into time and materiality? Such a comparative approach can illuminate the internal coherence of each tradition, and also offer pathways for a broader anthropology of the sacred and a cultural history of how human societies imagine, represent and build their worlds.

2 The Construction of Otherness and the Legacy of the New World

The Atlantic and Indian Ocean voyages undertaken at the beginning of the modern era, especially those launched from the Iberian Peninsula, left humanity with a vast and valuable legacy of literary, cartographic, and iconographic materials. These included maps, illustrations, travelogues, and chronicles that documented the discovery, invasion, and conquest of lands previously unknown to Europeans. Some of these territories had already occupied the imagination of scholars since antiquity – such as when Crates of Malos, recognizing the limited scope of the oikouméne (the known world), postulated the existence of “lands on the other side,” the Antipodes.

Among the most enduring legacies of this period is a multidisciplinary textual and visual corpus centered on the unveiling of geographical and human otherness. These are the navigational diaries, nautical charts, and travel accounts that narrate the so-called “discovery” and subsequent incursions of adventurers, adelantados, and settlers into the rivers, coasts, and mountainous interiors of the New World. They include chronicles of conquest and colonization, written at various moments and from multiple positions, as the Americas were gradually inserted into an emerging world system. Together, these records form what has often been labeled “travel literature” – a problematic term, to be sure, but one that usefully gathers this heterogeneous corpus of texts, images, and maps produced between the 15th and 19th centuries under a single historiographical umbrella.

In the 16th century, travel narratives began to solidify as a literary genre in Europe, captivating readers with their accounts of distant and unknown worlds. These texts appealed to the curiosity of educated men and women, many of whom would never travel across the Atlantic themselves. The intense European fascination with the Americas is evident not only in the proliferation of such literature but also in the physical presence of Indigenous peoples brought to European courts – to be observed, questioned, touched, and displayed. In this context, book culture and travel literature helped to invent a spatial and discursive framework for the colonies, transforming distant lands into navigable mental geographies. The figure of the “Other” became central to Western cultural production, functioning as a mirror through which European identities were defined. Repeatedly, the native of the New World was portrayed as a blank page, to be inscribed with the cultural, religious, and moral values of the colonizer.

Much has been written about the role of travel literature in constructing discourses of otherness, and about the ways in which Indigenous cultures were represented through the lenses of European cosmology, religion, and science. The encounter with the Americas introduced an unprecedented experience of universality – giving rise to new forms of classification, comparison, and imagination. In this modernity born of contact, the human body itself became a site of radical differentiation: the naked Indigenous body was perceived not simply as unclothed, but as part of nature, as something pre-social, even pre-human. The encounter thus demanded a semiotic operation – the “invention” of the Indigenous subject through paradigms of humanity defined by the colonizers. In producing a discourse about the Other, early modern Europeans were also producing a discourse about themselves. What we now call “identity” was being forged as a universal category, encompassing physical, social, spiritual, and epistemological dimensions. In this context, the modern notion of the individual – as an in-divisum, a coherent and unified entity – began to take shape.

Numerous works have explored the reception and impact of the New World in the major colonial powers – France, Italy, Germany, Spain, and Portugal. One of colonialism’s central instruments was the production of knowledge about the Other, often cast as exotic, monstrous, or savage. The alleged absence of cultural sophistication among Indigenous peoples served to justify their subjugation, frequently through theological reasoning. However, far less is known about how the so-called “discovery” of the Americas and its epistemological consequences were received in regions of Europe that did not participate directly in colonial ventures – particularly those on the peripheries of the West, such as Greece, the Balkans, and Eastern Europe.

In the specific case of Greece, it is noteworthy that the national project of the 19th century was centered on the invention of a founding antiquity. By reclaiming the legacy of the Hellenes, Greek intellectuals and politicians sought to construct a nation-state rooted in both material and immaterial heritage – especially language. This project led to the creation of national institutions such as universities, museums, and libraries, and to a sustained effort to reform and standardize the language of the new Greek state.

The struggle for Greek independence against Ottoman rule (1821–1829) and the establishment of the modern Greek state in the Treaty of Constantinople (1832) were deeply influenced by Enlightenment ideals and European Romanticism, from one hand, and to the acting of rebels like the klephtes, spread throughout Greek territory. Throughout the 19th century, Greek identity was anchored in a selective appropriation of classical antiquity – presented as a period of intellectual and aesthetic splendor to be revived. Language played a key role in this symbolic continuity: Greek, with its millennia-long literary tradition, was promoted as a link between ancient and modern identities. Archaeological discoveries – temples, amphitheaters, and ruins – were marshaled as physical evidence of historical continuity. In this romantic vision of the past, the Greek national struggle was cast as a modern epic, mirroring the deeds of ancient heroes.

The dialogue between such distinct civilizational experiences reveals not only remarkable points of convergence but also invites a rethinking of historiography beyond the Eurocentric models that dominated the 20th century. Recognizing the complexity and entanglement of these seemingly distant worlds challenges conventional narratives of civilization and legacy. This study thus affirms the value of an interdisciplinary, comparative approach – one that broadens our understanding of cultural interactions and deepens contemporary reflections on identity, alterity, and global historical trajectories. By juxtaposing these narratives, we open space for a more inclusive and pluralistic account of the human past, one that honors the diversity of experiences and legacies that continue to shape our present.

3 Creation narratives and shared worldviews – a common episteme?

In Andean and Amazonian Indigenous cosmologies, historical creation narratives – commonly referred to as origin myths – articulate unrecorded knowledge about natural cycles, social organization, and the relationships between humans, nature, and the cosmos. Similarly, in the Hellenic tradition, myth played a formative role in the development of philosophical and scientific thought, as seen in narratives concerning the origin of the universe, the deeds of the gods, and the dilemmas of human existence. In both cultural worlds, these ancient stories are not confined to the past: they continue to inform worldviews, ritual practices, and everyday life.

The empathetic rapprochement between contemporary Greeks and Latin Americans may be read as a celebration of affinities between two peoples who, though separated by vast oceans and distinct historical trajectories, share common experiences of resistance, survival, and reinvention. Both societies carry the deep imprint of colonization and subjugation, culminating in long and complex struggles for self-determination that have decisively shaped their collective identities. Yet it is through culture, memory, and dialogue that they forge bridges capable of transcending geographical, political, and even temporal boundaries. These connections speak to enduring structural elements – emotional and cultural dispositions shaped by history – that manifest as a shared sensitivity to adversity and a unique capacity to reinterpret tradition without severing ties to the past.

Hospitality – xenia in the Greek tradition – is another striking trait that unites these cultural universes. Both Greek and Latin American societies are marked by a warm ethos of welcome, expressed in gestures of generosity, communal celebration, and shared sustenance. This is not merely a social practice, but a heritage of values that elevates the other – the foreigner, the guest – as a figure worthy of care and respect. Plato himself regarded the xenos, the foreigner, as a god, an irony directed to sophists. In both contexts, hospitality reflects a collective ethic that values coexistence and belonging as the foundations of social life. This welcoming spirit is embodied in quotidian rituals – shared meals, religious festivities, spontaneous aid – which persist even amid social and economic adversity. It is also a historical response to marginalization: a trait cultivated by those positioned both at the symbolic center (oikoumene) and at its imagined periphery, the Antipodes.

Immersion in any Greek or Latin American context quickly reveals, within the social fabric and everyday discourse, a deep investment in solidarity as the basis of communal well-being. Music, dance, and literature are particularly powerful expressions of this ethos, functioning as tools of resistance, remembrance, and reinvention. In Greece, rebetika music carries stories of exile and marginality, just as samba and Andean musical traditions express a syncretic legacy of Indigenous, African, and European influences in Latin America. Each genre, rooted in its own sociohistorical context, forms part of a shared language of resilience.

From an academic and cultural standpoint, collaboration between Greeks and Latin Americans opens fertile ground for historical interpretation and intercultural dialogue. Comparative scholarship – whether in archaeology, literature, or cultural history – can challenge Eurocentric paradigms and contribute to a more inclusive understanding of human experience. Initiatives such as academic exchanges, joint research projects, and comparative studies of oral and written traditions offer the promise of reciprocal learning. In seeking a common humanity, both regions affirm values of cultural rootedness, autonomy, and pluralism.

This empathetic approach becomes even more relevant when viewed against the backdrop of contemporary global transformations. Climate crises, migration, and widening social inequalities underscore the urgency of dialogue between peoples who have experienced the long shadows of colonialism – and who continue to live with its consequences. The shared heritage of resistance and reinvention among Greeks and Latin Americans offers inspiration for common approaches to contemporary challenges.

Culture plays a central mediating role in this dialogue. Literary works such as those of Nikos Kazantzakis – concerned with the human condition and the tension between freedom and fate – resonate with the novels of Gabriel García Márquez, whose magical realism portrays the layers of time, history, and emotion in Latin America. These literary intersections reveal the depth of a cultural exchange that transcends borders and celebrates the convergence of experience. The role of diasporas further strengthens these bonds: Greek communities across Latin America, and Latin Americans living in Greece, have created vibrant spaces of cultural interaction, where empathy takes form in daily practices, rituals, and solidarities that affirm a shared humanity.

This rapprochement also calls for a renewed historical gaze – one that acknowledges mutual influences and the pedagogical potential of distinct regional experiences. Valuing the legacy of Indigenous resistance in the Andes and Mesoamerica, alongside the defense of Hellenic identity under Ottoman rule, enables the construction of new narratives that move beyond traditional Eurocentric models. What emerges is the recognition that empathy between Greeks and Latin Americans is not only a possibility but a necessity: an affirmation of a humanism capable of transcending borders and sustaining more just and creative forms of cooperation in a globalized world.

By celebrating commonalities while respecting difference, we create conditions for a future grounded in solidarity – where mutual recognition, shared memory, and intercultural learning lay the foundations for new and more meaningful relationships between nations and peoples.

4 Conclusion: A Greek America?

The perceived affinity between contemporary Greeks and Latin Americans can be traced, in part, to a shared “epistemological structure” deeply rooted in their respective civilizational traditions. In both the Indigenous and Hellenic worlds, historical narratives – often designated as myths – occupy a foundational role in the articulation of knowledge systems. These narratives are not reducible to pre-scientific explanations or cultural folklore; rather, they constitute sophisticated symbolic frameworks through which communities have historically organized their understanding of the natural world, human society, and the cosmos. Far from being relegated to a distant past, such narratives remain active, shaping worldviews, guiding ethical conduct, and informing rituals of memory and belonging. As Pierre Nora (1989) suggests in his reflections on lieux de mémoire, cultural memory is never simply about the past – it is about the present uses of the past to negotiate identity, meaning, and continuity.

The etymological root of the word “knowledge” in Latin – cognoscere, meaning “to be born with” – derives from the Greek idea of gnosis; it is instructive here, for it implies that knowledge is not merely acquired but generated through relation and co-presence. This relational epistemology is visible in both Indigenous and Hellenic traditions, where knowing is inseparable from communal practices, oral transmission, and dialogical engagement with the environment and with others. Indigenous cosmologies, as documented by scholars such as Viveiros de Castro (1996) and Enrique Dussel (1994), articulate a world in which rivers, mountains, animals, and ancestors are active participants in an ontological continuum that defies the dualisms of Western modernity. Knowledge, in such a framework, emerges from interdependence and reciprocity.

In the Hellenic tradition, the concept of Logos – encompassing reason, speech, and the underlying order of the universe – reflects a similar dialogical model. The philosophical and cosmological inquiries of pre-Socratic thinkers, as well as the tragic and poetic literature of classical Greece, situate the human being not as a master of nature but as one interlocutor among many forces. In both traditions, then, the act of knowing is a practice of connection: with time, with place, and with alterity. This orientation toward the world facilitates a structural openness to difference, a trait that becomes particularly salient when examining the contemporary cultural relations between Greece and Latin America.

In this light, the empathy often observed between Greeks and Latin Americans may be interpreted not merely as a contingent affective phenomenon, but as the expression of a deeper, historically sedimented epistemic kinship. Both peoples have undergone processes of conquest, colonization, and resistance, and have had to articulate their cultural identities in relation to dominant imperial forces – be they Roman, Ottoman, Iberian, or Anglo-American. These shared historical experiences have produced a sensitivity towards marginality and a strong attachment to memory, tradition, and collective survival. Moreover, both contexts have developed cosmologies and epistemologies that emphasize community, plurality, and the centrality of storytelling as a mode of knowledge transmission.

This openness to relational knowledge also reinforces a contemporary potential for intercultural dialogue and mutual enrichment. The convergence of these traditions creates fertile ground for new frameworks of comparative analysis, capable of moving beyond Eurocentric dichotomies of civilization/barbarism, modernity/tradition, or North/South. As Boaventura de Sousa Santos (2007) has argued, the task of building an “ecology of knowledge” requires precisely such encounters – those that value the coexistence of different epistemologies and foster horizontal exchanges among cultures that have long been subjected to asymmetrical power relations.

Ultimately, the cultural empathy between Greeks and Latin Americans reflects their capacity for mutual recognition and their enduring engagement with forms of knowledge that transcend individualism, materialism and objectification. By affirming narrative, relation, and interdependence as foundations for understanding, these traditions challenge dominant epistemic regimes and offer alternative visions of what it means to inhabit a shared world.

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