Mystic Cults in Magna Graecia.2

36. Eur. Hipp. 948–957: σ. δ. θεο.σιν .ς περισσ.ς .ν .ν.ρ / ξ.νει σ. σ.φρων
κα. κακ.ν .κ.ρατος / ο.κ .ν πιθο.μην το.σι σο.ς κ.μποις .γ. / θεο.σι προσθε.ς
.μαθ.αν φρονε.ν κακ.ς. / .δη νυν α.χει κα. δι’ .ψ.χου βορ.ς / σ.τοις καπ.λευ’
.ρφ.α τ’ .νακτ’ .χων / β.κχευε πολλ.ν γραμμ.των τιμ.ν καπνο.ς. / .πε. γ’
.λ.φθης. το.ς δ. τοιο.τους .γ. / φε.γειν προφων. π.σι. θηρε.ουσι γ.ρ / σεμνο.ς
λ.γοισιν, α.σχρ. μηχαν.μενοι, “Are you, then, the companion of the gods, as a
man beyond the common? Are you the chaste one, untouched by evil? I will never
be persuaded by your vauntings, never be so unintelligent as to impute folly to the
gods. Continue then your confident boasting, take up a diet of greens and play the
showman with your food, make Orpheus your lord and engage in mystic rites,
holding the vaporings of many books in honor. For you have been found out. To
all I give the warning: avoid men like this. For they make you their prey with their
high-holy-sounding words while they contrive deeds of shame.”
37. Cf. Pl. Laws 782c; Theophr. Char. 16; Aristoph. Frogs 1032. Cf. Redfield

94 Radcliffe G. Edmonds


1991b: 106. “We call the eschatological passage in the Second Olympian ‘Orphic’
(although Pindar does not mention Orpheus) because that is our general—and
necessarily vague—term for those aspects of Greek religion marked by concern for
personal purity and personal immortality. Probably the Greeks themselves were
vague about the category; Theseus assumes that since Hippolytus claims to be
chaste (a claim not characteristic of the Orphics) he must also be a vegetarian
and read Orphic books. All three would be tokens of a rejection of the world, and
therefore mutually convertible.”

38. I develop this argument further in Edmonds 2008a: 16–39.
39. Cf., e.g., the initiates in the fragment from Euripides Cretans (fr. 472 =
Porph. De abst. 4.56), who never associate themselves with Orpheus, but who
make a similar set of claims about themselves.
40. As I argue in Edmonds 1999 and 2008b; cf. J. Z. Smith 1990.

CHAPTER 6


Imago Inferorum Orphica

alBErto BErnaBe

Materials for an Analysis

One of the features that most differentiates between Olympic religiosity
and mystery cults in general (and particularly Orphic religiosity) is the
image of the underworld. The religion of the polis is public and collective;
its rites, its sacrifices, its processions serve as an element of social
cohesion, as a way of integrating the individual in the community. This
“bent toward this world” of the Olympic religiosity is consistent with the
negative appeal offered by its image of the underworld, a dark and sinister
place, populated by .μενην. κ.ρηνα (Od. 10.521, etc.), ghosts without
feelings. The Homeric image of Hades is so negative that a great hero like
Achilles (Od. 11.489–491) says the following:

I should choose, so I might live on earth, to serve as the hireling of

another,

of some portionless man whose livelihood was but small,

rather than to be lord over all the dead that have perished.

(Trans. G. Murray)

Nobody, not even Achilles himself, is free of this dark and sad fate,
common to all. Mystery cults, on the other hand, allow people a religious
life, to which they gain access by free choice, through initiation and the
celebration of certain rites (τελετα.). They present an underworld in which
the believer can reach different states, better or worse, by performing certain
acts during his or her lifetime.

We have some data at our disposal that allow us to reconstruct a relatively
coherent Orphic image of the underworld. Our information is both
textual and iconographic.


96 Alberto Bernabe


The textual information available is of three types: 1) the gold lamellae,
which allude to the joyful fate of the initiates after death and present us
with some of the characteristics of the underworld;1 2) other texts that
attribute features of the afterlife, either to Orpheus or to anonymous
τελετα., and that complement the image offered by the golden lamellae,
especially regarding the fate of the initiates or of those who fail in the journey
of the soul to the meadow of the blessed; and 3) texts that talk about
the underworld, without quoting the source of the expressed ideas, but
that are fairly coincident with the scheme reconstructed from the texts of
the other two types, and therefore seem to be related to the Orphic world
or a very similar field.

Iconographic information is problematic, and therefore it has been discussed
whether there are parallels between the Orphic scheme of beliefs
and the one shown by some pieces of Apulian pottery, specifically those
that represent infernal scenes and some pinakes from Locri. For instance,
Guthrie (1935: 187) denies the existence of such parallels, while Schmidt
(1975: 129) considers that the Apulian vases representing Hades must be
interpreted within an Orphic context, although she does not believe that
they coincide with the world of the gold lamellae (cf. Schmidt 2000). Pensa
(1977) dedicated a monograph to this topic with a well-balanced discussion
of all relevant literature. Giangiulio (1994), for his part, has studied
the relations between the religious and cultural thought of the gold lamellae,
Apulian pottery, and the pinakes, as well as the Orphic-Pythagorean
field.

In this chapter I focus on the analysis of a concrete aspect: the reconstruction
of the common features between the Orphic infernal imagery
and the imagery presented by the quoted iconography (Apulian and Locrian).
However, it is not an iconographic analysis (which would be quite
out of my professional expertise), but the attempt to reconstruct what we
could call a common conceptual paradigm of the underworld expressed
either in texts or in images, which has some points in common with the
traditional Homeric one, but which differs from it in some fundamental
features. In order to make the comparison easier, I itemize the different
aspects.

The Place and Its Characteristics

We find in the text of the gold lamellae some verbs meaning “going down,”
referring to the access of the soul to Hades, which obviously implies that
Hades is situated in its traditional place, that is, beneath the earth.2 Some


Imago Inferorum Orphica
97

passages also allude to its darkness.3 The iconography on its part presents
Hekate or Persephone or the Erinyes bearing torches (almost always in
the shape of a sail) and includes the infernal image of Cerberus and some
mythical damned sinners, which tradition places beneath the earth (ex.
gr. Ruvo 1094, Naples SA 11, Munich 3297). To this extent, the image
of Hades as an underground and dark place is not different at all from
the traditional one (cf. ex. gr. Il. 8.477–481, 22.61, 22.482–483; Od.
24.203–204).

Both Homer and the gold lamellae refer to Hades as δ.μοι or δ.μα.4
Homer even repeatedly alludes to the “doors of Hades” (Il. 5.646, etc.),
but we find a marked difference in assessment between the Homeric description
of Hades (Od. 20.64–65) as “the dread and dank abode, for
which the very gods have loathing,” as opposed to its description as the
“well-built house” of Hipponion 2.

The image of Hades in Apulian pottery shows buildings with smart columns,
dwellings worthy of the divine sovereigns that inhabit them. On the
other hand, a characteristic of the infernal geography of the gold lamellae
is a white cypress, which is repeatedly alluded to as an enticement of one
of the springs5 but is absent both in other literary descriptions of the place
and in the figurative representations.

Two roads, Two Fates

In contrast to Homeric Hades, defined as hateful without exception, the
underworld described in the gold lamellae presents a totally different feature,
since it has two roads, two possibilities, two fates for its inhabitants.
First, we are told about two springs; to one of them, that of Memory, go
only those who have been warned by the author of the sacred text included
in the gold lamellae, while to the other, which has no name—but logically
we have to consider it the spring of Oblivion—go the rest of the souls of
the dead.6

There is also in Hades a privileged space, a locus amoenus, defined as a
sacred meadow7 and separated from a much more unpleasant and gloomy
place, often identified with Tartarus. The access to this locus amoenus is
controlled by guards and by Persephone herself.

In one amphora, maybe from Vulci, today lost, the souls of the initiates
were represented, standing before the guards that keep watch on
Memory’s fountain, according to a description of the piece written by
Albizzatti (1921: 260; cf. Pairault-Massa 1975: 199): “In a meadow full
of flowers, separated from the region of the condemned by two trees with


98 Alberto Bernabe


birds among the branches, two naked young men crowned with ivy and
bearing thyrsus are on a grassy elevation, from which a spring rises. Behind
each tree an oriental archer is kneeling and shooting an arrow.”

The Initiation and the Demand of Purity

Those who have been warned not to drink of Lethe’s spring know a certain
kind of truth;8 they have a knowledge of something that they must
have acquired before, when they were alive, and that is not shared by
everybody. It is, then, an initiatory knowledge that they must retain.9 It is
clear, therefore, that in order to gain access to the privileged space in the
underworld, it is necessary to be a μ.στης, to have received an initiation.
The μ.σται know the roads they must follow and some kind of password
(σ.μβολα, Ent. 19, Pher.) that they have to say before the beings that guard
the underworld,10 who block the way for those who do not have this information.
Because of that, the water they have to drink is that of Memory,
the goddess-guarantor of memory and initiation, and for this reason it is
said that the gold lamellae themselves were Μναμοσ.νας . . . .ργον.11

The initiates are called μ.σται κα. β..κχοι . . . κλε.ε.νινο., “famed initiates
and bacchi” (Hipp. 16). The gold leaf from Pherai tells us that the μ.σται
are free of punishment, which implies that those who are not μ.σται are
exposed to punishment. The Thurii lamellae reveal to us that the initiates
also pay a penalty;12 we must therefore suppose that it is a general punishment
for the whole of mankind. Our documents define this punishment as
a terrible cycle from which the initiates manage to free themselves.13

However, apart from being initiated, the candidates to inhabit the locus
amoenus claim to be in special conditions of purity, as in the famous initial
declaration of the purity of the gold lamellae from Thur. (488–490) 1:
“Pure I come from the pure.”

The demand for the purity of the μ.σται is also found in a fragment of
the Rhapsodies (Orph. fr. 340 B. = 222 K.):

All who live purely beneath the rays of the sun,

so soon as they die have a smoother path

in a fair meadow beside deep-flowing Acheron, (. . .)

but those who have done evil (.δικα ..ξαντες)

beneath the rays of the sun,

the insolent, are brought down below Kokytos

to the chilly horrors of Tartaros. (Trans. W.K.C. Guthrie)


Imago Inferorum Orphica
99


Figure 6.1. Fragment of Apulian Pottery from Ruvo. Ancient collection Fenicia,


c. 350 BCE.
It is worth mentioning that in this passage, the pure are contrasted with
the unjust, which implies that the observance of justice is a feature of the
ritual Orphic purity and therefore that acting against Justice supposes
impurity.

Apulian iconography would appear to confirm this idea, if indeed the
goddess Justice (Dike) is represented in a ceramic fragment from Ruvo (ancient
collection Fenicia, c. 350 BCE [Fig. 6.1]). Here the goddess appears
next to Victory (Nike), who half-opens a door. Persephone and Hekate are
also present with two torches.14 This door, half-opened by Victory, who
seems to be offering a dead follower of Orpheus a way to a better place, is
extremely suggestive. Justice is a well-known divinity within Orphism. In
an old Orphic theogony, there were undoubtedly some passages referring
to her as a goddess partner of Zeus, who watches the injustices of men so
that Zeus can punish them. Plato refers to this immediately after alluding
to Zeus’ hymn:


100 Alberto Bernabe


With him followeth Justice always, as avenger of them that fall short of

the divine law. (Pl. Leg. 716a; Orph. fr. 32B. = 21K, trans. R. G. Bury)

Burkert has pointed out that the Platonic passage seems to paraphrase
a similar verse from the Rhapsodies:

And Justice, bringer of retribution, attended him [Zeus], bringing succor

to all.15

The same topic appears in a passage from a judicial speech in which
one of the litigants tries to have an influence on the jury’s vote, referring
to the way in which Justice watches over the unfair:

You must magnify the Goddess of Order (Ε.νομ.α) who loves what is
right and preserves every city and every land; and before you cast your
votes, each juryman must reflect that he is being watched by hallowed and
inexorable Justice, who, as Orpheus, that prophet of our most sacred mysteries,
tells us, sits beside the throne of Zeus and oversees all the works of
men. Each must keep watch and ward lest he shame that goddess.16

It is quite significant that in the Derveni Papyrus (col. IV.5–9), the
only fragment quoted from Heraclitus (B94 D.-K. = fr. 52 Marcovich)
is that according to which the sun will never go above its measures, because
the Erinyes, Justice’s assistants, will know how to find him. This
passage, which refers to a transgression and to a punishment, reminds
us of Hesiod’s description of Justice and the just state in Works and Days
212–224.

Therefore, the knowledge they have and the keeping of a pure way of
life, which includes respect for Justice, allows the initiates that persevere
with a pure or “correct” way of life to have a special fate in the underworld,
in a sacred meadow.17 Because of that, we find several instances of
gold lamellae that only indicate that the bearer is a μ.στης (cf. Bernabe and
Jimenez San Cristobal 2008: 161–163, 267–269), thus serving to identify
his (or her) status.

Those who gain access to the meadow are described as .λβιοι (Pel. 7;
Thur. [488] 9) due to the happiness of their fate, and they are even claimed
to achieve a special status, defined either as that of a .ρως,18 or even as
that of a θε.ς.19 The knowledge they require is revealed by an authorized
anonymous narrator, whom we suppose is Orpheus (cf. Bernabe and Jimenez
San Cristobal 2008: 181–183).

A similar framework appears in other texts in which the τελετα. are


Imago Inferorum Orphica
101

mentioned. Pindar (fr. 131a Maehl. = 59 Cannata) therefore refers to the
happiness produced by the “initiations that free from sorrows,” and in another
fragment (fr. 137 Maehl. = 62 Cannata) mentions the fortune of the
initiates that know “the end of life and the beginning disposed by Zeus.”
The place where the blessed arrive in the underworld is a sweet-smelling
locus amoenus, full of flowers, where they devote themselves to activities
of the spirit (Pind. fr. 129 Maehl. = 58 Cannata), whereas those who have
lived unholy lives lie in the darkness (Pind. fr. 130 Maehl. = 58b Cannata).
In Olympian Ode 2.56, Pindar contrasts the fate of the violent souls, who
immediately pay their punishment, to that of the good, who win themselves
an existence free of hardship.

Plato for his part talks also about those who established the τελετα. to
present us with a dual Hades, with one fate for initiates and those who
have been purified, and another for those who have not:

And I fancy that those men who established the mysteries (τελετ.ς) were
not unenlightened but in reality had a hidden meaning when they said
long ago that whoever goes uninitiated and unsanctified to the underworld
will lie in the mire, but he who arrives there initiated and purified
will dwell with the gods. (Pl. Phd. 69c; Orph. fr. 434 III B. = 5 K.; trans.

W.R.M. Lamb)20
Such an opinion had to be widespread in Athens, judging by the harsh
criticism made by Diogenes the Cynic against those who believed that
it was possible to win a special fate in the underworld only by being
initiated:

It is absurd of you, my young friend, to think that any tax-gatherer,21 if
only he be initiated (.νεκα τ.ς τελετ.ς), can share in the rewards of the
just in the next world, while Agesilaus and Epameinondas are doomed
to lie in the mire. (Iulian. Or. 7.25 [Diog. V.B332 Giannantoni = Orph. fr.
435 B.; trans. W. C. Wright)22

Diodorus transmits an important piece of information, which he probably
took from Hekataeus of Abdera (fourth to third century BCE, cf.
FGrH 264F25):

Orpheus . . . brought from Egypt most of the mystic ceremonies, the
orgiastic rites . . . and his fabulous account of his experiences in Hades
. . . the punishments in Hades of the unrighteous, the Fields of the Righteous,
and the fantastic conceptions current among the many, which are


102 Alberto Bernabe


figments of the imagination—all these were introduced by Orpheus in

imitation of the Egyptian funeral customs. (Diod. Sic. 1.96.2–5; Orph.

fr. 55B; trans. C. H. Oldfather)

Leaving aside the question of the supposed Egyptian origin that Diodorus’
source ascribes to the τελετα.,23 we find in this text the same scheme in
which the punishments are opposed to the meadow. We can also see that
Orpheus is held responsible for this imagery. The τελετα. seem, then, to
be accompanied as λεγ.μενα by a series of texts, which the old tradition
mainly attributed to Orpheus.

The Space for the Noninitiated: The “Terrors of Hades”

The gold lamellae are silent24 about what happens to those who do not
know the passwords or cannot identify themselves as μ.σται. It seems
that they should have a worse fate, without doubt in the dark and muddy
places referred to in the other sources. Let’s try to get a more precise idea
of this “space for the noninitiated.”

First of all, the Derveni Papyrus, clearly belonging to the Orphic framework,
mentions the “terrors of Hades,” regrettably in a very fragmentary
context:

The terror of Hades . . . ask an oracle . . . they ask an oracle . . . for them,

we will enter the prophetic shrine to enquire, with regard to people who

seek prophecies, whether it is permissible to disbelieve in the terrors of

Hades.25 Why do they disbelieve [in them]?26 Since they do not under


stand dream-visions or any of the other realities, what sort of proofs

would induce them to believe? For, since they are overcome by both error

and pleasure as well, they do not learn or believe. Disbelief and ignorance

are the same thing. For if they do not learn or comprehend, it cannot

be that they will believe even if they see dream-visions. . . . (P.Derveni

col. V.3ff.; Orph. fr. 473B; trans. R. Janko)

The vague allusion to the “terrors of Hades” ([τ.] .ν .ιδου δειν.) only
informs us about the fact that in the Orphic lore, there was talk of those
terrors. And an Orphic priest, as the Derveni’s commentator seems to be,
considers it absurd that people do not believe in them.27

We find also in some close passages of the papyrus the presence of
Erinyes that threaten the souls, of demons beneath the earth, of punish



Imago Inferorum Orphica
103

ments in the underworld or perhaps also of initiates,28 as well as of certain
rites carried out by the magoi to avert these dangers.
The fact that the terrors of Hades were also subject of the τελετα. is
clear from a pair of texts of Origen:

And accordingly he [Celsus] likens us [sc. the Christians] to those who in
the Bacchic mysteries introduce phantoms and objects of terror. (Origen
Contra Celsum 4.10; Orph. fr. 596.I.B)

Celsus . . . shows us who have been moved in this way in regard to eternal
punishments by the teaching of heathen priests and mystagoges.29 (Origen
Contra Celsum 8.48; Orph. fr. 596.II.B)

As a concrete instance of punishment for the noninitiated, Plato mentions,
in Phaedo 69c (a text to which I have already referred), “to lie in the
mire.” This detail is recurrent in other texts. In addition to the ones that
I will mention later, there are two by Aristophanes in the parody of the
journey to the underworld of Frogs,30 and one by Aelius Aristides.31

Another text by Diodorus, coming from the same source as the one
previously quoted, offers further information:

Many other things as well, of which mythology tells, are still to be found
among the Egyptians, the name being still preserved and the customs
actually being practiced. In the city of Acanthi, for instance, . . . there is
a perforated jar to which three hundred and sixty priests, one each day,
bring water from the Nile.32 (Diod. Sic. 1.97.1; Orph. fr. 62 B.)

Disregarding again the supposed Egyptian origin of the rites, it is clear
that Diodorus’ source tries to base on an Egyptian custom (probably only
a way of measuring time on a big clepsydra33) the typical image of the
infernal punishment that involves pouring water into a large earthenware
jar with holes. The two specific punishments that we have found so far in
the texts, the mire and the sentence to carry water to vessels that cannot
be filled, can be also found in Plato, in a curious variant: carrying water in
a sieve.34

But Musaios and his son [cf. Bernabe 1998a: 46] . . . the unrighteous and
unjust they plunge into a kind of mud in Hades and make them carry
water in a sieve. (Pl. Rep. 363c; Orph. fr. 431 B. = 4 K.; trans. W.K.C.
Guthrie)


104 Alberto Bernabe


In another text, Plato refers to the same tradition, to which he gives a
symbolic interpretation:

The part of the soul in which we have desires is liable to be over-
persuaded and to vacillate to and fro, and so some smart fellow, a Sicilian,
I daresay, or Italian, made a fable in which—by a play of words—he
named this part, as being so impressionable and persuadable (πιθαν.ν), a
jar (π.θος), and the thoughtless (.ν.ητοι) he called uninitiates (.μ.ητοι);
in these uninitiates that part of the soul where the desires are, the licentious
and fissured part, he named a leaky jar (π.θος) in his allegory because
it is so insatiate. So you see this person, Callicles, takes the opposite
view to yours, showing how of all who are in Hades—meaning of course
the invisible (.ιδ.ς)—these uninitiates will be most wretched, and will
carry water into their leaky jar with a sieve, as my story-teller said, he
means the soul: and the soul of the thoughtless he likened to a sieve, as
being perforated, since it is unable to hold anything by reason of his unbelief
and forgetfulness. (Pl. Gorg. 493a; Orph. frr. 430.II, 434.II.B; trans.

W.R.M. Lamb)
Leaving aside the symbolic interpretations (which show that this kind
of analysis was quite common in the fourth century BCE), as well as the
free Platonic re-elaboration, which served his own philosophical and literary
interests, the analyzed text presents the noninitiated in the underworld
as being punished by bearing water in a sieve to a vessel with holes.

The pseudo-Platonic dialogue Axiochus, after narrating the fate of those
inspired by a good spirit when they were alive, who are going to gain access
to the place for the righteous, tells about those who directed their lives
toward bad deeds (cf. Violante 1981):

They are led by Erinyes to Erebos and Chaos through Tartarus, where
they find the dwelling of the unrighteous, the Danaids’ jars without bottom,
Tantalus tormented by thirst, Tityos’ entrails devoured and always
reborn, Sisyphus’ stone without end. . . . There they waste away in everlasting
punishments, licked by wild beasts, constantly burnt with Furies’
torches and ill-treated by all kind of tortures. (Ps.-Pl. Axiochus 371e;
Orph. fr. 434.IX B.)

In the burlesque description of the underworld offered by Aristophanes
(Frogs 144–145), he does not mention the wild beasts, but he alludes to
“snakes and vermin of all kinds.”


Imago Inferorum Orphica
105

Another passage enlarges our knowledge about the close relation existing
between the description of the terrors of Hades and the initiations:

In this world it [the soul] is without knowledge, except when it is already
at the point of death; but when that time comes, it has an experience like
that of men who are undergoing initiation into great mysteries: and so the
verbs τελευτ.ν [die] and τελε.σθαι [be initiated], and the actions they denote,
have a similarity. In the beginning there is straying and wandering,
the weariness of running this way and that, and nervous journeys through
darkness that reach no goal (.ποπτοι πορε.αι κα. .τ.λεστοι), and then
immediately before the consummation every possible terror, shivering
and trembling and sweating and amazement. But after this a marvelous
light meets the wanderer, and open country and meadow lands welcome
him; and in that place there are voices and dancing and the solemn majesty
of sacred music and holy visions. And amidst these, he walks at large
in new freedom, now perfect and fully initiated, celebrating the sacred
rites, a garland upon his head, and converses with pure and holy men; he
surveys the uninitiated, unpurified mob here on earth, the mob of living
men who, herded together in murk and deep mire, trample one another
down and in their fear of death cling to their ills, since they disbelieve in
the blessing of the Otherworld. (Plut. fr. 178 Sandbach; Orph. fr. 594 B.;
trans. F. Sandbach)

This passage was analyzed by Diez de Velasco (1997: 413–416) as an excellent
example of the features of a mystic experience: the result of a voluntary
itinerary, movement through phases of darkness and suffering, and
passing through an ineffable peak experience, which changes the identity
of the one who feels it and which is ended with the union with an otherness
of a transcendent kind. I consider this frame to be quite correct regarding
the analysis of the phenomenon as included within a general typology;
however, there are some details that could be added (cf. Bernabe 2001b).

Plutarch specifically states that the experience of death is similar to
the one suffered by those who take part in the initiations into great mysteries.
The identification of the mysteries to which he is referring has been
a matter of discussion among scholars. Thus Foucart (1914: 393) believes
that Plutarch refers to the mysteries of Eleusis. Diez de Velasco (1997:
413) seems to agree with this. However, Mylonas (1961: 265) considers
that he alludes to an Orphic initiation, on the basis of the mention of the
mire. Dunand (1973, 3:248) for his part thinks that Plutarch talks about
Isis’ mysteries (but cf. Graf 1974: 132–139). The most likely interpretation


106 Alberto Bernabe


would be that he refers to mysteries in general, and this is the most widespread
opinion nowadays.35

In any case, the experience of the τελετ. is considered to be very similar
to that of death. This statement is “confirmed” by an etymological argument,
quite typical of the philosophical analysis of the time: there is
a strong bond between death (τελευτ.) and τελετ., which motivates, in
a cause-effect relation (δι. κα.), the etymological bond existing between
their names. Such a bond, if not made explicit, was suggested by Plato in
a famous passage, in which the etymological relation is a kind of wink at
the reader:

And they produce a mass of books of Musaios and Orpheus, . . . accord


ing to whose recipes they make their sacrifices. In this way they persuade

not only individuals but cities that there are means of redemption and

purification from sin through sacrifices and pleasant amusements, valid

both for the living and for those who are already dead (τελευτ.σασιν).

They call them teletai, these ceremonies which free us from the troubles

of the Otherworld.36 (Pl. Rep. 364e; trans. W.K.C. Guthrie)

But what are the strong relations between the τελετ. and death? Plutarch’s
description is outstandingly ambiguous, because in some moments
of his exposition he expresses contents that are common and similar to
initiation and death, but in other cases he talks about realities that are only
proper to initiation, and in others, about aspects that are only ascribed to
death. We need to analyze the text part by part to see what comes from the
imago inferorum and what from τελετ., although it seems in advance that
the second tries to reproduce in some way the conditions of the first.

The journeys in darkness at the first moment are without doubt the
movement of the soul toward Hades, a dark and gloomy place. The effects
of terror, which are described, are physical effects, more suitable for initiation,
where it is the person, not the soul, who suffers the experience; but
it is not ruled out that Plutarch had in mind that the soul, when it arrived
at Hades, would see the terrors that are alluded to several times.

It is obvious that the initiate passes through a phase of fear and confusion.
But Plutarch subtly plays with the words. In the initiation level,
.τ.λεστοι does not mean “unfinished,” but “who are not yet initiated”
(later, τ.λος will mean “initiation”). By using .ποπτοι, he can even play
with a correlative .π.πται, “initiated in the highest grade of the mysteries,”
and then invoke the meaning, “that they have not yet reached
contemplation.”

Later, by means of a strong contrast, Plutarch describes what the soul


Imago Inferorum Orphica
107

of the dead sees at the end (τ.λος) of the journey: it is a meadow and pure
places (καθαρο.), where there are a series of .ρ.μενα (light, dances, holy
visions) and a series of λεγ.μενα (sounds, sacred words). We suppose that
in the τελετ. these pleasant visions would be represented in some way.
But now the description tends more to the experience of death than to
the one of the mysteries, since what Plutarch describes is more similar to
the meadow of the blessed in the underworld than to the entrance to an
illuminated telesterion.

The description that follows, however, is exclusive to the mysteries.
According to the mystery beliefs, the soul that, after death, reaches the
meadow of the blessed never comes back. Therefore, the return described
by Plutarch is the return of an initiate after initiation, while the following
passage, in which is described the mob of living beings that persist in the
fear of death in the middle of mire, is absolutely imprecise. It could be
said to belong to real death. We have already seen the texts that talk about
the mire, where the noninitiated lie, but if Plutarch is referring to them,
how can those who are already dead persist in the fear of death? The persistence
in the fear of death and the distrust of good things in the afterlife
is characteristic of people who are alive and uninitiated. The reference is,
then, deliberately ambiguous.

On the other hand, Plutarch informs us about the acquisition of knowledge
in the τελετ.. He tells us that the soul obtains knowledge at death’s
door and that this situation is similar to the τελετ., from which can be
deduced that knowledge is also acquired in the τελετ.. Outside of initiation
and death, there is only ignorance. Plutarch tells us about a liberation,
which is without doubt opposed to the fear of the noninitiated, and
he mentions the sanctity and purity of those who have been initiated, in
contrast to the dirtiness and the mire of those who have not been initiated.
Finally, he refers to the hope in a fate in the underworld, which the non-
initiate cannot enjoy. We suppose a contrariis that the initiate would have
hope in the underworld.

Thus, it seems that the τελετ. was an experience similar to death or,
better, a kind of rehearsal, so that the individual experiences the real death
in advance and is not afraid of it. So it is possible to explain the constant
confusion between the domain of initiation and that of real death, with
which the author plays in the whole passage.

In another interesting text, a Bononiae Papyrus (third to fourth century
CE, published after several other editions by Lloyd-Jones and Parsons
1978 = Orph. fr. 717B; cf. Bernabe 2003: 281–289), we find part of
a poem in which is described the fate of the blessed and the condemned
in Hades, whose coincidences with book 6 of the Aeneid have been high



108 Alberto Bernabe


lighted countless times. In verses 77 and 79 of the anonymous poem, we
are told about the circulation of souls into and out of the underworld, and
two roads are mentioned. There is probably one that goes down, that of
the dead, and another one that goes up, that of those who have to be reincarnated.
In verse 78 we are told about other souls that arrive, probably
of those who have just died. In 124 there is mention of the “daughter of
Justice, the very famous Retribution.”

In verse 129, we read θ]νητ.ν μελ[.]ων σκι.εν[τα] χιτ.να, “the gloomy
tunic of the mortal members,” an image that expresses the idea of reincarnation.
We already know a similar image in other texts—for example,
in Empedocles (B126 D-K), σαρκ.ν .λλογν.τι περιστ.λλουσα χιτ.νι,
“clothing in an unfamiliar garment of flesh” (cf. Gigante [1973] 1988). As
components of the punishment, we find (PBonon. 26ff.):

] .ριν.ες [.λλο]θεν .λλαι

]ς δ’ .κ.λευσ[εν] .κ.στη.ι.

πληγα.ς φον].οισιν .μ.[σσει]ν.

Erinyes, one from one place, another from another,

and someone urged each of them

to whip them with bloody lashes.

And in verse 33, we see γαμψ].νυχες ε.λαπιναστα., “guests with crooked
talons,” which, according to Lloyd-Jones and Parsons, refer to Harpies
(cf. Pherecydes fr. 83 Schibli: φυλ.σσουσι δ’ α.τ.ν . . . .ρπυιαι, “The
Harpies guard it [sc. Tartarus]”). Both the Erinyes whipping the souls
and the Harpies with terrible faces coincide with Vergil’s Aeneid: virginei
volucrum [sc. Harpyiarum] vultus, foedissima ventris / proluvies, uncaeque
manus, et pallida semper / ora fame (3.216–218); Gorgones Harpyiaeque
(6.289); hinc exaudiri gemitus et saeva sonare / verbera (6.557–558); continuo
sontes ultrix accincta flagello / Tisiphone quatit insultans (6.570–571). The
privileged place is described in the Bononiae Papyrus as “splendid shining
multicolored dwellings” (v. 126) and as a place where “neither the cloud
of black waters nor hail accumulate nor the incessant rain oppresses, but
there is prosperity day after day” (vv. 131ff.).

To sum up all that we have seen so far, it seems that the infernal punishments
consisted mainly in: 1) a stay in a dark and muddy place, which
involves fear, lack of comfort, and anxiety; 2) carrying water in a sieve
to a vessel with holes (one of the models of useless effort, which was the
worst punishment of which the Greeks could conceive in the underworld);
3) the attack of hostile beings, either wild animals and snakes, or Furies,


Imago Inferorum Orphica
109

Harpies, or similar monsters, which tore the souls into pieces or lacerated
them, or burnt them with torches, although that naturally did not involve
their destruction; and 4) after a period of punishments, the opportunity to
try for salvation again in a new existence.

The most remarkable thing about the punishments imagined in Hades
is that they are corporal. It is clear that it was assumed that the ψυχα.
would keep in the underworld a kind of corporal configuration; at least,
they were supposed to be able to suffer from physical agents. They also
drink water, talk, and, in general, behave like people. The Orphic woman
buried in Hipponion had a lamp beside her, and she had in her mouth a
gold leaf, which gave her instructions for her journey through the underworld.
If she hoped to use the lamp and to read the letters of the gold leaf,
then she did not imagine this journey without her eyes and hands.

Apulian iconography offers us a similar frame in a series of pieces in
which the infernal punishments of archetypical sinners are represented.
This is the case of a crater of St. Petersburg (B.1717, 325–310 BCE), where
Ixion’s punishment is shown. The center is occupied by a magnificent
building seat of the infernal rulers, Persephone and Hades. Hades attends
Hermes’ arrival. Below we see the Danaids carrying jugs of water to fill
the vessel that is never filled. In the upper part appears one of the typical
punishments—Ixion, tied to the wheel and accompanied by a Fury, a
typical character in these representations (cf. Aellen 1994: passim), where
the Furies are attendants of the gods responsible for punishing the condemned.
In another two vases we find Hades and Persephone, out of their
shrine: in one, from St. Petersburg (B.1716, 330–310 BCE), a Fury is at
their right and the Danaids are below in the center; in another, from Ruvo
(1094, 360–350 BCE [Fig. 6.2]), a Fury punishes a condemned person who
seems to be more terrified than mortified. Indeed, literary sources do insist
more on the “terrors of Hades” than on the physical punishments.

The Happy Space

The space reserved for the initiates is nicer. It is in Hades, under the earth,
imagined as a meadow,37 called the “meadow of the blessed” (Diod. Sic.
1.96.2–5 = Orph. fr. 55 B.) or “Persephone’s meadow,”38 and it is the
place reserved for those who are in a situation of ritual purity.39 Plutarch
presents it as full of light and pleasant music.40

A wide description of the happiness of this place can be found in the
pseudo-Platonic Axiochus 371c, and it includes typical features like the
meadow, the limpid waters, the music and dances, the gentle breeze under


Figure 6.2. Apulian Crater. Ruvo 1094.



Imago Inferorum Orphica
111

a warm sun, together with more cultural ones, like conversations for philosophers
and a theater for poets. The author points out, too, that “there
the initiated have an honored place, and they perform there their sacred
rites.”

Linked to the mention of a meadow in Orph. fr. 487.6 are Persephone’s
groves (.λσεα).41 Meadows and groves create an idyllic locus amoenus,
which evokes rest and happiness, in short as reflection in the underworld
of many earthly loci amoeni consisting in a little forest on the banks of a
river. This will be the place where the initiate will enjoy eternal happiness.
Similar descriptions can be found in fragments from Pindar’s Threnoi (see
above).

Apulian pottery does not offer us clear images of the happy place, which
we could ascribe to an Orphic environment, although a series of pieces
represent a heavenly place related to Dionysus.42 Other works belonging
to the immense Dionysian iconography are not, of course, incompatible
with this universe. For example, a Basel amphora (S29; cf. Schmidt,
Trendall, and Cambitoglou 1976: 6 and 35ff., tab. 8e, 10a)43 in which we
find an “automatic” wine miracle. This image reminds us of the “wine
happy honor” of Pelinna gold leaf, or of a crater from Tarentum (61.602)
in which a woman receives a satyr in a naiskos, as well as the numerous
symposiac scenes, including those that decorate the sarcophagus from the
so-called Tomb of the Tuffatore (Diver), that could allude to a banquet
in the underworld. However, it is obviously difficult to demonstrate an
Orphic presence in these cases. We also find works in which Orpheus appears,
where the possible relation to the locus amoenus or the netherworld
meadow would be indicated by the presence of the mediator or by details
such as Nike (Victory) half-opening a door.44

A Different Image of the Gods of the Netherworld

The goddess that rules over the netherworld according to the Thurii gold
lamellae is Persephone. The souls come, imploring, before her.45 The goddess
may also be mentioned in Ent. 20, κα. φε (cf. Bernabe 1999b). Persephone
is without doubt identified with Brimo, mentioned in Pherecydes,
and with the one called “Queen of the Dead” in the Thurii lamellae ([488–
490] 1), the Roma lamella (1), and probably in the Hipponion lamella
(13).46 She is not only the queen of the dead, but she is also responsible for
the last decision regarding those that arrive at the netherworld.47 Hades,
under the name Eucles, and Dionysus, with the epithet Eubuleus, are also
mentioned together with her. In the Pelinna fragments, Dionysus appears


112 Alberto Bernabe


again in a more significant way, as Β.κχιος, to whom is attributed the liberation
of the soul of the dead. The strange epithet .ν.δ.ρικεπαιδ.θυρσον,
which serves as σ.μβολον in Pher., also refers to him.

The relationship between Bacchus and Persephone is typically southern
Italian,48 and it is probably due to the well-known Orphic myth according
to which Dionysus is Persephone’s son, the Titans tear him apart, and
from the remains men are born (cf. Bernabe 2002).

The same role for Persephone can be found in Pindar (fr. 133 Maehl. =
65 Cannata; cf. Bernabe 1999a). Persephone and Dionysus also appear,
together with Orpheus, in a fragment of the Rhapsodies:49

The happy life . . . which the initiates in Dionysus and Kore according

Orpheus wish to achieve:

“He commends them

to cease from the cycle and have respite from evil.”

This role for Dionysus is absolutely alien to the Homeric world, and Persephone’s
role is totally different from the one represented by the goddess
in Homer and Hesiod, where she is repeatedly mentioned as a horrible
goddess.50

The Mediators

The hypothesis that the text of the gold lamellae was considered a work of
Orpheus is very plausible (cf. Bernabe and Jimenez San Cristobal 2008:
181–183; Riedweg 2002). Orpheus, due to his quest for his dead wife, is
supposed to have seen what happened in the underworld and come back
to tell about it. It is therefore clear that the Thracian bard was considered
by the users of the gold lamellae as a human mediator, who through initiation
explains the path that the souls have to follow to achieve their salvation.
The numerous texts that ascribe to Orpheus the τελετα. or concepts
about the underworld related to them insist on the same idea.51

But we have seen that there is also a divine mediator, Dionysus, because
it is this god who intercedes with Persephone for the soul of the Pelinna believer,
a role he has also in the Gurob Papyrus (18–22; cf. Hordern 2000),
in which the participants in the rite invoke Eubuleus (Dionysus), also
called .ρικεπα.γε, and they ask the god to save them.

Some features of this view of the netherworld appear in the Locri
pinakes, from the second quarter of the fifth century BCE (cf. Giangiulio


Imago Inferorum Orphica
113

1994; Olmos 2008: 284–288). In one of them (Mus. Arch. Naz. Reggio
Calabria 58729 [Fig. 6.3]), the wine-god offers a kantharos of wine and a
branch with bunches of grapes to the corn goddess. It is highly probable
that they are Dionysus and his mother Persephone. There are other exemplars,
one of which was precisely found in Hipponion. In these images,
Dionysus is the mediator who symbolically substitutes the faithful supplicant
on his arrival at the kingdom of death, when he presents himself before
the god’s mother. In another model (Reggio Calabria 21016, mid-fifth
century BCE; cf. Olmos 2008: 284–288, with discussion of interpretations
[Fig. 6.4]), we find Persephone represented as the “goddess of underworld
beings,” to whom the Thurii gold lamellae allude, enthroned with Hades
and accepting the offerings of an invisible supplicant, who is without
doubt deceased.

Apulian pottery offers us a series of pieces in which, together with the
kings of the underworld and the condemned, appears a mediator who can
be either Dionysus or Orpheus. In an Apulian crater conserved in the Museum
of Art of Toledo, Ohio (340–330 BCE; cf. Johnston and McNiven
1996; Olmos 2008: 291–293 [Fig. 6.5]), we find the only representation
preserved in which Dionysus makes a pact with Hades, shaking hands
with him in the presence of Hermes. Next to Dionysus are the members
of his retinue, a paniskos and a maenad with a thyrsus and a tambourine,
who dances with the bare breast. On the other side of the temple are
represented the condemned Actaeon and Agave. The message of the pact
is clear: the initiates in the mysteries of Dionysus, the mystai, will receive
special treatment in the netherworld and will find rest from their toils.

Frequently, Orpheus is the mediator. It is obvious that his presence in
the netherworld is related not to the search for Eurydice (who never does
appear, at least in an unequivocal manner),52 but rather to his role as a
protector of certain souls on their arrival at the underworld. In an Apulian
crater from Canosa of the Munich Museum (Fig. 6.6),53 Orpheus arrives
at the palace of Hades and Persephone. He is dressed in the oriental
manner, as a Thracian singer, and his long priestly dress flaps to the
rhythm of his dancing step, which follows the sounds of the zither. It
seems as if he wants to seduce the gods with his chant. A man, a woman,
and a child come behind him. Although the role of these characters has
been discussed, it seems obvious that they are a family of initiates. In the
vessel we find also numerous personifications and heroes: Justice beside
Theseus and Peirithoos; the judges of the netherworld, Aeacus, Minos,
and Rhadamanthys; the Erinyes; great sinners like Sisyphus or Tantalus;
Hermes Psychopompus; Cerberus, tamed by liberator Herakles; and the
Danaids; but, as Schmidt (1975: 123) points out, they show little zeal in


114 Alberto Bernabe


Figure 6.3. Locrian Pinax. Reggio Calabria 58729.
their hard work, as though they are going to be absolved soon.54 The big
Apulian crater is a representation of the kingdom of Justice and the cosmic
order, which punishes the impious actions of the noninitiated. The queen
Persephone and her husband Hades preside over its reestablishment in the
underworld space.

We find a similar model in other Apulian craters, like one of Matera (no.
336, 320 BCE), and another at Karlsruhe (B4, 350–340 BCE; cf. Pensa 1977:
24). In another one, at Naples, from Armento (SA 709, 330–310 BCE [Fig.
6.7]; cf. Pensa 1977: 27), the same themes are repeated, but without the
characteristic representation of a building. Orpheus arrives in the presence
of Hades and Persephone, and he has a woman by the hand. In the light of
the other exemplars, it seems clear that we have to interpret the scene as


Imago Inferorum Orphica
115

Orpheus presenting a deceased woman before the gods of the netherworld
rather than as a rendering of Orpheus with Eurydice.55

An interesting variant is offered to us by the fragments that were in
Ruvo (ancient collection Fenicia, c. 350 BCE [see Fig. 6.1]; cf. Pensa 1977:
25), to which I have already referred, in which we see Victory half-opening
a door—that of the netherworld—and Justice, Orpheus, Persephone, and
Hekate with two torches.


Figure 6.4. Locrian Pinax. Reggio Calabria 21016.



116 Alberto Bernabe


Figure 6.5. Apulian Crater. Toledo, Ohio.
Finally, in another crater at Naples (3222, 350–340 BCE; cf. Pensa 1977:
24), we find beside Orpheus other characters and personifications, like
Megara, the Poinai, Ananke, Sisyphus, Hermes, Triptolemus, Aeacus, and
Rhadamanthys.

As for Victory, she is not alien to the world of the gold lamellae either:
in Thur. (488) 6, the reference to the soul that was liberated from the cycle
and “came on quick feet to the desired crown” is that of the winning athlete;
although the image of the crown in the gold lamellae is polyvalent, it
is at the same time a funerary crown and a mystic, banquet, and triumphal
one (cf. Bernabe and Jimenez San Cristobal 2008: 121–128).

Together with this quite widespread type, in which we find the scene


Imago Inferorum Orphica
117

of prizes and punishments, the divine rulers and the mediator, there is
a different type that also shows Orpheus as mediator, but without the
presence of the damned sinners and of Persephone. We have variants: one
is a red-figured Apulian amphora attributed to the Ganymedes painter
(Basel, Antikenmuseum 540, 330–320 BCE; cf. Olmos 2008: 280–283
with bibliography [Fig. 6.8]). A man seated within a white shrine or naiskos,
very similar to Persephone’s palace represented in other pieces, receives
Orpheus. He is seated on a portable chair. It is curious enough that
a chair with these characteristics seems to have been represented in one of
the bone tablets from Olbia, also from an Orphic environment (IGDOlb.
94c Dubois; cf. West 1982 [Fig. 6.9]). The most interesting feature is that
the deceased holds a volumen in his hand. There is little doubt that this is a
funerary initiation text. The image makes explicit that the knowledge that
Orpheus transmits to the initiates is in a text.

Another Sicilian piece, from Leontini (Trendall 1967: 589 n. 28; cf.


Figure 6.6. Apulian Crater from Canosa. Munich Museum 3297.



118 Alberto Bernabe



Figure 6.7. Apulian Crater from Armento. Naples Museum SA 709.


Schmidt 1975: 177–178), is also similar to piece from Olbia in many aspects,
but without the presence of a text. We see Orpheus and Hermes in
a naiskos with a deceased woman.

A different type is found in a crater of the British Museum in London
(F270 [Fig. 6.10]; cf. Schmidt 1975: 120–122 and tav. XIV; also Pensa
1977: 30). Orpheus and a young man are at the entrance to Hades, marked
by a herm. Orpheus bears Cerberus with a chain because he has tamed
him with his music, and thus he assumes the function of a protector that
defends the young man, without doubt an initiate, against the terrors of
Hades.


Imago Inferorum Orphica
119

Conclusions about the Orphic Origin of the
Apulian and Locrian Infernal Imagery

We see that the basic features of the underworld represented in the iconography
we have studied make up a conceptual universe in agreement with
the one presented in the textual Orphic fragments:

1. The underworld is an underground and dark place, but has buildings.
2. It is ruled over by Persephone and Hades, although the main character
is a friendly and affable Persephone.
Figure 6.8. Apulian
Amphora from Basel.
Antikenmuseum 540.



Figure 6.9. Olbia Bone Tablet.



120 Alberto Bernabe


Figure 6.10. Apulian
Crater. British Museum
F270.


3. It is a dual space, with prizes and punishments.
4. For the punishments, the artists choose as paradigmatic representation
the clearest and most recognizable sinners of the mythical tradition,
like Sisyphus, Ixion, or the Danaids. The latter appear to be carrying
out the typical punishment of filling vessels that cannot be filled. The
beings responsible for the punishment are the Erinyes.
5.
The prizes are related to the idea of proximity to the divine, and they
are symbolized by the presence of the mediators.
6.
There is a divine mediator, Dionysus, and a human one, Orpheus
(always represented at the frontier between the palace and the rest of
the space, sometimes with the clear presence of the believer).
7.
We find in one case the representation of text as support of the Orphic
revelation.
8.
The personifications of Justice and Victory allude to the need of the
mystes to respect the dictates of the former and to the triumph they
can receive in the underworld if they reach the status of the privileged.
They also indicate that Justice presides over the triumph of those who
are privileged in contrast to the defeat and punishment of those who
are not.
Schmidt (1975: 129), however, states that the universe of the Apulian infernal
pottery does not coincide with the one of the gold lamellae:


Imago Inferorum Orphica
121

The original inspiration of the netherworld images in Apulian art perhaps
must be searched in an epic of religious coloring, or better in religious
poetry belonging to a certain cultural level. This poetic background is not
necessarily Orphic.

Yet Orpheus’ presence, particularly in the amphora of the Ganymede artist,
led this scholar to assert:

We could suppose that the figurative creation derived from these sources

would have been reused also by followers of some Orphic ideas . . . in the

. . . image of the new amphora by Ganymede painter . . . we could deal

with an “Orphization” of a more generic prototype.

This statement is unfounded and dictated, I think, by two prejudices,
which seem to be superseded. The first prejudice is the idea that the gold
lamellae reflect the beliefs of people of low cultural level. But it does not
seem appropriate to attribute low cultural level to believers who can afford
expensive gold lamellae, put in rich tombs, whose beliefs seem to
have been shared by the Sicilian tyrants that contract Pindar. The second
prejudice is the supposition that the verses of the gold lamellae are a kind
of sub-literature. Riedweg (2002) makes a strong case that there is a hieros
logos behind them. This poem would be without doubt an example of an
“epic of religious coloring” or a “religious poetry belonging to a certain
cultural level” required by Schmidt. Also wrong is the idea (Schmidt 1975:
133) that the representation of Dionysus’ birth from Zeus’ thigh is not
Orphic because Semele’s son is not Orphic. As I have demonstrated in another
paper (Bernabe 1998b), and as is reflected in the corresponding fragments
of my edition (Bernabe 2004b), this topic was already dealt with in
the Rhapsodies and probably before.

The only possible doubt is whether we can call “Orphic” this religious
continuum that we have reconstructed, which would probably present differences
of detail from place to place. But it is obvious that if we do not
do so, the explanation is more complicated. What other movement could
we reconstruct that joins Persephone and Dionysus with Orpheus as mediator,
resorts to sacred texts, and presents a netherworld with the possibility
of prizes and punishments? It seems more plausible to think that the
texts serving as basis for the artists would be the ones used in the τελετα.,
which would include performances of the sacred mystery in the form of
κατ.βασις in a kind of imitatio mortis, preparing the believer for the great
experience.


122 Alberto Bernabe


The underworld of Apulian pottery is not always a terrible place. It
can be a pleasant place if the faithful resorts to the due mediators, and
if he/she is a follower of the Orphic-Dionysian mysteries. These vessels
transmit, then, above all, a religious message, a message of hope, which is
substantially the same as the one found in the gold lamellae.

The reasons for the few differences between the texts and the representations
have to be seen in the nature of both channels: one is discursive,
and the other is a visual representation, which forces the artist to represent,
condensed, in one scene, what the texts would tell in several episodes,
and to visualize some concepts that are difficult to reflect by means
of images.

Characteristics of Life after Death

The benefits of the situation obtained by the initiate’s soul in the underworld,
about which pottery is not very explicit, can be known through
the statements of the gold lamellae. First, the initiate is free of punishment
(.ποινος, cf. Pher.), which implies that the noninitiated must suffer
punishment.56 Second, he enjoys the privilege of wine, mentioned in the
Pelinna gold leaf as “happy honor” (Pel. 6: ο.νον .χεις ε.δ.α..μονα τιμ..ν.)
and present in the Gurob Papyrus, according to a recent rereading (Hordern
2000). Thur. (488) 6 mentions a crown (although the crown is a polyvalent
symbol, as we have seen; see above). Both features, characteristic
of the symposium, approximate the situation ridiculed by Plato, defined
as “everlasting drunkenness,” the frame of happy life in the underworld
alluded to in the gold lamellae:

But Musaios and his son grant to the just more exciting blessings from

heaven than these. Having brought them, in their writings, to the House

of Hades, they make them recline at a drinking-party of the righteous

which they have furnished, and describe them as passing all their time

drinking, with garlands on their heads, since in their opinion the fairest

reward of virtue is everlasting drunkenness. (Pl. Rep. 363d (Orph. fr.

431B; trans. W.K.C. Guthrie; cf. Bernabe 1998a: 46)

Other passages coincide in presenting the underworld as a banquet
with plenty of wine. Aristophanes (Frogs 85) alludes to the “feast of the
blessed” in the underworld, and (fr. 504 K-A) puts forward the need to
go soon down to Hades to drink, because those who are there are called


Imago Inferorum Orphica
123

happy precisely due to their constant drinking of wine. Pherecrates (fr.
113.30–33 K-A) describes how, in the underworld, young maids offer cups
full of wine (cf. Aristoph. fr. 12 K-A). In an epigram from Smyrna (Epigr.
Gr. 312.13ff. Kaibel) is described the present fortune of the deceased: “The
gods are seeing me as a friend, while I enjoy the banquet beside the tripods
and immortal tables.” Passages like this have led Pugliese Carratelli (1993:
64 [= 2001: 118s]) to consider that Orphism, which primitively would
have been a mere mystic theology, would have degraded due to a materialist
version later spread and spurned by Plato. But the situation can be
exactly the opposite.

The third benefit that the soul of the mystes achieves in the underworld
is happiness (.λβος),57 a complex concept, which we do not know how to
define, whether as a “material wellness” or as a deeper feeling arising from
the company of the gods. Finally, the mystes achieves also glory, according
to Hipp. 16. These conditions are consistent with the sensation of triumph
underlying the mention of the crown, to which I have repeatedly alluded.
After the hard proof of having passed through several lives in this world,
and after the constant training of the one that keeps an ascetic life, the
soul achieves the crown of triumph: after its victory in the final proof, it is
glorious and happy and celebrates with an eternal banquet.

The condition acquired by the soul is defined in different ways. Plato’s
statement (Phd. 69c), “It will dwell with the gods,”58 places the initiates in
a clear situation of privilege, although he does not tell us plainly that they
also become gods. The gold lamellae offer us an ambiguous testimony.
Sometimes the mystes is called “hero” (Ent. 2, Pet. 11), which means a
change in the traditional heroic status that belonged to those who had distinguished
themselves by their deeds in war. It seems that, in the religious
schema of the gold lamellae, it is the memory of the initiation that allows
one to reach this status (Ent. 2).59 It is predicted that the soul will “reign”
(Pet. 11), but, since it is a reign shared with a group (“you will reign with
the other heroes”), we suppose that the expression only means that the
soul has freed itself from any submission. Finally, the new state of the soul
is alternatively defined as “becoming a god” in the lamellae from Thurii as
well as in the lamella from Rome,60 but probably we do not have to understand
that it is a personal god who receives worship if we take into account
that the idea of divinization was exceptional in the Greek religious
world.61 It is more likely that the situation reached by the initiate after his
liberation and definitive death, which is defined as a rebirth in the bosom
of the chthonic goddess and is symbolized by the image of the divine kid
breastfed by her in his new happy life, is a glorious new life, in which the


124 Alberto Bernabe


mystes identifies with Dionysus (let us remember that he is β.κχος himself).
Although his stay in the underworld does not totally match that of
the gods, it involves going beyond the human condition and acquiring a
divine (superhuman) status, although probably of a lower grade than that
of traditional gods,62 that is, that which is defined by a synonymous term
as the condition of “hero.”

Two Models of Access to the Locus Amoenus

Above I reviewed a series of conditions that the mystes must fulfill to gain
access to the privileged space in the underworld. In short, he must have
experienced initiation, which gave him a certain knowledge about the
course of the universe and the place of his soul in the whole; and he must
have passed through certain rites, which included the ecstatic experience
and which involved both the expiation of a blame shared by all human
beings and the acquisition of a ritual purity, which had to be retained
subsequently within the strict confines of justice. All of this allowed the
initiate’s soul to triumph in the tests that served as filters for the soul on
its way to the underworld.

Nevertheless, the sources describe for us two models of access to the
locus amoenus. In one of them, the ritual element was the main one, in such
a way that it was enough that the initiate know a series of formulas and
passwords (on some occasions, it seems that it was enough that he simply
bear the identification as mystes) to gain access to the due place. This is
the schema we find in the Orphic gold lamellae. Another model existed
as well, according to which the soul suffered a trial. (This is the one that
we find, for example, in Pind. O. 2, or in the Er myth of Plato’s Republic
and later in the Bononiae Papyrus.) In this case, what was fundamental
for determining the fate of a deceased in the underworld was his behavior
on earth. We do not know whether both models coexisted or if the second
was a result of an evolution of the first (in which case it would have
been proposed for the first time by Pindar and Plato and assumed later in
Orphism).63 In any case, the image of the Orphic underworld seems to
have its roots in very old precedents: an early belief in a Mother Earth that
produces a new rebirth; the image, probably Indo-European, of the green
meadows of the underworld;64 possible Egyptian influences in which the
soul is questioned and has to pronounce certain passwords to gain access
to a more pleasant underworld; and perhaps East Indian influences in a
theory of reincarnation—all of this set in an infernal scenario, which is
basically the traditional Greek one of Homer and Hesiod, but subverted in


Imago Inferorum Orphica
125

its symbolism and its meanings. The result is an original synthesis, and, as
such, is deeply Greek. This model had validity for a long time, although it
was always limited to more or less isolated groups of followers who never
formed a Church.

The naivete of some aspects of this belief makes it unacceptable for
more rationalist minds. That, together with the fact that the punishments
probably had from the very beginning a precise symbolic value, favors a
reinterpretation and reanalysis of the described schema. The mire is typical
of people who have not cleaned themselves of their sins (cf. Plot. 1.6.8),
and the sieve is a reminder of the cause for the punishment: the inability to
separate from the soul the titanic and evil elements that belong to it while
retaining the Dionysian and positive elements (cf. Bernabe 1998a: 76). In
Plato, on the one hand, we find traces of symbolic interpretations, which
could be his or could reflect those existing in his time. On the other hand,
the philosopher adapts the initiation model to philosophy and points out
that the initiates are the real philosophers, whereas those who are in the
mire and in darkness are the ignorant. The process of symbolization will
come to its late consequences with the Neoplatonists, but this is not the
right moment to go into this question. Let us leave as more interesting,
then, the function that the presentation in the Orphic τελετα. of the terrors
of the underworld initially assumed: on the one hand, the scale representation
of fate in the underworld led the subject to carry out the rites due
and to behave correctly; on the other, it calmed his anxieties by convincing
him why he has thus been given a means of attaining happiness in the
underworld. The presentation of the terrors of Hades functioned, then,
as a kind of psychological vaccine that must have been extraordinarily
effective.

Notes

This chapter is one of the results of a Research Project financed by the Spanish
Ministry of Education and Science (HUM2006-09403). I am very grateful to
Helena Bernabe for the translation of this paper into English, to Sara Olmos for
her drawings, and to Patricia Johnston and Giovanni Casadio for their revision of
the text and helpful suggestions.

1. In this chapter and only for the sake of convenience (for want of a more
explicit term), I talk about “initiates,” referring without distinction to those who
have received the μ.ησις and to those who have celebrated the τελετα., although
it is obvious that the τελετα. are not only limited to initiation (cf. Jimenez San
Cristobal 2002). From now on, I will use the following abbreviations for the gold
leaves: Eleuth. = Eleutherna (Orph. frr. 478–480 Bernabe [from now B.] = 32b
I–III Kern [from now K.] and 482–483 B.); Ent. = Entella (Orph. fr. 475 B.); Hipp.

126 Alberto Bernabe


= Hipponion (Orph. fr. 474 B.); Malib. = Malibu (Orph. fr. 484 B.); Pel. = Pelinna
(Orph. frr. 485–486 B.); Pet. = Petelia (Orph. fr. 476 B. = 32a K.); Phars.= Pharsalus
(Orph. fr. 477 B.); Pher. = Pherai (fr. 493 B.); Rom. = Roma (Orph. fr. 491 B. =
32g K.); Thur. = Thurii (Orph. fr. 487–490 and 492 B. = 32f–cd and 47 K., quoted
with the number of the fragment of B.). The English translation of the gold leaves
is generally that of Radcliffe G. Edmonds.

2. Hipp. 4; Ent. 6: .νθα κατερχ.μεναι ψυχα. νεκ.ων ψ.χονται, “There the
descending souls of the dead refresh themselves”; Pel. 7: κα... σ.. μ.ν ε.ς (Luppe:
κ.π.ι.μ.νει ed. pr.) .πο. γ..ν, “And you will go (or ‘they await you’) beneath the
earth.”
3. Hipp. 9: .ιδος σκ.τος .ρφ.ν..εντος, “The misty shadow of Hades”; cf.
Ent. 11.
4. Hipp. 2: ε.ς ..δαο δ.μους ε..ρεας, “To the spacious halls of Hades”; cf.
Pet. 1: ε.ρ.σ{σ}εις δ’ ..δαο δ.μων .π’ .ριστερ., “You will find in the halls of Hades
a spring on the left”; Phars. 1: ..δαο δ.μοις, “In the halls of Hades”; as well as Il.
15.251, δ.μ’ ..δαο, and Od. 10.491, ε.ς’ Α.δαο δ.μους.
5. Hipp. 3: π.ρ δ’ α.τ.ν .στακ.α λευκ. κυπ.ρισ.σ.ος, “And by it stands a
glowing white cypress tree”; cf. Ent. 5; Pet. 2; Phars. 2. About its symbology, see
Bernabe and Jimenez San Cristobal 2008: 25–28, with bibliography.
6. Hipp. 2: .στ’ .π. δ.ε.ξι. κρ.να / . . . / .νθα κατερχ.μεναι ψυχα. νεκ.ων
ψ.χονται, “A spring is on the right . . . there the descending souls of the dead refresh
themselves”; 5: τα.τας τ.ς κρ.νας μηδ. σχεδ.ν .γγ.θεν .λθηις, “Do not go
near to this spring at all”; cf. Ent. 4 and 7; Pet. 1 and 3. Cf. also Hipp. 6: πρ.σθεν
δ. ε.ρ.σεις τ.ς Μναμοσ.νας .π. λ.μνας . . . .δωρ, “Further on you will find, from
the lake of Memory, refreshing water”; cf. Pet. 4; Ent. 8; Phars. 4. The idea only
reappears in Pausanias 9.39.8, about a place that is not infernal, but that tries to
be a reflection of the otherworld, the Trophonius’ cave.
7. Thur. (487) 6: λειμ.ν.ς θ’ {ε} .ερο.ς κα. .λσεα Φερσεφονε.ας, “Persephone’s
sacred meadows and groves”; Thur. (489) 7: .ς με{ι} πρ.φ.ρ.ω.ν. π.μψη.ι. .δρας .ς
ε.αγ.{ι}ων, “That, gracious, may send me to the seats of the blessed.”
8. Phars. 7: π.σαν .ληθε.ην καταλ.ξαι, “You should relate the whole truth.”
Cf. Tortorelli Ghidini 1990.
9. Thur. (487) 2: πεφυλαγμ.νον ε. μ.λα π.ντα, “Bearing everything in mind”;
cf. Ent. 2: μ]εμνημ..ν.ος .ρως, and Bernabe’s (1999b) interpretation, “Hero that
remembers” (i.e., the one who is a hero because he remembers initiation).
10. First before the guards that keep watch on Mnemosyne’s water; cf. Hipp.
10: Γ.ς πα..ς. ε.μι κα. Ο.ρανο. .στερ.εντος, “I am the child of Earth and starry
Heaven” (cf. Ent. 10; Pet. 6; Phars. 8; the declaration .μο. γ.νος ο.ρ.νιον [“My
race is heavenly”], Ent. 15; Pet. 7; Malib. 4; and .στ.ριος .νομα [“My name is
Asterios”], Phars. 9), and last, before Persephone herself, Thur. (488–490) 1:
.ρχομαι .κ καθαρ.ν καθαρ., “Pure I come from the pure”; or Thur. (488) 3: .μ.ν
γ.νος .λβιον ε.χομαι ε.μεν, “I also claim that I am of your blessed race.”
11. Hipp. 1: Μναμοσ.νας τ.δε .ργον, “This is a work of Memory”; cf. Orph.
Hymn. 77.9–10: μ.σταις μν.μην .π.γειρε / ε.ι.ρου τελετ.ς, λ.θην δ’ .π. τ.ν.δ’.
.π.πεμπε, “For the initiates stir the memory of the sacred rite and ward off oblivion
from them” (trans. A. N. Athanassakis).
12. Thur. (489) 4: πο.ι.ν.ν δ’ .νταπαπ.{ι}τε{σε}ι.σ.’ .ργων .νεκα ο.τι δικα...ων,

Imago Inferorum Orphica
127

“I have paid the penalty on account of deeds that are not just.” About ποιν. among
the Orphics, cf. Santamaria Alvarez 2005.

13. Thur. (488) 5: κ.κλο.υ. δ’ .ξ.πταν βαρυπενθ.ος .ργαλ.οιο, “I flew out of
the circle of wearying heavy grief.”
14. It seems to me much more likely to read Δ]ΙΚΗ instead of ΕΥΡΥΔ]ΙΚΗ (too
long for the space) in the inscription next to the seated woman, and ΝΙΚΑ instead
of ΑΙΚΑ next to the winged woman. The winged Victory is a topic figure. But cf.
Pensa 1977: 47.
15. Burkert 1969: 11 n. 25; Orph. fr. 233 B. = 158 K., trans. W.K.C. Guthrie.
The passage has echoes in Parm. B1.14 D-K: τ.ν δ. Δ.κη πολ.ποινος .χει κλη.δας
.μοιβο.ς, “And Justice, bringer of retribution, holds the keys, which allow her to
open first one gate then the other”; cf. also Bernabe 2004b: 54–57, 129.
16. Ps.-Demosthenes 25.11 (Orph. fr. 33 B. = 23 K.), trans. J. H. Vince. About
Eunomia, cf. Hes. Theog. 902; Solon fr. 3.32 Gent.-Prato; Pind. O. 13.6, B.13.18,
15.55; Orph. fr. 252, Hymn. 43.2, 60.2.
17. We are also told about a sojourn of the pure in Thur. (489–490) 7, and specifically
about a meadow, Thur. (487) 5, in addition to Pind. fr. 129.3 Maehl. (in a
fragment with probable Orphic influences; cf. Bernabe 1999a); Pherecrates fr. 114
K-A; Aristoph. Frogs 449; Synesius Hymn. 3.394ff. The image of the meadow is not
alien to Platonic eschatology. In a series of passages with a possible Orphic influence,
we are told that the judges pronounce the definitive sentence in the meadow,
where two roads start—one leads to the Island of the Blessed, and the other to
Tartarus (Pl. Gorg. 524a)—or that the souls have to stay seven days in a meadow
before going to Necessity and the Parcae and finding a new fate (Pl. Rep. 616b).
But the philosopher seems to have innovated; cf. §11. About the Orphic signification
of the presence of Dike in the Apulian pottery, cf. Pensa 1977: 7–8; about δ.κη
among the Orphics, cf. Jimenez San Cristobal 2005.
18. Pet. 11: .[λλοισι μεθ’] .ρ.εσσιν .ν.ξει[ς], “You will reign with the other
heroes”; cf. Ent. 2: μ]εμνημ..ν.ος .ρως; and note 9 above.
19. Thur. (487) 4: θε.ς .γ.νου .ξ .νθρ.που, “You are born god, instead of a
mortal”; cf. Thur. (488) 9.
20. Cf. Bernabe 1998a: 46; and Pl. Rep. 363c, where there is attributed to Musaios
and his son (that is, to Orphic traditions) a doctrine, according to which the
fair and the unfair and the impious have different fates in the underworld, as well
as Pl. Gorg. 493a; Origen Contra Celsum 4.10, 8.48.
21. The contrast is outstandingly sarcastic, since this group of people has a very
bad reputation, because of the procedures they used to collect.
22. Cf. Graf 1974: 81, 103–107, 141; Bernabe 1998a: 56.
23. The assertion that Orphic rites come from Egypt seems to be a sign of the
attempt of the Ptolomean to associate Greek religion with the Egyptian one, and
to favor religious syncretism. Cf. Diez de Velasco and Molinero Polo 1994, related
to another reference by Diodorus Siculus (1.92.2), about the hypothetic Egyptian
origin of Caron and his boat (these conclusions are, however, perfectly applicable
to the passage with which we are dealing); cf. also Diez de Velasco 1995: 44 and
n. 106; Bernabe 2000; Casadio 1996b: 205 n. 16, with bibliography.
24. Probably because they have only selected the information that is immediately
useful for the initiate and also because it could be considered a bad omen to

128 Alberto Bernabe


mention the possibility of failure in the moment of death. Cf. Bernabe and Jimenez
San Cristobal 2008: 232–233.

25. Janko (2001: 20 n. 85) brings up Protagoras’ book Περ. τ.ν .ν .ιδου,
quoted by Diog. Laert. 9.55 and Sext. Emp. Math. 9.66, 74.
26. Tsantsanoglou (1997: 110) understands that the commentator addresses
the profane, whose punishments in Hades are evident, trying to convince them
of the fact that only by purifying themselves and by initiation will they be able to
achieve a happy life in the netherworld. Cf. Pl. Rep. 364b–365b, as well as Janko
1997: 68.
27. The reference to dreams probably alludes to nightmares suffered by certain
individuals and considered as proofs of the real existence of torments in the
netherworld.
28. We can read ]υστ[ in col. III.11 (maybe μ]υστ[-?).
29. Cf. also Procl. In Pl. Rep. 2.108.17 Kroll, in which, nine centuries later, we
still find the association of the τελετα. with the terrors of Hades within a scheme,
which seems to be the same: there are initiations associated with terrors, which
have a cathartic effect, because they produce in the faithful a community with the
divine, according to the idea that the divine is indescribable.
30. Aristoph. Frogs 145 (where we are told about “much mud and shit of eternal
flow”), 273.
31. Aristid. 22.10; cf. also Plot. 1.6.6. About the topic, cf. Graf 1974: 103–107;
Kingsley 1995: 118–119; Casadesus 1995: 60–63; Watkins 1995: 289–290; West
1997: 162 and n. 257. Other passages in which we are told about prizes and punishment
in connection with Orpheus are Pl. Rep. 363c (Orph. fr. 431I, 434I B. =
4 K.); Diod. Sic. 1.96.2 (Orph. fr. 55 B.); cf. also the symbolic interpretation by Pl.
Gorg. 493a; and Bernabe 1998a.
32. The Munich Attic amphora with black figures (Beazley, ABV, p. 316) from
the end of the sixth century BCE, in which are shown Sisyphus and some winged
beings (the ancestors of the Danaids) that throw water into a big jar (Albinus
2000: pl. 4).
33. Cf. the commentary by Anne Burton 1972: ad loc., p. 279.
34. The instrument for the punishment, the sieve, maybe evokes the cause of
suffering: the incapacity to separate the soul from the evil aspects. Cf. Harrison
1903: 604–623; and Bernabe 1998a: 76.
35. Sorel 1995: 107–108; cf. Burkert 1987: 91–92; Brillante 1987: 39; Riedweg
1998: 367 n. 33; Lada-Richards 1999: 90, 98–99, and 103.
36. We can ask ourselves if Plato points out this resemblance or if, rather, he
ironically alludes to an etymology, which may be Orphic. The latter possibility
will not surprise us, considering the great love of etymological games typical of
the Orphic; cf. Bernabe 1999c.
37. Pher.: ε.σιθ.ι. .ερον λειμ.να. .ποινος γ.ρ . μ.στης, “Enter the holy meadow.
For the initiate has paid the price.”
38. Thur. (487) 5–6: χα.ρ.ε., χα.ρε. δεξι.ν .δοιπ.ρ.ει. / λειμ.ν.ς θ’ {ε} .ερο.ς
κα. .λσεα Φερσεφονε.ας, “Hail, hail, by taking the path on the right / toward the
sacred meadows and the groves of Persephone.” The same meadow appears in a
funerary epigram dedicated to someone called Aristodicus of Rhodes (AP 7.189.3–
4), and in the Orphic hymn dedicated to Persephone, who is reborn in spring and

Imago Inferorum Orphica
129

is kidnapped in autumn (Orph. Hymn. 29.12, cf. 18.2). Λειμωνι.δες, a derivative
of λειμ.ν, describes the Hours, “partners in games of holy Persephone,” in Orph.
Hymn. 43.3. Cf. also Orph. Hymn 51.4, 81.3, and the commentaries by Ricciardelli
(2000a) on the quoted passages. A similar epithet, Λειμων.α, is assigned to
Persephone in an inscription from Amphipolis (middle of the third century BCE);
cf. Feyel 1935: 67. About the meadow in general, cf. Velasco Lopez 2001.

39. Thur. (489–490) 7: .ς μ{ει} πρ.φ.ρ.ων π.μψη.ι. .δρας .ς ε.αγ.{ι}ων., “That
she [Persephone], gracious, may send me to the abode of the blessed” (cf. Orph.
fr. 340 B. = 322 K.). For this reason, the soul declares its purity in Thur. (489–
490) 1.
40. Cf. also the description of the world of the blessed in Aristophanes’ Frogs.
41. Persephone’s sacred grove is already known to Homer and to other authors—
for instance, Eur. HF 615. The echoes of this image even reach a Latin
author as late as Claudianus (fourth century CE), who was much influenced by
Orphism and describes in De raptu Proserpinae (2.287ff.) the goddess’s happy
world as a pleasant place with groves and meadows.
42. I am referring to the images studied by Cabrera Bonet (1998).
43. From the same tomb where the Apulian amphora attributed to the Ganymedes
painter (Fig. 6.8) appeared.
44. Cf. the quoted fragments of the ancient collection Fenicia (c. 350 BCE).
45. Thur. (489) 6: ν.ν δ’ .κ.τι.ς. .κω παρ... .γν..ν. Φε.ρ.σεφ.νε.ι.αν, “Now
I come, a suppliant, to holy Phersephoneia.”
46. If we accept the extremely plausible corrections .ρ.ουσιν (Lazzarini) and
.ποχθον.ωι βασιλε.αι (West). Maybe .ποχθον.ωι βασιλε.αι was also in Ent. 16.
47. In addition to Hipp. 13, cf. Thur. and Pel.
48. Cf. Casadio 1994, in particular the evidence from Taras, Locris, and
Sybaris.
49. Procl. In Pl. Ti. 3.297.3 Diehl; Simplic. in Cael. 377.12 Heiberg (Orph. fr.
348 B. = 229–230 K.).
50. Cf. Il. 9.457: .παιν. Περσεφ.νεια, “awesome Persephone” (in other cases
in Il. 9.569; Od. 10.491 534, 564, 11.47; Hes. Theog. 568). Only once (Od. 10.509)
are the .λσεα Περσεφονε.η (“groves of Persephone”) mentioned in a non-negative
form.
51. For example, in the quoted passages Pl. Rep. 364e; Ps.-Demosthenes
2.5.11; Diod. Sic. 1.96.2–5; Procl. in Pl. Ti. 3.297.3 Diehl; Simplic. in Cael. 377.12
Heiberg.
52. Cf. Pensa 1977: 5–7, about the possible presence of Eurydice in some Apulian
vases.
53. Munich, Antikensammlungen 3297, IV BCE fin.; cf. Pensa 1977: 23–24;
Olmos 2008: 288–291, with bibliography (Fig. 6.6).
54. Pensa (1977: 37–46) offers a very interesting alternative interpretation of
the Danaids.
55. According to Pensa (1977: 46), the little Eros between Orpheus and the
woman confirms that she is Eurydice, but Eros has many different and important
functions in Orphism; cf. Calame 1999: XI; Bernabe 2004a: frr. 64 and 65.
56. They coincide in this with other examined sources; see Pl. Phd. 69c, Gorg.
493a, Rep. 364e; Iulian. Or. 7.25; Plut. fr. 178 Sandbach.

130 Alberto Bernabe


57. The mystes is called .λβιε in Thur. (488) 9 and τρισ.λβιε in Pel. 1.
58. Iulian. Or. 7.25 talks also about “dwelling with the divine beings.” Cf. the
“holy visions” of Plut. fr. 178 Sandbach.
59. If we have to read in line 2 μ]εμνημ..ν.ος .ρως, “Hero that remembers”; cf.
Bernabe 1999b.
60. Thur. (487) 4: θε.ς .γ.νου .ξ .νθρ.που, “You are born god, instead of a
mortal”; Thur. (488) 9: .λβιε κα. μακαριστ., θε.ς δ’ .σηι .ντ. βροτο.ο, “Happy and
most blessed one, a god you shall be instead of a mortal.” Scarpi (1987: 200ff.)
has pointed out the difference in the use of tenses: “You will be god” projects
deification into the future, in contrast to “You are already god,” now, as a consummated
fact, maybe the result of the experience never lived before. In Rom. 3
we read: Καικιλ.α Σεκουνδε.να ν.μωι .θι δ.α γεγ.σα, “Come, Cecilia Secundina,
legitimately converted into goddess.”
61. Cf. the reference of Hdt. 4.94 to Zalmoxis’ followers. In the Hellenistic
period only, the deification of the dead is integrated within the frame of official
religion, but as a privilege reserved for the sovereigns.
62. Scarpi (1987) compares the situation of the souls of the initiates with that
of the Hesiodic men of the golden age (Hes. WD 109–126), who, when the Earth
hides their bodies, become demons, guardians of justice, and of givers of wealth.
63. Garcia Teijeiro (1985: 141) considers turning the meadow into the place
where the judgment of the souls was celebrated to be a Platonic innovation; cf.,
from a different point of view, Banuls Oller 1997: 10–12.
64. Cf. Puhvel 1969; Motte 1973: 247; Garcia Teijeiro 1985; Velasco Lopez
2001: 136–144.

CHAPTER 7


Putting Your Mouth Where Your Money Is:
Eumolpus’ Will, Pasta e Fagioli, and the Fate
of the Soul in South Italian Thought from
Pythagoras to Ennius

r. drEw Griffith
You will recall that near the end of the extant portion of Petronius’ Satyricon,
the anti-hero Encolpius finds himself shipwrecked at Croton with his
associates, Eumolpus the poetaster, their boy-toy Giton, and hired man
Corax. Here the tireless grifters launch their final sting, Eumolpus posing
as a wealthy magnate, conveniently both childless and moribund, with
the others masquerading as his slaves. So styled, the foursome dines out
on invitations from local captatores eager to fawn and wheedle their way
into Eumolpus’ will (Tracy 1980). Finally, tired of the game and no doubt
threatened with imminent exposure as the Felix Krull he is, in a breach of
decorum worthy of Trimalchio himself (cf. Sat. 71.4), Eumolpus has his
will read out to the assembled company of his heirs.

It is an odd will, for it calls on them to eat his corpse in public as a precondition
of coming into their inheritance (Sat. 141). The idea of cannibalism
is not itself surprising, for though most Greeks and Romans may have
balked at eating their dead, others as diverse as Diogenes the Cynic and
the Stoics Zeno and Chrysippus were more open-minded (Diog. Laert.
6.73, 7.121). What is truly shocking is that the cannibalism be mandated in
a will, for legal texts are usually against cannibalism. The Court of Queen’s
Bench, London, for example, passed a landmark ruling in 1884 that sailors
cannot legally kill cabin-boys for food, though it did not specifically forbid
eating any who died of natural causes (Arens 1979; Simpson 1984).
Only one Roman other than Eumolpus ordered his heirs to eat his body,
and that case is more sensible than this, for the testator, M. Grunnius
Corocotta, was quite literally a pig—I’m referring to the fourth-century
CE schoolboy spoof in which a porker, summoned to execution by the
household chef, arranges for the posthumous disposition of his various
cuts of meat (Champlin 1987, with bibl.).


132 R. Drew Griffith


Gareth Schmeling (1991: 376) has demonstrated that each intact section
of the Satyricon ends with something outrageous, like the deflowering
of the prepubescent Pannychis at the close of the Quartilla episode (25–
26), or the arrival of the fire brigade that ends the Cena Trimalchionis (78).
If that pattern obtained for the now-fragmentary sections also, there is a
good chance that our passage, shocking as it is—and its last words describe
mothers clutching their half-eaten babies to their breasts (Sallmann 1999:
128)—was the original end of the whole novel. If so, we may suppose that
it affords “the benefaction of significance in some concordant structure”
(Kermode 2000: 148) that draws together thematic threads from disparate
parts of the work. Certainly the theatricality motif, whose prominence
Costas Panayotakis (1995) has recently shown, is given free reign with the
Plautine-cum-Shakespearean shipwreck: Hell is empty and all the devils
are here, including the faux riche Eumolpus and his trompe l’oeil servants.
Theatrical, too, is the detail that this new-fangled testament requires the
grotesque Eucharist (Bowersock 1994: 134–139) to be performed before a
live audience. I would argue that two other recurrent themes that surface
and intersect meaningfully at this point are parody of philosophic dialogue
(Courtney 1962; Cameron 1969; Bessone 1993; Cucchiarelli 1996) and the
play on significant names that Italian scholars have dubbed la poetica dei
nomi (Schmeling 1969; Priuli 1975; Barchiesi 1984; Labate 1986).

The point of intersection is the one heir not repelled by Eumolpus’
stipulation, who, citing impressively obscure precedents, mounts an
erudite “defense of necessity” argument in favor of carrying it out (Sat.
141; Rankin 1969 = 1971: 100–101; Shey 1971). This man, presumably
among those glumly chewing in the alfresco banquet that ends Fellini’s
1969 film version, is named Gorgias. This cannot fail to recall the “indefatigable
stylist” (Dodds 1959: 8; Harrison 1964; McComiskey 2002,
with bibl.) from Leontini, Sicily, who enthralled Athenians at the turn of
the fourth century with his verbal pyrotechnics developed as “an analog
of the culinary art” (Conte 1996: 134–135; cf. Aristoph. Av. 1695–1696;
Dunbar 1995: 741)—remember that the connection between rhetoric and
cuisine is drawn in the very first chapter of the Satyricon (1.3, 2.1, 2.8–9;
Shey 1971: 81). His encounter with Socrates inspired the Platonic dialogue
that bears his name, which hinges on a spirited encomium of the “natural
justice” wherein Might is right, citing Pindar’s poem, “Custom, king of
all . . .” (Gorg. 482c–484c, fr. 169a Maehler). This poem has special relevance
for us, for Plato was not the first to quote it. Two generations earlier,
Herodotus invoked the very same text (3.38; Rankin 1969: 383) to sum up
the strange case of the Callatiae, an Indian tribe who refused Darius’ inducement
to adopt a novel funeral-rite. They begged the Great King never


Putting Your Mouth Where Your Money Is
133

again to mention in their hearing anything so horrible as cremation, and
to allow them instead to go on, as their forebears had always done, laying
their dear departed to rest by eating their flesh.

The echo of the Callatiae episode is so apt to our passage that it would
by itself have justified Petronius’ choice of name for the greedy heir, the
more so since we have tended to see Encolpius as an impoverished Socrates
since, with the curse of Priapus, he was forced to sleep with Giton as
chastely as the sage with Alcibiades (Sat. 128; Sommariva 1984). Yet there
is more. Gorgias was not just a literary character, but also an author in
his own right. One of his most notorious turns of phrase—one copied by
Ennius (Annales fr. 138 Vahlen = 125 Skutsch) and the atomist Lucretius
(5.993; Meurig Davies 1949: 73)—was his γρ.φος or kenning for vultures,
.μψυχοι τ.φοι (82B.5a D-K; Waern 1951 [who does not discuss this example]).
The idea of “living” (or, more literally, “ensouled”) tombs recalls
the doctrine that everyone’s body (σ.μα) is the tomb (σ.μα) in which his
or her own soul is imprisoned (Philolaus 44B.14 D-K; Pl. Phd. 81e; Crat.
400c, etc.).

This σ.μα σ.μα notion was popularized by Socrates, and is the sort of
thing that might indeed lead a dying man to offer a cock to Asclepius, the
god of healing (Pl. Phd. 118a, with Damascius apud Schol. ad loc.; Most
1993: 100), but the Athenian philosopher himself associated it with Italy
(Gorg. 493a), and if it was not first espoused by Pythagoras—most famous
citizen of where else but Croton?—he seems most fully to have explored
its philosophical implications (Dobrochotov 1992). Though ascetic, the
doctrine was not all doom and gloom, for it accompanied the belief in
transmigration of souls. Pythagoras in turn must have acquired this idea
from somewhere (Keith 1909: 605), and Cicero (Tusc. 1.38) says that he
learned it at the knee of the Samian, Pherecydes. Herbert Long (1948: 14),
however, convincingly dismisses this as an instance of the ancients’ habit
of reading all pupils’ teachings back into the work of their masters. In fact,
the idea seems totally foreign to Greeks—“a drop of alien blood in [their]
veins,” as Erwin Rohde put it (Dodds 1951: 139). Sensing this, Herodotus

(2.123) claims that Greeks derived it from Egypt; but there is a fly in this
ointment as well, for Egyptians never believed any such thing, though their
tomb-paintings may have led Herodotus to think they did (Zabkar 1963).
It is curious that, if we join Long in doubting that Pherecydes taught it,
every Greco-Roman writer to espouse reincarnation prior to the Church
father Origen is associated in some way with Magna Graecia. Apart from
Pythagoras himself, there is the Theban Pindar—but apparently only when
working for Theron of Acragas (O. 2.57–80; cf. fr. 133 Maehler); the Acragantine
Empedocles (31B.115 D-K = 107 Wright = 11 Inwood); Plato, who

134 R. Drew Griffith


spent his formative years in Syracuse (Epistle 7, which mentions metempsychosis
at 335b–c, Phdr. 249a, etc.); and the Calabrian Ennius (Annales
fr. 15 Vahlen = 11 Skutsch). Even Vergil set his account of reincarnation
(Aen. 6.724–751) in the underworld, which Aeneas enters via Cumae. The
conclusion most economically drawn from these data is that Greeks acquired
the doctrine of reincarnation from southern Italy, just as it has been
argued (R. D. Griffith 2008, with bibl.) that they borrowed the equally
alien, though very different, doctrine of Elysium from Egypt.

If I am right that it is Italian in origin, it will come as no surprise that belief
in rebirth affects one’s diet, for Italians live to eat. After all, what other
people’s words for “to be” and “to eat” (Latin esse and esse, Quintilian
11.3.136; Juvenal 15.102) are one and the same? Indeed, Pythagoras believed
in rebirth not on theoretical grounds, but from personal experience,
recalling his prior incarnation as Euphorbus (Hor. Odes 1.28.9–15; cf. Nis-
bet and Hubbard 1970: 327–328). Euphorbus was the Trojan who in a
cameo role in the Iliad (16.805–815) changed literary history by wounding
Patroclus, making him vulnerable to Hector’s death-blow. That Pythagoras
should have believed himself a reincarnation of just this person, rather
than, say, a shrubbery, as Empedocles claimed to have been in an earlier
life, or a peacock, as Ennius once was (Annales fr. 15 Vahlen = 11 Skutsch),
may be no accident. Euphorbus’ Homeric credentials give Pythagoras a
kind of aristocratic prestige, and the Trojan connection must have played
well in his adopted homeland of Italy, since Romans thought themselves
offspring of the Trojan Aeneas (Dionys. Halic. 1.49–53, 55–60; Livy 1.1–3;
Lucretius 1.1; cf. Ogilvie 1965: 32–35). But above all, as Otto Skutsch
(1959) notes, Euphorbus’ name means “well-fed.” Naturally it is comforting
to think one was fed well in a previous life, but Pythagoras would have
interpreted good eating in the specific sense of having abstained from improper
foods, for he promulgated a number of dietary taboos.

You might think a philosopher’s rules for living could be explained
logically. After all, lest one offend a transmigrated human soul, one must
abstain from harming animals, as Pythagoras scolded a man for whipping
a puppy in whose bark he recognized the voice of a dead friend (Xenophanes
21B.7 D-K). This can hardly be done without being vegetarian, so
it is not surprising that meat was verboten among Pythagoreans, as with
Empedocles and the devotees of the Cretan Zeus (31B.128 D-K; Eur. fr.
472.16–19 TrGF; cf. Demand 1975: 352–353). (It is true that human souls
might also be reborn in plants, but apparently just inedible ones, like Empedocles’
shrub.)

There is a problem with this logical explanation, however. The problem
is beans. Pythagoras decreed them, too, taboo, and not just as food. He


Putting Your Mouth Where Your Money Is
135

barred his followers even from walking in fields where they were growing.
This notorious prohibition, merely weird to us, verged on blasphemy in
antiquity, for the “Baked Bean Festival” (Pyanopsia) was so important in
the liturgical calendar that it gave its name to an Athenian month (Harrison
1927: 320). The prohibition has sparked various explanations. Walter
Burkert (1972: 184) thinks beans were shunned due to an aesthetic
aversion to their intestinal after-effects, disturbing as these must be to
sensitive urban shamans. But perhaps, as Pliny thought, the opposite is
true, and beans are so irresistible that they can never be sampled without
inducing gluttony (NH 18.118). Or again, perhaps Pythagoreans had a
tragic propensity for the rare, devastating bean-allergy known to medical
science as “favism” (Scarborough 1982, with bibl.). For my part, I incline
rather to think that Pythagoreans avoided beans for symbolic reasons.

Beans are seeds, as Greeks well knew, for they perhaps correctly derived
their word for “bean” (κ.αμος) from κ.ω, “conceive,” or κυ.ω, “be
pregnant” (Onians 1951: 112 n. 2; Chantraine 1970: 593). Seeds are obvious
symbols of rebirth. So, in an argument shared by St. Paul, Rabbi Meir
explained resurrection to Ptolemy V’s wife, Cleopatra, as a kind of sowing
wherein the seed, buried in the earth, comes to life again in new and different
form (Babylonian Talmud Sanhedrin 90b; 1 Corinthians 15:35–44;
cf. Riesenfeld 1970: 171–186). Reincarnation is not resurrection, to be
sure, but the farming analogy works just as well to describe it. That is why
pomegranate seeds are the food of the dead in the Proserpina story (Hymn
Dem. 372, 411–413), which had wide currency in Sicily, given that, as
Cicero tells us, the whole island is sacred to Ceres and Liber (Verr. 2.4.48
[106]; cf. Diod. Sic. 5.2.3, and the comment by Zuntz 1971: 70–75). It is
also why, as the same myth shows, it can be dangerous to eat even a single
seed, if one hopes ever to get free of the underworld. Moreover, this might
also explain why Aristotle (fr. 195 Rose) darkly says beans resemble the
gates of Hades and why Pliny reports them to contain the souls of the dead
(NH 18.118). As with beans, so with meat: I would argue that Pythagorean
vegetarianism is fundamentally symbolic, serving above all as an act
of religious faith to proclaim “the kinship of all types of living things and
life in general with the ultimate principle of the Universe,” (Anton 1992:
32), or, to put it in Petronian terms, the belief that “our region is so full
of present divinities that you can easier run across a god than a man”
(Sat. 17).

The nuances of the Pythagorean diet seem far removed from Eumolpus’
will, but Paolo Fedeli (1987: 20–21) has shown that Petronius has them
very much in mind. It was when interrupted while shelling beans that
Polyaenus (as Encolpius now calls himself) killed Priapus’ sacred goose,


136 R. Drew Griffith


which Oenothea promptly turned into pate de foie gras (Sat. 135–137). This
breaks so many taboos of Croton’s most famous citizen at once that it
brings them all forcibly to mind. And then, just four chapters later, we
have Eumolpus’ will. It is for this reason that I would argue that the will,
which on the face of it rides roughshod over all religious norms, whether
those of the traditional Olympian faith or of the (I have been arguing)
native Italian eschatology of metempsychosis, does not in fact ignore the
doctrine of rebirth, but rather deconstructs it. In one sense, Eumolpus lives
up to his billing as philosopher manque, for he compels his would-be heirs
to pursue their materialism beyond mere crassness to its logical conclusion
as a guiding ontological and ethical principle, collapsing in the process
the space between legal testator and property, owner and owned, body
and self. If Gorgias, impervious to any chastising effect of this reductio ad
absurdum, indeed makes himself a vivum bustum by carrying out the terms
of the will, as he seems inclined to do, Eumolpus will transmigrate into his
body, but atom by atom in a way that Lucretius would have approved of
and not at all in the spiritual sense intended by Pythagoras. In this process,
Eumolpus will have successfully posited himself as coextensive with
his own flesh. Like Jeremy Bentham, still sitting in the south cloister of
University College 170 years after his death (Marmoy 1958; Richardson
and Hurwitz 1987; Collings 2000; Crimmins 2002), or Lenin in his tomb
on Red Square, he is his body. With him, what you see is what you get,
or—if we may express this from Gorgias’ point of view—you are whom
you eat.


PArT II

DEMETER AND ISIS



THIS PAGE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK



CHAPTER 8


Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in
Magna Graecia: The “Case” of
San Nicola di Albanella

Giulia sfamEni GasParro

Due to the extremely limited number of literary sources, which are often
merely scholiastic or hypomnematic documents providing scarce information,
our reconstruction of the religious panorama of Magna Graecia,
like that of Sicily, remains largely based on archaeological, monumental,
and epigraphical evidence. We need not stress the importance of this documentation,
insofar as it bears direct witness to the specific local realities,
nor do we need to mention the difficulties and risks at times involved in
its historico-religious exegesis. Such risks are even greater when we try to
deal with monumental complexes that, due to the absence of explicit identifying
elements (in a few lucky cases we have dedicatory inscriptions),
leave us more or less uncertain regarding their association with one cult or
another. The very structure of the religious horizon in Magna Graecia and
Sicily, with its peculiar Greek-style polytheistic features, characterized by
the departmentalization of divine figures and their respective sphere of influence,
but also—at the same time—by the possibility of associations and
convergences between them, leads scholars to be extremely cautious in
circumscribing and defining the sphere of divine action and of the respective
cults in relation to archaeological evidence. There do exist, however,
some special cases for which the significant frequency of the emergence
of sufficiently homogeneous and peculiar documentary contexts from a
monumental point of view, throughout the area of Greek cultural and
religious influence, makes it possible with reasonable confidence to identify
the divine personality to which they are linked and their underlying
ritual praxis. This in fact is the situation for the many sacred sites recognizable
as dedicated to the Demeter cult and in particular associated with
that characteristic ritual praxis that literary and epigraphic sources call
Thesmophoria. Without being able here to dedicate space to a description
of a phenomenon that is in any case well known, it is sufficient to mention


140 Giulia Sfameni Gasparro


that in the wide-ranging and varied panorama of Greek religious tradition,
in terms of antiquity and pan-Hellenic diffusion, a major role was played
by cults to Demeter Thesmophoros, named according to a common use of
Greek liturgical language in the form of the neutral plural, τ. θεσμοφ.ρια,
that is, the “Thesmophoria.”1

Among the peculiar characteristics of these cults, in addition to being
strictly esoteric and reserved for women,2 there is on one hand the mesh
of qualified relationships between the mythical and ritual plane, and on
the other the type of sacred space in which the latter is situated.3 The
literary sources, while of varying documentary value in relation to their
age and provenance, testify to the existence of a fairly specific connection
between the cult actions performed by the Thesmophoriazousai, that is, the
women who celebrate the rite, and a primordial crisis involving Demeter
and her daughter Kore-Persephone, who is ritually evoked in the Thesmophoria
context. To use the definition of Clement of Alexandria, the women
who celebrated the Thesmophoria performed a sacred festival evoking the
divine event, narrated in the myth (τ.ν μυθολογ.αν . . . .ορτ.ζουσι), to
which he briefly alludes by mentioning

Pherephatta’s flowerpicking, her kalathos, and her rape by Aidoneus,

and the cleft in the earth, and the pigs of Eubuleus that were swallowed

up together with the Two Goddesses, according to which aetiology the

“megarising” women at the Thesmophoria threw in pigs. This myth the

women celebrate variously in festivals around the city, Thesmophoria,

Skirophoria, Arrhetophoria, acting out the rape of Pherephatta in many

ways.4

This event substantially corresponds to that described in the pseudo-
Homeric Hymn to Demeter, which, however, is specifically Eleusinian,
explicitly linked to that peculiar religious structure which were the mysteria,
namely the esoteric initiation rites celebrated only at the sacred site
of Eleusis.5 The mythical theme in question is reflected in extensive literary
documentation, with more or less significant variations often linked
to local traditions and cults, including, in fact, some of a Thesmophoria
nature. These are Hades-Pluto’s abduction of Kore-Persephone, her
Mother’s grieving and search for her, and the Daughter’s return, albeit
only periodically, which brings an end to Demeter’s grief, with positive
consequences for humanity. In particular, they represent the restoration or
foundation of the agrarian rhythms of cereal farming and thus of chthonic
fertility, a guarantee of continued survival for men and animals.

These mythical events are articulated within a cosmic scenario, imply



Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
141

ing a series of movements of the protagonists not only in a vertical perspective
(descent of Demeter from Olympus, ascent of Hades from the
underworld and his katabasis with the abducted maiden, return of her to
her Mother on the earth and then together with her to the heavenly dwelling),
but also horizontally (Demeter’s wandering over the earth looking
for her Daughter, and her many xeniai at human hosts). This creates a sort
of mythical “cartography” involving the three cosmic levels but whose fulcrum
is the earth. It is, in fact, here that the vectors of action of the deities
come into contact and conflict (Persephone picks flowers on a plain, from
which emerges Hades’ chariot, only to plunge back down into it; the earth
is journeyed over by a mourning Demeter, is made sterile by the angered
goddess, then once more blossoms with Persephone’s re-emergence from
the underworld). The divine event and its “geography” involve the human
dimension, which in turn is actively collocated in the “space” and time
of myth through ritual practice and the definition of the sacred space in
which this unfolds.

De facto, the sacred site, the Thesmophorion, presents some typical
structural connotations that—although we should take all the precautions
necessary in the exegesis of the individual monumental complexes—often
clearly indicate its identity as a center of the Demeter cult. The typical
elements that combine to help identify a Demeter Thesmophoros scenario
are an extramural location,6 a site in an elevated position (on high ground
or hillsides), proximity to water (seashores or riverbanks), and—less often
archaeologically verifiable even if often mentioned by ancient sources—
the presence of natural or artificial underground cavities (the megara).

There naturally exist many variables in this scenario, as can be seen in
the passage quoted above, when Clement of Alexandria stresses that the
women celebrate their festive rites connected to the mythical theme of the
abduction and search for Persephone ποικ.λως κατ. π.λιν (which can be
translated not only as “variously in festival around the city” but also as “in
different ways from city to city”) and mentions, alongside the Thesmophoria,
other ceremonies such as the Skirophoria and Arrhetophoria,7 which
the sources also connect to the sphere of Demeter. In any case, the data
evoked recur with significant frequency in the archaeological contexts
identifiable with certainty or good approximation as Thesmophoria, or
are illustrated as such by the relevant sources. It can be seen from this
that the Thesmophoria and the numerous similar cult centers identifiable
in the area in which Greek religious history unfolded8 imply a qualified
relationship between the symbolic organization of the ritual space and the
specific mythical parameter to which the ceremonies performed there are
linked. Much more important, then, is the contribution of archaeologi



142 Giulia Sfameni Gasparro


cal evidence to the historico-religious knowledge of the widespread and
articulated mythical-ritual Demeter sphere, relatable to a varying extent
to the Thesmophoria, as is illustrated by the literary sources. At the same
time, the many “variables” that this evidence displays in the different regions
of the Greek and Hellenized world confirm the continuous adaptability
of this sphere to local realities, differentiated over time and in their
respective historico-cultural referents. More widely, they illuminate the
flexibility of the religious model represented by Greek polytheism, in its
peculiar dialectic between general structures of a pan-Hellenic dimension
and local “inventions,” linked to the various communities and relative traditions
composing the variegated scenario of the peoples that saw themselves
as Hellenes, due to community of language, customs, and religious
traditions (cf. Hdt. 8.144.2).

In this background, it is possible correctly to collocate the historicoreligious
exegesis of the wide-ranging material that has come to light in
recent years in the chora of Poseidonia-Paestum, in San Nicola di Albanella,
and that is now fully accessible to critical study, after preliminary
information9 provided in M. Cipriani’s excellent and methodologically exemplary
monograph.10 It is part of an articulated framework of Demeter
presences that archaeological investigation is revealing to be increasingly
wide and rich, with local peculiarities, not only in the area of Paestum11
but in Magna Graecia as a whole.12 This has led us to reappraise that
impression of marginality which once seemed to characterize the pan-
Hellenic personality of Demeter in this region, compared to the extensive
evidence of major cults in the ancient sources associated with important
sanctuaries, such as those of Hera in Poseidonia13 and Crotone14 or of
Persephone in the grandiose complex of Mannella at Locri.15

Without offering a detailed description of the site, impossible here as
well as being superfluous to my ends, it is sufficient to consider the peculiar
geographical situation of the sacred site, situated in a small valley
16 kilometers northeast of Poseidonia, in the northern section of the La
Cosa River and dominated by the uplands of San Nicola and the Vetrale.
This is thus a country environment abundant in water, perfectly in line
with the whole series of Demeter Thesmophoros sites.16 The sacred area,
which dates back to the fifth century BCE, consists of a dry-stone-walled
enclosure (Figs. 8.1–8.3), perhaps with a partial or temporary roof, within
which are situated fireplaces for sacrificial offers and a number of votive
deposits, containing numerous miniature vases (skyphoi, kotyliskoi, one-
handed cups, and krateriskoi) found turned over toward the ground, according
to a custom reported in various Thesmophoria sanctuaries, and
in particular at Gela Bitalemi, which, defined explicitly as such by a dedi



Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
143


Figure 8.1. The enclosure with the area of the hearths, the sacrifices by fire.
Fig. 5 Cipriani.


catory inscription “to Thesmophoros,”17 is the closest and most specific
parameter of comparison for the sacred site in question.18 In addition to
ceramic cooking containers, bearing traces of fire as a witness to their use
for communal meals inside the sacred area, the votive deposit in which all
the material was sealed at the end of the fifth century BCE, when the religious
activity of the small sanctuary seems to have ceased, has provided a
rich series of votive terracottas displaying various iconographic typologies.
These represent one of the most significant elements of the entire context


Figure 8.2. The enclosure after excavation seen from the east. Tab. 5 Cipriani.



Figure 8.3. The hearths b, e, g. Tab. 8a Cipriani.



Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
145

from the historico-religious perspective and confirm a specifically “local”
component of the cult practiced there, explicit clues of which were already
provided by the many choroplastic items coming from votive offerings of
the region of Paestum or other sites in Magna Graecia.19

This region has moreover been identified as the origin of the iconographic
motif. Alongside a rich group of fictile statuettes of various sizes
showing a female character wearing drapes, with a high polos, carrying a
piglet (Figs. 8.4–8.7), and sometimes a large cista or a patera or plate with
objects identified as cakes,20 according to a popular iconographic pattern
that probably originated in ancient Gela, there is a smaller but nevertheless
significant number of fictile representations of young men with similar
attributes (see Figs. 8.9–8.13 below).21

The female figures in question may be interpreted as images of offerers,
even if in many cases we may justifiably suspect an alternative or perhaps
intentionally ambiguous meaning, such as representations of the titular
deity of the cult (Fig. 8.8),22 or, in the cases of ascertained or probable
Thesmophoria identity of the cult context, of Demeter herself carrying
the animal and considered as the speaking emblem of the essential ritual
act. The entire documentation, from Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousai to
a well-known scholion of Lucian’s Dialogues of the Courtesans, highlights
the central role played by the bloody rite in the form of sacrifice of the
animal for food23 and in that entirely peculiar action of the megarizein,
that is, of throwing the piglets in underground cavities called megara.
Lucian’s scholion,24 rather late but probably depending on a source of the
first century BCE, reveals with great expressiveness a scenario of a secret
female rituality from which, sources agree, men were barred. Any indiscreet
curiosity on their part put them at the risk of terrible punishments, as
recounted in well-known mythical and historical episodes.25 The passage
deserves to be remembered, since, while it confirms that dialectic relationship
of the Thesmophoria cult with the mythical horizon of the primordial
divine event, already evoked in the text of Clement of Alexandria, it mentions
a male figure explicitly linked to the very act of the megarizein. The
text then reads:26

Thesmophoria: a festival of the Greeks encompassing mysteries,

also known as Skirophoria (Θεσμοφορ.α .ορτ. .λλ.νων μυστ.ρια

περι.χουσα, τ. δ. α.τ. κα. Σκιροφορ.α καλε.ται). It was [or “they were”]

held, according to the more mythological explanation, because [when]

Kore, picking flowers, was being carried off by Pluto (.γητο δ. κατ. τ.ν

μυθωδ.στερον λ.γον, .τι [.τε] .νθολογο.σα .ρπ.ζετο . Κ.ρη .π. το.

Πλο.τωνος), one Eubuleus, a swineherd, was at the time grazing his pigs


Figure 8.4. Statuette of
female offerer with piglet:
Type A I. Tab. 16 Cipriani.



Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
147

on that spot, and they were swallowed up together in Kore’s pit (τ.τε κατ’
.κε.νον τ.ν τ.πον Ε.βουλε.ς τις συβ.της, .νεμεν .ς κα. συγκατεπ.θησαν
τ. χ.σματι τ.ς Κ.ρης); wherefore, in honor of Eubuleus piglets are
thrown into the pits of Demeter and Kore (ε.ς ο.ν τιμ.ν το. Ε.βουλ.ως
.ιπτε.σθαι το.ς χο.ρους ε.ς τ. χ.σματα τ.ς Δ.μητρος κα. τ.ς Κ.ρης).

The rotten remains of what is thrown into the megara below are recovered
by women called “dredgers” who have spent three days in ritual
purity and descend into the shrines and when they have recovered the
remains deposit them on the altars (τ. δ. σαπ.ντα τ.ν .μβληθ.ντων ε.ς τ.
μ.γαρα κ.τω .ναφ.ρουσιν .ντλ.τριαι καλο.μεναι γυνα.κες καθαρε.σασαι
τρι.ν .μερ.ν κα. καταβα.νουσιν ε.ς τ. .δυτα κα. .νεν.γκασιν .πιτιθ.ασιν
.π. τ.ν βωμ.ν). They believe that anyone who takes some and sows it
with their seed will have a good crop (.ν νομ.ζουσι τ.ν λαμβ.νοντα κα.
τ. σπορ. συγκαταβ.λλοντα ε.φορ.αν .ξειν).

They say that there are also serpents below about the pits, which eat
up the great part of the material thrown in; for which reason they also
make a clatter whenever the women dredge and whenever they set those
models down again, so that the serpents they believe to be guarding the
shrines will withdraw.

The same thing is also known as Arrhetophoria and is held with the
same explanation to do with vegetable fertility and human procreation.


Figure 8.5. Statuette of
female offerer with piglet
and cist placed upon
the shoulder: Type B I.
Tab. 17b Cipriani.



148 Giulia Sfameni Gasparro



Figure 8.6. Statuette of
female offerer with piglet
and cist placed upon the
shoulder: Type B IIA.
Tab. 18a Cipriani.


On that occasion, too, they bring unnameable holy things fashioned out
of wheat-dough: images of snakes and male members. And they take pine
branches because of that plant’s fertility. There are also thrown into the
megara (so the shrines are called) those things, and piglets, as mentioned
above—the latter because of their fecundity, as a symbol of vegetable and
human generation, for a thanksgiving offering to Demeter; because in
providing the fruits of Demeter she civilized the race of humans. Thus the


Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
149

former reason for the festival is the mythological one, but the present is
physical. It is called Thesmophoria, because Demeter is given the epithet
“Lawgiver” (Thesmophoros), for having set down customs, which is to
say laws (thesmoi), under which men have to acquire and work for their
food.27

The text of the scholion, subject to numerous exegetic approaches since

E. Rohde placed it at the disposal of the scientific community,28 is certainly
Figure 8.7. Statuette of
female offerer with piglet
and cist placed upon the
shoulder: Type D IIA.
Tab. 21a Cipriani.



150 Giulia Sfameni Gasparro



Figure 8.8. Statuette of
female deity seated on
throne, low polos on her
head. She wears a chiton
and himation; in her right
hand she holds a phial and
in her left a patera with
pomegranates. Tab. 29
Cipriani (from the small
votive deposit).


the result of a complex tradition, with the intervention of one or more
editors and epitomists. However, it seems to be related substantially to
the Thesmophoria, despite the mention of two other festivals, both reserved
for women, and one of which, the Skirophoria, was also dedicated
to Demeter. We should note, together with the ritual’s nature as “fertility
cult,”29 its strong “political” value, insofar as it is aimed at founding
and ensuring the continuity and prosperity of the human group through
“fair offspring” celebrated on the Athenian day of Kalligeneia, which are
the prevalent values of Thesmophoria cults. In its intimate links with a


Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
151

dramatic divine event of the time of the origins, it evokes, together with
the great figures of the divine realm (Demeter, Kore-Persephone, Hades-
Pluton), a figure—the swineherd Eubuleus—who, despite his anthropomorphized
guise, also has the traits of a superhuman figure, and in fact
was offered the piglets thrown into the underground cavities.

Our documentation often presents the couple of the Mother and
Daughter linked, in a triad formula, with a male figure, a Zeus or a Hades,
often designated by the euphemistic attribute of Eubuleus,30 in the context
of cults whose identity as Thesmophoria is more or less evident. The
literary and epigraphic sources that reflect this religious framework are
at times confirmed by the presence of images of a male figure found in
sites identifiable as places of Demeter’s cult. An example of this situation
is found at Iasos,31 where a bearded figure with a high polos, cloaked
and bearing a patera, evokes a divine personality of the type of Zeus or
Hades, as opposed to the young image of offerer with a piglet, such as is
found in the sanctuary of San Nicola d’Albanella. The latter, as has been
noted, has more specific parallels in Greek contexts in Asia, such as Halicarnassus,
32 and in Corinth, from whose Thesmophorion come statues of
youths bearing on their chests animals, which are not clearly identifiable
(Figs. 8.9–8.13).33 I should add, however, that the style of the statuette
from Paestum is extremely similar to that of some images of youths found
in the Demeter sanctuaries of Morgantina, which also provided, in the
sanctuary in the north of the city, a dedication to a mysterious male figure
called Elaielinos.34

If, then, the existence of a male figure of a divine nature in the Thesmophoria
mythical-ritual context is fairly widespread and may represent a
precise religious referent for the iconographic motif under discussion, in
my opinion this latter probably reflects a cultic practice, that is, the presence
of male offerers. This does not, however, exclude the divine referent,
but rather is composed harmoniously with it. De facto, there are some
known cases of Demeter cults with a significant male component, such as
the sanctuary of Demetra Prostasia and Kore situated in the sacred wood
(.λσος) at Pyraia, mentioned by Pausanias:

On the direct road from Sicyon to Phlius, on the left of the road and just

about ten stades from it, is a grove called Pyraea, and in it a sanctuary

of Demeter Protectress and the Maid. Here the men celebrate a festival

by themselves, giving up to the women the temple called Nymphon for

the purposes of their festival. In the Nymphon are images of Dionysus,

Demeter, and the Maid, with only their faces exposed (τ. πρ.σωπα

φα.νοντα).35


Figure 8.9. Statuette of
male offerer with piglet
held to chest: Type F IA.
Tab. 24b Cipriani.



Figure 8.10. Statuette of
male offerer with piglet
held to chest: Type F IB.
Tab. 24d Cipriani.



Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
153


Figure 8.11. Statuette of male
offerer with piglet in his right
hand and arm held to his side:
Type G I. Tab. 25a Cipriani.


In other cases, the men play a complementary ritual role, as Pausanias
narrates of the sanctuary known as Misaeum, near Pellene:

It is said that it was founded by Mysius, a man of Argos, who according
to Argive tradition gave Demeter a welcome in his home. There is a grove
in the Mysaeum, containing trees of every kind, and in it rises a copious


154 Giulia Sfameni Gasparro



Figure 8.12. Statuette of male
offerer with piglet in his right
hand and arm held to his side.
The left hand held to the chest
holds a plate of fruit: Type H IA.
Tab. 26b Cipriani.


supply of water from springs. Here they also celebrate a seven days’ festival
in honor of Demeter. On the third day of the festival the men withdraw
from the sanctuary and the women are left to perform on that night
the ritual that custom demands (καταλειπ.μεναι δ. α. γυνα.κες δρ.σιν .ν
τ. νυκτ. .π.σα ν.μος .στ.ν α.τα.ς). Not only men are excluded, but even


Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
155

male dogs. On the following day the men come to the sanctuary, and the

men and the women laugh and jeer at one another in turn (σκ.μμασιν).36

The ritual praxis described by Pausanias, unlike that of Demetra Prostasia,
involves the contemporaneous presence of men and women in an
initial phase of the rite, followed by a strict separation of the sexes with
the celebration of a nighttime dromenon, exclusively for women, which we
may justifiably recognize as a Thesmophoria ritual. This seems confirmed
by the element of play, with verbal obscenities, peculiar to Thesmophoria
contexts. The integration of the two sexes in the first and last phases of the


Figure 8.13. Statuette of male
offerer with piglet in his right
hand and arm held to his side.
The left hand held to the chest
holds a plate of fruit: Type H Ib.
Tab. 27a Cipriani.



156 Giulia Sfameni Gasparro


Mysaeum ritual may find a parallel in the Sicilian festivals mentioned by
Diodorus Siculus, which also lasted for a long time (ten days), with widespread
popular participation and the exchange of skommata, although his
accounts make no explicit references to separation of the sexes or practices
reserved for women.37

A confirmation of the presence of men in contexts of an evidently
Thesmophorian nature, in circumstances and ways that naturally remain
unknown to us, comes also from archaeological finds from many Demeter
cult sites, through male images, dedications, or objects connected to
the male world. Among the various examples of Demeter sanctuaries that
have given wide and qualified evidence of male devotion are Heraclea; the
new foundation of the ancient Siris in Magna Graecia, where a sanctuary
of Demeter Thesmophoros was found to contain many votive dedications
made by men;38 and Fratte near Salerno. Among the various terracotta
statuettes found in a votive deposit, there are many of male offerers with
a pig.39 The case of the sanctuary of San Nicola di Albanella, however,
entirely maintains its specificity. The iconographic model in question is
to be identified as a local “creation” of the Paestum region. It seems to
reflect an extremely peculiar religious horizon, of which it is impossible
to measure all the significances, but which in any case vividly expresses an
active and qualified male presence on a cultic level in a Demeter scenario
with clear connotations of a Thesmophoria ritual. Probably, as in the case
of the cult of Demeter Prostasia, this scenario will have involved a parallel,
distinct, but complementary ritual activity of the two sexes. This confirms
the richness and typical mobility of the Demeter mythical-ritual context,
which, while clearly displaying on the one hand fundamental pan-Hellenic
tendencies, on the other unfolds in a myriad of local expressions, creating
a dense constellation of cults deeply rooted in the territory that were able
to adapt to the various socio-cultural and religious situations of the numerous
communities in the Greek world.

Notes

1. For a detailed description of the ritual practice and its mythical foundations,
cf. Sfameni Gasparro 1986: 223–306. See also Parke 1986: 82–88; Chandor
Brumfield 1981: 70–103; Versnel 1993: 229–288; Clinton 1996: 111–125.
2. A fresh look on the variety of religious rules of the women in classical
Greece is offered by Dillon 2002. See also my previous contribution (Sfameni
Gasparro 1991: 57–121).
3. An analysis of the theme may be found in Sfameni Gasparro 2000: 83–106.
Cf. also Guettel Cole 1994: 199–210 (reprint in Buxton 2000: 133–154).
4. Βο.λει κα. τ. Φερεγ.ττης .νθολ.για διηγ.σωμα. σο. κα. τ.ν κ.λαθον κα.
τ.ν .ρπαγ.ν τ.ν .π. .ιδων.ως κα. τ. σχ.σμα τ.ς γ.ς κα. τ.ς .ς τ.ς Ε.βουλ.ως
τας συγκαταποθε.σας τα.ν θεα.ν, δι’ .ν α.τ.αν .ν το.ς Θεσμοφορ.οις μεγαρ.ζοντες

Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
157

χο.ρους .μβ.λλουσιν Τα.την τ.ν μυθολογ.αν α. γυνα.κες ποικ.λως κατ. π.λιν
.ορτ.ζουσι, Θεσμοφ.ρια, Σκιροφ.ρια, .ρρητοφ.ρια πολυτρ.πως τ.ν Φερεφ.ττης
.κτραγ.δο.σαι .ρπαγ.ν: Clem. Alex. Protr. 2.17 (Marcovich 1995: 26).

5. Cf. Sfameni Gasparro 1986: 29–134, with relevant documentation. Among
later contributions, cf. Clinton 1987: 1499–1539; 1988: 69–79; 1992; 1993:
110–124.
6. Therefore, this is only one of the three patterns of sanctuary location for
Demeter cults, as noted by Guettel Cole (1994: 199–216, reprinted in Buxton
2000: 133–154). The sanctuaries of Demeter, in fact, may also be located between
the walls of the city and the country or placed within the walls, even on the acropolis,
as in the case of Thebes. The problem of the extramural location of some cult
centers and of their probable characteristic as privileged meeting places for Greek
colonists with the indigenous populations has been dealt with and variously solved
by scholars. Here I would like to mention only, apart from Hermann’s rather schematic
classification (1965: 47–57), the analyses of Vallet (1968: 67–142), Ghinatti
(1976: 601–630), and Pugliese Carratelli (1988b: 149–158). A sociological interpretation
of the relations between the Greeks and local people that takes into account
the changes in the historical situation is proposed by Torelli (1977a: 45–61).
Asheri (1988: 1–15) opportunely proposes the possibility of various motivations,
in relation to different times and places, recommending caution in interpreting the
phenomenon, not limited to Magna Graecia and Sicily, but widely reported also
in the motherland and in the colonies of Asia Minor. A detailed list of the extra-
urban places of worship in the Archaic age in Magna Graecia can be found in
Leone 1998.
7. Cf. Chandor Brumfield 1981: 156–179; Sfameni Gasparro 1986: 259–277;
Foxhall 1995: 97–110.
8. Sfameni Gasparro 1986: 285–307.
9. Cf. Ardovino 1986: 97–99; Cipriani 1988: 430–445; Cipriani and Ardovino
1989–90: 339–351.
10. Cipriani 1989.
11. A brief but clear overview of these presences can be found in Ardovino
1986: 91–102.
12. For Taranto and its territory, cf. Lippolis 1981; De Juliis 1982: 295–296:
votive offering of Via Regina Elena (cf. Tab. XLVII.3–4: female figure with cross-
shaped torch, piglet, and plate with fruit). For Locri, Sanctuary Parapezza, cf.
Grottarola 1994; for Santa Maria d’Anglona (Matera), cf. Rudiger 1967.
13. Cf. de la Geniere and Greco 1990: 63–80; Tocco Sciarelli, de la Geniere,
and Greco 1988: 385–396. See a brief overview on the cults of ancient Bruttium in
Sfameni Gasparro 1999: 53–88; 2002: 329–350.
14. For the cult of Hera Lacinia, cf. Giangiulio 1982: 7–69; 1984: 347–351.
15. Cf. Locri Epizefiri, ed. Barra Bagnasco 1977; Barra Bagnasco 1984. Among
the numerous studies on the terracotta tablets with religious scenes, see Pruckner
1968 and Torelli 1977a: 147–184. The complete publication of the pinakes is in
progress. Cf. Lissi Caronna, Sabbione, and Vlad Borrelli 1999.
16. Cf. Sfameni Gasparro 1986: 223–338, for a detailed discussion of the theme
accompanied by ample documentary exemplification. See also Kron 1992: 611–
650; Lissi Caronna, Sabbione, and Vlad Borrelli 2003 and 2007.
17. See the various reports of Orlandini 1966: 8–35; 1967: 177–179; 1968: 17–
66; 2003: 507–513. A graffito on a fifth-century Attic vase fragment is a dedica

158 Giulia Sfameni Gasparro


tion “to the Thesmophoros from the skanai of Dikaios.” On other fragments of
Attic skyphoi there are fragmentary inscriptions: DA . . . and (T)ESMOFOR. . . .
The sanctuary of Demeter and Kore was in use from the mid-seventh century to
405 BCE, that is, up to the Carthaginian destruction of Gela.

18. The numerous and peculiar analogies between the two contexts have been
highlighted by Ardovino (1999: 169–185), who made an in-depth comparative
analysis and identified two correlated religious “systems” in the sites at Gela and
Paestum.
19. Cf. Cipriani (1989: 119), who mentions similar types found at Fratte, Eboli,
Capua, and Taranto (Winter 1903: 189, 5a–b).
20. Distinctions are made between a number of different types, which, however,
are all considered to be based on prototypes from Gela analyzed by Sguaitamatti
(1984). Cf. Cipriani 1989: 104–118. The typology identified by the scholar
may be schematically summarized as follows: Section I: Plastic of medium size
(100–103)—Type A: Female statue with piglet held to her chest; Type B: Idem
with piglet in front of her bust, cist, and torch; Type C: Female head with cist.
Section II: Small plastic—Type A: Female statue with piglet in front of her bust
(see Fig. 8.4); Type B: Female statue with piglet in front of her bust and cist (see
Figs. 8.5–6); Type C: Female statue with piglet in front of her bust and patera or
plate with sweets; Type D: Female statue with piglet held head-down along the
right side of the body and cist (see Fig. 8.7); Type E: Female statue with piglet held
head-down along the right side of the body and patera with sweets.
21. Cipriani 1989: 118–128. Three main types have been identified, with minor
variants: Group F: Male statuette with piglet held in front of the bust (see Figs.
8.9–10); Group G: Male statuette with piglet held head-down along the right side
of the body (see Fig. 8.11); Group H: Male statue with piglet held head-down
along the right side of the body and patera with sweets (see Figs. 8.12–13). All the
types are dated to the mid-to-late fifth century.
22. This is the case of the female figures sitting on a seat or throne, which are
most probably intended to represent the goddess, as in Figure 8.8.
23. The most explicit literary source on this use is an Aristophanes’ scholion:
Schol. in Ranas v. 338: “He said this because in the Thesmophoria meat is eaten
and since they sacrifice the piglet to Demeter and Kore . . . he said this since the
piglet is sacrificed at the Thesmophoria” (το.το ε.πε δι. τ. κρεοφαγε.ν .ν το.ς
Θεσμοφορ.οις κα. .τι Δ.μητρι κα. Κ.ρ. δ.ουσι τ. ζ.ον . . . το.το δ. ε.πε δ. τ.
χοιροσπαθε.ν το.ς Θεσμοφορ.οις). The archaeological documentation widely confirms
this use. In addition to the site under consideration, it is sufficient to remember
the highly significant cases of Bitalemi, with its rich votive deposits including a
head of the animal, and Corinth, with its many banqueting halls. See White 1981:
24, with reference to Second report, LA 9 (1977), p. 172 pl. 74b: a stone statuette
of a seated figure bearing a plate on which, among fruit or small loaves of bread,
is found a piglet’s head, in an evident allusion to the sacrifice of the animal and to
the consequent communal meal. Cf. White 1993.
24. For a recent discussion of the text, its chronology and authorship, see Lowe
1998: 149–173.
25. See, for example, the story of Battos, the founder of the city of Cyrene, who
was said to have tried to profane the secret rites of Demeter and was thus subjected
to the terrible punishment of eviration by the Sphaktriai, the priestesses in charge

Aspects of the Cult of Demeter in Magna Graecia
159

of sacrifices to the goddess. For an exegesis of this tradition, related by Elianus (fr.
44 Hercher) and confirmed in two entries in the Suda s.v. Θεσμοφ.ρος (“Demeter
tesmophoros: Battos, the founder of Cyrene desired to know the mysteries
of Demeter and used violence, rejoicing with greedy eyes”) and s.v. Σφ.κτριαι
(“Priestesses in charge of sacrifices: dressed in the sacred stole all the sacrificers,
abandoned the sacrifice and raised their drawn swords, with their hands full and
faces wet with the blood of their victims, all together on an agreed signal, leapt on
Battos to evirate him”), see Detienne 1979: 185–214 (Italian trans. 131–148); Cosi
1983: 123–154.

26. Scholion to Lucian Dialogues of the Courtesans, ed. H. Rabe, Scholia in Lucianum
(Leipzig, 1906), 275–276.
27. Translation by Lowe (1998: 165–166). Cf. also Chandor Brumfield 1981:
73–74.
28. Rohde 1901: 355–369.
29. This traditional definition is to be understood in the sense of a ritual praxisfinalized to promote and to control the fertility of both the fields and the female
citizens. This interpretation is proposed by Nixon (1995), who stresses the antifertility
drug or pharmaka resulting from the use of some plants (pennyroyal,
pomegranate, pine branches, and vitex) linked with the Demeter and Kore cults,
both Eleusinian mysteries and Thesmophoria. These cults, therefore, are intended
also to control human fertility.
30. Cf. Sfameni Gasparro 1986: 102–110.
31. Cf. Levi 1967–68.
32. These are ephebic images with a piglet, which, according to Cipriani,
were wrongly interpreted by Higgins (1954: 130 and tabs. 64, 454–455 and 457) as
female and from the early fourth century. See also the terracotta statuettes from a
votive deposit in Gortina (Crete) in Platon 1957: 144–145.
33. Cf. Bookidis and Fischer 1972: 317: many fragments of statues. “All appear
to depict a young man wrapped in himation, carrying an offering. . . . Best
preserved is a statue of a draped youth,” which “date[s] to the late fifth or early
fourth century B.C. (Pl. 63 a, b).” A terracotta mask depicting a bearded man was
found east of the theater. Bookidis identifies the type as Dionysos-Hades (Bookidis
and Fischer 1974: 290–291 pl. 59). Cf. the previous preliminary reports by Stroud
1965: 18, pl. 8 (terracotta figurines of small children, and several examples of the
type of the “temple-boy”) and 1968: 325, pl. 95c, e (a standing, draped archaic
kouros), pl. 95d (fragments of male figure). See also the final publication of the
Corinth sanctuary by Bookidis and Stroud (1987).
34. Cf. the reports of the excavations by Sjoqvist (1958a, 1958b, 1960, 1962,
1964), Stillwell (1959, 1961, 1963, 1967), and Stillwell and Sjoqvist (1957).
35. Pausanias 2.11.3, ed. and trans. W.H.S. Jones (London and Cambridge,
Mass., 1964), 304ff.
36. Pausanias 7.27.9–10, ed. and trans. W.H.S. Jones (London and Cambridge,
Mass., 1961), 342ff.
37. Diod. Sic. Bibl. 5.3–4.
38. Cf. Neutsch 1968: 187–234, tabs. 1–33; Ghinatti 1980: 137–143; Sartori
1980: 401–415. The sanctuary of Iasos, which with every probability is also a
Thesmophorion, due to the quality of the archaeological finds, has provided a significant
number of fictile statuettes depicting a bearded male figure, with polos and

160 Giulia Sfameni Gasparro


patera, interpretable as a deity (perhaps Hades or Zeus Eubuleus), companion of
the Thesmophoros goddesses. They illustrate a triadic formula common in many
sites, above all in the Cyclades (cf. Sfameni Gasparro 1986: 91–110, 169–175). At
the same time, these votive images could also reflect, with a particular relief of
the male component of the divine sphere, a cultic role of the male element on the
human level. Cf. the documentation in Levi 1967–68: 569–579.

39. Cf. Sestieri 1952: 126, Stratum XIX–XX.

CHAPTER 9


Landscape Synchesis:
A Demeter Temple in Latium


Kathryn m. luCChEsE

Abstract

Besides the Eleusinian mysteries, the late-fall pre-planting rites of the
Thesmophoria were the most characteristic of the festivals of Demeter.
The thesmophoria themselves, usually translated as “the things laid down,”
were offerings flung into a natural crevice or man-made chamber in the
rock known as a megaron, left to decay, and then retrieved and plowed
into a nearby ritual field, thus securing the region’s fertility for the season
to come. By metaphoric extension, the Thesmophoria became associated
with the civilization that developed in the wake of sedentary agriculture,
the “things laid down” being understood as a code of civil laws, the goddess’s
title being translated into Latin as legifera, “law-giver.” A small
temple just outside Rome, built by Herodes Atticus, can now be firmly
identified as dedicated to Demeter/Ceres due in part to the recent discovery
of a well-preserved megaron there. Herodes used the construction
of this sanctuary as a gesture of synchesis linking himself to the goddess
of laws in order both to exonerate himself of his wife’s bloodguilt and to
increase his own social standing.

The Notion of Synchesis

For those classicists unfamiliar with the field of cultural geography, I
should explain that it functions as a sort of theoretical archaeology, specifically
accounting for the placement of man-made features within the
context of the natural environment—a system of both built and natural
features commonly referred to as a “landscape”—by means of studying
these features’ location, function, and meaning. Geographers often refer


162 Kathryn M. Lucchese



Figure 9.1. Map of the Caffarella/Pagus Triopius in suburban Rome. By the author.


to this study as a “reading” of the cultural landscape, and its construction
as “writing.” The implication is that we communicate cultural values
such as wealth, status, and national origin by how we construct or “write”
these systems. It struck me that a particularly felicitous subject for such a
study might be a sacred landscape system “written” by the famous Greek
sophist and antiquarian Herodes Atticus. I knew of such a site through
reading Rodolfo Lanciani’s narrative of the remains of a sacred grove in
the Almo Valley, south of Rome,1 and, given the opportunity to study it
during a sabbatical semester spent in Rome from January to June 1993,
determined to learn all I could. I carried out research both at the site in
the Caffarella valley just off the Via Appia Pignatelli southeast of Rome’s
Porta Appia (Fig. 9.1), and in the libraries of the Vatican and the American
Academy at Rome. This body of information ultimately became the core
of my Master’s thesis. With the help of my husband, Robert R. Lucchese, I
was able to explore a series of caves and tunnels at the site that I identified,


Landscape Synchesis
163

I believe for the first time, as a perfectly preserved thesmophoric megaron.
I quickly shared my discovery with local archaeologists at their Via Campitelli
office, and it was clear that they were as yet unaware of the existence
of the megaron at the site. In the summer of 2000, I returned to the site
and discovered a vent resembling a man-hole cover over the bailing hatch
of the megaron. This suggests that some exploratory work has proceeded
below, the extent of which I do not know. It is high time, however, that
a wider audience of classicists was made aware of this uniquely complete
temple complex, and perhaps that excavations begin.

In reading landscapes, geographers often discover that their creators or
“authors” have made figurative references, creating some higher symbolism
at the site. This is especially the case, I would argue, when the landscape’s
creator is in fact an author—in this case, a sophist, famous for his
store of antiquarian references and clever figures of speech.2 The method
by which Herodes Atticus seems to have evoked complex implications
from this temple complex struck me as being like the trope of synchesis. In
synchesis, nouns and their modifiers appear in a line of poetry in an interlocked
word order, a-b-a-b, or, to use Clyde Pharr’s example from the back
of the “purple Vergil,” saevae memorem Junonis iram (“fell Juno’s unforgetting
hate”).3 The effect is for syntactically unrelated words to attract each
other’s meaning in the reader’s eye and ear, so that unconsciously, they
are linked: Juno with “hate” and “mindful” in a way that underlines her
general state of mind in the Aeneid.

Synchesis seems to me to be a particularly fruitful figure for studying
the sanctuaries of traditional “animistic” religions like those of Greece
and Rome. Evocation of divine presences by a particular setting perceived
as numinous is in itself synchesis, linking feeling to deity. One thinks of
the awe-inspiring Shining Rocks of Delphi and their uncanny focusing of
light and sound, their beauty and loftiness, their enclosure of the Kastalia
spring, creating a natural focus of the numinous that became Apollo’s precinct.
In the case of Herodes Atticus’ construction of the Demeter temple
complex, the setting is natural enough, peaceful and enclosed, the soil
fertile as only volcanic tuffs can make it (Fig. 9.2). But many symbolic linkages
are also both made and exploited if already extant, linkages intended,
as I argue, to improve the sophist’s status as well as symbolically to refute
the suspicion that he had killed his wife.

In presenting this information, I follow a threefold scheme. First,
I present the basic premise of Ceres as an “indigenous deity in Magna
Graecia,” as the theme of this symposium would require. Then, I detail
the ritual of the Thesmophoria and the landscape features it requires for


164 Kathryn M. Lucchese



Figure 9.2. La Caffarella from the north side of the valley, on the bluff near the
Vaccareccia farmhouse. Photo by the author, June 1993.


its performance in terms of Herodes Atticus’ temple complex, within the
context of the surrounding Pagus Triopius area.4 Finally, I return to the
trope of synchesis in this sacred pagan landscape.

The Italic/roman Nature of Ceres

The indigenous Italic cult examined in this chapter is that of the great Italic
goddess Ceres. Magna Graecia is here understood as extending northward
(by Roman imperial times) to include Rome. Ceres seems to have provided
the “increase” or growth function to the grain, the most mysterious and
delicate aspect of farming: In The Roman Goddess Ceres, Barbette Spaeth
traces the stem Cer-to the Sanskrit ker-, meaning “to create, to be born.”
Spaeth additionally claims that Ceres has “the oldest written evidence of
any Roman divinity.” She cites the inscription found at Falerii, dating to
about 600 BCE: “Let Ceres give far.”5 The “old-time” religious rites of
the Arval Brethren, aimed at securing the peace and health of the Roman
state, included prayers to Ceres paired with Tellus, goddess of the earth,
in their celebration of the Cerealia on 19 April.6

The chief Ceres cult spot within the pomerium was the Aedes Cereris
on the Aventine hill, founded after the great famine of 493 BCE. The Sybil-
line books called for the importation of her cult from Sicily, where the
grain shipments also originated, complete with a priestess who continued
to conduct all her rituals in Greek.7 While there was a distinctly Greek
character to the pre-existing cult of Ceres in the city of Rome, it had some
unusual local and typically Roman political linkages, quite different from
those we will see made by Herodes. This temple was associated with the
plebs: records of the Tribuni Plebis were kept here, and here Ceres formed


Landscape Synchesis
165

a sort of plebeian triad with Liber and Libera (Italian equivalents of Dionysus/
Triptolemos and Kore/Persephone) against the patrician Capitoline
(and originally Etruscan) triad of Jupiter-Juno-Minerva.8 Thus there is a
sufficiently early presence for the cult of Ceres in central Italy to call it
“indigenous” by the time of Herodes Atticus, the Greek sophist whose
importation of a very Greek version of the Ceres cult in about 170 CE is
under consideration here.

By imperial times, all these deities had become uniquely entwined with
local Roman culture, whatever their places of origin. Augustus, no less
than his adoptive father Julius Caesar, placed himself firmly within the
popular camp, wooing the impecunious but undeniably numerous plebs in
part by identifying himself with the grain dole and thereby with the goddess
who secured a continuing supply of that grain: Ceres (Fig. 9.3). By
means of statues and coinage depicting his wife Livia in the guise of Ceres
and himself in the Cereal crown of the Arval Brethren, Augustus implied
that his own godlike charisma helped keep the plebeians fed, just as, less
symbolically, he did in fact administer the system that provided the dole.
From that time forth, Ceres was commonly paired with the emperor and
his wife.9


Figure 9.3. Portrait bust
of the emperor Augustus’s
wife, Livia, as Ceres.
Capitoline Museum.
Photo by the author.



166 Kathryn M. Lucchese


The Thesmophoria

Walter Burkert calls the Thesmophoria “the most widespread Greek festival
and principal form of the Demeter cult.”10 This is saying a great deal
when one considers the modern fascination with the Eleusinian mysteries;
it seems logical that the most frequent appeals to Demeter must have been
for the yearly harvest and not for individual concerns about afterlife, a
function additionally performed by other deities. Thus, the Thesmophoria
were to be observed with regularity each fall, for a period of three days just
before the fall planting in November (= 11–13 Pyanopsion). Whether the
Aventine temple carried out these rituals is questionable, as they required
the presence of a ritual wheat field, and Burkert does specify that they
were common to suburban sanctuaries. The point of the ritual is clearly to
provide some kind of sympathetic magic to assist the fertility of the whole
season’s crop. By opening the planting season with the Thesmophoria, the
rest of the region’s fields could be thought of as being blessed as well.

This ritual was strictly off-limits to men or to unmarried women; we
are told that Athenian husbands were required by law to allow their wives
to take part, and it would be very interesting to know what Roman laws
were on the subject. Given the already greater freedoms enjoyed by Roman
matrons over their Athenian sisters, one may assume that their access
was not hampered by any special prejudice. How popular the Thesmophoria
was among Roman women, however, is not clear, as we have no record
of such performances at Rome that I have found, whereas we do read of
the famous ritual of the Bona Dea—possibly a Latin equivalent of Ceres,
with rituals similarly off-limits to men.11

The worshipers spent three days and nights camped out, as it were, at
the sanctuary, the nights taken up with stories and songs, mostly lewd
and thus bringing good luck, the days concerned with the retrieval of last
year’s offerings, the proper treatment of these remains, and the production
and insertion of new offerings. The hatch leading down into the megaron
was unsealed, and one woman was sent first to scare away any snakes with
noise or song, and perhaps to set up lamps like those found at the Demeter
sanctuary at Knossos.12 Then the “bailers” descended into the chamber
to scoop the remains of last year’s offering of piglets and cakes, known
as megara or magara, into special baskets called kistai, which they put on
their heads as they ascended once more into daylight. The kistophora figure
is a standard representation of this part of the ritual, and several such
statues, elegantly rendered in Hymettan marble, were found in the fields
near the tomb of Cecilia Metella, off the Via Appia not far from the temple


Landscape Synchesis
167


Figure 9.4. A Kanephoros
or Kistophoros, carved
from Hymettan marble
and found near the Tomb
of Cecilia Metella on the
Via Appia in 1784. Now in
the Braccio Nuovo of the
Vatican Museums. Photo
by the author.


site (Fig. 9.4).13 The remains were then apparently offered to the goddess
on the altar (possibly mixed with grain and hopefully accompanied by
fragrant incense smoke) before being plowed into the adjacent sacred
field. It would seem that this last chore must have been performed by a
man, since it is so depicted in iconography representing the first farmer,
Triptolemos.14

Perhaps the blessed offering waited until the closing of the festival to
be plowed, as there was still the new offering to be laid down, the whole
point of the Thesmophoria. The “laying-down” was after all originally the
application of the magical fertilizer of rotted piglets and cakes, scooped
up from the megaron into the kistai, onto the sacred field, before the planting
of the seeds. In preparation for the next Thesmophoria, new female
piglets15 were dropped into the megaron along with cakes made into phallic
and other appropriate shapes.16 Once the hatch of the megaron was
resealed, the contents of the baskets plowed in, and no doubt the tidying
of the sanctuary done, the business of the festival was complete.


168 Kathryn M. Lucchese


Metaphorical Extension

Establishing as it does the preeminence of Demeter/Ceres as the bringer of
agriculture to human society, the festival of Thesmophoria symbolized for
thoughtful Greeks the coming of civilization itself.17 Once the realization
of the full consequences to human society of the discovery and adoption
of sedentary agriculture had been made, the thanks due to the great civilizer
Ceres could properly be rendered. The very structure of civilization
could be attributed to her arrival on the scene, just as civilization could
collapse if she withdrew her favor. Sanctuaries recorded the results of her
wrath: crop failures so radical that people were reduced once more to
eating acorns, as in the troglodytic days, destroying the stratified fabric
of society.18 Thus the “things laid down” of the festival were identified
with human laws, laws that came about with the complexity of the urban
society that agriculture made possible.

Proper keeping of the festival of Demeter Thesmophoros must have
been important, then, not just to the continuation of agriculture in the
form of the local wheat crop, but also to the continuation of urban civilization.
The whole complex structure of civilization, after all, was based on
the foundation of these particular laid-down things. The Latin translation
of thesmophoros is the much less ambiguous legifera—“law-giver.”19 The
Roman plebs could support Ceres’ worship in this sense as much as in that
of the matron of the grain-dole; after all, it was protective institutions
like the Tribuni plebis that began to protect the plebs from the arbitrary
customs of the patricians. With a sense of her enlarged importance, the
city fathers as well as the mothers could support the cult of Ceres as one
of those to be honored above local deities, and beside the great sky-gods
Jupiter and Juno, who brought not only supreme justice but also the rain
and breezes to assist Ceres in the growth of the seed. Civic leaders could
use their loyalty to Ceres to reinforce the favor not only of the distant
Olympian goddess but also of the very tangible, and numerous, common
people.

The Cult Site: The Pagus Triopius, or Triopium

The lands known as Pagus Triopius or the Triopium belonged to the family
of Annia Appia Regilla, the wife of Herodes Atticus at the time Herodes
built the Ceres temple there. Although it well could have been named
Pagus20 since time immemorial, it is clear that it is its association with


Landscape Synchesis
169

Ceres that gave it the modifier Triopius. Triopas was a mythical Thessalian
king who somehow offended Ceres, possibly by misappropriating materials
for her temple.21 He fled to Caria, where he is said to have founded
the Ceres sanctuary of Triopium, though traces of this sanctuary have not
yet been found. The extent of ancient Pagus Triopius seems to have corresponded
roughly to the lands between the Via Appia and the Via Latina
from the Via della Caffarella to the Via di Cecilia Metella (see Fig. 9.1),
or perhaps as far down the Via Appia as the Villa of the Quintilii, who
were famous detractors of their neighbor Herodes, as he was of them.22
The part of this land that borders the little Almo (or Almone) River is now
known as La Caffarella, after the Almo’s medieval name, Marrana della
Caffarella.

In any case, at the death of his wife, Herodes dedicated this rich and
extensive region, with any villages and farms upon it, to the exclusive use
of the goddess Ceres, to Liber and Libera, the deified Faustina, and to
the goddess of fertility and vengeance, Ops/Nemesis. This he declared in
verse on two marble tablets, set up within Pagus Triopius, which fell into
the hands of the Borghese family (see Figs. 9.5 and 9.6, and see the appendix
here for the full CIG reference and translation). One of these (“of
Marcellus”) is easily visible in the Greek inscription room of the Louvre
Museum in Paris. These inscriptions warn all comers that this land is not
to be used for any purpose but to honor the goddesses, or else Nemesis will
take her revenge. The first, excerpted below, has no author attribution, but
according to Jennifer Tobin23 may be the only surviving piece of writing by
Herodes—the expert in ex tempore speaking, not literature:

3 Come here, both of you, that you may honor this rich place

4 In the neighboring suburbs of hundred-gated Rome,

5 Pagus, host to Triopa of the Grain [Demeter]

6 So that you may call it Triopea’s among the immortal gods.24

The Assemblage: The Temple Proper, and Its Megaron

The assemblage of sacred structures within the temenos of the Demeter
temple is quite complete. There is, of course, the little temple itself facing
due east, the megaron, lying along its northern flank and also running due
east-west, the sacral field in which the megaron lies, the remains of the oak
grove on the hill just east of the temple, and the Fons Egeriae, just under
the lip of the bluff to the northwest—seemingly unconnected, but I rather


Figure 9.5. Inscription 1 from Visconti 1794.



Figure 9.6.
Inscription 2 from
Visconti 1794, “Of
Marcellus.”



172 Kathryn M. Lucchese


think part of the whole. Finally, there is the tomb or cenotaph of Regilla,
once proudly fronting on the Via Appia, but now entirely vanished.

The temple was built of elegant second-century brickwork and once
boasted a porch with two marble Corinthian columns in antis. Within the
last few hundred years, however, this porch has been bricked in to prevent
a collapse, as may be observed from the impressive crack that runs up the
left face of the entablature (see map and Fig. 9.7). A glance at the plan (Fig.
9.8) shows that the interior is a single, barrel-vaulted room, lit by windows
high in the end wall and one over the entry door. Stairs behind the
apparently sixteenth-century church altar lead down to a tiny crypt (decorated
with a Madonna and Child fresco). A very un-Christian marble altar
stands to the right of the door as one enters: circular and wound about
with a writhing carven snake (Fig. 9.9), it is inscribed in Greek as being
offered to Dionysus by the hierophant, the standard appellation for one
who has been an initiator at Eleusis.25

The statues of Faustina the Elder as Ceres, of Faustina the Younger as
Libera, and of Annia Regilla in her function as priestess have all vanished
from the temple.26 Remaining, however, is the original, well-preserved
stucco decoration (Fig. 9.10) on the vault and upper walls of the cella,
although the wall panels themselves were frescoed in the eleventh century
with scenes from the lives of Christ, St. Cecilia, and St. Urbano, to whom
the temple was rededicated at some early date. The stuccoes feature two
friezes of trophies and a vault decoration of octagonal coffers with a central
boss. This boss is decorated with two divine figures: a bearded male
figure undraped to the waist and holding a bird in his hand, and a draped
female figure, also with a bird (Fig. 9.11). If we can assume Jupiter and
Venus as the attributions of these figures, these in addition to the friezes
would seem to refer to Annia Regilla’s Trojan ancestry, as the gens Appia,
along with many other patrician families, apparently traced their lineage
back to Troy.

On the three oblique sides of the temple is a partial wall, perhaps for
shoring up the higher ground behind it. Directly to the north of the temple
is a small oblong field, level and currently kept free from briars, which
one may assume is the sacral field for the first plowing. In this field, at an
unknown distance from the temple,27 is the hatch to the megaron, now exposed
to the open air for the first time in perhaps 1,500 years (Fig. 9.12a).
The megaron beneath the hatch (Fig. 9.12b) also runs due east-west, and
is square-cut out of the reddish tufa below. The ceiling is not far above
the head, and one suspects the soft dirt of the floor has risen considerably
since its time of ancient use. The chamber is perhaps 2 meters wide and
27 meters in length, at least to the point where there is a collapse or an in



Figure 9.7. The exterior
of S. Urbano, taken from
the southeast; note the
massive crack running
from frieze to roof, no
doubt necessitating the
brink infill. Photo by
the author, 1993.



Figure 9.8. Canina’s reconstruction of the interior of S. Urbano, in section crosswise
(left) and lengthwise (right). The location of the boss showing the two deity figures on
the vault has been marked and x’s indicate the location of the later Christian frescoes.
Canina 1853.


Figure 9.9. An altar to
Dionysus, either in its
original position or found
nearby and set within the
church of S. Urbano. Piranesi
1780; Vatican Library listing:
Cicognara XI.3837.



Landscape Synchesis
175


Figure 9.10. Stucco representations of weaponry at the spring of the vault of S. Urbano.
Note the battle trophies and captured standards. Piranesi 1780.



Figure 9.11. Stucco boss
in the center of the vault
of S. Urbano, possibly
representing Jupiter and
Venus. Piranesi 1780.


filling, at the far west end (see plan, Fig. 9.13). The centrally located hatch
(about 18 meters along the megaron) ascends perhaps 5 meters to the surface,
also carved from the tufa and rectangular in cross-section, with toeholds
chipped into the eastward surface. Before the opening was installed
within the last ten years, there was a broken slab of white marble at what
I imagine was the ancient ground level, with what seemed to be a rusted
pipe or oil drum above that, all of which was sealed with earth.28 I did not
dig in the soft matter of the floor, but I suspect that a thorough excavation
of the megaron and careful study of the removed material might well produce
piglet bones, to discover whether in fact the megaron was ever used
for its primary function.

Before the addition of the modern opening via the hatch, the only
egress from the megaron after its entrance was sealed, no doubt after the
peace of the Church, was through a tunnel that branches off its eastern
end (see Fig. 9.13). This tunnel, of unknown age and function, is carved
very differently out of the soft tufa: the ceiling and sides are curved rather


a a
b
Figure 9.12. Photos
taken inside the megaron:


(a) The hatch as viewed
from directly below, with
a fragment of a marble
cover, above which was
what looked like an oildrum.
The toe-holds can
be seen angling from left
to right directly below the
lid fragment; (b) The view
from east to west of the
megaron, where the entry
to the hatch is just where
the light of the flash fails.
Photos by the author, 1993.

Landscape Synchesis
177


Figure 9.13. Rough plan of
the megaron and tunnels
and chambers connecting
it with the slope of the
hill, made by the author
using a Silva compass
and pacing system as
indicated.


than tall and straight-sided, like the megaron, with two broader chambers
with alcoves of undefined purpose. Just at the point of exit into the open
air, one comes to a wide, low, bifurcated hall, suggestive of a stable, with
occasional shallow shelves one imagines to be used for lamps or fodder. It
was by following a path up the bracken-covered hillside below the temple
that I found the entrance to the tunnel and thence to the megaron; the entrance
is invisible from below, and nearly invisible even from across the
valley (see Fig. 9.1). Given the questing nature of the zigzag upper reaches
of the connecting tunnel—turning back inward when the hill’s exterior
support wall is reached—it must be that either the carver of the tunnel
began from the hatch and cut a way out to a known cave, or the carver
cut a way in to reach the known megaron. In either case, the simultaneous


178 Kathryn M. Lucchese



Figure 9.14. Photograph of the Bosco Sacro, taken at the end of the nineteenth
century looking west toward S. Urbano. In 1993 there were only three trees in place,
but many have been recently planted, as the area is developing into a city park.
Domenico Anderson/ALINARI Archives, Florence (1890).


knowledge of both the cave and the megaron was necessary, it seems to me,
for the connection to have been made, arguing for a very early carving of
the extra tunnel, before the entrance to the hatch became obliterated, as it
was when I first saw it.

The Sacred Grove

My chief reason for studying the Caffarella landscape was the continuing
existence there of a sacred grove. This cluster of ilexes, standing upon
the knoll just east of the facade of the temple, is sadly thinned from its
former abundant state. In a photograph of the late nineteenth century, the
temple stands stark without surrounding foliage while the grove looms
dark and full (Fig. 9.14). Now, the temple is scarcely visible behind its
pines, whereas only three slim specimens of ilex remain in their proper
places (see Fig. 9.2). This is perhaps the very grove to which Juvenal refers
when he mentions “trees inhabited by refugee Jews” beside the Fountain
of Egeria.29 I myself have seen one of these trees with a rope ladder let


Landscape Synchesis
179

down, in February, perhaps to let a cold shepherd take shelter from drizzle
under the boughs.

A sacred grove is a standard accompaniment to a sanctuary of Demeter,
as may be seen from references in Pausanias.30 As we have seen in the case
of Triopas, the goddess can remove her benison if offended, sending man
back to the acorns of the woods for sustenance, where he was before agriculture
came into the world. This is the interpretation of the presence of an
ilex wood before her temple in the Caffarella; orchard trees would clearly
represent an extension of her benevolent domesticating power over nature,
whereas oaks do quite the opposite. The use of oaks here is in keeping with
the somber, admonitory text of Herodes’ boundary inscriptions.31

The Fons Egeriae

Egeria was the water nymph who gave the law to King Numa, and with
whom he consorted on a nightly basis. She is understood to have been a
wood-loving nymph, and she had a fountain also at Lake Nemi, in the
sanctuary of Diana Nemorensis. She was imagined as living not far from
Rome, but definitely in the countryside.32 Her spring is located at the base
of the bluff upon which St. Urbano/Temple of Demeter stands (see again
Figs. 9.1 and 9.2), and is a cool spot overhung with a great nut-tree, wildflowers,
and brambles, opening off of the path that was once the Via della
Caffarella (until it met a gate and turned left across the Almone toward
the Vaccareccia) and may have been the ancient Via Asinaria (a quiet
mule-road, parallel and downhill from the great Via Appia and across the
stream from the Via Latina). Water still runs from an alcove to the left of
the back wall whence it used to spring, from under a reclining male statue,
possibly of Numa. The sides of the nymphaeum are lined with brick and
set with niches; the vault is concrete with the imprints of slabs of stone,
and floor is paved with squared stones (Fig. 9.15).

Synchesis: Herodes Atticus and Annia regilla

Through the dedication of the Triopium, Herodes makes a series of gestures
on his own and his wife’s behalf, creating synchesis between themselves
and the place, and between themselves and their imperial patrons.
Let us remind ourselves of the facts about Herodes: he was an extremely
wealthy sophist from Attica, an Aiacid, a priest at Athens of the Roman
imperial cult, an antiquarian and tutor to M. Aurelius and L. Verus, a


180 Kathryn M. Lucchese



Figure 9.15. Canina’s rendering of the Fons Egeria, in many ways better than any
modern photograph, since bramble growth prevents one from standing far enough back
to do it justice. The water flow is now, however, from the farthest-in left-hand niche.
Canina 1853.


man of unstable temper and tyrannical leanings. His wife, Annia Appia
Regilla,33 was a kinswoman of Faustina the Elder, wife of Antoninus Pius,
a member of the ancient Appian gens, thus, as we have seen, a descendant
of Aeneas of Troy. She was also a priestess of Demeter and mother
of Herodes’ five children. Her death in premature childbirth, apparently
after being beaten by a freedman on Herodes’ orders for a trivial offense,
brought on a lawsuit for wrongful death by Regilla’s brother.34 Although
his superior oratory won the day and he was acquitted of his wife’s murder,
Herodes nevertheless additionally proceeded to dedicate all of his wife’s
clothing to Demeter at Eleusis and her Triopium lands to the goddesses
Demeter and Kore, as well as to the goddess of vengeance, Ops/Nemesis.

Herodes nowhere explicitly states in any dedicatory inscription that he
is innocent, or wealthy, or on good terms with the emperor’s family, but
all of these statements are implicit in the relationships he sets up within
the landscape of the Triopium. I here examine three basic relationships:
the links between the cults of Demeter of Greece and Ceres of Rome, the
links between Herodes’ family and the Roman imperial family, and the
links between the expiation of blood-guilt and Herodes himself.


Landscape Synchesis
181

Demeter/Greece and Ceres/Rome


We have seen earlier in the barrel vault inside the Temple to Ceres/Demeter
(the modern St. Urbano church) some well-preserved stucco reliefs (see
Fig. 9.11). I have mentioned that along the frieze at the spring of the vault,
we see a decorative collection of stucco trophies—shields, weapons, armor—
and that on a boss at the apex of the vault are two divinities, one
male, bearded and draped from the waist down, one female, fully draped.
The male deity has a small bird of prey, possibly an eagle, perched on
the back of his right hand. The female deity holds a small bird, possibly
a dove, in a little sling on her right hand as she looks back over her left
shoulder toward the god beside her. I submit that we see here depicted
Regilla’s lineage: as a supposed descendant of Aeneas, she would be related
to both Venus/Aphrodite (Aeneas’ mother) and Jupiter/Zeus (the
father of Aeneas’ ancestor Dardanus). The arms on the vault thus can be
the spoils of Aeneas’ Italian triumphs.

Yet this Ceres temple does more than celebrate Regilla’s heritage. By
linking Roman Ceres with Demeter, Herodes sets up a synchesis between
Roman and Greek historical glory. The Greek nature of the goddess is
clear from the little cylindrical altar still protected inside the church (see
Fig. 9.9), with its Greek hierophantic inscription. Herodes claimed that
he could trace his ancestry back to the great Ajax Telamon of Aegina.35
The loyalty, strength, and tragic end of the Iliad ’s Ajax Telamon would
have been known to all fellow antiquarians. Against this we have the hero
Aeneas, himself loyal and long-suffering, who tragically lost his first wife
in the conflagration of Troy. Can Herodes even be reminding us of this
notable parallel: his own loss with that of Aeneas? With a character as
fixated upon rank and glory as Herodes’, it is not impossible to imagine.

Then there is the remarkable choice of the location for the Ceres/Demeter
temple on the brow of a hill, under which lay the Grotto of Egeria.
By connecting the cult of Demeter with that of Egeria, Herodes makes
yet another elegant sophistic link between the traditions of Greece and
Rome. Egeria, the muse of King Numa, the lawgiver of ancient Rome
and establisher of the Vestal cult, among others, can be compared with
Demeter Thesmophoros, the lawgiver of the Greeks, very neatly indeed.
Herodes’ ancestor Cecrops also formed a link, as we have seen, with the
law-giving days of Athens, making him nearly divine himself and surely
worthy to own the Fons Egeriae. As Numa descended into Egeria’s grotto
for midnight communion, so the kistophorai descended into the megaron
to retrieve the “things laid down” that will bring fertility to the crops and


182 Kathryn M. Lucchese


thereby structure to society, and Cecrops (half-man, half-serpent) had his
chthonic connections—a neat piece of sophism.

Imperial Influence and Herodes’ Family


As we have earlier seen, the connection between the imperial family and
the “corn” supply was venerable by Herodes’ time. By taking upon himself
the right to dedicate a temple to Demeter/Ceres and erect within it
statues to both the reigning empress Faustina and her daughter as Demeter
and Kore (Ceres and Libera), as well as to Regilla as Priestess/Hero,
Herodes was reminding Rome rather boldly of his imperial connections.
Not only was he hereditary chief priest, the archiereus in Athens of the
imperial cult,36 he had, after all, been Marcus Aurelius’ and Lucius Verus’
rhetoric tutor in their boyhoods, and seems to have relished his (however
temporary) rule over the future rulers of the world. There is something of
the tyrant in Herodes, as the Athenians were heard to complain: namely,
the impulse that caused him to use his great wealth in an imperial way,
endowing Sardis and Olympia with public waterworks and attempting to
cut the Isthmus of Corinth with a canal, as Nero had also tried to do.37

Regilla is linked in synchesis with the imperial women: her statue shares
space within the temple with theirs. Herodes reminds his audience that
he is related to the imperial family through his wife. He is one of them,
this seems to imply, a fellow member of the imperial family via his wife
and earlier tutorship; he is in the big leagues, he can be as generous and
magnanimous as the emperor himself, he can put empresses on pedestals
of his own making. This is Herodes the tyrant, as charged by the
Athenians.38

Innocence and Herodes


The final but most obvious linkage in the mind of anyone who had followed
his trial for murder would have been Herodes and Ops/Nemesis,
but no one who suspected his guilt would have believed him capable of
such an audacious gesture. To dedicate all of his wife’s possessions and
estates to the three goddesses, and especially to the third, Nemesis, would
imply that those gifts were not tainted with murder. Tainted lands and
goods would be unfit for such an offering, in which case the gift would be
better dedicated to the underworld deities, or to Zeus the Lawgiver himself,
or simply to the emperor. Herodes’ victory in the lawcourts was, after
all, no guarantee of his innocence: with his cleverness at ex tempore speaking,
how could he not have been victorious, whether or not he was actually


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guilty? His own famously exaggerated grief was a mark against him.39 No,
his self-chaining to disaster, the synchesis of his innocence to the dedication
of Regilla’s property, was his last, best hope to be believed.

This bold stroke is at once the most important synchesis and the least
convincing of them all. The prolix dedicatory inscriptions, their poetic
preciousness, and the typically Herodean excess of his demand that no one
use this land ever again on pain of the vengeance of Nemesis, combine with
the dedication of the land itself to create the opposite of what Herodes intended.
That is, the “I think he doth protest too much” feeling—which had
long lived in the world before Shakespeare coined a phrase for it—is overwhelming.
All it took was for the dangling disaster, the Damoclean sword
that Herodes himself had set over his head by his hybris, to fall upon him,
as it finally did at the end of his long life, to prove that he had in fact had a
hand in Regilla’s death. Once again distraught, this time over the death of
two adopted daughters—struck by lightning as they slept in a tower—he
is said to have been extremely perfunctory in his respect toward Emperor
Marcus in the tyranny lawsuit, as well as unforgivably poor in the delivery
of his speech. He courted death, and was only saved by the grudging and
over-used affection of the emperor toward his old tutor; Herodes rarely or
never returned to Rome thereafter.

Conclusion

When Herodes married Annia Appia Regilla, he linked his Greek historical
heritage to that of Rome, and further back, to Troy. More important
for our interests were his linkages with the gods: himself to Demeter
through the priesthood of his wife and the lands he dedicated in her name;
his wife—as semi-deified hero—to the divine empress Faustina and her
daughter; and the sacred landscapes of suburban Rome to those of Asia
Minor and Greece. By adding his wife to the heroic pantheon and her
lands to the gods, he also hoped to lay aside any suspicions that he was
responsible for Regilla’s death, placing himself in the position of grieving
innocent. How could he be other than innocent, if he called upon the
dread goddess Nemesis herself to be satisfied with his offering?

By adding this piece of Latium to the sacred landscape of Magna Graecia,
Herodes was participating in a long tradition of Greek colonization of
Roman culture. Did the Romans resist this takeover of their spiritual heritage?
There is no reason to think they did; the great gods that had saved
Rome from disaster had come from afar to do so: the Magna Mater from
Asia Minor, Aesculapius and Apollo from Greece, and now Ceres from


184 Kathryn M. Lucchese


Sicily. Roman “animism” was an exercise in accretion, and the Romans
were great connoisseurs of antiquarian sophistry and reflected glory: in
fact, of synchesis.

Appendix: Inscriptions

A. Greek Inscription from the Pagus Triopius (no. 1 in Visconti 1794; CIG 3:916,
no. 6280) = IG 14.1389 (Kaibel) = IGRom 3.1155 (Moretti) = 146 Ameling. Inscriptions
translated by the author from Visconti’s Latin rendering of the Greek.
1. O guardian of the Athenians, worthy of honor, Trito-born [Athena],
2. And you who watch over the works of men, Rhamnusian Plenty
[Ops/Nemesis],
3. Come here, both of you, that you may honor this rich place
4. In the neighboring suburbs of hundred-gated Rome,
5. Pagus, host to Triopa of the Grain [Demeter],
6. So that you may call it Triopea’s among the immortal gods.
7. However that may be, when you have come to both Rhamnous and broad
Athens,
8. Having left the sonorous halls of Father Zeus,
9. Thus you hasten to the vine abundant in grapes,
10. And the fields of standing corn, and the trees laden with fruit,
11. Consecrating the tender grasses, the herbage of the nourishing meadows.
12. For Herodes names this land sacred to you both.
13. As much as is enclosed with a wall running ’round it,
14. Not to be altered by future man, and also to remain inviolate
15. Since truly Athena has nodded the terrifying helmet-crest
16. With her own immortal head lest anyone be permitted
17. To move a single clod or even a stone,
18. For indeed those exigencies are not at all to be overlooked by the Fates,
19. If anyone give injury to the sanctuaries of the gods.
20. Hear then, local dwellers, and neighboring farmers,
21. This place is sacred, for the goddesses are unchanging,
22. And are greatly honorable, and prepared to lend an ear.
23. Nor indeed should anyone ruin the rows of vines, or the groves of trees,
24. Or the herbage greening and growing with the much-nourishing moisture,
25. With an axe, which is handmaiden to black Hell,
26. Building a new tomb, or disturbing an old one:
27. It is not right (themis/fas) for the dead to lie in land sacred to the gods,
28. Save for that one who may be related by blood and from the posterity of
him who has declared it:
29. For truly that is hardly improper, as the avenging god is well aware.
30. For indeed Athena lay King Erichthonios in a temple,
31. So that he might cohabit with the sacred things.
32. If these rules not be heeded by someone, if he does not obey them,
33. But despises them, this act will not turn back upon him without
punishment,

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185

34. But unlooked-for Nemesis, and the avenging demon who prowls about,
35. Will punish that fellow; truly he will always bring down perilous
misfortune.
36. Nor indeed should he slight the great power of Aeolidan Triopa
[Demeter]
37. By destroying the fallow lands of Demeter.
38. For you should all sufficiently fear punishment, and the notice here,
39. Lest the Triopan Fury follow.
B. Greek Inscription from the Pagus Triopius (no. 2 in Visconti 1794; CIG 3:916,
no. 6280), labeled “Of Marcellus.”
1. Come here to the temple, women of Tiberside,
2. Bringing holy offerings of incense to the image of Regilla.
3. For she was of the line of wealthiest Aeneas,
4. The illustrious blood of Anchises, and of Idaean Aphrodite:
5. She came to marry a man from Marathon; however, the celestial
goddesses
6. Honor her, both new Ceres and Ceres of old,
7. To whom is named sacred the effigy of a beautiful woman.
8. She indeed lives with the heroines
9. In the Isles of the Blessed where Saturn reigns;
10. For this reward is her lot for her goodwill;
11. Thus Jupiter has pitied her grieving spouse
12. Lying in bleak old age on his widowed couch
13. Since those dark, greedy Fates have snatched
14. The children from that worthy woman’s house,
15. A half part of the many: for two have so far survived their birth,
16. Infants, unknowing of evil, up to now utterly ignorant
17. That savage Fate has snatched away such a mother,
18. Before she could come to honored old age.
19. Henceforward Jupiter, solace to that man weeping inconsolably,
20. As is the Emperor, like Father Jove in appearance and counsel,
21. Jupiter indeed has sent his blooming consort [Ganymede],
22. Worthy to be carried by the Elysian breezes of Zephyr.
23. But he gave to the boy sandals having stars around the ankles,
24. Which they say also Hermes wore,
25. Then when he led Aeneas out of the Argives’ war,
26. Through the shadowy night. Truly he had shining around his feet
27. The health-giving orb of Lunary light.
28. This once upon a time the Aeneadans sewed on their shoe
29. A sign of honor for the noble sons of the Ausonians [Italians].
30. The ancient sandals, ornament of Tyrrhenian men,
31. Shall not spurn him, though a Cecropidan [Athenian],
32. Since he was descended from Herse and Hermes,
33. If indeed truly Ceryx was progenitor of Herodes Theseides [Athenian].
34. Because he is honored, and a consul elected in the usual manner,
35. And gathered into the kingly senate, where is the place of the Princeps.
36. Nor is there anyone in Greece nobler in respect to race or in respect to

186 Kathryn M. Lucchese


37. Eloquence than Herodes, whom they also call the “tongue of the
Athenians.”
38. For truly she was herself a beautiful descendent of Aeneas,
39. And a Ganymedean, and was the child of the Dardanians
40. And Erichthonidan Tros. You, however, if it pleases you, perform sacred
rites
41. And sacrifice the victims: truly the business of sacred rites is not for the
unwilling,
42. But if any desire to care for the hero shrine inspires pious men:
43. For she is not a mortal nor yet a goddess,
44. Therefore her fate is not the sepulcher nor yet the holy temple,
45. Not the honors appropriate to mortals or like those for the gods.
46. The monument is indeed like that of Athens,
47. Truly the soul remains near the scepter of Rhadamanthus.
48. This, however, is the likeness of Faustina, a pleasing one, set
49. In Pagus of Triopa, where of old she had ample plains
50. And the order of vines, and the fields set with olives.
51. Nor will the goddess, queen of women, spurn
52. The handmaiden of her own honor, and attendant nymph.
53. For neither did Diana when lovely Iphigenia was clinging to her throne,
54. Nor indeed did Athena look down upon Herse with a terrible glance,
55. Nor, in ordering Regilla herself to join the heroines of old,
56. Will the nourishing mother of great-souled Caesar deem her
57. Insignificant for the arriving chorus of demi-goddesses of old,
58. When it so happens that she herself is foremost in the Elysian chorus,
59. As is also Alcmene, and blessed Cadmeides [Semele].
Notes

1. Lanciani 1901, esp. the chapter “The Sacred Grove of the Arvales”; the
photograph of the grove is on page 121.
2. Wright 1921: 209: Herodes asks of a certain neologism, “In what classic is
that to be found?” and on 307 he is referred to as the “most famous of orators.”
3. Pharr [1930] 1964: 79, item no. 442.
4. The inscription from Pagus Triopius is found in L. Moretti, Inscriptiones
Graecae Urbis Romae, vol. 3 (Rome, 1979), no. 1155 = no. 146 in Ameling’s monograph
(cf. note 22 below).
5. Spaeth 1996: 1–2.
6. Warde Fowler 1971: 161.
7. Richardson 1992: 80–81. See also the discussion in Warde Fowler 1971:
255.
8. Spaeth 1996: 66–75. It is to Ceres, Spaeth points out, that the Tribunus Plebis
is sacrosanct and thus it is to her that expiatory sacrifices must be made when
a tribune is attacked. The implication is that such a violation endangers the city’s
growth and health.

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9. Richardson 1992: 81: the Ara Ceres Mater et Ops Augusta, consecrated in
7 CE, is a good example of this linkage of Ceres with Livia and Augustus.
10. Burkert 1985: 242. Unless otherwise noted, all details concerning the ritual
of the Thesmophoria are drawn from pp. 242–247.
11. Richardson (1992: 59–60) refers to the temple of the Bona Dea, also on
the Aventine hill. He credits Macrobius with the note that no men were allowed
in the temple (Macrobius Sat. 1.12.20–26). The famous story of Clodius Pulcher’s
invasion of these women-only rites in 62 BCE is from Plutarch’s Life of Julius
Caesar.
12. A clay oil pedestal lamp with a broad circular channel and some sixty wick-
nozzles is illustrated in pl. 26 of Coldstream 1973.
13. The kanephoros pictured is listed in Guattani, Monumenti antichi, as having
been discovered in 1784 not far from the Tomb of Cecilia Metella. Entry LXI refers
to a Caryatide, while LXX, the pictured statue, is listed as Canefora. Inscribed on
the basket of the statue were the names of the artists, Kriton and Nikolaos, Athenians,
and naturally the statue was of the finest marble, probably from Herodes’
own quarries.
14. The iconography associated with the Thesmophoria, including details of
Triptolemos/Eleusinus as first farmer plowing up the soil, is described in great
detail by Eggeling in his Mysteria Cereris et Bacchi in Vasculo (in Pasquali 1735:
6–74). See also Simon 1983: 21, showing a frieze of the sacred plowing.
15. Female piglets were Ceres’ favorite offering. The porca praesentanea was
sacrificed to Ceres, according to Varro (in Non. Marc., 163 Muller, cited by Spaeth
1996: 54), to cleanse a family at a funeral, especially when an inheritance was received;
the porca praecidanea was sacrificed before the crops were harvested and in
honor of a dead person whose burial might have been improper.
16. Burkert 1985: 242.
17. Pausanias mentions a temple of Demeter Thesmophoros on the road to
Hermione as being in Theseus country, implying here as in other places in his narrative
that the lawgiver Theseus and Lawgiver Demeter naturally might be found
together. Cf. Pausanias 32.8.
18. At the “Black Demeter” worship site at Phigalia, in Arcadia (Pausanias
7.42.1–7), the sanctuary was in a cave; the goddess’s image had a horse head, out
of which sprang a serpent and other images; the image wore a tunic to its feet,
and held in one hand a dolphin, in the other a dove. The first image at the site had
caught fire, at which point the fields became barren, and the Delphic oracle gave
the following explanation: the Arcadians had been acorn-eaters, and had twice
been nomads and fruit-eaters. The goddess had caused them to cease pasturing,
and could cause them to begin pasturing again. Of worship at this site, Pausanias
notes: “I offered no burnt sacrifice . . . I offered grapes and other cultivated fruits,
honeycombs and raw wool, full of its grease.” No pigs, interestingly enough.
19. Ceres Legifera was an Italic deity credited with the division of the fields
and settled living, so that men did not “wander here and there without law.” She is
invoked at the plowing of the pomerium and at weddings, along with Jupiter. Cf.
Spaeth 1996: 52–53.
20. OCD3, s.v. pagus, “term of Roman administrative law for subdivisions of
territories, referring to a space . . . where there was no focal settlement.”

188 Kathryn M. Lucchese


21. OCD3, s.v. Triopas, whose son Erysichthon was punished with unquenchable
hunger.
22. Philostr. VS 165. The Quintilii claimed Herodes was always putting up
marble statues everywhere. He answered them that it was his marble (he owned—
and depleted—most of the Hymettan marble quarries in Greece), and he could do
what he liked with it.
23. The best source in English on the life and times of Herodes Atticus is
Jennifer Tobin’s excellent 1997 study. In German, the classic is Walter Ameling’s
1983 Herodes Atticus.
24. CIG 3:916, no. 6280; translation mine, from Visconti’s (1794) Italian rendering
of the original Greek.
25. OCD3, 706: “Hierophantes, chief priest of the Eleusinian mysteries, was
chosen for life from the hieratic clan of the Eumolpidae”—apparently one of
Herodes’ many public offices.
26. They are referred to in the dedicatory inscriptions noted above and in the
appendix here.
27. It is approximately 10 meters; the distance is hard to gauge, as a fence lies
between the building and the hatch.
28. There was some variation in megaron shape. Burkert (1985: 243) refers to
the few surviving examples of megara as consisting of, in one instance, a circular
“well” leading down into a natural crevice (at Agrigentum), and of a rectangular
pit with a roofed opening above ground level (at Priene). He also notes the presence
of pig bones and marble votive pigs in a circular pit at the Demeter sanctuary
at Cnidos.
29. Juvenal in Satire 3.10–20 also complains of the alterations made in the Fons
Egeriae, in “caves so unlike nature,” and “marble to outrage the native tufa.”
30. At the same Arcadian “Black Demeter” site mentioned above, Pausanias
describes “a grove of oaks around the cave, and a cold spring that rises from the
earth” (Pausanias 8.42.12). Another grove-temple combination appeared at the
sanctuary of “Mysian Demeter,” located near Pellene in Achaia, and founded, says
Pausanias, by a man named Mysius, “who gave Demeter a welcome in his home.”
As he says, “There is a grove in the Myseum, containing trees of every kind, and in
it rises a copious supply of water from springs” (Pausanias 7.27.9).
31. There is in a downstairs room of the Capitoline Museum a decapitated
column, reused as a milestone column by Maxentius (who was also, we should
remember, cannibalizing Herodes’ villa for circus decorations), which Herodes
had inscribed simply enough, in Greek and Latin: ANNIA REGILLA / WIFE OF
HERODES / LIGHT OF THE HOME / WHOSE LANDS THESE ARE (CIG pars
33.875, no. 6184).
32. See OCD3, s.v. “Egeria,” which perpetuates this locational error.
33. Herodes’ full name was Lucius Vibullius Hipparchus Tiberius Claudius
Atticus Herodes; Regilla’s was Appia Annia Atilia Regilla Caucidia Tertulla.
34. Appius Annius Braduas, Regilla’s brother, sued Herodes for her murder,
the accusation being that Herodes had had his favorite freedman Alcimedon beat
Regilla, who was then expecting their fifth child, so that she fell and died in a
miscarriage. It seems typical of that unadmirable age that not only was Braduas’
attack couched in a speech praising himself and his family’s pedigree, but also that

Landscape Synchesis
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Herodes’ reaction, far from being that of a devastated husband who had deeply
loved his wife, was simply to sneer at Braduas’ showy aristocracy, saying that Braduas
wore his nobility on his toes—since aristocrats were allowed to wear special
celestial decorations on their sandals (Philostr. VS 2.555 [Wright 1921]). This
ugly debate is even echoed in the “Of Marcellus” inscription listed in the appendix,
lines 23–37 holding most of the boastful references to “starry sandals” and
ancestry.

35. Tobin 1997: 13–14.
36. Ibid.: 29.
37. Ibid.: 34.
38. Ibid.: 38–47.
39. Philostr. VS 2.557–559 (Wright 1921).

CHAPTER 10


The Eleusinian Mysteries and Vergil’s
“Appearance-of-a-Terrifying-Female-
Apparition-in-the-Underworld”
Motif in Aeneid 6

raymond J. ClarK

More than two and a half centuries ago, in 1745, in the second book of
his The Divine Legation of Moses, Bishop William Warburton put forth the
hypothesis that Aeneas’ Descent into the Underworld was an allegorical
representation of an initiation into the Eleusinian mysteries.1 The bishop
considered Aeneas to be a grand legislator (in his capacity as founder of
Lavinium) within a tradition of ancient heroes and lawgivers who were
initiated in the mysteries;2 he noted that Caesar Augustus, whom he says
Aeneas anticipates, was likewise initiated at Eleusis;3 and he concluded
that Vergil worked into Aeneas’ journey the doctrine of a “future state of
rewards and punishments” that was the foundation and support of ancient
politics. This hypothesis evoked a skillful adversary in Gibbon, who, objecting
that Aeneas was no legislator, set out to expose Warburton’s many
unproved assumptions—“probably repelled not more by the arrogant
dogmatism of the untrained scholar,” as Conington put it, “than by the
zeal of the ecclesiastic in proving that even pagan times witnessed to the
alliance between religion and civil government.”4 Conington, for his part,
granted Gibbon that Aeneas was not a mere anticipation of Augustus,
despite his many Augustan traits, and he further conceded that Aeneas’
descent was not simply a sustained allegory of the mysteries as though
there were an authorized doctrine. But Conington nevertheless considered
it quite possible that several of Vergil’s details, if not his general conception,
may have been drawn from the mysteries—that is to say, from such
ancient literature as alludes to them.

My purpose here is not to review the whole topic of correspondences
between Aeneas’ infernal journey and the Eleusinian mysteries, but rather
to examine a single incident in book 6 of the Aeneid at verse 290, where
Aeneas raises his sword in terror against the phantoms of the Gorgons and


The Eleusinian Mysteries and Vergil’s Aeneid 6
191

other monsters who appear before him in the darkness of Pluto’s house at
282–289. In this examination I shall draw attention to just three of several
“motifs,” or themes, cited by Warburton as evidence that Aeneas underwent
an initiation. The bishop contends (1) that tradition obliged the hero
Aeneas to be initiated, just as (to name one other) Herakles was initiated
into the Eleusinian mysteries;5 (2) that Aeneas in the Gorgon scene encountered
imaginary false terrors no differently from all initiates in the
mysteries, who are subjected to the phantoms of Hekate;6 and (3) that
Aeneas was soon found in a “fright” resembling that experienced by other
initiates at the mysteries according to the writings of Themistius and Proclus.
7 In Warburton’s argument, these are three separate motifs having
Eleusinian associations without any other connection between them.

Yet there are other connections between these motifs. They exist in
some versions of Herakles’ descent to fetch the Hell-dog Cerberus. To
introduce them, I adduce what is clearly a summary made in Bibliotheca

2.5.12 by Apollodorus of Athens of an earlier source telling how Herakles
went to Eumolpus at Eleusis in order to be initiated, presumably (we are
not told the reason) as the means of ensuring success in his quest for Cerberus.
8 But first Herakles had to be adopted by an Athenian (Pelius) in
order to qualify for the rite, which he was the first foreigner to undergo.
And before Eumolpus could initiate him,9 Herakles had also to be purified
by him from his slaughter of the Centaurs.10 After initiation, Herakles descended
through a Hades entrance in Taenarum in Laconia. Upon seeing
him in the lower world, the souls of the dead all fled, save Meleager and
the Gorgon Medusa. Herakles drew his sword against Medusa as if she
were alive, but desisted when his underworld companion Hermes told him
that she was but an empty phantom. Herakles then found Theseus and
Peirithoos near the gates of Hades and rescued Theseus. Continuing his
journey, some details of which I omit, Herakles obtained Pluto’s permission
to capture Cerberus, on the condition that he not use against the dog
the weapons he was carrying. So Herakles throttled Cerberus, whom he
found at the gates of Acheron, into submission,11 and ascended with him
to the upper world through Troezen. Herakles later returned the Hell-dog
to Hades after showing him to Eurystheus.
So goes Apollodorus’ Greek narrative, composed in the second century
CE. As this mythographer consistently ignores Roman literature,12
he is unlikely to have modeled his narrative on an earlier scene of Aeneas’
meeting with the Gorgon in the Aeneid, from which, in any case, Apollodorus
differs in detail. Eduard Norden, in his commentary on the sixth
book of the Aeneid, made a strong case for believing that Apollodorus
drew instead for this episode on a lost epic version of Herakles’ descent


192 Raymond J. Clark


that he claimed influenced, in addition to the Apollodoran narrative itself,
Bacchylides’ fifth Dithyramb, Aristophanes’ Frogs, and the sixth book of
the Aeneid,13 to which a passage in the fourth book of Vergil’s Georgics,
to be mentioned later, should be added. In his fifth Dithyramb, Bacchylides
at 71–84 describes a scene resembling Apollodorus’ in that the descending
hero Herakles is warned not to shoot at a mere wraith. But in
the highly compressed scene by this Greek lyric poet, neither the Gorgon
nor Herakles’ underworld guide is mentioned. Instead, Meleager’s ghost
admonishes Herakles against shooting an arrow at itself. Its assurance that
there is nothing to fear (ο. τοι δ.ος) from a ghost underscores the fright
that Herakles in fact experiences as he aims his weapon at the underworld
shade. When at Aeneid 6.290–294 the Cumaean Sibyl warns the terrified
Aeneas not to use his sword against Gorgons and other bodiless shapes
as well, Vergil assigns to Aeneas’ august guide the function performed
by both Herakles’ guide Hermes and Meleager’s ghost in the comparable
versions so far mentioned. Yet Vergil cannot have derived his knowledge
of the Gorgon episode from Bacchylides, even if he read him, since the
Greek lyric poet did not mention the Gorgon. Nor was Vergil’s source
Apollodorus, who wrote long after him.

Nor indeed could Vergil have exploited Aristophanes’ Frogs for his Gorgon
scene, since Aristophanes did not include such a scene, even though,
as I believe, one episode in his comedy—I now raise a matter not noticed
by Norden—presupposes the existence of the standard Gorgon scene in
Aristophanes’ source. I refer to verses 564ff., where the Greek playwright
seems to have transformed the motif of Herakles’ frightened encounter
with one or more Gorgons into what appears to be a comic parody of the
theme. In the comic parody, two formidable female keepers of the kitchen
tell Dionysus, after he knocks on Pluto’s door, how Herakles had drawn
his sword upon them. I take these keepers of the kitchen to be comic doublets
of the Gorgons. The correspondence between the two sets of formidable
females, which I observed more than thirty years ago with the later
approval of Dover in his commentary on the Frogs,14 illustrates a further
influence of the lost version of Herakles’ descent upon Aristophanes beyond
the points of contact noticed by Norden.

In a brilliant article, Hugh Lloyd-Jones adduces a fragment of Greek
lyric poetry preserved in P.Oxy. 2622 ascribed to Pindar (which has a commentary
upon it partially preserved in PSI 139) together with the Herakles
of Euripides at 610–613, where Herakles reports that he saw the .ργια of
the initiates, as additional works influenced by the lost epic postulated by
Norden. Lloyd-Jones infers from Herakles’ pro-Athenian sympathies and
connection with Eleusis that the lost epic was composed around 550 BCE


The Eleusinian Mysteries and Vergil’s Aeneid 6
193

by an Athenian or a person belonging to the orbit of Athenian culture.15
The partially preserved poem by Pindar agrees with the Apollodoran narrative
in telling how Herakles was initiated by Eumolpus at Eleusis before
recovering Cerberus. It also alludes to Herakles’ meeting with Meleager
among innumerable ghosts in Hades, as related by both Apollodorus and
Bacchylides. Unfortunately, the fragmentary remains of Pindar’s poem do
not tell us whether Herakles was frightened by any Gorgon or Gorgons in
the underworld.

How, then, might Aeneas’ terror at seeing the Gorgons have been
drawn from the Eleusinian mysteries? The question involves consideration
of comparative figures. Let us first recall what has just been noticed, that
Aristophanes omitted the Gorgon scene from the Frogs, having transmuted
it into a comic parody that takes place at the front door of Pluto’s house.
Let us also bear in mind that Herakles’ directions to Dionysus based on
his own experiences are the playwright’s indirect acknowledgment that a
version of Herakles’ descent to the lower world in the living flesh underlies
Dionysus’ in this play. But Aristophanes has made changes. Dionysus
and his slave Xanthias in the Frogs are terrified not by a Gorgon, as was
Herakles in the lost epic used by Aristophanes, but by Empousa, another
female monster who appears in the infernal region just where Herakles
told the descending pair they would meet snakes and monsters (143–144,
278–279). According to Herakles’ directions, they must pass these before
they reach the region where the wicked are punished in mud and dung
(145ff., cf. 273ff.), and beyond that region again, says Herakles, are myrtle
groves, where deceased Eleusinian initiates are seen and heard singing and
dancing (154ff., cf. 312–459); nearby lies Pluto’s house (163, cf. 431–436
and 460). Both the place where the wicked are punished by lying in mud
and the myrtle groves of Hades as home to the initiates evoke associations
with Eleusinian mysteries.16 Struck by the general correspondence
between the Aristophanic and Apollodoran descent versions, Lloyd-Jones
has suggested that the first two stages mentioned by Herakles parallel
those in Apollodorus’ narrative, where Herakles meets the Gorgon (in
the region of monsters) and then sees Theseus and Peirithoos undergoing
punishment (in the region of the wicked).17 I shall return to certain specific
matters of location presently. More pertinent to our immediate purpose
is Lloyd-Jones’ further inference that the underlying common source, the
sixth-century Attic epic katabasis of Herakles, which stresses this hero’s
Eleusinian connections, influenced also the Empousa scene.

The existence of this Eleusinian source and the collocation of Empousa’s
appearance with Eleusinian bliss in the Frogs have in turn led to the hypothesis
that Empousa’s appearance in the Frogs alludes to a specific Eleu



194 Raymond J. Clark


sinian cultic event. In its support, Brown cites Borthwick’s observation
that Xanthias compares Empousa to a weasel (γαλ.ν) in language derived
from a hieratic formula of the sort associated with mystery religions, to
which Dionysus reacts in ritual terms. He also adduces evidence from the
partially surviving work On Demagogues by the fourth-century BCE historian
Idomeneus of Lampsacus (FGrH 338.F2) and from Lucian’s Cataplus

22.18 In the former, Empousa appears from out of the darkness to initiates
(.π. σκοτειν.ν τ.πων .νεφα.νετο το.ς μυουμ.νοις); the brief surviving
fragment does not identify the initiates as Eleusinian, but this they are
likely to be, since the work from which the fragment comes focuses on
Athens, and Graf has shown that references to mysteries within Athenian
contexts always refer to Eleusis.19 In Lucian’s Cataplus, it is the dread
figure of an Erinys that appears from out of the darkness, in the same region
as Empousa in the Frogs, that is to say, as soon as the infernal travelers
reach the far shore of the underworld lake. Lucian, moreover, gives his
satire a specifically Eleusinian context, since a deceased cobbler is made
to exclaim, “By Herakles!” to other dead men who have just disembarked
with him from Charon’s boat, and he asks the philosopher Cyniscus if
the appearance of the Erinys in the darkness resembles Cyniscus’ earlier
experience when he was initiated in the Eleusinian mysteries. Cyniscus
affirms that it does, torch-bearing female with frightful menacing aspect
and all. Since apparitions, φ.σματα, are also much spoken of in the celebrations
of the Greater Mysteries at Eleusis20—they are at times said to be
sent by Hekate, with whom Empousa is sometimes identified21—Brown
thinks that at a relatively early point in the proceedings, initiates were terrified
by the appearance of a specter, as were Dionysus and Xanthias, and
he suspects that Empousa (perhaps not her official name) was one of the
names given to it by individual worshipers.22 Accordingly, he assigns to
this terrifying female in the Frogs a cultic origin together with, through the
lost Eleusinian Herakles katabasis, a literary origin. He further suggests
that, like the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, the lost epic contained aetiological
passages alluding to and glossing the δρ.μενα at Eleusis.23
I would not, however, care to see it taken for granted that the lost Herakles
epic itself contained an Empousa scene. It strikes me as far more likely
that Aristophanes modeled his Empousa scene upon the Gorgon scene in
his source, which, if true, has just provided one more point of influence
upon Aristophanes. We could not, of course, have inferred this direction of
influence had Norden not conjectured the existence of the epic katabasis,
which Lloyd-Jones then dated to the mid-sixth century BCE, since all extant
references to one or more Gorgons seen by Herakles in the underworld,
and by Aeneas in imitation of Herakles, are post-Aristophanic.


The Eleusinian Mysteries and Vergil’s Aeneid 6
195

The conclusion so far reached is that Empousa can be added to the
Gorgon and to the two female keepers of the kitchen and to the Erinys
in Lucian’s Cataplus (as well as perhaps to Hekate, with whom Empousa
is sometimes identified) in a list of variants on the appearance-of-aterrifying-
female-apparition-in-the-underworld motif with strong Eleusinian
associations. Another source supports this conclusion. Elsewhere
I have expressed the view that Aristophanes as well as Vergil would have
taken every chance to read, in addition to the lost epic version, whatever
they could on the articulate and well-developed tradition about Herakles’
descent, and that both did by exploiting Euripides’ (or, less likely, Critias’)
Peirithoos,24 which now survives in only a few fragments. In one fragment,
P.Oxy. 3531, Peirithoos refers to a female he can hear but not see.25 If the
Peirithoos precedes the production of the Frogs in 405 BCE, as I think it
does,26 Cockle, the editor of this fragment, may well be right when he observes,
“Perhaps this creature, whatever her precise nature, is reflected in
Empousa.”27 Since the chorus of this play, as in the Frogs, is composed of
deceased Eleusinian initiates,28 Euripides may have borrowed this female
from Eleusinian cult for his Peirithoos. Aristophanes could have taken her
from Euripides’ play or from Eleusinian cult, or from both.

When weighing the evidence of Lucian’s Cataplus, Brown cautions
that the satirist may also have had Aristophanes’ Frogs in mind, since
in addition to the similarities between the two works already pointed
out, Cyniscus, like Dionysus, has to row Charon’s boat across the infernal
lake.29 More can be adduced to support this supposition and to
strengthen Brown’s claim that Empousa has Eleusinian ties. For it looks
to me as though Lucian even chose for his satire characters appropriate to
the shapes assumed by Aristophanes’ Empousa—among them a dog and
a copper leg. The very name of the “cynic” philosopher Cyniscus means
“dog,” and recognition of the copper leg would have helped the deceased
cobbler clinch the apparition’s identity. Since, moreover, Sophocles gave
the attribute “copper-footed” to the avenging Erinys in Elektra 491, Dionysus,
as Stanford notes,30 may be jestingly alluding to it when he asks
in the Frogs if shape-shifting Empousa has a copper leg. It seems to me,
then, a small leap if Lucian, observing the Sophoclean underpinning of the
Aristophanic attribute of Empousa, makes the characters in his satire identify
Aristophanes’ Empousa as an Erinys. If we combine this identification
with Cyniscus’ association of the frightful Erinys with Eleusis, Lucian indirectly
gives Empousa, too, an Eleusinian setting. I have already argued
that Empousa in the Frogs is Aristophanes’ substitute for the Gorgon encountered
by the Eleusinianized Herakles in the sixth-century source. By
giving the female apparition the identity of a Gorgon, the author of the lost


196 Raymond J. Clark


epic portrayed the terrified Herakles as actually encountering a Hellish
female apparition of the sort that even Odysseus feared to meet at the end
of the Nekyia.31

Such, then, is the convergence of Eleusinian associations underlying
Aeneas’ encounter with the Gorgons in Aeneid 6. I turn now to some issues
of infernal topography that indicate deviations by both Aristophanes and
Vergil from their common sixth-century source. Observe that in the Frogs,
the Gorgons and their comic doublets, the formidable keepers of Pluto’s
kitchen, both occupy the same residence, namely Pluto’s palace. The first
of these two sets of females, despite being snaky-haired like their further
counterparts Hekate, the Erinyes, and Empousa,32 do not, after all, reside
in the region of snakes and monsters, where Lloyd-Jones assumed them
to be in his comparison (see above) between the two parallel stages in the
Aristophanic and Apollodoran descents. Nevertheless, in Aristophanes’
lost source, this is where they belonged. Several matters to be raised in the
next few paragraphs make this clear.

We know that the Aristophanic Gorgons have their dwelling in Pluto’s
palace because the doorkeeper Aeacus goes inside to search for them at
472–478. Yet their snaky hair makes them natural compatriots with the
snakes and monsters that Herakles leads Dionysus to expect to meet immediately
after reaching the far side of the bottomless lake. This is also
where the sinners and monsters in Polygnotus’ mid-fifth-century wall-
painting must have been depicted as described in Pausanias 10.28.1–7—
on Acheron’s far side, since Odysseus is said to be already in Hell before
these are listed. No mention, incidentally, is made of Pluto’s palace in Polygnotus’
mural. Insofar as Aristophanes’ Gorgons are placed not with the
snakes and monsters immediately across the lake, but in the company of
some other snake-like creatures of torture in Pluto’s palace much deeper
within the underworld, it is as though they have been attracted away from
their sixth-century location to the residence of the two kitchen-keepers,
who have assumed the Gorgons’ formidable attributes in the comic
parody.

Nor is this Aristophanes’ only departure from what might have been expected.
Though Herakles tells Dionysus that he will encounter the snakes
and monsters first after crossing the lake (143ff.), Dionysus actually meets
them second, after he has encountered the wicked (273ff.). Much commentary
has been written on the reversal of the two regions as described
by Herakles, in contrast to Dionysus’ actual experience of them. But it
has not hitherto been observed that we can ascertain the sixth-century
sequence of events by comparing the versions of Aristophanes and Apollodorus,
who both drew upon the lost Herakles descent. The comparison re



The Eleusinian Mysteries and Vergil’s Aeneid 6
197

veals that Herakles’ directions to Dionysus preserve the original sequence,
so that Aristophanes deviates from his source when he makes Dionysus
and Xanthias meet the wicked first. Aristophanes no doubt had dramatic
reasons for reversing the order. The two infernal travelers barely mention
the wicked, save with a glance at the audience, and this region is passed
through first and quickly, perhaps to suppress possible conflict with the
location of the main dead beyond the door of Pluto’s house (760), from
which the deceased Aeschylus and Euripides exit onto the stage at 830ff.
Aristophanes also evidently judged it more dramatically effective to put
second the region of the snakes and monsters, in which the two panic-
stricken travelers are made to linger by Empousa’s frightful apparition.

The detail provided by Apollodorus to which I just alluded, which enables
us to infer in which order Aristophanes’ source narrated these infernal
experiences, raises an issue of its own that needs sorting out. It is
widely held that the gates of Hades near which Apollodorus says Herakles
found Theseus and Peirithoos are located at the entrance to the underworld.
For instance, Brown in his article on Empousa says that according
to Apollodorus 2.5.12, “As soon as Heracles enters Hades with his guide,
Hermes, all souls flee before them with the exception of Meleager and the
Gorgon, Medusa” (my emphasis).33 The same misunderstanding infects
also Lavecchia’s summary of Apollodorus’ scene thus: “Subito dopo il suo
arrivo nell’ Ade [i.e., at the start of his infernal journey], Eracle incontra
Medusa e Meleagro.”34 Similarly, a popular commentary on Apollodorus
disseminates the view that the gates of Acheron at 2.5.12 “are the gates of
Hades mentioned above, symbolizing the boundary between the lands of
the living and the dead.”35 Or, to cite the editor of the papyrus fragment
of Euripides’ underworld scene again, Cockle infers from Apollodorus’
mention of Hades’ gates that in Euripides’ Peirithoos, Herakles’ conversation
with Hades’ doorkeeper Aeacus must have taken place near the
entrance of the underworld also.36 But the Apollodoran gates of Hades
are not near the entrance to the underworld. The fact that Apollodorus
does not provide for these gates a specific reference point in his brief summary
of Herakles’ descent should not be taken to imply that Herakles in
his account meets the Gorgon as soon as he enters the underworld, or
finds Theseus and Peirithoos near the gates of Hades at the entrance to the
underworld also. On the contrary, since Apollodorus reports that Herakles
sees Theseus and Peirithoos as he approaches Hades’ gates after thrusting
his sword at the Gorgon, the gates can hardly be at the entrance separating
the world of the living from the world of the dead, where Cockle and
others imagine them to be. They must belong instead to Hades’ palace
across the lake, which Apollodorus in his brief summary omits, and where


198 Raymond J. Clark


Aristophanes, too, depicts Hades’ palace in the Frogs. Moreover, in the
scene depicted by Bacchylides (5.64), Herakles meets innumerable ghosts,
including Meleager, with whom Apollodorus couples the Gorgon, beside
the infernal waters of Cocytus, in all likelihood in their final resting-place
on Cocytus’ far bank. This is where Vergil’s Orpheus, in imitation of Herakles,
sees the corresponding ghosts in the fourth book of the Georgics
at 471–480—the other passage influenced by the epic Herakles katabasis
to which I alluded earlier. In sum, the related texts support the inference
drawn from the Apollodoran narrative that Herakles in the common
source encounters the terrifying apparition of the Gorgon as soon as he
has crossed the infernal water, not as soon as he enters Hades, and that
he has to travel deeper into the underworld before finding Theseus and
Peirithoos near the gates of Hades.

In verse 290 in the sixth book of the Aeneid, Aeneas is near the beginning
of his infernal journey when he experiences terror in the face of the
frightening specters of the Gorgons and other shades. The occurrence of
Aeneas’ fright at this point might tempt us to postulate a direct connection
between this order of events in Aeneas’ underworld journey and the early
part of the proceedings in the Eleusinian mysteries, when initiates are said
to be frightened, according to Brown and various passages of late antiquity
not cited by him (see note 7 above). But another explanation forces itself
upon us as soon as we realize how much earlier the Gorgon scene occurs
in the Aeneid than in the lost Herakles epic as here reconstructed from
related texts: Herakles in the lost epic katabasis encountered one or more
Gorgons after crossing the infernal water, whereas Aeneas meets them
before his crossing. In another respect, Vergil’s Gorgons at Aeneid 6.273–
294 retain their Aristophanic abode—since they still dwell within Pluto’s
palace, quite precisely, as I have inferred elsewhere,37 in the stable rooms
beside its main entrance. No inconsistency exists between saying that
Aeneas’ encounter with the Gorgons is both earlier and in the same place,
since Vergil has relocated Pluto’s palace and translated the Gorgons with
it, to the antechamber of the Vergilian underworld. Aeneas and his guide,
the Sibyl, thus reach the palace shortly after they pass through “the gate
of Dis,” which is synonymous with the cave beside Avernus (Aen. 6.127
and 237ff.).38 This is the gate that separates the land of the living from the
world of the dead in Vergil’s underworld, in contrast to the Apollodoran
gates of Hades and the palace gates guarded by Aeacus in the Frogs. The
Vergilian location of Pluto’s palace at the very beginning of the underworld
rather than at its far end is not an error on Vergil’s part. In a recent
article, I undertook to show how Vergil expanded the underworld by displacing
forward exploit after exploit that in his sources occurred later in


The Eleusinian Mysteries and Vergil’s Aeneid 6
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the underworld, in order to put more space between the beginning of the
underworld and the near shore of the infernal bank, and to heighten the
horrors Aeneas faces at the very beginning of his ordeal.39 The details are
repeated here as a cautionary note in the present task of investigating the
relationship between Aeneas’ terror in the Gorgon scene and its comparable
cultic event in the Eleusinian mysteries. To show the existence of this
relationship, I have traced the many paths connecting Aeneas’ experience
to Eleusis. I have also taken pains to point out how Vergil has rearranged
the infernal topography he inherits, to judge from reconstructed details in
the lost sixth-century Attic epic katabasis of an Eleusinianized Herakles.
Because Vergil has rearranged what he has read to suit his poetry, it would
be misleading to treat Aeneas’ infernal journey, however deeply it is imbued
with Eleusinian associations, as a poetic document from which to
reconstruct the order of events in the mysteries. For this reason, Aeneas’
descent as concerns the Gorgon episode cannot be regarded allegorically
as “no other than an enigmatical representation of his initiation into the
mysteries,” as Bishop Warburton claimed in 1745.40

Notes

1. Warburton 1745: 270ff., esp. 288.
2. Ibid.: 288–291. Among initiated “ancient heroes,” Warburton includes
Jason, the Dioscuri, Herakles, and Orpheus as named by Diodorus (4.43.1 and
5.49.6); among “lawgivers,” he lists both the kings of Eleusis named in the Homeric
Hymn to Demeter 474–476 and such other figures as Tarquinius Priscus (Macrobius
Sat. 3.4.8), Augustus Caesar (Suet. Aug. 93), and the later founders of empire
who received instructions concerning their office from the mysteries. With regard
to all of the foregoing, observe (1) that Warburton’s list of Eleusinian kings can be
supplemented by Polyxenus and Dolichus in the Hymn to Demeter at 154–155 and
477; (2) that “lawgivers” for kings is a late term used, for instance, for Triptolemus
by Porphyry (De abst. 4.22); and (3) that heroes and kings merge in Warburton’s
political theory because Herakles, for example, is regarded (Xen. Hell. 6.3.6) by
the torch-bearer Callias in the Eleusinian mysteries as the founder of the Spartan
state. In addition, observe that in Warburton’s sources, Tarquinius and the list of
heroes are presented as Samothracian initiates. The Dioscuri and Herakles—and
Dionysus, too—are, however, called Eleusinian initiates in other sources (found in
notes 9–10 below).
3. Suet. Aug. 93. Here Suetonius explains how Augustus’ Eleusinian initiation
(Athenis initiatus) led to his recognition of the need for secrecy in a dispute involving
the privileges of the priests of Attic Ceres in a court case at Rome. Cf. also Dio
Cass. 51.4.1 and 54.9.7.
4. Conington 1872: 425.
5. Warburton 1745: 291–294; pertinent references for Herakles, with additions,
are now assembled in notes 8–10 below.

200 Raymond J. Clark


6. Warburton 1745: 305–306, referring to Schol. in Ap. Rhod. Argon. 3.861.
The passage is quoted in note 21 below, which offers a collection of passages on
Hekate’s phantoms.
7. Warburton 1745: 309, referring to Themist. Or. 20.235a (2 p. 5 Downey-
Norman; p. 287 Dind.): . μ.ν .ρτι προσι.ν το.ς .δ.τοις φρ.κης τε .νεπ.μπλατο κα.
.λ.γγου, .δημονι.ξυνε.χετο τε κα. .πορ.. ξυμπ.σ., ο.δ. .χνους λαβ.σθαι ο..ς τε
.ν ο.δ. .ρχ.ς .στινοσο.ν .πιδρ.ξασθαι .ισω φερο.σης, .τε δ. . προφ.της .κε.νος
.ναπετ.σας τ. προπ.λαια το. ναο.. . . . (“Entering now into the mystic dome
he is filled with horror and amazement. He is seized with solitude, and a total
perplexity: he is unable to move a step forward, and at a loss to find the entrance
to that road which is to lead him to the place he aspires to. Till the Prophet [the
vates] or Conductor, laying open the vestibule of the temple . . . ,” trans. Warburton).
Similarly Proclus Theol. Plat. 3.18: .σπερ .ν τα.ς .γιωτ.ταις τελετα.ς πρ.
τ.ν μυστικ.ν θεαμ.των .κπληζις τ.ν μυουμ.νων, ο.τω. . . . (“As in the most holy
Mysteries, before the scene of the mystic visions, there is a terror infused over the
minds of the initiated, so . . . ,” trans. Warburton.) For more on fear and terror in
the mysteries, see notes 20–21 below.
8. In iconographical representations of his capture of Cerberus, an Eleusinianized
Herakles receives a more favorable reception in the underworld. The
earliest such representation appears on a black-figure amphora (fr. Reggio 4001)
from Locri c. 540 BCE, which Robertson (1980: 274–300, esp. 275–276) thinks
relies on the same lost Eleusinian source as Apollodorus. I refer to this source at
notes 13–15 below. For more on the Reggio fragments and on Athenian vases from
about 530 BCE that show the Eleusinianized Herakles, see Boardman 1975: 1–12,
pls. I–IV; and cf. Sourvinou-Inwood 1974.
9. Herakles’ need for adoption is narrated also by Plutarch, in a passage (Thes.
33.2) that does not name Eumolpus. In a fragment edited by Lloyd-Jones (1967)
providing the earliest extant literary reference to Herakles’ Eleusinian initiation,
Pindar names Eumolpus in agreement with Apollodorus against Diodorus (4.25–
26), who says Herakles was initiated at Eleusis by Musaios. The agreement lends
support to Lloyd-Jones’ completion of the Pindaric lacuna at v. 8, πρ.τω[ι ξ.νων,
and to his interpretation of what Eumolpus gave to Herakles “first” in the completed
lacuna, “probably the privilege of being initiated in spite of being a foreigner.”
Plutarch (Thes. 33.2) and Xenophon (Hell. 6.3.6) remark that Herakles’
adoption paved the way for the later adoption and Eleusinianization of the Dioscuri,
also foreigners. Schol. in Aristoph. Plutus 845 and 1013 also remarks upon
their common treatment by the Athenians, but then attributes to Herakles’ status
as a non-Athenian the institution of the Lesser Mysteries at Agrae. This assertion
contradicts the usual view that these mysteries were instituted to deal with Herakles’
need to be purified from bloodshed.
10. See also Plutarch Thes. 30.5, and Diodorus, who at 4.14.3 gives this as the
reason why the Lesser Mysteries were founded by Demeter. The act of Herakles’
purification before initiation is shown in many artistic representations listed in,
e.g., Richardson 1974: 211–213. It was perhaps then commemorated in Eleusinian
ritual, which was regarded for others as a preliminary to initiation. For the rites,
see Kerenyi 1967: 45–60; cf. also Nelson 2000: 25–43, esp. 31ff. Additional references
to Herakles as an Eleusinian initiate are found in the fourth-century Ps.-
Plato Axiochus 371e (Dionysus is coupled with Herakles here); Schol. in Homer

The Eleusinian Mysteries and Vergil’s Aeneid 6
201

Il. 8.368; Lycophr. 1328; Tzetz. Chil. 2.394; and passages cited throughout this
article.

11. Robertson (1980: 275–276) interprets a bearded figure in the earliest extant
Eleusinianized scene (mentioned in note 8 above) as the recently freed Theseus
holding the club and weaponry that Herakles has undertaken not to use against
Cerberus. By contrast, in a non-Eleusinianized underworld scene described by
Barron (1972: 44), Theseus carries weapons of his own, no club included.
12. As pointed out by Bowra (1952: 116).
13. Norden 1926: 5 and other pages mentioned in his note 2.
14. Clark 1970: 252 n. 22; Dover 1993: 263.
15. Lloyd-Jones 1967: 206–229 (= Lloyd-Jones 1990: 167–187). For the views
of later editors on the text of P.Oxy. 2622 (= Pindar fr. 346 S-M), see Lavecchia
1996: 1–26. Robertson (1980: 274–300) thinks the lost Herakles katabasis formed
part of the Hesiodic Aegmius frr. 294–301 M-W attributed to Cecrops of Miletus.
On the possibility that the Herakles epic survived to Vergil’s day, see Clark 2000:
192–196, esp. 195 n. 17.
16. Sommerstein (1996: 169), agreeing with West (1983: 23–24), against the
doubts of Graf (1974: 103–107), argues that “lying in the mud” was a punishment
recognized in Eleusinian “doctrine” (cf. Pl. Phd. 69c and Rep. 363d). He draws
attention to the same triad of wrongdoings against gods, parent, and host or guest
incurring this same punishment in Frogs 145–153 and other sources having Eleusinian
connections. On Aristophanes’ initiates, see note 28 below.
17. Lloyd-Jones 1967: 219 (= 1990: 179).
18. Brown 1991: 41–50. Borthwick’s hypothesis (1968: 200–206) is that contemporary
ritual, as well as superstition concerning weasels, underlies the language
of the Empousa scene.
19. Graf 1974: 29–30 n. 36.
20. Brown (1991: 42) cites Plato Phaedrus 250b–c as the earliest explicit reference
to φ.σματα, but not all apparitions are frightful. In this Platonic passage they
are ε.δα.μονα, as in Plut. Περ. Ψυχ.ς fr. 178 (Sandbach), where Plutarch speaks
of the initiate’s fear and terror (sc. in the darkness) followed by the vision of blissful
φ.σματα in the light; cf. Aristid. Or. 22.3 (Keil) and Procl. In Pl. Rep. 2.185.4
(Kroll). For fear and terror felt by the initiate before initiation, see also the passages
instanced in note 7 above. Similar emotions are aroused by the epiphany of
Demeter in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter 190, with parallels noted by Richardson
(1974: 208–211, 252–256 and 306ff.); but this event, too, should be distinguished
from the experience of fearful φ.σματα of the Empousa type.
21. Empousa is a frightful demonic shape-shifting apparition that (1) is sent
by the goddess Hekate and (2) is sometimes even identified with Hekate. Several
sources support (1): Schol. in Aristoph. Frogs 293 explains Empousa as a φ.ντασμα
δαιμονι.δες .π. .κ.της .πιπεμπ.μενον (Dubner p. 283) κα. τ.ς μορφ.ς .ναλλ.τον
(Dindorf; Dubner prints instead: ο. δ. [φασιν] .τε .ξηλλ.ττετο τ.ν μορφ.ν). Schol.
in Ap. Rhod. Argon. 3.861 (Wendel) names Empousa among the φ.σματα . . . τ.
καλο.μενα .κατα.α. Cf. Bekker, Anec. Graeca 1.249.27–28: .μπουσα φ.σμα .στ.
τ.ν .π. .κ.τηω πεμπομ.νων. Suidas, s.v. .κ.την, says that Hekate strikes fear
in those who see her snaky-headed φ.σματα. Cf. also Plut. Mor. 166a. The following
sources support (2): Hesychius s.v. .μπουσα· .ριστοφ.νες δ. τ.ν .κ.την
.φη .μπουσαν. Schol. in Aristoph. Frogs 293 similarly names Aristophanes among

202 Raymond J. Clark


those who identify Empousa with Hekate: .νιοι δ. [φασιν sc. τ.ν .μπουσαν] τ.ν
α.τ.ν τ. .κ.τ., .ς .ριστοφ.νης .ν το.ς Ταγηνιστα.ς. The scholiast then pinpoints
where in this partially surviving comedy the identification is made, by one speaker
saying χθον.α θ’ .κ.τη / σπε.ρας .φεων ε.λιξαμ.νη and another replying τ. καλε.ς
τ.ν .μπουσαν; (fr. 515 PCG). Brown (1991: 47–49) thinks Hekate’s presence at
Eleusis is attested by the Homeric Hymn to Demeter at 25, 440, and by archaeological
evidence, which he discusses at length; he further links passages in (2)
with other evidence such as Idomeneus (FGrH 338F2), to show Empousa’s cultic
identity.

22. Brown 1991: 42–43; Brown uses (p. 50) the Plutarchan fragment (note 20
above) as the source for his view of Eleusinian proceedings.
23. Ibid.: 49.
24. Vergil’s indebtedness is emphasized in Clark 2000: 192ff., and Aristophanes’
in Clark 2001: 103–116, esp. 108.
25. P.Oxy. 3531, vv. 14–20, ed. Cockle (1983: 29–36 = F4a in Snell and Kannicht
1986: I. 349–351 and Criterias IIa in Diggle 1998: 174–175).
26. In Clark 2001: 109–111, I argue for the priority of Peirithoos on several
grounds, including the treatment of Aeacus in the two plays.
27. Cockle (1983: 35) raises the further possibility that this female may be an
Erinys, comparable to the Furies visible at Aesch. Cho. 1048ff. to no one onstage
except Orestes, but he notes that the hypothesis of Peirithoos makes no mention of
a Fury.
28. Cockle (1983: 34) suggests “dead Eleusinian priests,” citing Peirithoos F2
(Ath. 11.496A), ed. Snell and Kannicht. Since the initiates in the chorus of the
Frogs have led virtuous lives on earth (457–458) and now have their own sunshine
(455), they must be in Hades. This view is defended against others by Lloyd-Jones
(1967: 219–220), who thinks that Aristophanes’ initiates, though dead, nevertheless
suggest the atmosphere of Eleusinian cult.
29. Brown (1991: 46) notes that Lucian draws on the Frogs also at Philopatris
25, Contemplantes 24, Cataplus 14, and Fugitivi 28.
30. Noticed by Stanford (1958: 98 ad 289–295).
31. My argument assumes that the author of the lost epic knew the Nekyiaand wished Herakles’ performance to be an improvement upon that of Odysseus.
Lloyd-Jones (1967: 227) remarks of Herakles, “Instead of being frightened, he
threatens her with his sword.” I infer rather from Meleager’s words ο. τοι δ.ος in
Bacchylides’ account that Herakles uses his weapon because he is afraid.
32. For the Gorgons’ serpentine hair, see, e.g., Pind. O. 13.63 and Pyth. 10.47.
Pausanias tells us that Aeschylus (Cho. 1049–1050) was the first to represent the
Erinyes with snakes in their hair. Ar. Ταγηνιστα., fr. 515 PCG, quoted in note
21 above, suggests that Empousa as well as Hekate is snaky-headed. The snaky-
headed φ.σματα in the Suidas passage reported in the same note also include Empousa.
Hekate is similarly represented in Sophocles .ιζοτ.μοι, TrGF F535.5–6 ed.
Radt: στεφανωσαμ.νη δρυϊ΄ κα. πλεκτα.ς / .μ.ν σπε.ραισι δρακ.ντων.
33. Brown 1991: 49.
34. Lavecchia 1996: 25. In Clark 1970: 250, I corrected a similar error of interpretation
regarding Herakles’ journey in Bacchylides 5. But the error persists
when Robertson (1980: 295) asserts that Bacchylides’ Herakles sees the ghosts and
Meleager “on entering the underworld.”

The Eleusinian Mysteries and Vergil’s Aeneid 6
203

35. Hard 1977: 211.
36. Cockle (1983: 30) makes this comparison and cites Lucian Dial. Mort. 20
and De Luctu 4 in its support, in order to interpret P.Oxy. 2078. In Clark 2001:
105 and 107, I concluded from an examination of all passages by Lucian concerning
Aeacus’ infernal functions that this satirist followed different traditions
in different places; for instance, in Dial. Mort. 6.1, Aeacus is the gatekeeper on
the far side of the infernal river Pyriphlegethon and Charon’s lake. In the present
chapter I have added some new insights on infernal topography with the focus on
Apollodorus.
37. Clark 2003: 308–309.
38. Vergil’s use of synonymous expressions to reveal every aspect of this
chthonic cave as the transition path from the upper world to the lower is treated
more fully in Clark 1992: 167–178.
39. Clark 2001: 114.
40. Warburton 1745: 288 and 294.

CHAPTER 11


Women and Nymphs at the Grotta Caruso

BonniE maClaChlan

Epizephyrian Locri was arguably the most culturally dazzling city of
Magna Graecia in the Classical and Hellenistic periods. It was known
throughout the Greek world for innovations and professionalism in music
and dance, for its athletes victorious in the pan-Hellenic games, for the
precision and order of its government, and for its military prowess. It has
also enjoyed a reputation in recent times for the singular prominence it accorded
women.1 In a study of cult life in this part of the Greek world, one
could hardly overlook the ritual activity engaged in by Locrian women
in honor of Persephone. Her shrine, located outside the city walls in the
valley between hills of Mannella and Abbadessa, was still celebrated in
Roman times as the most renowned in all of Italy (Diod. Sic. 27.4.2; Livy
29.18.4; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 20.9).

The myth of Persephone, archetypal kore, archetypal bride, is often referred
to as the most important myth of the ancient world affecting the
lives of women.2 It is best known to us from the account in the Homeric
Hymn to Demeter, but since the unearthing of pinakes from the Locrian
shrine by Orsi more than a century ago,3 we have been conscious of the
difference between what is for us the canonical version of the Persephone
story and what the pinakes reveal about the Locrian version. In these terracotta
plaques, dating from the Classical period, the daughter’s separation
from Demeter is suppressed, and kore is depicted as willing bride and
powerful underworld queen.

These pinakes, which have been found throughout Sicily and southern
Italy, were clearly an important way to disseminate religious ideas from
the Persephoneion at Locri.4 There are no inscriptions accompanying these
terracotta plaques, however, and just what message traveled with them is
far from clear. Interpretations have varied dramatically. The divergence


Women and Nymphs at the Grotta Caruso
205


Figure 11.1. Feminine
daimon from the Locrian
Persephoneion. Costabile
1991: fig. 214.


of readings can be explained in part because Persephone, like Dionysus
and Aphrodite, partook of a rich complex of religious symbolism found
throughout Magna Graecia from the Archaic through the Hellenistic
period. These divinities were represented on artifacts with nuptial, funerary,
eschatological, and erotic motifs, often simultaneously.5

On the pinakes, the frequent occurrence of prenuptial accoutrements
among the motifs seems to suggest that these were proteleia, gifts offered
to Persephone by young Locrian brides at the time of their marriage. This
would be consistent with a common reading of the Persephone narrative
that sees the myth as foundational for a young woman’s initiation, her
transformation from maiden, kore, to bride, nymphe. But if young Locrian
women on the threshold of marriage connected themselves ritually to the
theogamy of Persephone, it cannot be overlooked that their expectations
were thereby anchored in the underworld, and eschatological significance
cannot be detached from the pinakes.

Among the various types of scene depicted on the plaques was that of a
female daimon (Fig. 11.1). Its large wings make one think of other winged
females in Greek popular thought, whether embodiments of punishing
Dike6 or Sirens who escorted the souls of the dead (gently or violently) on
their journey to the underworld.7 In Euripides’ Helen, winged Sirens are
korai of the underworld, carrying lotus flowers (167–169). The Mannella
daimon belongs to an otherworldly wedding, carrying a chthonic bride’s
nuptial accessories. Funeral and nuptial imagery and narratives overlap
naturally with Persephone, but were broadly operative in the Greek imagination:
marriage and funeral rituals possessed many of the same features.8
In Locri this was true not only at the Mannella Persephoneion, but also at


206 Bonnie MacLachlan


a Cave of the Nymphs. Rituals here, which began at the end of the Classical
period, overlapped with those being carried out at the earlier site, but
flourished during the Hellenistic period.

Like many other caves, the Grotta Caruso possessed a spring. Supplying
fountains and wells, springs were essential for life in the ancient world
and were regarded as sacred. Their numinous character was further enhanced
by the fact that this was pure water emerging from the underworld,
and nymphs were the divinities who could be found in these places where
pure cool water emerged from below the earth. Shepherds, passersby, and
women honored the nymphs as they filled their water vessels, attested by
this epigram of Leonidas from Tarentum, a Spartan colony not far from
Locri:

Π.τρης .κ δισσ.ς ψυχρ.ν κατεπ.λμενον .δωρ,

χα.ροις, κα. Νυμφ.ων ποιμενικ. ξ.ανα,

π.στραι τε κρην.ων, κα. .ν .δασι κ.σμια τα.τα

.μ.ων, . κο.ραι, μυρ.α τεγγ.μενα,

χα.ρετ’ . .ριστοκλ.ης δ’ .δ’ .δοιπ.ρος, .περ .π.σα

δ.ψαν βαψ.μενος το.το δ.δωμι γ.ρας.

Greetings, chilly stream that leaps down from the cleft rock

And you wooden images of the Nymphs carved by a shepherd

And you drinking troughs from the springs,

and in the water these little ornaments of yours,

maidens, thousands of them, drenched.

Hail. I, Aristocles, this sojourner, give you this present

With which I quenched my thirst, dipping it in your waters. (AP 9.326)

Aristocles dedicated his cup, but others had left korai, dolls, in the waters
of the spring for the korai-nymphs.

In similar fashion, Locrian women came to the Grotta Caruso and deposited
korai at the spring for the nymphs. While we do not have any inscriptions
attesting to the fact that the cult of Persephone was moved from
the Persephoneion to the Grotta, I would argue for a continuum in the ritual
process involved at both locations.9 With the religious syncretism that was
practiced during the Hellenistic period, the experience of the women at the
Grotta permitted them to explore other possibilities at the same time. The
Grotta gives us a unique opportunity to view the centrality of women in
Locri, and reveals their participation in areas we routinely associate with
men, such as the theater or rituals celebrating a divinized hero.


Women and Nymphs at the Grotta Caruso
207

The excavation of the Grotta began under Paolo Arias in 1940, and a
recent comprehensive study of the cave was undertaken by Felice Costabile.
10 The roof has caved in, but the original height of the cave was about
3 meters. Inside was a large basin of water (30–40 cm deep), to which
votaries descended by a staircase (Figs. 11.2, 11.3). Niches were carved
into the walls of the cave as repositories for lamps and votive gifts. In
the water was an altar for offerings, and a large block (0.5 m .42 m).11
Extrapolating from a poem of Callimachus, we might suppose that the
women went down and sat on the submerged rock and, as part of a ritual
activity, poured over them some of the water collected in the basin.12

Water was used in Greek ritual primarily for purposes of purification,
sometimes for appeasing a divinity or shedding some pollution. From
Cyrene we have Sacred Laws inscribed in marble (late fourth century),
among which is a prescription for newly married women.13 They were
expected to “go down to Artemis” (we assume to a nymphaeum) for a
purifying bath, in all likelihood as appeasement for the loss of their virginity.
For nuptial ceremonies in the Greek world, the lustral bath had
another purpose: it conferred upon the bride and groom the fecundating
powers of water.14 The idea was developed by Porphyry in his commentary
on the Odyssean Cave of the Nymphs, in which the cave is symbolic of
the generative potency of the cosmos. No text has survived at the Locrian
cave, however, that could clarify for us which of the above functions was
assigned to its waters.

One of the most remarkable, and the most common, types of votive
left in the niches of the Grotta Caruso is the nude kneeling woman with
truncated limbs (Fig. 11.4). The type is known elsewhere in the Greek
world; examples have been found in Corinth, Attica, and Cyrene.15
Throughout Magna Graecia, these figures have been found in the graves
of young women. Often their arms have been deliberately cut off, or their
legs, sometimes at the knees, sometimes at the calves. Some have holes in
the truncated limbs, suggesting that arms and legs could be added, like
dolls with articulated limbs that could move, and separate terracotta limbs
have been collected among the finds at the Grotta. The women each wear
on their heads a polos, the mark of a goddess,16 and some can fit comfortably
on the terracotta thrones that were found in the vicinity. Were these
votives goddess-dolls? If so, who was the goddess? Once again, we are
without inscriptions. An anonymous and well-known epigram from the
Palatine Anthology records a similar gift from a young girl to Artemis,
included among proteleia for the goddess, marking a wedding that would
never occur:


208 Bonnie MacLachlan



Figure 11.2. Grotta Caruso showing
altar and (quadrated) rock. Costabile
1991: fig. 363.



Figure 11.3. Grotta Caruso showing staircase. Costabile 1991: fig. 12.


Τιμαρ.τα πρ. γ.μοιο τ. τ.μπανα, τ.ν τ’ .ρατειν.ν
σφα.ραν, τ.ν τε κ.μας ..τορα κεκρ.φαλον,
τ.ς τε κ.ρας, Λιμν.τι, κ.ρ. κ.ρα, .ς .πιεικ.ς,
.νθετο, κα. τ. κορ.ν .νδ.ματ’, .ρτ.μιδι.
Λατ.α, τ. δ. παιδ.ς .π.ρ χ.ρα Τιμαρετε.ας
θηκαμ.να, σ.ζοις τ.ν .σ.αν .σ.ως.


Women and Nymphs at the Grotta Caruso
209

Timareta, before her wedding, dedicated her tambour and her lovely ball
And the hair-net that held her hair,
her dolls, too, to Artemis of the Lake, a kore to a kore, as is fitting,
And the clothing of the dolls.
Daughter of Leto, do you place your hand over the girl Timareta
And in purity may you preserve her purity. (AP 6.280)

From this epigram we might extrapolate that the (roughly contemporary)
dedication of the kneeling korai at the Grotta Caruso belonged
to prenuptial activities that enabled young Locrian women to identify
with a goddess whose features—like those of Artemis—included the aspect
of maidenhood. This goddess could of course be Persephone, or the
dolls could represent a collectivity of divinities, the nymphs of the cave.17


Figure 11.4. Terracotta votives from the Grotta Caruso: Kneeling females with truncated
limbs and throne. Costabile 1991: fig. 191.



210 Bonnie MacLachlan



Figure 11.5. Terracotta votives from the Grotta Caruso: Kneeling females. Costabile 1991:
fig. 190.


Nymphs would be appropriate recipients of votives from brides, whose
name (nymphai ) they bore. The large number of these figures deposited in
the Grotta is striking (Fig. 11.5).

Identical artifacts were also found in tombs of young women at Lucifero,
the necropolis at Locri:18 it is tempting to see in the funerary collection
the same sentiments as lay behind the epigram for Timareta. Their
nudity may be explained, drawing once again on the epigram, by the fact
that the figures were at one time clothed.19


Women and Nymphs at the Grotta Caruso
211

More clearly identifiable as nymphs are the female heads found in groups
of three, often accompanied by Pan on terracotta reliefs from the Grotta
(Fig. 11.6). Cults of Pan and Nymphs were common in Greece, particularly
after Pan’s alleged appearance on the battlefield at Marathon. An intriguing
parallel to his presence at Locri, however, are the Attic vase-paintings
depicting Pan (or several paniskoi) accompanying Kore-Persephone on her
return from the underworld. In the Metropolitan Museum in New York
is a crater depicting her emerging from a rocky opening, likened by Borgeaud
to a cave of Pan and the Nymphs.20 This corroborates the supposition
that in their katabasis and anodos at the Grotta, the Locrian women
(brides?) identified themselves with Persephone; here the anodos occurred
in the company of the Nymphs and Pan.


Figure 11.6. Terracotta plaque from
the Grotta Caruso: Three female
heads with Pan. Costabile 1991: fig. 176.



212 Bonnie MacLachlan


Pan’s presence often has erotic undertones, and nymphs in myths,
whether with Pan or Artemis, are frequently vulnerable to predatory
young men. In the year 316 CE, a period of high activity for the rituals
at the Grotta Caruso, Menander staged his Dyscolos in Athens and won
first prize. The action takes place at a Cave of the Nymphs. Pan emerges
from the cave to present the prologue to the play (vv. 1–49), explaining
that there is a young maiden who regularly honors the Nymphs and himself,
garlanding their statues when she comes to the cave’s spring to fetch
water. Pan reflects that he ought to reciprocate her gifts by seeing that she
is partnered with a noble young man who had fallen in love with her as he
watched her making her dedications. As he predicts, the kore becomes a
gyne, and the celebration of the wedding takes place at the cave.

Pan is not the only god whose presence was felt by the women at the
Grotta Caruso. On the side of the terracotta plaque with the nymphs and
Pan are depicted thyrsoi, implements belonging to the maenadic cult of
Dionysus. Models of maenads were also found in the Grotta, together
with Sileni, masks and figurines of comic actors,21 and the theatrical as
well as the ecstatic dimension of Dionysus clearly figured in the experience
at the Cave. For women to leave behind theatrical votives suggests
strongly that their activities were connected with performances that took
place in the theater built in the center of the city.22 The epigram of Locrian
Nossis (AP 7.414) dedicated to the Tarentine phlyax playwright Rhinthon
attests to the performance in fourth-century Locri of parodies of tragedy.

The chthonic aspects of Dionysus were intertwined with the ecstatic and
theatrical in Magna Graecia,23 making it not surprising that this Locrian
ritual combined theatrical elements with a katabasis. In Sicilian Lipari, a
terracotta portrait of Menander was found in a tomb.24 On Campanian
craters of the fourth century, theatrical and nuptial iconography was combined
with iconography drawn from the thiasos of Dionysus, and these
were used as funeral urns. The otherworldly potency of Dionysus is of
course at the center of the god’s occurrence in funerary contexts. The god’s
association with mystery Orphic cults in the Locrian region was made
dramatically apparent with the discovery in 1969, in a woman’s grave at
Hipponion (a colony of Locri), of an Orphic gold leaf tablet. It dates from
about 400, and it reminds the deceased that, of the two paths available in
the underworld, one is reserved for mystai and bakkhoi.25 Could the rituals
at the Grotta Caruso have belonged to a mystery cult, and the women
emerged from the water as mystai ?

There were other chthonic elements connected with the ritual at the
Grotta Caruso (Fig. 11.7). On some terracotta plaques, three nymphs are
shown with a man-faced bull and an altar. (Arias found this terracotta


Women and Nymphs at the Grotta Caruso
213


Figure 11.7. Terracotta from
the Grotta Caruso: Three
female heads with altar and
tauromorph hero. Costabile
1991: fig. 321.


behind the actual altar in the Grotta.) Beneath the man-bull is inscribed
the name Euthymos (Fig. 11.8). Euthymos was a local hero of Locri (Strabo
6.1.5). An athletic hero before a cult hero, he was three times victorious at
Olympia as a boxer, and was celebrated by Callimachus (frr. 84–85 Pfeiffer).
Two statues were erected in his honor at Olympia (the inscription on
one survives), and, as the story goes, both statues were struck by lightning
on the same day, after which Delphi prescribed the installation of a hero
cult.

There are more underworld associations with Euthymos. A legend from
the nearby city of Temesa maintained that the Temesians had committed
an offense by killing Polites, one of the companions returning home with
Odysseus. When Polites became a menacing daimon after death, Delphi
ordered them to propitiate the angry hero with an annual sacrifice of the


214 Bonnie MacLachlan



Figure 11.8. Detail of
terracotta from Grotta
Caruso (Fig. 11.7), showing
outline of altar and
inscription Euthymos.
Costabile 1991: fig. 314b.


most beautiful of the Temesian parthenoi to Polites. Locrian Euthymos defeated
this daimon, and was rewarded by receiving the parthenos as a bride.
Euthymos was reported to have lived a long life but met a death that was
as miraculous as it was appropriate, for someone who would figure prominently
in the water rituals at the Grotta Caruso. He leapt into a local river
and disappeared (Pausanias 6.6.4–10). If the rituals at the Grotta were
conducted by Locrian parthenoi, the chthonic and erotic connotations of
the nymphs with Euthymos would reinforce the strongest features of the
theogamy of Persephone.

There are many questions yet to be explored about the Locrian rituals
at the Grotta. One of the pieces of the puzzle that requires more explanation
is the inclusion of theatrical elements among the finds. The consideration
that this is an aspect of Dionysus makes it understandable, but does
not explain it.26 Artifacts left in the niches of the Cave with maenadic,
nuptial, and chthonic motifs can be understood as symbolic of several
rites of passage, of the teletai of Dionysiac mysteries, of marriage, or of an
encounter with the underworld powers, permitting the women to emerge
as mystai. But what of the theater? Victor Turner, in The Ritual Process,27
worked on the elements common to rites of passage, where participants
experience a transformation from one biological and social circumstance
to another. In this place of danger and vulnerability was an opportunity
for “disordered play.” The underworld, experienced in the Persephoneion
or in the Grotta Caruso, furnished the stage for this disordered play. Persephone
and Aphrodite, the Nymphs, Pan, Euthymos, Dionysus, maenads,
and Sileni, along with winged daimones, are the principal actors.


Women and Nymphs at the Grotta Caruso
215

Notes

1. MacLachlan 1995: 205–207; Redfield 2003: 263–307.
2. On Persephone as archetypal, see Lincoln 1979.
3. Orsi began excavating the temenos in 1889, and subsequently unearthed
the pinakes beneath a treasury belonging to the shrine. He dated the plaques to
between 500 and 450 BCE (Orsi 1909).
4. Casadio 1995: 100.
5. Casadio (ibid.) draws attention to this significant crux of interpretation.
On the nuptial significance of the pinakes, see Zancani-Montuoro 1960, 1964; and
Sourvinou-Inwood 1978. For funerary implications, see Quagliati 1908; for an eschatological
reading, see Orsi 1909: 406, 463, who read scenes of the abduction
of Persephone as the snatching of the soul from the body and its transport to the
underworld. He was followed in this by Giannelli ([1924] 1963: 187–204). The
undisputed presence of Aphrodite on some of the pinakes led to the controversial
reading of Pruckner 1968 that they reflected a vow taken by the Locrians in
477/6 BCE to consign their virgins to a period of service as prostitutes in the temple
of Aphrodite in order to avert a war. A broader, and more generally accepted, reading
of Aphrodite’s presence in the pinakes is that of Sourvinou-Inwood (1978),
who sees these scenes as representative of a broad range of the erotic experience
of Locrian women, from their coming of age through marriage to motherhood.
6. Nilsson 1957: 123–125, on winged females found on south Italian vases.
On one such vase, from Ruvo, Persephone is enthroned and two Dikai are present.
Nilsson (p. 126) sees here one figure administering punishment and the other acquittal,
not unlike the Dike in Parmenides (Δικ. πολ.ποινος .χει κλη.δας .μοιβο.ς,
fr.1, 14).
7. Plato Cratylus 403D. Vermeule (1979: 145–177) points out the link here
between the eschatological and the erotic: the winged figures appear as lovers,
embracing the dead.
8. Rehm 1994: 11–42. This identification of the two rites of passage is reflected
in the call of despair from Sophocles’ Antigone as she contemplates her tomb that
is also her bridal-chamber (.τ.μβος, .νυμφε.ον, 891). Rehm (pp. 3–4) points out
that we don’t have to dig very deep in the Western artistic tradition to find that the
interplay between weddings and funerals is one that is buried in our own psyche as
well. It appears in Shakespeare, with Hamlet and the death of the would-be bride
Ophelia, with Pyramus and Thisbe and Romeo and Juliet, who marry in the tomb.
Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor or Verdi’s Attila commemorate death that occurs
on the wedding day.
9. The connection with Persephone is made possible by the finding in Morgantina,
Sicily, of a female bust contemporary with and identical to several found
in the Grotta, with the difference that in the Morgantina example, the scene of
Persephone’s abduction was depicted. Bell 1976: 144.
10. Arias 1941; Costabile 1991.
11. Costabile 1991: 7.
12. In a fragment from the Fountains of Argos (Aetia 66.1–9), Callimachus addresses
the fountain/water-nymph Amymone and refers to maidens who would
be assigned the ritual weaving of a robe for Hera only after they had sat upon the
sacred rock and poured over their heads the water flowing around them.

216 Bonnie MacLachlan


13. SEG IX.72 (left-hand side of the column, lines 9–14).
14. Schol. ad Eur. Phoen. 347; Ginouves 1962: 421–422.
15. Boffa 1977; Larson 2001: 117–120.
16. Dewailly 1983.
17. Costabile (1991: 108) suggests that these figures could be representations of
Lokria, the eponymous water-nymph of Locri (Strabo 6.1.7).
18. Costabile 1991: 122.
19. For the explanation that these nude figures were dolls, naked so that girls
could dress them, see Redfield 1991a: 318–319.
20. Borgeaud 1979: 212. The overlap between the powers of Aphrodite and
Persephone at Locri, represented by the presence of Aphrodite on some of the
pinakes, appears on at least one vase with this motif. An Attic pelike was found in
Rhodes, where it is Aphrodite, not Persephone, emerging from the earth, accompanied
by Hermes and Pan (Guarducci 1985b: 6).
21. Costabile 1991: 150–179.
22. The theater, built in the Hellenistic period, was located near the Olympeion
(Gigante 1977: 691). If the ritual activities at the Grotta were prenuptial, this suggests
that young women were included in life at the theater.
23. For a full discussion of the panoply of Dionysiac motifs occurring together
in sites throughout Magna Graecia, see Casadio 1995.
24. Bernabo Brea 1981: 21.
25. Pugliese Carratelli 1976; Guettel Cole 1980; Musti 1984; West 1975.
26. The same question may be asked about the (not infrequent) presence of
caves with underworld associations near or in the Greek theater, at Syracuse, for
example.
27. Turner 1969.

CHAPTER 12


“Great royal Spouse Who Protects Her
Brother Osiris”: Isis in the Isaeum at Pompeii

frEdEriCK BrEnK

Perhaps Apuleius at the end of his Metamorphoses was right, that at Rome
in the Isaeum Campense, at least in his time, not Isis but Osiris was the
highest god.1 This was not, apparently, true for the Isaeum at Pompeii.2
Here, clearly, Isis is represented as the predominant divinity. The situation
is similar to that at Kenchreai, the southern port of Corinth, where Lucius,
Apuleius’ hero, is first initiated into the mysteries of Isis. Even there, in
the procession with the vessel of Nile water, Osiris is referred to as the
highest divinity.3 But at Rome, Lucius is told that the higher initiation is
that to Osiris:

vesperaque, quam dies insequebatur Iduum Decembrium, sacrosanctam
istam civitatem accedo. . . . novum mirumque plane comperior . . . magni
dei deumque summi parentis invicti Osiris necdum sacris inlustratum.
(Met. 11.26–27 [Griffiths 1975: 287–288])4

On the following evening, on the twelfth of December I reached that
sacrosanct city [Rome]. . . . But I made a new and clearly amazing discovery
. . . I had not been initiated into the mysteries of the great god and
supreme father of the gods, the unconquerable Osiris.

Finally, he learns that even one initiation to Osiris is not sufficient, but
that he, and his pocketbook, must endure another. Possibly Lucius’ final
initiation was to both gods, Isis and Osiris, but afterward he has a vision
of Osiris alone, suggesting that even this initiation was to Osiris.5

In Italy, the Isis religion in the early empire seems to have been becoming
more and more Osirian and funerary, thus confirming Apuleius’
depiction of activities in the temple at Rome. It is not that contemporary
Isiacs had a morbid outlook on life.6 Rather, they believed in a happy after



218 Frederick Brenk


life through their devotion to the “Egyptian gods.”7 Devotion to Osiris in
Rome probably paralleled that in Greco-Roman Egypt, where the dead
tried to assimilate themselves to Osiris. Eventually the Temple of Serapis
(Osiris) on the Quirinal, if the general view is correct, would dwarf that of
Isis down below in the Campus Martius.8 So the mysterious words of the
title of this study, “who protects her brother Osiris,” are meant to indicate
the predominance of Isis at Pompeii, in contrast to Rome. When Vesuvius
erupted, Isis was still on top, even if Osiris was showing signs of resurrection
and might eventually triumph in the capital city.

Until a few years ago, it was quite difficult to study the Isaeum at Pompeii.
The publication of the temple excavation and its finds was very incomplete,
and one had to be content with rather murky illustrations of
the frescoes. Then, in 1992, the temple was recreated in the rooms of the
National Archaeological Museum of Naples for a special exhibit. The exhibit
was accompanied by a stimulating, if at times unreliable, catalogue
(Alla ricerca di Iside) with excellent color reproductions of many of the
frescoes. A giornata di studio, also held at the museum, resulted in published
contributions by some of Italy’s (and France’s) most brilliant and
imaginative scholars.9 More recently and more soberly, Valeria Sampaolo
has published the architectural and pictorial content of the Isaeum for
the official publication, Pompei: Pitture e mosaici.10 Then, in 2000, Nicole
Blanc, Helene Eristov, and Myriam Fincker presented their revolutionary
analysis of the architectural features of the temple, in the course of which
they rejected many of the previous theories about its construction and reconstruction.
11 Still lacking is an official publication of the statues and
artifacts, many of which are Egyptian or Egyptianizing, though these were
treated briefly in the 1992 catalogue. One can thus obtain a reasonably
accurate picture of the relative worship of Isis and Osiris in the Isaeum
at the time of the destruction that preserved it. A “picture” or a “look” is
correct, because what we have is really only what we see.

The French authors mentioned above bulldozed two previous theories.
The first was the supposition that a temple existed on the site in the late
Republican period. The second was that, as the inscription says, after the
earthquake in 62 CE, the temple was built from scratch (a fundamento res-
tituit).12 After the earthquake, according to these authors, relatively minor
changes were made, primarily consisting of new painting and stucco work,
most of which was done in the Fourth Pompeian Style. Their argument
is based on the need to fit the temple into the space left by the theater on
the south, the type of brickwork employed, the presence of stucco found
underneath a later layer of stucco, motifs in the decoration, stylobates and


“Great Royal Spouse Who Protects Her Brother Osiris”
219

capitals, the type of facade with two wings, of mosaics under the later
pavement, of furnishings for the temple, and the inscription of M. Lucretius
Rufus in the Sacrarium. All these elements seem to point to an Augustan
date.13 The portico had to be entirely rebuilt, and the painting is
primarily in the Fourth Style, but evidently the earlier painting and stucco
design was in part used for the inner side of the arches of the Ekklesiasterion,
a “pastiche of the Second Style executed in the Fourth Style.”
If true, the architecture of the Isaeum primarily represents the Augustan
period, the sculpture is primarily Julio-Claudian, centered probably on
Claudius, and the painting and stucco work is mostly late Neronian.

As far as Egyptomania goes in the Age of Augustus, one might recall the
Obelisk of the Solarium at the present Piazza Montecitorio, the obelisks
and Egyptian decoration of the Mausoleum of Augustus, the frescoes of
the Aula Isiaca on the Palatine, and those of the Villa Romana Farnesina,
which perhaps belonged to Agrippa and Julia, the daughter of Augustus.
The Isaeum at Pompeii would have originally, then, fit into the religious,
social, and political currents of the Augustan age. The official desire of
Augustus’ reign to glorify his Egyptian victory evidently left an opening
both for wealthy Romans to adorn their homes with chic Egyptian and
Alexandrian decor and for the cult to flourish, in spite of its apparently
foreign and non-Roman character. The presentation of Egyptian motifs in
the Isaeum, however, contrasts with the chic, arty, architectonic, and less
religious style of those in the Villa Farnesina and the Aula Isiaca.14

The Isaeum at Pompeii, then, contrasts with the Isaeum Campense in
Rome, which belongs primarily to the age of Domitian.15 Domitian had
abundant reason to exalt Osiris over Isis. His father Vespasian had received
a divine prediction in the Sarapeion at Alexandria that he would
rule over the world. At the very end of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, the hero
(and the reader) is surprised to find that Osiris seems to be the principal
god in the Isaeum Campense. The dramatic date of the Metamorphoses is
about 170 CE. Perhaps Osiris’ supremacy there was the situation at Rome
already in Domitian’s day. The important “Serapaeum” part of the Isaeum
Campense, the large apse structure at the south, seems to date to his reign,
or at least that of Hadrian. Even before Domitian, Nero, a descendant of
Marcus Antonius (Mark Antony), famous for his association with Egypt,
had his wife, Poppaea Sabina, embalmed.16 Possibly Nero or Poppaea,
like the owners of the Greco-Roman mummy cases recovered from Egypt,
seriously hoped to become, after death, “like” Osiris, gaining immortality
and a blessed afterlife.17

At Pompeii, Isis clearly is represented as the more prominent divinity.


220 Frederick Brenk


Possibly the major cult statues were of Isis and Serapis, but of these, only
the head belonging to what may be the cult statue of Isis has survived.18
One can easily find Isis in the temple. Along the prominent arched wall of
the west portico on the extreme left, we find a statue of Aphrodite Anadyomene.
The statue evidently represents the interpretatio graeca of Isis,
whereas Isis with the ankh on the extreme right seems to be an archaizing
Hellenistic form of the goddess.19 Finding Osiris is more difficult. At the
back, outside wall of the cella of the temple, a statue of a youthful Dionysus,
a god often identified with Osiris, appeared in a niche.20 Its placement
at the west end of the temple, a primary symbolic direction of Osiris, is
probably significant. A remembrance of Osiris would also be an ushabti
(a small mummified figure), which, though small in size, was put in a special
niche in a prominent place in the “Sacrarium.”21 A small decorative
piece, moreover, called a “bearded Dionysos” in the catalogue, is in fact
an “Osiris/Dionysus.”22

The frescoes also reflect the relative positions of Isis and Osiris.23 These
were newly painted after the earthquake. However, the odd placement of
some quadretti (small, rectangular insert paintings) breaking up the wall
design in the temple suggests that the worshipers, who found it difficult
to part with the old paintings, had them reproduced awkwardly in this
way.24 If so, one could probably presume that the central paintings in the
triptychs might also have belonged to the earlier painting program. Significantly,
too, the central panels of the triptychs seem to belong to an
older, statuary style of painting, contrasting with the dreamy, impressionistic
style of the flanking Nilescapes.25 There were three painted triptychs
in the “Ekklesiasterion.” Of these, the central panels of only two have
survived. These two, in illusionist frames, meant to represent paintings on
wood, are extremely important, depicting episodes in the life of Io—that
is, scenes of salvation and liberation. In the first, Hermes (Mercury) is
about to slay Argos, the custodian of Io, who, through the machinations
of Hera (Juno), is to be transformed into a cow (Fig. 12.1). In the second,
Isis appears in the company of her sister, Nephthys, Hermanubis (a combination
of Hermes and Anubis), and her son, Harpokrates. Io, supported
by a personified Nile, is to be restored from bestial form and savage persecution,
and returned to civilized society (Fig. 12.2).

Perhaps the theme of the painting inspired Apuleius. In the Metamorphoses,
his hero, Lucius, having been transformed into an ass, through Isis
is restored to human form.26 By reading the plaintive laments of Lucius,
we can appreciate the plight of Io and her liberation by Isis.27 Lucius
(Met. 12 [Griffiths 1975: 275]) interprets his release as salvation (salus),


Figure 12.1.
Ekklesiasterion: Io,
Hermes, and Argos.


Figure 12.2.
Ekklesiasterion: Nile,
Io, Isis, Hermanubis,
Nephthys, and
Harpokrates.



222 Frederick Brenk


and liberation by Isis as one from toils, dangers, and Fortune. Lucius then
dedicates himself entirely to the goddess, something of which we have an
intimation in the “Io and Isis” (or “Io at Canopus”) painting. Io, and by extension
the Isiac worshiper or initiate, not only has been liberated but now
is welcomed into the society of the goddess and invited to engage in total
dedication to the Egyptian religion, symbolized by Isis, Horos (Harpokrates),
Anubis (Hermanubis), Nephthys, and the Nile. The prominence of
the Nile and the situla held in Hermanubis’ hand might also be taken as
allusions to Osiris. Once again, though, Isis, not Osiris, dominates both
the literal and the symbolic dimensions of the painting.

The numerous small paintings (quadretti) are primarily meant to evoke
the mystery of Egypt and the Nile, but many are suggestive of a tomb of
Osiris, in particular that on Bigga, the island next to Philai.28 These, too,
with their bird’s-eye perspective and romantic sacro-idyllic landscapes,
contrast with the central panels of the triptychs. They are not, however,
quite in the same dreamy, sacro-idyllic manner of the Ekklesiasterion
Nilescapes. Though the Nilescapes of the Ekklesiasterion are strikingly
beautiful, they are subordinated to the central Io panels. In fact, though,
the central paintings are slightly smaller than the framing Nilescapes.29
The triptychs, moreover, were given special prominence, since they were
partially visible through the arches of the interior court. Once inside the
Ekklesiasterion, the viewer had a vicarious experience of the Upper Nile.
The “framed” frescoes represent the Dodekaschoinos, a stretch of about
sixty kilometers of the Nile in Upper Egypt, south of the first cataract
near Philai and before reaching Nubia. This was a “virtual reality” experience
of standing on Philai, the site of the greatest Temple of Isis in
Egypt, while contemplating the extraordinarily overawing scenery that
surrounded it.30

The physical and symbolic directions of the Temple at Philai probably
are important for understanding the temples both at Pompeii and at Rome.
The Temple at Philai faced south, looking down toward the source of the
Nile, whose water was often identified with Osiris. The burial place of
Osiris, Bigga (or the Abaton), was primarily to the west. Bigga is a huge
island in relation to Philai. Considered to contain the source of the Nile, it
projected quite a bit south, thus both west and south of Philai. The Abaton,
“where no one shall tread,” with its primarily western orientation,
was fitting as the traditional direction of Osiris and the souls of the dead.
But since it extended farther south, one might justifiably see it as a symbol
of the Nile. As in the quadretti, so in the Ekklesiasterion Nilescapes, an
island, imaginary tomb, or temple, together with luxurious vegetation,
conveyed a sense of the “numinous.” In a sense, with the possible excep



“Great Royal Spouse Who Protects Her Brother Osiris”
223

Figure 12.3. Portico:
Priest with sacred asp.



tion of the “Isis and Osiris Enthroned” painting, all the major frescoes
closely associate Isis worship with the water of the Nile.31 Possibly the
artists only intended to create atmosphere by depicting the landscape of
Upper Egypt. In one, however, we find bulls grazing on a rocky island,
beside a temple near which someone is fishing. Is this a farfetched representation,
meant to harmonize with the other scenes, of the Sarapieion at
Memphis where the Apis bulls were raised, kept, and eventually buried?

Close examination of the paintings reveals a chronological or religious
order to be followed. As one entered from the outside gate into the portico,
one found little representations of Isiac priests and one priestess in
the center of the fresco panels (Fig. 12.3). The figures stand out against the
bright red wall with almost theatrical backdrops, as though to give them a
hieratic quality and religious dignity separating them from everyday reality
and ordinary mortals. The figures recall those of the Isiac procession at
Kenchreai in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (11.10 [274]). We might imagine
the curious, possibly as their first experience, following these standing figures,
as though in processional order, into the temple precinct.32 In Apuleius,
the “gods” follow last, among whom is Anubis. Anubis appeared
on the far, western, inner wall of the portico. Thus, the progression of the


224 Frederick Brenk


Figure 12.4. Isis with the Body of Osiris, Sacrarium.
figures was probably understood as beginning at the northeast entrance
into the sanctuary, then moving in parallel from north and south walls,
until reaching the west side of the portico, which was also the east wall of
the Ekklesiasterion.33

Once inside the Ekklesiasterion, one should have followed the sequence
northeast to northwest, northwest to southwest, and southwest to southeast.
In the Sacrarium, one follows the same direction, beginning with
the north wall and proceeding to the west wall. Only by following this sequence
in the Ekklesiasterion will the panel “Io, Hermes, and Argos,” representing
Hermes about to slay Argos, come before the liberation of Io by
Isis, “Io at Canopus.” Similarly, in the Sacrarium, the “Finding of the Body
of Osiris” (Fig. 12.4) comes chronologically before the “Isis and Osiris
Enthroned” (Figs. 12.5, 12.6). The south side of the Sacrarium, along with
its fresco, had disappeared at the time of the excavation; its subject is unknowable.
Moreover, it is difficult to imagine any scene more final than
“Isis and Osiris Enthroned.”

Following this order of the paintings, and trusting Sampaolo’s location
of them, we arrive at the following sequence. In the Ekklesiasterion, north
wall, east panel: “Small Temple in antis and Sacred Portal” (an extremely
romantic rocky island with a tree behind a column and a small nautical
bird [fisher martin] in the foreground).34 Central panel: “Io, Hermes, and
Argos.”35 A cow stands behind Io, who has small horns on her head, an
indication that she will be transformed into her bestial form. West panel:


“Great Royal Spouse Who Protects Her Brother Osiris”
225

“Landscape with Sacred Portal and Ibis,” a scene extremely similar in
composition to the panel on the east side, especially in its inclusion of a
bird.36 West wall, north panel: “Landscape with Sacred Portal and Curtain.”
A standing statue can be seen in a sacred edifice, while bulls are
grazing to the right.37 The central panel is missing.38 South panel: “Landscape
with Grazing Bulls.” Thematically close to the matching panel, we
find a seated statue and a similar enclosure behind the statue, but the
proportions are different, and the landscape is more civilized.39 South
wall, west side: fresco missing. Central panel: “Io at Canopus,” with Io,
the Nile god, Hermanubis, Isis, Nephthys, and Harpokrates.40 West side:
“Adoration of the Mummy of Osiris” (also called “Landscape with Cere-


Figure 12.5. Sacrarium: Drawing, “Isis and Osiris Enthroned.”



226 Frederick Brenk


Figure 12.6. Sacrarium: Osiris, “Isis and Osiris Enthroned.”
mony before a Sarcophagus of Osiris”; Fig. 12.7).41 The matching panel is
missing. This one is remarkable for the marked centrality of its composition,
its representation of a ritual, and its momentary rather than eternal
character, contrasting with what we find in the other scenes. The presence
of birds in the side panels of the north triptych, however, helps to lead into
this picture, for this one, too, is marked by the extraordinary presence
of a mysterious bird, not a common habitant of the Nile. This, almost
the last painting before entering the Sacrarium, which would receive the
least amount of natural light, seems to be especially serious, religious, and
mysterious.

In this most unusual and striking scene, the artist possibly intended to
depict rites at Bigga for the mummy of Osiris.42 Only here do we find a
priest performing a ritual. What a mysterious scene!Before a lintel supported
by anthropoid sarcophagus slabs stands a coffin with ribbons tied
around it.43 A strange, mystical bird with a lotus crown on its head is


“Great Royal Spouse Who Protects Her Brother Osiris”
227

perched on top of the mummy case. Even today, the scene bears an odd,
accidental relationship to the entrance to the real island, and even more
so to older photographs of the entrance gate.44 Tucked away in the dim
southeast corner of the Ekklesiasterion, difficult to see from the portico,
this scene before entering the Sacrarium serves as a transition to the inner
sanctum.

The “Adoration” fresco, then, seems to depict more than just numinous
and religiously evocative landscape. This does seem to represent the
adoration of the mummified Osiris, very possibly on the island Bigga, as
filtered through the eyes of Hellenistic-Roman artists. As such, it has some
relationship to the procession with the body of Osiris in the Nile Mosaic
of Praeneste (Palestrina). The ithyphallic statue, the urn of water, and the
falcon/phoenix, besides the mummy case, are evocative, traditional symbols
of the resuscitation or resurrection of Osiris.45 The huge, mysterious
falcon suggests both the symbolic representation of Osiris or Horos with
the falcon and the actual huge falcons imported from Africa and given
lavish attention on the Abaton by means of a complicated ritual. One
should not exaggerate the painting’s importance. It is in the shadows and
is not even the central panel of the triptych. Even so, it must have been just
as fascinating for Isiacs two thousand years ago as it is for us today. The
fresco also suggests the direction the Egyptian religion in Italy seems to
have been taking, moving from primary worship of Isis and interest in this
life, toward the funerary aspects of Osiris and the destiny of the deceased


Figure 12.7. Ekklesiasterion: “Adoration of the Mummy.”



228 Frederick Brenk


in the next life. In an earlier article, perhaps the painting was misunderstood
and treated as though the culmination of the viewing experience:

Ribbons are tied tightly around the stelai, while those around the “coffin”
seem already loosened as though about to fly asunder. The central scene,
bathed and highlighted with sunshine, stands out against the misty background
of the distant mountains. In such an unreal atmosphere, a sudden,
unexpected, and supernatural transition from death to life seems to await
Osiris and all who follow his mysteries.46

The Sacrarium seems to have been an “inner sanctum,” the most esoteric
room, and here again, Isis appears as the principal, saving divinity.
Only a single arch allowed the light to enter, and this could easily have
been veiled when required. In the midst of one frescoed wall, a niche
(aediculum) contained a small mummified figure (ushabti ) of the sixth
to fifth century BCE.47 Inscribed on the figure are verses, typical for an
ushabti, taken from the sixth chapter of the Book of the Dead, extolling the
power of Osiris.48 There were two large frescoes in the Sacrarium (itself at
the southwest corner of the temple area) praising Isis and Osiris. Here the
artists filled the walls with animals, attempting in their own way to imitate
the Egyptian theriomorphic representations of divinities.49 Continuing in
the scheme followed so far, one would begin at the north wall and move on
to the west. The right direction is confirmed by the imagined chronology.
The fresco on the north side, at the bottom left of which was the ushabti,
must have something to do with the recovery of the body of Osiris, while
that on the west side represents him as consort of Isis in the underworld. In
the Nile Mosaic at Palestrina, we have something similar, a ritual procession
with the coffin of Osiris. On the north wall of the Sacrarium, on the
other hand, the central figure is Isis, while the square box-like coffin and
the bird—falcon or swallow—painted on it indicates either the presence
of the body of Osiris or the coffin that will receive the body.50 The scene
apparently represents both the finding of the dispersed remains of Osiris’
body on a mythical level, and the annual funeral procession of Osiris in
Egypt on a ritual level. This took place in several localities, but the Upper-
Nilescapes of the Ekklesiasterion suggest that the creator had the rites at
Philai and the Abaton in mind. Some Romans would have actually visited
these sites, or at least have had a vicarious experience of them.51 In the
Hellenistic and Roman world, the scene would evoke the Inventio Osiridis
(“The Finding of Osiris”), one of the principal Isiac festivals.52 The Ariccia
Relief possibly depicts this rite in the Isaeum Campense.53 The Sacrarium
scene parallels the procession scene in the Nile Mosaic of Palestrina in


“Great Royal Spouse Who Protects Her Brother Osiris”
229

its funerary aspects, even if presented in a mythical rather than ritualistic
way. Like the “Adoration of the Mummy,” the Nile Mosaic scene could
represent rites at Bigga. The central event of the Nile Mosaic is this procession,
presumably with the new mummy of Osiris, toward a luxurious
grove on an island, undoubtedly representing the tomb of Osiris. This annual
rite for Osiris was associated with the rising of the Nile each year.54
Surely the Isiacs at Pompeii would see in the “Finding” scene Isis’ care of
one after death. In ancient Egyptian belief, rendering the body intact was
important for the embalming process and life after death.

The culmination of the viewing process, at least of the frescoes we have,
undoubtedly was the west wall of the Sacrarium.55 If desired, it would have
been visible through the only entrance into the room, the arch leading
from the portico. Significantly, it is situated on the west wall, the traditional
direction for the departure of the souls and the principal direction
of the Abaton, the tomb of Osiris, in relation to Philai, and the Osirian
direction of the temple at Pompeii. Called “Isis and Osiris Enthroned,”
the Egyptian divinities are here portrayed as queen and king of the underworld.
The composition is similar to what we might expect of a representation
of Persephone and Hades/Plouton (also called Thea and Theos)
at Eleusis. The snakes and lack of solar imagery in the painting seem to
suggest an underworld rather than a celestial paradise, or an imagined
Egyptian place of the afterlife.

We find again the exaltation of Isis over Osiris. In the “Finding” scene,
Osiris has only a passive role, being carried home in a box. Isis, who is
positioned centrally looking at the viewer, dominates the picture. Isis at
first sight appears slightly elevated over Osiris, though this is an illusion,
but she is seated on a throne. In contrast, Osiris occupies the viewer’s
right side, amazingly, and in a quite unorthodox manner for Osiris or
Sarapis, is seated on what appears to be a huge rock in the drawing made
at the time of discovery. However, after the new cleaning of the painting,
this appears to be a kind of padded chair or couch. Though clearly not
represented as Dionysus—except possibly for a large staff—or Serapis, he
is not immediately recognizable as Osiris. Nonetheless, he wears a lotus,
employed by Pompeian artists to represent an Egyptian crown, on top of
a strange flat hat (an odd rendering of the polos of Serapis?). Isis’ throne
suggests her majesty and greater importance. Perhaps the throne also symbolizes
her closer link to the living as a source of succor, whereas the less
impressive position of Osiris (reminding one of Demeter’s in some Eleusinian
iconography) and the surrounding serpents associate Osiris with
the underworld. The cista mystica placed below the representation of the
“Finding of Osiris” in the north fresco and the snakes represented in the


230 Frederick Brenk


“Isis and Osiris Enthroned” painting suggest the presence of mysteries to
obtain a better portion in the next life. Though Isis appears here primarily
as queen of the dead, in Egyptian belief a god had power in all realms of
the universe.56 If the Sacrarium is indeed the “inner sanctum,” one can
imagine a possible use of the paintings in initiations. The initiates at the
end of the ceremony could be brought here, with the sudden illumination
of blazing torches, to stand in the presence of the very gods they are to
worship here and in the hereafter, gods gazing benevolently upon them
and offering them courage in the fearful transition from this life to a more
blessed one.57 As Lucius, in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, reveals of his first
initiation, to Isis at Kenchreai, the southern port of Corinth:

nocte media vidi solem candido coruscantem lumine, deos inferos et deos
superos accessi coram et adoravi de proxumo. (Met. 11.23 [Griffiths 1975:
285])

In the dead of night I saw the sun gleaming with bright radiance. I approached
the gods below and the gods above and worshiped them at close
distance.

But later on, at Rome, he was to be blessed with higher, more important—
and more expensive—visions:

Osiris non in alienam quampiam personam reformatus, sed coram suo
illo venerando me dignatus adfamine per quietem recipere visus est. (Met.

11.30 [Griffiths 1975: 291])
Osiris himself appeared to me while sleeping at night, not changed into
some other person’s form but considering me worthy to approach close
to his sacred presence and hear his voice.

At Pompeii, Isis stood helpless as the ashes fell around her, both destroying
and preserving her sanctuary, but she was still Supreme.58

Notes

1. For my articles on the Osirian background, see Brenk 1999a: 133–143;
1999b: 227–238; 2001: 83–98; 2003a: 291–303; and 2003b: 73–92.
2. Zabkar 1988: 58, citation from Hymn 5:
.mt-nsw wrt h.nm(t) . . .
Nd.tyt .r sn.s2 Ws..r.



“Great Royal Spouse Who Protects Her Brother Osiris”
231

3. Metamorphoses 11.11 [Griffiths 1975: 275]: summi numinis.
4. See Griffiths 1975: 102–105, 327–330. On the Egyptian concept of the local
or immediate divinity being a “supreme” god, see Hornung 1983: 235–237.
5. Griffiths 1975: 337.
6. On the afterlife, see Hornung 1992: 95–115.
7. For widespread devotion in Italy to the funerary Osiris on a popular level,
see Capriotti Vittozzi 1999: 131–145.
8. These developments are discussed by S. A. Takacs (1995: esp. 74–75, 104–
130, and 203–207). R. Santangeli Valenzani (1991–92: 7–16, and 1996: 25–26),
citing Cassius Dio 76.16.3 (Zonaras), identifies the temple with that of Septimius
Severus to Hercules and Dionysus. However, S. Ensoli (1997: 306–322 [314–316]),
along with others, continues to attribute the temple to Serapis. A possibility is that
Caracalla rededicated the temple of Septimius Severus to Serapis.
9. Adamo Muscettola and De Caro, eds. 1994.
10. Sampaolo 1998: 732–849. This treatment replaces Elia 1942. See also D’Alconzo
2002: 54–61 (59, fig. 31, “Io a Canopo”; fig. 33, “Io, Argo ed Hermes”).
11. Blanc, Eristov, and Fincker 2000: 227–310.
12. For a photo of the inscription, see De Caro 1992: 67, no. 2.1.
13. Blanc, Eristov, and Fincker 2000: 291.
14. See Bragantini and De Vos 1982: e.g., 44–45, 49–50, 52, 58–59, 70, 95, 134–
135, pls. 37–38; and Iacopi 1997: esp. 16–17. For the Isaeum frescoes, see Sampaolo
1998: 832–833, figs. 197–201; De Caro 1992: 55, nos. 1.57–60.
15. See Lembke 1994a (reviewed by J. Eingartner [1999]); and Ensoli 1998:
407–438. Ensoli (p. 424) wants to attribute the exedra structure to Hadrian—on
the basis of statuary, the inscription to Antinous, and architectural elements—seconded
by Egelhaaf-Geiser (2000: 181). However, Rabirius, Domitian’s architect
for the Palatine, liked fountains, pools, curvilinear lines, and grand heights and
space. See Claridge 1998: 134–135; and Cecamore 2002: 230–231.
16. Chioffi 1998: 30–36 (esp. 30–31 and no. 1, 35–36).
17. See, e.g., Brenk 2001.
18. The Serapis statue, and possibly Harpokrates and Anubis in the wing niches
of the temple facade, have disappeared. A head of Isis (De Caro 1992: no. 3.3 [inv.
no. 6290]), from an acrolith, was found near the entrance of the Ekklesiasterion.
19. Engraving, in De Caro 1992: 28 (photo, 69), no. 3.8.
20. A statue of Dionysus was found in the sanctuary of Serapis (SS. Crocifisso)
at Treia (ancient Trea); see Capriotti Vittozzi 1999: 105, 127, 152. For the two ears,
see Blanc, Eristov, and Fincker 2000: 242, fig. 10; cf. Hoffmann 1993: 64. For similar
Egyptian ears, see Jorgensen 1998: “Ear Stelae,” 120, no. 40, cat. no. 1016, 1017
(Eighteenth Dynasty, c. 1554–1305 BCE). The ears are meant to entreat the god to
respond to prayers.
21. Capriotti Vittozzi (2000: 121–139) suggests that in the “Miniature Villa”
at Pompeii, the fountain on the “Nile” seems to represent the tomb of Osiris at
Abydos. For the tomb (of Sethos I [Osireion]), see Arnold 1997: tomb 182–183,
239. Romans went to great lengths to obtain statuary from Upper Egypt, such as
one of Amasis (c. 565 BCE). See Curto 1985: 30–36.
22. De Caro 1992: 70, no. 3.9, described as the foot of a pilaster supporting a
table.
23. For reading religious frescoes, see the illuminating article by Elsner, “Cul

232 Frederick Brenk


tural Resistance and the Visual Image: The Case of Dura Europos” (2001: 269–
304, esp. 276–280).

24. For the scenes of the quadretti, see Versluys 2002: 143–145, no. 061.
25. Sampaolo (in De Caro 1992: 58, no. 1.69) believes the original might be
attributable to the fifth-century Athenian painter Nikias. See also Hoffmann 1993:
109–117.
26. Shumate (1996: esp. 50, 62, 325–327) treats Apuleius as serious, but S. J.
Harrison (2000: 240, 246–250) and others see Apuleius as ironically depicting
a duped Lucius. For the importance of conversion, see Beard, North, and Price
1998: 278–279, 289–291; Liebeschuetz 2000: 984–1008 (1001–1007); and Beck
2000b: 145–181 (177).
27. On this, see Balch 2003: 24–55. Balch examines the depiction of suffering
figures in Roman art, in particular Io and Isis in Pompeian painting, as a key to
understanding the Roman reception of visual and literary depictions of the sufferings
of Christ; see there esp. 27–42, 49–51, and figs. 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, and 11.
28. For the luxurious growth of trees as indicative of the tomb of Osiris, see
Koemoth 1994: esp. 135–164, 251–266; Meyboom 1995: 132–135, figs. 80–86. A
recent photograph of Bigga with luxurious vegetation near the landing appears in
Casini 2001: 195, pl. 203.
29. The side paintings would be about 10 percent larger in size. The “Io at
Canopus” panel measures 150 . 137.5 cm.
30. For the Dodekaschoinos, see Locher 1999; and Jackson 2002: 108, map 3.
On the temple itself, see Vassilika 1989; Arnold 1999: 190–193, 235–238; R. H.
Wilkinson 2000: 213–215; Lloyd 2001: 40–44; Holbl 2000: 36.
31. Outside of what is probably a Nilometer (“Purgatorium”), water is relatively
modest in the complex. In contrast, reflecting pools have been found in the
“Isaeum” at Cumae. See Caputo 1998: 245–253. On water in the Villa Hadriana,
see Manderscheid 2000: 109–140 (118–129).
32. For the vignettes, see Sampaolo 1998: 740, fig. 9 (north portico, west side),
priest with palm, no MNN no., Arditi inventory, no. 1351; 745, fig. 18 (north portico,
east side), hierogrammateus, MNN 8925; 759, fig. 41 (east portico, center),
zakoros with palm in one hand, grass in another, MNN 8921; 762, fig. 48 (east
portico, south side), prophetes carrying cobra in a rose wreath, palm, MNN 8922;
772, fig. 62 (south portico, east side), priestess with sistrum—the only woman
represented—a hierodoulos, MNN 8923; 776, fig. 68 (south portico, west side),
spondophoros with situla, MNN 8918; 779, fig. 75 (south portico, west side),
lychnophoros, priest with golden lamp like a small boat with a large flame issuing
from the middle, MNN 8969; 784, fig. 84 (west portico, south side), priest as
Anubis, MNN 8920.
33. The order of the figures can be determined to a large extent from Sampaolo’s
location of the paintings (1998: 738–739, 754–755, 758–759, 772, 776, 779,
784). Four of the ten Isiacs described in the procession in Apuleius correspond to
the representations of the Isiacs in the portico at Pompeii (about fourteen in all).
Not all in Apuleius’ procession are genuine Isiacs.
34. Sampaolo 1998: 826, fig. 189, MNN 8574.
35. Ibid.: 825, fig. 188, MNN 9548.
36. Ibid.: 824, fig. 187, MNN 8575.
37. Ibid.: 841, fig. 213, MNN 8558.

“Great Royal Spouse Who Protects Her Brother Osiris”
233

38. Egelhaaf-Geiser (2000: 189) suggests a “Zeus’ Encounter with Io” here,
but this would not harmonize with the chronological order of the two extant
pictures.
39. Sampaolo 1998: 840, fig. 211, MNN 1265.
40. Ibid.: 837, fig. 206, MNN 9558.
41. Ibid.: 836, fig. 205, MNN 8570.
42. The present restoration of the temple on the island of Agilkia has changed
the physical and symbolic relationships. Bigga is now directly south, blocking the
previous view down the Nile, and making incongruous the position of Hadrian’s
Gate, the landing at the west of the temple.
43. Ribbons tied around tombs and stelai are common in Greek iconography.
In Egyptian iconography, they suggest the hieroglyphic sign for divinity or indicate
divinity. See, e.g., Hornung 1983: 33–38; 94, pl. 1 (Re-Osiris with a ribbon/sash
around his waist). In the background, the artist seems to have introduced a huge,
round, Roman-style tomb for Osiris.
44. E.g., Bernand 1969: pl. 7a and b.
45. For Isis as a falcon watching over the mummy (Tomb of Sennejem [Craftsmen’s
Graves], Deir el Medina), see, e.g., W. Wulleman et al. 1989: 110; for Osiris
in a shrine with pillars and lintel (same tomb), ibid.: 111. For the multivalent
quality of the bird, and its associations with Osiris, see G. Capriotti Vittozzi 2000:
137–138; and Ciampini 1999: 31–40 (31–35).
46. Brenk 1998: 306–307.
47. Engraving by N. Billy from a drawing of D. Casanova (Sampaolo 1998: 813,
fig. 170).
48. D. D’Errico, in De Caro 1992: 79, no. 6.3; 85, no. 7.9., Ushabti of Paefhery-
hesu (inv. no. 463), probably from the beginning of the 26th Dynasty (664–
525 BCE).
49. Coarelli (1994: esp. 123–125) thinks the mosaic room might have been dedicated
to Osiris. For the Pompeian fresco and its location, see Sampaolo 1998: 820–
821, figs. 182–183. “The Finding of Osiris” was on the north side of the Sacrarium
(MNN 8564): Sampaolo 1998: 815, fig. 173. For Casanova’s eighteenth-century
drawing of the complete scene, see Sampaolo 1998: 822, fig. 182. For Osiris victorious
over death and allusions to Osirification in the temple at Pompeii, see
M. De Vos (1992: 136–139), who finds a privileged place on the west side. The
“Purgatorium,” a Nilometer—symbolic of the Nile and Osiris—according to R. A.
Wild (1981: 44–47), however, was on the south. On devotion to Osiris, see Brenk
2001.
50. Sampaolo 1998: 815, fig. 173, MNN 8564.
51. On pilgrimages, see Rutherford 1998: 229–256; Weill Goudchaux 1998:
525–534 (529); Le Bohec 2000: 129–145, esp. 145, noting interest mainly among
officers; Maxfield 2000: 407–444 (Syene [Aswan], 410–414); Capriotti Vittozzi
2000.
52. On the Egyptian background to this, see, e.g., Assmann 2001 (= Agypten:
Theologie und Frommigkeit einer fruhen Hochkultur [Stuttgart, 1984]), 125–128. On
the Roman context, see Hoffmann 1993: 103–104; and Balch 2003.
53. Lembke 1994a: 174–178, pl. 3.1; and Lembke 1994b: 97–102.
54. On the mosaic, see Meyboom (1995: esp. 132–149), who believes the Serapaeum
at Puteoli, and ultimately the library in the Sarapeion at Alexandria, may

234 Frederick Brenk


have offered models for the mosaic (pp. 99, 107). See also Weill Goudchaux 1998;
and Versluys and Meyboom 2000: 111–128, esp. 127.

55. Sampaolo 1998: 820, fig. 182, drawing by Casanova; remaining fresco of
Osiris, ibid.: 821, fig. 183, MNN 8927; and De Caro 1992: 58, no. 1.71.
56. Hornung 1983: 191–196.
57. For the fresco, see Sampaolo 1998: 820–821, figs. 182–183. One of the earliest
scholars to see the fresco identified “Osiris” as a woman; see Hoffmann 1993:
101–102. Hermanubis in the “Io at Canopus” fresco (Sampaolo 1998: fig. 208) also
carries a mammiform situla on his arm, but is distinguished by the caduceus. The
painting could be seen from the south ambulacrum of the portico.
58. I am very grateful to Giuseppina Capriotti Vittozzi, of the Giunta Centrale
per gli Studi Storici, for looking over the article and for her help on Egyptian matters,
and also to Christopher Parslow of Wesleyan University for his expertise on
the Pompeian material.

CHAPTER 13


Aegyptiaca from Cumae: New Evidence for
Isis Cult in Campania: Site and Materials

Paolo CaPuto

In 1992, during the construction of a gas pipeline, the Archaeological
Superintendence of Naples and Caserta, under my direction, undertook
emergency excavations at Cumae (Campania).1 Architectural remains,
dating back to the Roman age, were found on an area of about 480 square
meters, lying on the site identified by Paget2 as pertaining to the Greco-
Roman port of the town, right in the middle of what was argued to be the
access canal (Fig. 13.1). The excavations brought to light some fragmentary
Egyptian statues and various scattered fragments of Egyptianizing
materials. A collaborative team of classical archaeologists and Egyptologists
was formed with the purpose of approaching the site from different
points of view.

According to many scholars, first of all to Paget, the ancient harbor
of the Greek and Roman town of Cumae occupied the bay lying to the
south of the promontory on the top of which the Cumaean acropolis was
set. At present, the area is completely filled up by coastal sediments. Geoarchaeological
cores have proved that in ancient historical times, the harbor
of Cumae was located in the lake of Licola in the northern area of the
town, whereas the area at south never was a harbor.3 Although the form
and the function of most of the structures are mostly identifiable, some remains
of the complex pose problems for which the present report cannot
offer definitive solutions. These problems are mainly due to the fortunes
of preservation. Other uncertainties remain because a railway and modern
cultivations have inhibited excavations in certain critical areas. Further
excavations in these areas, conducted by the Centre J. Berard of Naples for
the Project Kyme I and II, proved the existence in the area of many villae
maritimae.4 For this reason, we cannot exclude the possibility that some
natural or artificial canals and basins, connected to the sea or to spring


Figure 13.1. Cumae (Campaniae). The harbor area. The black point indicates the Isaeum
related to the hypothesis of Paget.



Aegyptiaca from Cumae
237

water, were in this area in antiquity. Although this is very difficult to demonstrate,
recent studies and research carried out by Professors F. Bernstein
and D. Orr (University of Maryland, College Park), who pursued excavations
in the area of the Isaeum in 1998–2000 and who are now working
out their data, appear to be going in this direction.

It has been possible to identify (Fig. 13.2):

• Remains of a flight of stairs, leaning on the north wall of the podium
(Fig. 13.3);
• part of an apsidal hall leaning on the south wall of the podium but not
connected to it and with the access on the east side;
• remains of a quadrangular room on the east side of the podium, separated
from the latter by an L-shaped corridor;
• a rectangular pool, facing the north side of the podium;
• remains of a porticus surrounding the pool.
It is clear from the extant remains that there were several stages in the
construction of the complex. The structural sequences observed provide
the basis for discerning at least four distinct building phases, dating back
to a period ranging from the first century BCE to the second century CE.
The type of building material used, the methods of construction, and the
structural relationship noted provide the evidence.

The podium shows two different building phases (Fig. 13.4). Restoration
works in its south/east side revealed a first lower structure as large as the
upper one, formed by two rectangular vaulted rooms.5 They were filled up
by spring water and sandy sediments that made excavations impossible;
but archaeological prospecting made it possible to recognize their dimensions.
The association with fragments of late Campana A dates back to not
before 100 BCE. The more recent upper podium, based on little vaults in
opus reticulatum, was built with the system already known in the so-called
Pausilypon Temple (first half of the first century CE). The use of such a
technique could be justified by the nature of the sandy soil and the vicinity
of the sea. The walls of the little vaults, originally completely closed, were
covered with a thin surface of signinum. The building technique (opus reticulatum
of irregular type) allows it to be dated back to the second half
of the first century BCE. To this period belong the flight of stairs, room,
corridor, pool, and porticus, all built in the same technique. The apsidal
hall was added at the end of the first century BCE or at the beginning of
the following one. Later it was modified. It sets directly on the sandy soil.
In a later period, the sides of the pool were made higher, together with


238 Paolo Caputo



Figure 13.2. Cumae (Campaniae). Plan of the Isaeum: A. podium; B. flight of stairs;


C. apsidal hall; D. room; E. corridor; F. pool; G. porticus.
the floor of the porticus in opus sectile, realized using tarsias of slate, old
red, cipolin, and variegated marble. The floor had a complex geometrical
decorative pattern (Fig. 13.5) similarly occurring at Ponza and Capri in the
Augustan age and at Ostia until 130 CE.

The northern side of the pool was decorated with a fountain in the
Fourth Pompeian Style, as testified by shells, pumice stones, and remains
of mosaics made of blue glass tesserae.6 The rebuilt section should be dated
probably after the year 62 CE. Finally, the two pillars of the room in opus
latericium go back to the second century CE. As in the case of the town of
Cumae, the building activities stopped after this period.

While the evidence for absolute chronology for the site is limited, six
major periods of its use emerge from a combined study of the finds, techniques
of construction, and geological factors. Four of these six periods
have left the above described architectural remains, whereas use of the site
in the second and third centuries CE can be argued only on the basis of a
few findings, among which are a bronze coin of Marcus Aurelius (assis,
174–175 CE, inv. 292849) and various fragments of Rough African ware.


Aegyptiaca from Cumae
239


The site was destroyed probably in the late fourth century CE and abandoned,
apart from sporadic use in the fifth to eighth century CE, as some
fragments of Larga Banda ware witness.

The excavation of the pool, filled up with debris caused by the destruction
of the roof, walls, and decorations of the building and hardened with
water-lime, uncovered three Egyptian acephalous statuettes:

• Inaros as Naophorus of Osiris (Fig. 1.3.6, inv. 241834) of black basalt
(height 40 cm, width 14.5 cm, thickness 17.5 cm), belonging to the
XXX Dynasty (380–343 BCE);7
• an Isis (Fig. 13.7, inv. 241835) of black basalt (height 31.5 cm, width
14.5 cm, thickness 10.5 cm), dated first century BCE;8
• a Sphinx (Fig. 13.8, inv. 242046), in grey granite with green venations
(50 . 15 . 16 cm), dated to the Ptolemaic era;9
• and some other marble fragments:
• six fragments in white marble, of Roman imperial age, three of
them (inv. 292836: feet; 292837: right forearm; 292838: arm) pertaining
to a statuette, representing perhaps Harpocrates-Horus
like a child (Fig. 13.9); two others (inv. 292840: left hand holding

240 Paolo Caputo


Figure 13.3. Cumae (Campaniae). Section of the Isaeum: A. podium; F. pool.
a cornucopia; 292841: inferior limb) pertaining to a statuette representing
maybe a standing Harpocrates (Fig. 13.10), whose graphic
reconstruction was proposed by the author on the occasion of the
exhibition Nova Antiqua Phlegraea;10

•a nemes fragment in red marble of Roman imperial age, maybe
from another sphinx or from a Pharaoh statuette.11
Other objects were uncovered in the excavation of the pool:

• A fragment with the head and part of a body of a snake in black glass
of Roman imperial age (inv. 292839), maybe a cultural object;
• a fragment of a mosaic (white marble; green and red glass pulp), perhaps
part of the older floor of the porticus (inv. 292846);12
• a large fragment of a fresco in the initial Fourth Pompeian Style (inv.
292844), dated to the first years after 62 CE, maybe connected to the
floor in opus sectile of the porticus;
• several fragments of a black fresco, probably pertaining to the wainscot
of a wall.13
All of these objects evoke a deep Egyptian atmosphere and seem to have
been intentionally destroyed and concealed.
This is the first evidence for the presence in Cumae of a place for the


Aegyptiaca from Cumae
241


cult of Egyptian deities, apart from the uncovering of an Anubis statue
(1836) and a fragmentary Harpokrates statue (1837), now lost, both of the
Roman period and coming from the downtown area14 (probably from the
line of the northern urban walls).

The extensive remains and the findings provide new evidence for a reevaluation
of whether Cumae also had an Isaeum.15 It is noteworthy that
at Cumae, Egyptian findings, or objects imitating them, were found in
several graves of the archaic Greek period, during the excavations made
in the last century in the necropolis area. The hiatus recorded by the archaeological
findings between the archaic Greek period and the first century
BCE is probably only apparent: among the several negotiatores of Italic
origin registered on the island of Delos, one (Minatos Staios) comes from
Cumae and is associated with the Sarapeum; the other five belong to the
gentes of the Staii, Heii, and perhaps Lucceii, whose involvement in the life
of the town is well known from inscriptional and archaeological evidence.
The hypothesis that such Cumaean negotiatores could have contributed,
in the period ranging from the end of the third century BCE to the first
century BCE,16 to the introduction of Egyptian cults in their native land,
perhaps confined in the beginning within the private religious sphere, is
not groundless.

The presence of the double ankh (hieroglyphic, symbol of the life) in the
hand of Isis makes her a goddess of the dead, as “the goddess who brings
in her hands the keys of Hell,”17 probably with the intention of representing
at Cumae Isis assimilated to Selene-Luna-Hekate and to their related


Figure 13.4. Cumae (Campaniae). Section of the Isaeum: A. upper podium; B. lower structure.



Figure 13.5. Cumae (Campaniae). Porticus of the Isaeum: graphic relief of the floor in opus sectile.



244 Paolo Caputo


Figure 13.6. Cumae (Campaniae).
Isaeum: Inaros statue.



chthonic aspects, more than an Isis Pelagia, Euploia, or Pharia, as has
until now been supposed because of the location of the remains near the
sea.18 In this tradition, the presence of two lunar calendars of the Roman
imperial age, carved on the walls of the so-called Antro della Sibilla at
Cumae, could be explained.19 Under the same point of view, the Anubis
uncovered in the downtown area, if this was not its original site but the
Isaeum itself, is well connected with Isis as her son, who accompanies his
mother to try to find the body of Osiris.

The identification of the remains as the Isaeum is strengthened by the
presence of the podium, the base of the temple, and of the pool for the lustral
water.


Aegyptiaca from Cumae
245

As mentioned above, a fountain was found on the north side of the
pool, decorated with shells. Shell decoration for nymphaea is usually associated
in the Augustan age with the cult of Venus Anadyomene, who is
associated with the idea of death/rebirth, and is joined to the cult of Egyptian
deities or, more generally, to that of mystery deities.20 The presence
at Baiae of a sanctuary dedicated to Venus Lucrina,21 located near Punta
Epitaffio (in front of which a fragment of a naophorus was found in the


Figure 13.7. Cumae (Campaniae).
Isaeum: Isis statue.



Figure 13.8. Cumae
(Campaniae). Isaeum:
Sphinx statue.



246 Paolo Caputo



Figure 13.9. Cumae (Campaniae). Isaeum:
Statue of Harpokrates-Horus like a child.
Graphical reconstruction proposed by
the author.


submerged area, perhaps not accidentally), is noteworthy;22 a sanctuary
of Aphrodite Euploia was situated at Pizzofalcone, in Naples.23 The location
of this sanctuary, on the top of a low hill facing the sea, was probably
connected with coastal routes, because of their easy identification and territorial
distribution.24

The Isaeum thus far uncovered could not be the sole sanctuary of the
Egyptian cult in Cumae: the Roman Anubis statue, found near the northern
urban walls, on the property of Angelo Luongo, not far from the
necropolis, represented as Hermanubis in the function of Psychopompus,
allows the hypothesis of a public sanctuary located in this area.

This last statue and the group of the three statuettes from the Isaeum
present, however, a characteristic in common: they have all been mutilated.
The statue has been beheaded, deprived of part of the face, left arm,
and right hand; the group of statuettes has been beheaded, obliterated
with a voluntary destructive act of the sanctuary, expressing explicit condemnation
by opponents of the cult. The other two statuettes representing
Harpokrates-Horus have also been completely destroyed and obliterated.
This manner of obliteration of the Isaeum statuettes seems to tally with
two other cases in the Phlegrean Fields: a beheaded naophorus found in
the beginning of the twentieth century in the area of the Pausilypon;25
another beheaded one recently uncovered in the Collegium of Via Celle at
Pozzuoli, from a stratum dating back to the fourth century CE.26 Trans



Aegyptiaca from Cumae
247

posed on a religious level, the symptom is very similar to the damnatio
memoriae, but better expressed as Ichonarum Phobia. The subject needs to
be researched, as I am in the process of doing.

Destruction must have been brought on by Christians after the Edict
of Constantine (313), or probably after the Edict of Theodosius (392), because
literary sources testify that the Isis cult flourished during the whole
fourth century CE until the destruction of the Serapeum in Alexandria
(391). This event can have taken place at the latest at the beginning of the


Figure 13.10. Cumae (Campaniae).
Isaeum: Statue of a standing Harpokrates.
Graphical reconstruction proposed by
the author.



248 Paolo Caputo


fifth century CE, if S. Paolino, Nola’s bishop, in 404 writes against the Isis
cult (Carmina 19, vv. 110–130), when the intolerance of paganism was very
strong. With regard to this datum, it is noteworthy that Q. Aurelius Symmachus
Eusebius (consul in 391) speaks of setting sail from his Cumanum
(Ep. 2.4.2.); the villa must have been located at the sea’s edge, although
we do not have further information.27 The possibility that the architectural
remains were part of a villa maritima, probably his villa, seems more
hypothetical. Since the Symmachi together with the Nicomachi were conspirators
in the last pagan resistance to Christianity by the senatorial aristocracy,
and considering the dimensions of the building and of the statuettes,
it is therefore a reasonable assumption that the Isaeum was a private
sacellum dedicated to the pagan cult. The conjecture that the remains were
part of a villa has some basis, since recent researches, carried out in 1995
by the Centre J. Berard of Naples in the harbor area, revealed the presence
of architectural remains of three villas.28

The Isaeum is, finally, not only a new historical and topographical
datum for Cumae, but also a geological and archaeological one. The
podium shows two different building phases, revealed by restoration
works in its south/east side. The first lower structure dates back to not before
100 BCE, most likely to the first half of the first century BCE. The more
recent upper podium goes back to the second half of the first century BCE.
A geological drilling, executed during the excavations, made it clear that
the reconstruction was necessary, due to the subsidence of the littoral, the
effects of which were previously unknown in this area. The association of
the archaeological datum with the geological one has made it possible to
understand that, in the period from the first half to the second half of the
first century BCE, the Cumaean littoral sank 1.04 meters.

Notes

Paolo Caputo is at the Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici delle Province di
Napoli e Caserta, responsible for the archaeological site and the Archaeological
Park of Cumae and for the Archaeological Diving Unit of the Soprintendenza.

1. The present contribution is the result of the research and studies I have
directly carried out in the last ten years after the Isaeum was uncovered. The research
has been already illustrated in the following studies: Caputo 1991: 169–172;
2003a: 87–94; 1998: 245–253; 2003b: 209–220; 2003c: 45–51; De Caro 1994:
11–15; De Caro 1993–94: 189–190; Caputo, Morichi, Paone, and Rispoli 1996:
174–176; De Caro 1997: 350–351.
2. Paget 1968.
3. Pasqualini 2000: 69–70; Morhange et al. 2000: 71–82. These data contrast

Aegyptiaca from Cumae
249

methodologically with the older data, coming from another analysis made in the
same area: Arthur, Guarino, Jones, and Schiattarella 1977: 5–13.

4. Bats 1977: 23–24.
5. Their walls were covered with a surface of signinum. This structure could
have had the function of a former podium, used probably also as a water reserve.
See the case of Delos, where under Serapea A and B were built water reserves,
one of which was fed directly by the Inopos. An Alexandrine literary tradition,
reported also by Callimachus (Hymn to Delos 206–208), considered the river a
branch of the Nile (Roussel 1916: 30–31, 45). This religious fiction had the purpose
of assimilating the holy water to that of the Nile, considered holy. In the case of
Cumae, the water reserves could have fed the pool for the holy water. It is perhaps
noteworthy that a water-bearing stratum was found during the restoration works
of the structure.
6. Caputo 2003c.
7. De Caro 1994: 12–13; Cozzolino 1997: 448; ibid.: 21–25, 31–54.
8. Di Maria 1997: 448.
9. Ibid.: 450.
10. Caputo 2000: 90.
11. Ibid.
12. Ibid.
13. Ibid.
14. Ruggiero 1888: 204–205.
15. For the several Egyptian traces in Roman Campania and the introduction
there of the Isis cult, see Malaise 1972a: Acerrae, 1; Ager Falernus, 1; Boscoreale,
1; Cappella, 1; Capua, 1–4; Carinola, 1; Cumae, 1; Herculaneum, 1–5, 7–10 ter,
20; Liternum, 1; Misenum, 10–13; Neapolis, 1, 3, 4, 7–12; Puteoli, 4, 9–18, 28;
Stabiae, 1–2; Aeclanum, 1; V. Tran Tram Tinh 1964, 1972; Mueller 1969; DeCaro
1992. For the introduction of the cult at Cumae, see above, note 1.
16. Hatzfeld 1912: Heii, n. 1, pp. 41–42; Lucceii, n. 1, p. 47; Staii, nn. 1–4,
p. 80. See also Malaise 1984: 1615–1691.
17. Apul. Met. 11.
18. Also the sanctuary of Fondo Iozzino at Pompeii was located outside the
town, near the mouth of the river Sarno and in the harbor area, not very far from
the Porta Nocera. The site, occupied from the Archaic age, was reorganized in the
Samnitic period (third century BCE). A thick enclosure wall circumscribed the
area, inside which another surrounding wall delimited three small temples. Two
clay statues of women were found near two of them (ending of the second/beginning
of the first century BCE). One statue is identical to a Rhodian type representing
Hekate-Artemis. A replica comes from the Monte Santo Stefano, a Rhodian
sanctuary, where the cult of an infernal deity is proved. Both statues allow the
identification of the sanctuary near Pompeii as dedicated to Demeter, a land goddess,
whose cult is located outside the town, where Hekate’s cult is also attested;
see S. De Caro in Zevi 1991: 41–42.
19. Ruggieri 1998: 68–80.
20. Gros 1976: 138–143.
21. J. Beloch (1890: 178) situates the temple on Punta dell’ Epitaffio. Although
architectural remains are not individuated, the sanctuary is testified by literary

250 Paolo Caputo


historical sources (Stat. Silv. 3.150; Mart. Epigr. 11.81) and an inscription (CIL
10.3692).

22. Di Fraia, Lombardo, and Scognamiglio 1986: 221 n. 22, figs. 2–3; Pirelli
1997: 450.
23. Napoli 1967: 418; Stat. Silv. 2.2.76–82 and 3.1.149; IG 14.745 and p. 690;
Peterson 1919: 200.
24. See Napoli 1967: 418.
25. De Caro 1994: 15.
26. Cozzolino 1997: 451; Cozzolino 1999: 25–31.
27. D’Arms 1970: 226.
28. See Bats 1997.

CHAPTER 14


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics

PatriCia a. Johnston

Among the many elements that contribute to the elusive art of the Georgics
is its finely tuned balance between labor and religio. When scholarly attention
has turned to religion in this poem, however, it has tended to focus
on the religion of the state1 rather than on the more intimate, personal religion
of individuals, families, and other affiliations—religions represented
by the mystery cults, which are much more difficult to substantiate. A
complicating factor in trying to sort out these elements is the widespread
religious syncretism, particularly common from the Hellenistic period and
later. Yet a considerable element in the religious aura that pervades this
poem is also due to subtle allusions to a wide range of symbols, figures,
and myths having to do with these cults, whose wide influence during this
period has become increasingly evident. The mystery cults discussed in
this chapter will be limited to those of Eleusis, Isis, Dionysus, and, briefly,
Cybele.2

A theme common to the myths associated with certain mystery cults is
the death of the spouse or child of a deity who oversees the growth of plant
life, the means of mortal sustenance. This theme corresponds to the annual
cycle of nature: the growth and harvest of crops, and the subsequent winter
or dry season when nothing grows, a season devoid of life and joy. The
return of spring and the growth of new plant life corresponds to the restoration,
in some degree, of the deceased figure, be it Persephone or Attis or
Dionysus or Osiris, embodying the tension inherent in the ongoing, cyclic
process as the new year’s harvest replaces the old year’s loss. The surprising
discovery in 1992 of a Temple of Isis in Cumae—surprising because
none of our sources make any reference to it—has prompted reconsideration
of the role of the mysteries, and particularly those of Eleusis, Isis, and
Dionysus, in Vergil’s poem on agriculture.


252 Patricia A. Johnston


Cybele

Cybele (Meter, or Magna Mater), or allusions to her, occur only twice in
Vergil’s poem, and she seems to have had the least impact on the Georgics.
This is surprising, in view of Vergil’s topic, since she is closely associated
with agriculture and the fertility of nature. She is much more prominent
in the Aeneid, where her appearance and references to her restate in various
ways the Phrygian origins of the Trojans.3 Zanker suggests, however,
that Augustus did not cultivate the cult of Cybele as magnanimously as he
indicates in his Res Gestae, since he “did not rebuild the temple, which lay
near his house, in marble, but only tufa . . . and relegated the exotic cult,
with its ecstatic dances and long-haired priests . . . to freedmen.” The restored
temple, moreover, was not rededicated until 17 CE, under Tiberius.4
On the other hand, he may have intentionally used tufa to underline the
antiquity of the cult.

Cybele’s limited impact may also have resulted in part from the fact
that the worship of her consort, Attis (whose mythical death and restoration
makes this cult particularly relevant to a poem on farming), involved
ritual emasculation of the Galloi, Cybele’s priests from Pessinus. Consequently,
the involvement of Roman citizens in the priesthood of this cult
was limited until well after Vergil’s time. The cult of Cybele was brought
to Rome during the Second Punic War; and she was worshiped at Rome
in her temple on the Palatine. Despite her association with fertility, as the
Great Mother of all living things, she appears only twice in the Georgics,
both times in the fourth book, and both times in the context of the episode
in which her followers masked the cries of the infant Zeus when he was
hidden from Kronos on Crete and nourished by honeybees. In Georgics
4.64, Cybele is referred to as the Great Mother:

tinnitusque cie et Matris quate cymbala circum.

Shake the Great Mother’s cymbals, make them ring.

In 4.149–152, there is a specific reference to the episode on Crete:

nunc age, naturas apibus quas Iuppiter ipse

addidit expediam, pro qua mercede canoros

Curetum sonitus crepitantiaque aera secutae

Dictaeo caeli regem pavere sub antro. (G. 4.149–152)


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
253

Come now, let me tell of the nature that Jupiter himself gave to bees, as a
reward. For they followed the musical sounds and clashing cymbals of the
Curetes and fed the king of heaven in a cave on Mt. Dicte.

Dionysus/Bacchus/Liber

Liber et alma Ceres, vestro si munere tellus
Chaoniam pingui glandem mutavit arista,
poculaque inventis Acheloia miscuit uvis. (G. 1.7–9)


Liber and nourishing Ceres, since through your gift earth exchanged
the Chaonian acorn for thick stalks of grain and mixed the waters of
Achelous with new-found grapes.

Dionysus and his mysteries are perhaps the most elusive, despite the
ubiquity of the cult.5 Vergil’s Dionysus, as “Bacchus” or “Liber,” is frequently
paired with Ceres in the Georgics, as the god himself, and, by
metonymy, as the fruit of the vine, particularly throughout the second
book, where cultivation of the vine is a major topic.6 The literary imagery
of Vergil’s Bacchus, which Thomas associates with analogies to Vergil’s
poetic undertaking and to the god’s association with tragedy,7 is clearly
an important element in the poem, but the “tension between the divine
and human,” which Henrichs identifies as the essence of this deity,8 is also
in evidence in Vergil’s reference to him. While a happy Bacchic festival
(2.380–396) represents one aspect of this god’s power, on at least two
occasions there are vivid reminders of the destructive force of the god. In
the second book Vergil refers to the violent battle between the Lapiths and
Centaurs, which he blames on drunkenness due to Baccheia dona (2.454):

quid memorandum aeque Baccheia dona tulerunt?
Bacchus et ad culpam causas dedit: ille furentis
Centauros leto domuit, Rhoecumque Pholumque
et magno Hylaeum Lapithis cratere minantem. (G. 2.454–457)


What equally memorable thing have the gifts of Bacchus produced?
Bacchus even gave cause to criticize: He tamed the raging centaurs with
death—Rhoecus and Pholus and Hylaeus, who was threatening Lapiths
with an enormous bowl.


254 Patricia A. Johnston


In the fourth book of the Georgics we are again reminded of the god’s
destructive force when Orpheus is dismembered by Bacchic revelers.
Here the literary force of Bacchus is again implicit, in that, as Thomas
observes (ad 4.520–522), “Orpheus is conflated with [Euripides’] Pentheus.”
The relationship between Bacchus and Orpheus is too complex to
discuss here, other than to recognize that both cults appear to originate
in Phrygia or Thrace or Lydia.9 Diodorus Siculus, who is Vergil’s older
contemporary, reports (Bibl. 22.7) that the orgiastic Dionysiac cult was
imported from Egypt into Greece.10 The Greco-Egyptian blend of the god
can be seen at Rome in Tibullus, where he attributes cultivation of the vine
to Osiris, while still referring to wine, by metonymy, as “Bacchus” (Bibl.
1.7.39, 41).

Eleusinian Mysteries

For Vergil, the Eleusinian mysteries and the rites of Ceres are the same, but
it is important to realize that initiation into the Eleusinian cult could only
take place in Greece, even though the cult was practiced throughout the
Greco-Roman world. Among those who went to Eleusis for initiation was
Augustus, who was initiated in 31 BCE, shortly after the Battle of Actium,
and two years before Vergil read the Georgics to him,11 so it is not surprising
that Vergil would want to include some reference to the Eleusinian
cult in his poem.

The earliest allusion to Demeter’s Roman counterpart occurs in 1.7–9
(Liber et alma Ceres). As in the case of Bacchus (Liber), the name of the
goddess in the Georgics refers sometimes to the deity and sometimes by
metonymy to the product associated with her. Ceres, in Vergil’s account,
made it possible to live on cultivated crops rather than having to rely on
the bounty of nature, as represented, for example, by acorns dropped by
oak trees, as mortals once did during a more primitive stage of civilization.
Ceres’ gift, in this account, was that she taught mortals how to cultivate
the soil and grow grain. She is said to have instructed mortals in the art of
cultivation through Triptolemus (uncique puer monstrator aratri, 1.19).12 In
1.94ff., we see that she continues to reward the hard-working farmer:

multum adeo, rastris glaebas qui frangit inertis

vimineasque trahit cratis, iuvat arva, neque illum

flava Ceres alto nequiquam spectat Olympo. (G. 1.94–96)


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
255

He who breaks up lazy clods of dirt with a hoe and drags wicker-work

hurdles over them greatly assists the fields; golden Ceres will not look

down upon him from lofty Olympus to no avail.

Vergil makes specific reference to the Eleusinian ritual in 1.160–166, a
passage that Conington dismissed as an attempt to give religious dignity
to what might otherwise seem trivial. There Vergil lists the weaponry13 of
the “Eleusinian mother.”

dicendum et quae sint duris agrestibus arma,

quis sine nec potuere seri nec surgere messes:

vomis et inflexi primum grave robur aratri,

tardaque Eleusinae matris volventia plaustra,

tribulaque traheaeque et iniquo pondere rastri;

virgea praeterea Celei vilisque supellex,

arbuteae crates et mystica vannus Iacchi. (G. 1.160–166)

Now I must name the weapons that gird the toughened man of the soil;

without them no seeds would be sown, no grain would grow to harvest:

the plowshare (vomis), the heavy weight of the bent plow (aratri ),

the Eleusinian mother’s slowly turning wagon,

the threshing sleds and drags and hoes, Celeus’ simple osier basket,

hurdles of arbute-twigs, and the

mystic winnowing fan of Iacchus.

As I have shown elsewhere,14 Vergil here frames this procession with a
series of episodes (G. 1.118–203) highlighting the farmer’s struggle against
decline. The first picture of decline is the end of the golden age (118–135),
which leads to the development of skills (136ff.), particularly the art of
plowing, taught by Ceres (147–159); this development culminates in a
central panel, an epiphany of an Eleusinian procession (160–166). This is
followed by further instructions on making a plow (167–175), then generalized
to skills and their application (176–196), and finally by a second
picture of decline, where a farmer who fails to persist in selecting the best
seed of his crop is compared to a rower relaxing his oars and being swept
back downstream after he has laboriously rowed upstream (197–203).

Later in this book (1.338–350), Vergil’s farmer is advised to offer sacrifices
to Ceres. Bayet15 demonstrated that in this passage, Vergil had synthesized
three separate festivals in honor of Ceres. The first, the Cerealia
(12–19 April), celebrates the young shoots of grain that begin to grow in


256 Patricia A. Johnston


early or mid-April. The second (1.345) is the Ambarvalia (late May), in
which the lustration of the fields is performed; this festival is dedicated to
a number of other deities as well, but in this section Vergil is concerned
only with Ceres’ role in the festival. The third (1.347–350) is the festival
that celebrates the beginning of the harvest, held in late summer.

The central myth of Eleusis, as depicted in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter,
16 was the theft of Persephone by Plouton, the god of the underworld,
and her mother’s search and eventual recovery of her daughter. Persephone’s
return from the underworld is temporary, however, and consequently
her mother is in mourning for her during that part of the year which Persephone
must spend in the underworld. Grain fails to grow until she is
again reunited with her sorrowing mother.

While she is in mourning for Persephone, according to the Homeric
Hymn, Demeter goes to Eleusis, to the house of Celeus, disguised as an
old woman, and becomes the nursemaid to the king’s infant son. Every
night she places the child in a fire, attempting to make the child immortal,
but the queen happens to witness this act and cries out in alarm, whereupon
Demeter reveals her true self, orders that a temple be built there in
her honor, and retreats to the company of the gods, where she resumes
mourning until her daughter is restored to her.

In the proem to the first book of the Georgics (1.39), Vergil modifies
the version of the myth in the Homeric Hymn, wherein it is indicated
that Persephone longed to return (literally, “she longed for her mother,”
Hymn Dem. 344; cf. 370–371), by saying that Proserpina refused to return
when summoned: nec repetita sequi curet Proserpina matrem (G. 1.39). At
the close of the fourth book, he similarly modifies the tale of Eurydice,
who, although she apparently was allowed to return from the dead in
pre-Vergilian versions, in Vergil fails to come back. Both Persephone and
Eurydice are dona Ditis, literally, gifts from Dis or Pluto; the term also
refers to the new growth of crops, which was seen as a return on the seed
invested in the soil.17 Persephone and Eurydice thus become doublets and
thereby constitute a frame of sorts for the entire poem.18 Direct reference
to the Eleusinian mysteries, however, appears to be limited to the first
book, and to these episodes.

More subtle allusions emerge, however, if we also take into consideration
suggestions of the Egyptian equivalent of the myth of Demeter,
namely the story of Isis and Osiris. Despite Herodotus’ recognition of
parallels between these two goddesses and his readiness to apply the term
“Mysteries” to the rites of Osiris (2.171), it appears that the Mysteries in
the full sense of the Greek term (implying secret initiation and prohibition
of revealing any of the ceremonies to the uninitiated) were not attached


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
257

to the cult of Isis and Osiris until the Ptolemaic era. As the cult spread
outside of Egypt, it was marked by the ascendancy of Isis, both at home
and abroad. To the Hellenistic Greeks, she was seen as a “queen-mother,
identified with most of the forces of nature.”19

Isis and Osiris

For Vergil’s contemporaries, the Isiac cult offered a set of deities who competed
with Demeter/Ceres in laying claim to the discovery of the art of
agriculture. Diodorus Siculus, a contemporary of Cicero and Vergil, devoted
the first book of his Library of History to Egypt and its customs; he
records that Isis—like Ceres—is said to have discovered the fruit of wheat
and barley, and that Osiris devised a means of cultivating these fruits
(1.14). He also records that Osiris—like Dionysus—discovered the art of
viticulture (1.15).20 Like Diodorus Siculus, Tibullus (1.7.29–42) credits
Osiris with discovering the cultivation of the soil to produce grain, the
art of cultivating trees and vines, and the art of producing wine, which in
turn inspired the making of music. And wine and music combined to give
mortals respite from toil and sadness:

primus aratra manu sollerti fecit Osiris
et teneram ferro sollicitabit humum,
primus inexpertae commisit semina terrae
pomaque non notis legit ab arboribus. (Tib. 1.7.29–32)


First to make a plow with a clever hand and to turn
the delicate soil with its iron blade was Osiris.
He was the first to entrust the seeds to the untested soil
and gather from unfamiliar trees the fruit.


In line 29, Tibullus’ Osiris appears to merge with Bacchus, suggesting
that, for Tibullus, the two gods are the same:

Bacchus et agricolae magno confecta labore
pectora tristiae dissolvenda dedit;
Bacchus et adflictis requiem mortalibus adfert. (Tib. 1.7.39–41)


Bacchus also allowed the farmer to be freed from
sadness, his heart exhausted by toil;
Bacchus also to troubled mortals brings rest.



258 Patricia A. Johnston


In Egyptian myth, Osiris taught his people the art of cultivating the soil
and established justice on both banks of the Nile, but was murdered by his
cousin Seth, who persuaded him to climb into a coffin, which Seth then
sealed and threw into the Nile. His wife and sister, Isis, like Demeter, went
into mourning but diligently searched for his remains. She learned that the
coffin enclosing his corpse had lodged itself in the branches of an erica
tree, which had then quickly grown up around it and enclosed it. The tree
had been felled and fashioned into a pillar of the king of Byblos’s palace.
Isis therefore went to the king disguised as an old woman and, like Demeter,
became a nursemaid for the king’s infant son. Isis, like Demeter, was a
very unusual nursemaid. She, too, would attempt to burn away the mortal
parts of the infant’s body (ν.κτωρ δ. περικα.εν τ. θνητ. το. σ.ματος) and
then, transformed into a swallow, would fly around the pillar containing
Osiris’ coffin, with a mournful lament (α.τ.ν δ. γενομ.νην χελιδ.να τ.
κ.ονι περιπ.τεσθαι κα. θρηνε.ν, Plut. Mor. 357c).21 When the queen of Byblos
discovered her child on fire, she screamed, and thereby deprived him
of immortality. Isis then revealed herself and demanded that the pillar that
held up the palace roof, which contained Osiris’ corpse, be given to her.

After recovering Osiris’ coffin, she hid it in the marshes and went away
to care for their infant son. While she was gone, the wicked Seth found the
coffin and dismembered the corpse of Osiris, scattering the body up and
down the country.

Isis therefore once again set out in search of her husband, “sailing
through the swamps in a boat of papyrus” (Plut. Mor. 358a), collecting
the individual pieces of the body and burying them. In some versions she
reassembled them as a mummy and then fanned the dead body with her
wings, reviving Osiris to be the ruler of the underworld, where he now
judges the souls of the dead, balancing them against the feather of truth.

The story, like that of Demeter and Persephone, corresponds to the annual
cycle of Nature. When the Nile rises, Osiris returns to life, and when
it falls, Osiris dies. Osiris, in some accountings, actually is the Nile, who
brings the grain to life, and then dies away. In other accountings, the Nile
consists of the tears of Isis, for when she is in mourning for the lost Osiris,
her tears swell its waters.

Isis and Io


Although Vergil does not name Isis, he does, in the third Georgic, refer
to her Greek counterpart, Io (Inachiae, 3.153). In Greek myth, Io tends to
merge with Isis,22 although our earliest written evidence for the connection
is Callimachus, who refers to “Isis, the daughter of Inachus” ( .ναχ.ης


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
259

. . . .σιδος, Epigram 58).23 Inachus is of course the father of Io. Thomas
cites several references in the Georgics to the Io of C. Licinius Calvus,
Catullus’ friend and fellow neoteric. In book 3 (3.146–153), Vergil alludes
to Io’s bovine wanderings in southern Italy, around Silarus (146), Alburnus
(147), and Tanager (151):

est lucos Silari circa ilicibusque virentem

plurimus Alburnum volitans, cui nomen asilo

Romanum est, oestrum Grai vertere vocantes

. . . furit mugitibus aether

concussus silvaeque et sicci ripa Tanagri.

hoc quondam monstro horribilis exercuit iras

Inachiae Iuno pestem meditata iuvencae. (G. 3.146–153)

Around the groves of Silarus and verdant Alburnus flits many a creature
that the Romans call asilus [gadfly] and the Greeks call oestrus. . . . The air
and forests and bank of dry Tanager echo its buzzing noise. Once upon a
time, Juno, through this creature, planned this torture and unleashed her
dreadful anger on Inachus’ daughter, now a heifer.

Thomas suggests that the references to these “obscure Lucanian and
Bruttian placenames” may indicate that Calvus presented a “geographically
expansive” account of her wanderings, including “a stop in southern
Italy.”24 To this I would add that if Calvus’ Io wandered in Lucania, it
would not be unreasonable to suppose that her wanderings may have extended
a little farther north, to Campania, where Isis’ temple, reported at
Puteoli as early as the second century BCE, would be known to Vergil and
presumably also to Calvus.

An intriguing question, which perhaps may be resolved in the not-toodistant
future, is whether there was any connection between the newly
discovered temple of Isis at Cumae (see Caputo’s chapter in this book)
and the reported Isaeum at Puteoli. The newly discovered temple may also
have some bearing on Vergil’s repeated references in the Aeneid to Cumae
and Baiae as “Euboean” (Aen. 6.2, 6.42, 9.710), for in Hesiod’s account,
Io goes not to Egypt but to Euboea, which was in fact named after her.25
The equivalence between Io and Isis would certainly have been known to
Vergil. And, of course, we know that Vergil composed some considerable
portion of the Georgics in Campania, perhaps in the vicinity of the recently
discovered Isaeum at Cumae. For now, however, we can only surmise its
relevance for Vergil’s poem.

Thomas notes another apparent echo of Calvus’ Io in the Orpheus



260 Patricia A. Johnston


Eurydice episode in Vergil’s book 4, where he compares Orpheus’ cry—
a miseram Eurydicen! (G. 4.526)—to the exclamation in Calvus’ poem,
a virgo infelix! (Ecl. 6.47, 52). Additionally, because Servius says these lines
were taken over from Gallus, Thomas suggests that Orpheus’ final words
“are also the final element of the laudes Galli,”26 which, according to Servius,
once appeared in this part of the poem. Io is also the ancestress of
Dionysus,27 who in turn is linked with Orpheus, and in some accounts is
equated with him.

Isis and Demeter/Ceres


Isis was also frequently equated with Demeter or Ceres, and indeed, their
myths are so similar that Herodotus indicated that the Eleusinian ritual
was modeled on the Isiac ritual, a theory that enjoyed “great popularity” in
the early part of this century, until, according to Mylonas, Picard “proved
. . . the theory . . . untenable,” since no Egyptian artifact or evidence of
Egyptian influence “dating from the second millennium was found in the
sanctuary of Eleusis,” and subsequent excavations have confirmed the rejection
of Egyptian influence.28 Though Greek influence can be found in
much of the tale as we have it from Plutarch, Griffith concludes that, although
Isis’ journey to Byblos and her adventures there have “affinities
with the story of Demeter, Metaneira and Demophoon in the Homeric
Hymn to Demeter, its origin must lie in the Byblite cults of the New Kingdom
and afterwards [where] the cult of Isis is attested . . . from the seventh
century B.C.”29

Unlike membership in the Eleusinian cult, initiation into the Isiac cult
was not restricted geographically; the cult’s presence in Rome was unambiguous
during the first century, even if frequently circumscribed, and
was finally endorsed by a decree of the Second Triumvirate in 43 BCE,
which called for the construction of a temple of Isis and Serapis in the
Campus Martius. After Actium, however, there was a consistent policy
under Augustus of elevating the Attic cults, and of disparaging, or at least
neglecting, the eastern cults, a policy that is reflected to some extent in the
Georgics, and is stated even more unambiguously in the Aeneid. The last
two books of the Georgics contain a surprising number of Egyptian elements,
in view of Servius’ statement that some portion of the fourth book
was modified to remove the laudes for the Egyptian prefect and poet Cornelius
Gallus. Book 3 begins with Herakles’ Egyptian labor and contains
the Io/Isis passage. In book 4, the method of regenerating bees is clearly
placed in Egypt (4.287–294), and Aristaeus wrestles with the traditionally
Egyptian sea-deity, Proteus. Wherever possible, however, Vergil always


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
261

chooses the Greek or non-Egyptian version of the myth. His Proteus is
from Pallene in Chalcidice, even though Vergil’s sources, from Homer to
Lycophron, retain Egypt as Proteus’ place of origin. Here Vergil clearly
wanted to retain Proteus, but chose to modify his Egyptian associations.30
It is not unusual for Vergil to modify extensively the details concerning
mythological figures and their stories, as the examples of Proserpina and
Eurydice illustrate, but in the case of Proserpina and Eurydice, he appears
to intend to make the one a doublet of the other. It is not yet clear to me
what, if any, effect he intended his modification of Proteus’ provenance to
have upon his reader.

Proserpina’s appearance at the end of the first book, and Eurydice’s
parallel role at the end of the fourth, may lead one to wonder whether
Vergil intended a similar analogy between Demeter and Orpheus, who
mourn their losses. We have seen the strong similarities between Demeter
and Isis, as one mourns the loss of a daughter and the other of a husband.
When Orpheus loses Eurydice for a second time, he is compared to the
nightingale mourning the loss of her child, Itys:

qualis populea maerens philomela sub umbra

amissos queritur fetus, quos durus arator

observans nido implumis detraxit; at illa

flet noctem, ramoque sedens miserabile carmen

integrat, et maestis late loca questibus implet. (G. 4.511–515)

Just as a nightingale mourns from beneath the shade of a poplar tree,

as she protests the loss of her brood, which a toughened (durus) plowman

has

found and dragged, unplumed, from their nest; all night long she

weeps, perched on a branch, ever renewing her unhappy

song, filling the fields around with sad reproach.

Orpheus mourns not for a lost child, as the nightingale does, but for
a lost spouse. Through this simile, an analogy between his sorrow at the
end of the poem and the implicit sorrow of Demeter at its beginning can
be drawn, particularly if the sorrow of Demeter’s Egyptian equivalent is
also taken into consideration. Like Isis, Orpheus mourns his lost spouse,
but through the simile, his sorrow is also like that of Demeter’s sorrow for
her lost child.

The nightingale simile operates on a number of levels. On the most
pragmatic, it recalls a passage in Georgics 2 (207–211) “where the successful
farmer . . . uproots and destroys the birds’ home as he converts


262 Patricia A. Johnston


the woods to plough-lands.”31 Vergil first refers to the myth itself at the
beginning of the fourth book, where he names the swallow (Procne) as one
of the birds that are dangerous for honeybees:

absint et picti squalentia terga lacerti

pinguibus a stabulis, meropesque aliae volucres

et manibus Procne pectus signata cruentis;

omnia nam late vastant ipsasque volantis

ore ferunt dulcem nidis immitibus escam. (G. 4.13–17)32

Near the rich hives let there be no lizards with scaly backs and winged

creatures that consume bees: Meropidae and most of all Procne, her

breast marked with bloody hands; for everything far and wide they con


sume and carry in their mouths to their cruel nests even the busy bees,

sweet morsels for their young.

Procne’s plumage, bearing the mark of blood-stained hands, is a potent reminder
of the two sisters’ cruel murder and dismemberment of young Itys,
and indeed, any reference to their tale would recall their crime. Through
these two allusions, the myth thus encircles the fourth and last book of the
Georgics, occurring at its beginning and at its end. The second allusion to
this tale, the comparison of Orpheus to a nightingale, is quickly followed
by Orpheus’ violent dismemberment. Philomela and Procne, who appear
in the Georgics in winged form, one as a swallow, the other as a nightingale,
share the sometime-winged nature of Isis, who is represented on
tombs with wings, and who, in her search for Osiris’ corpse, while serving
as a nursemaid in Byblos, becomes a swallow.

The dismemberment of Orpheus during the nocturni orgia Bacchi

(G. 4.521) recalls Pentheus’ dismemberment in Euripides’ Bacchae,33
but the final detail of Orpheus’ dismembered head floating downstream
can also suggest the dismembered limbs of Osiris pursued by Isis in her
papyrus boat. Isis mourns as she searches for her dismembered spouse;
here it is not only Orpheus who mourns for his lost spouse, but it is also
Orpheus, like Osiris, who has been dismembered.34
Herakles and the Mysteries

The entire fourth book thus acquires added dimension when viewed from
the perspective of the mysteries. The third book also contains elements
suggestive of the mysteries. It begins with a brief invocation of Pales and


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
263

Apollo as deities of flocks and herds. In the third line, Vergil declares that
he will dismiss hackneyed themes:

cetera, quae vacuas tenuissent carmine mentes,

omnia iam vulgata. (G. 3.3–4)

Other things that have preoccupied empty minds are now all

commonplace.

He then lists some of those themes, which include the labors (Eurysthea)
and loves (Hylas) of Herakles, as well as the birth of Apollo and Artemis,
and Pelops’ courtship of Hippodame.35

quis aut Eurysthea durum
aut inlaudati nescit Busiridis aras?
cui non dictus Hylas puer et Latonia Delos
Hippodameque umeroque Pelops insignis eburno,
acer equis? (G. 3.4–8)


Who does not know about harsh Eurystheus or the unsung altars of

Busiris? Who has not been told of the young Hylas and Leto’s Delos and

Hippodame and Pelops, conspicuous with his ivory shoulder, a skillful

charioteer?

Whether these lines constitute a recusatio (Wimmel) or an “anti-recusatio”
(Thomas), and whether they be Pindaric or Callimachean (fr. 44 Pf.),
what is of interest for the purposes of this discussion is Vergil’s curious
allusion here, at the outset of the book concerned with cattle and horses,
to Herakles, an allusion, moreover, set in the context of the only labor that
associates Herakles with Egypt, namely the killing of Busiris (inlaudati
. . . Busiridis aras, G. 3.5).36 Busiris is the name of an apparently fictitious
Egyptian king who killed strangers, and was killed by Herakles. It is also
the name of the site of Osiris’ tomb.37 Extant fragments suggest that “a
ritual human sacrifice [was once practiced] at the tomb of Osiris, which in
later times, when sacrifice was abandoned, was transformed into a legend
of Busiris as a murderous king.”38

Herakles, although he had no cult of his own, was among the more
prominent of Eleusinian initiates; it was for his benefit that the Lesser
Mysteries were instituted so that he could be initiated from Hades.39
We know from Aeneid 8 that, for Vergil, Herakles’ affiliation with cattle
(which he leads back from the land of the dead) is a prominent feature


264 Patricia A. Johnston


of his myth. We also know from Herodotus about Herakles’ strong ties
with Egypt; there is additionally recurring discussion in Cicero’s treatise
on the nature of the gods about “Egyptian Herakles.”40 It would appear
to be more significant than is generally recognized, therefore, that of all
the Herculean labores to which Vergil might here have alluded, he should
choose the one set in Egypt. His emphatic denial, moreover, that he will
write about Herakles serves to draw his audience’s attention toward the
myth, rather than away from it. Herakles, as will be seen, will surface
again at the close of this book.

Cattle are prominent in the myth of Herakles at Rome, as depicted in
Aeneid 8 and in other Augustan authors,41 and in the myths of Io and in
the Isiac cult (the sacred Apis-bull was supposed to be the reincarnation
of the Egyptian god Ptah as well as of Osiris). The prominence of cattle in
Herakles’ myth should be considered in any analysis of the violent deaths
of cattle at the close of books 3 and 4 of the Georgics, not to mention the
close of book 2, where Vergil cites Aratus’ version of the myth of the ages,
wherein the irreverent race of bronze was the first to consume the plowing
ox, the helpmate of Justice.42

The third book ends with the tragic death of the plowing ox, a victim of
a violent plague; the plowman frees the surviving ox, and both mourn the
death of a “brother” (fraterna morte, G. 3.518). At the close of this episode,
Vergil reports the death of an unnamed person who attempted to wear the
polluted skin of the animal that had died of the plague, polluted as it was
by a sacer ignis. David Ross has suggested that the forces at work in this
plague culminate in fire as a basic elemental force,43 but the term sacer
ignis and its application in the last line of the third book also suggests the
violent death of Herakles after he, like the unnamed victim here, donned
the polluted cloak sent to him by his jealous wife.

In Ovid’s description of this episode,44 there are really two kinds of
fire involved in Herakles’ death: the pestilential fire of Nessus’ poisonous
blood, which had been polluted by Herakles’ own arrow, tainted previously
by the Hydra’s blood; and the purifying fire of Herakles’ funeral
pyre, which consumed only that part of him which was mortal, allowing
the divine portion to assume its rightful place among the gods. The notion
that the mortal part could be burned away, with immortality remaining,
recalls attempts by both Demeter and Isis, when they served as nursemaids
to the kings of Eleusis and Byblos, respectively, to burn away the mortality
of the royal infants committed to their care.

Finally, the Bougonia at the end of book 4, which begins with the violent
death of cattle and the disfigurement of their corpses, and culminates
in the miracle of new life, is strikingly similar to the death of Osiris, his


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
265

mangled corpse, and his eventual restoration as ruler of the dead and giver
of the means of sustaining life. And of course, this method of acquiring a
new hive of bees, Vergil tells us, is Egyptian:

nam qua Pellaei gens fortunata Canopi

accolit effuso stagnantem flumine Nilum

et circum pictis vehitur sua rura phaselis,

quaque pharetratae vicinia Persidis urget,

et diversa ruens septem discurrit in ora

usque coloratis amnis devexus ab Indis,

et viridem Aegyptum nigra fecundat harena,

omnis in hac certam regio iacit arte salutem. (G. 4.287–294)

For where the blessed race of Macedonian Canopus dwells beside the

overflowing banks of the Nile and sails about the countryside in painted

skiffs, and where the nearness of the Persian archer restrains it, and the

river

rushes on, dispersed to seven different mouths, as it flows from the

colorful Indians and its black sand causes the Egyptian land to flourish—

All this region relies on this method [of generating bees].

Conclusion

The Georgics, which were completed very soon after Actium, retain a
number of value-free, or even laudatory, Egyptian and possibly Isiac elements,
in contrast to the Aeneid, in which all references to things Egyptian
are clearly cast in a negative light. The ill repute of Isis and Osiris was of
course clearly established by the time Vergil was engaged in composing
the epic—Octavian’s negative bias is most clearly represented in Aeneid 8,
where the defeat at Actium of Cleopatra and her Egyptian gods is vividly
depicted on Aeneas’ shield. There Augustus and Agrippa lead their forces
against those of the east, which are led by Antony and his (nefas!) Aegyptia
coniunx (Aen. 8.688). Cleopatra waves her sistrum as she rallies her followers
and animal-visaged gods (omnigenum . . . deum monstra et latrator
Anubis, Aen. 8.698), who are driven into terrified retreat by the great gods
of Greece and Rome:

regina in mediis patrio vocat agmina sistro,

necdum etiam geminos a tergo respicit anguis.

omnigenumque deum monstra et latrator Anubis


266 Patricia A. Johnston


contra Neptunum et Venerem contraque Minervam
tela tenent. (Aen. 8.696–700)


In their midst, the queen summons back her forces with her native sistrum,
and does not yet see the twin serpents behind her. Every kind of
monstrous deity and the dog Anubis raise their weapons against Neptune
and Venus and Minerva.

In line 704, “Actian” Apollo decisively defeats the forces of the east:

Actius haec cernens arcum intendebat Apollo
desuper; omnis eo terrore Aegyptus et Indi,
omnis Arabs, omnes vertebant terga Sabaei. (Aen. 8.704–706)


Actian Apollo, gazing at these things from above, directs his bow; the whole
of Egypt and India, all of Arabia, all the Sabaeans turn away in dread.

Finally, the great river Nile, in mourning (maerentem), summons back his
branches in defeat:

contra autem magno maerentem corpore Nilum
pandentemque sinus et tota veste vocantem
caeruleum in gremium latebrosaque flumina victos. (Aen. 8.711–713)

And on the other side, the river Nile with its great girth, in mourning,
spreads its billows and summons to its cerulean bosom and shaded
streams the defeated [Egyptians].

A final reference to Apolline victory over Egypt occurs in book 12 of
the Aeneid, when two otherwise unknown combatants convey, by their
very names, Augustus’ elevation of Apollo and rejection of the gods of
the Nile: in 12.458, the Trojan warrior Thymbraeus kills a Latin warrior
named Osiris:

ferit ense gravem Thymbraeus Osirim.

Thymbraeus strikes Osiris down with his sword.

The epithet “Thymbraeus” appears two other times in Vergil, each time
clearly referring to Apollo: in Aeneid 3.85, when Anchises prays to Apollo
at Delos, the god is addressed as Thymbraee; and in Georgics 4.323, Ari



The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
267

staeus questions whether his father truly is Thymbraeus Apollo. Vergil’s
decision to name the Latin warrior “Osiris” is thus particularly significant,
for this is the only time in all of Vergil’s works that he employs the name
of this powerful Egyptian deity, and thus this combat scene symbolizes the
ultimate victory of the forces of Apollo over the Egyptian foe.

The Georgics, by contrast, contain a number of elements suggestive of
the mystery religions, and not necessarily in a negative context. Vergil’s
reference in 4.287 to Egyptians as a gens fortunata places them on a par
with Vergil’s idealized Roman farmer in 2.458–459, whom he addresses
as o fortunatos nimium . . . agricolas! (cf. Aen. 11.252). Fortunatus is frequently
used to translate .λβιος, the adjective regularly applied to Eleusinian
initiates,45 which would include Augustus. By contrast, it would be
very surprising to find the adjective being applied to the Egyptian race in
the Aeneid.

While Hellenistic syncretism, which is certainly evident in Vergil’s
works, can account for some of the blurred lines between the different
cult figures, it seems that Vergil is relatively consistent in favoring allusion
to the Greek rather than non-Greek versions of the myths and symbols
associated with the mysteries. On the other hand, his allusion to Herakles’
Egyptian labor rather than to one of the more “Greek” labors suggests
that, if Vergil did attempt to remove other Egyptian allusions after Gallus’
fall, some of them were too integral to his poem’s central topic to be
excluded. Servius indicates that Vergil changed the end of the poem to
eliminate the laudes Galli in the fourth book. The Egyptian elements that
remain suggest that, at this stage of Vergil’s thinking, Egypt and its gods,
despite a recent fall from grace, still embodied for Vergil the nurturing
qualities that were so important to their long survival.

Appendix: The Agnone Tablet and Vergil’s Georgics

The Agnone Tablet46 sheds interesting light on the selection of deities in the opening
invocation of Vergil’s Georgics. First published in 1848, the Agnone Tablet is a
bronze tablet measuring 61/2 inches by 11 inches. It is inscribed in Oscan on both
sides; the letters are clearly and deeply incised, and the tablet is provided with a
carrying handle. The tablet was found between Capracotta and Agnone in the territory
of the Caraceni, an area at that time still called Uorte, which appears to be
derived from hortus, the Latin word for “garden” or “sacred grove.” (The Oscan
word hurz, which appears in the first line of side A and in the last line of side B,
is also believed to be the equivalent of hortus.) The generally accepted date of the
tablet is 250 BCE. It is dedicated to the Italic goddess Kerri, who at some point
merges with Roman Ceres.

Other deities are named on the tablet, including Veskei, thought to be the


268 Patricia A. Johnston


divinity of the revolving year, and Euklus, who appears again in the last line (25) of
side A as Euklus Pater. Salmon (1967: 157) identified Euklus as chthonic Mercury
(Hermes), the psychopompos or guide of souls. Spaeth identifies him as Liber Pater,
which would make a nice parallel to Ceres; in fact, that entire line, evklui. statif.
kerri. statif., would then suggest Liber and Ceres, the same pair we find in Varro
and in Vergil (cf. G. 1.7). With the epithet Pater, we are also reminded of Vergil’s
Pater Lenaeae (G. 2.7), an address to Bacchus in his overview of the pressing of
the wine grapes. Prosdocimi, however, identifies Euklus as Hades, whose presence
here would also make sense, especially in the context of Ceres and Proserpina,
since Hades abducts Proserpina to be his spouse in the underworld.

futrei.kerriiai. in the following line is widely accepted as a reference to Proserpina,
“the daughter of Ceres,” with the result that Ceres, her son-in-law Hades,
and her daughter Proserpina follow in succession. It also raises questions about the
relationship between Liber/Dionysus and Hades—is there a connection? Certainly
Dionysus is associated with the underworld—like Proserpina and Attis, he is often
listed among the “dying gods,” a notion that Frazer applied perhaps too widely,
but that, as Burkert (1987: 99) acknowledges, still applies to these figures.

Lines 5 and 6 appear to refer to human fertility: anter. statai. is thought to
mean something like Interstita, “Midwife,” and ammai. Kerriiai, sounding vaguely
like “mama” (compare mamma in Greek or Latin to signify “breast”), may signify
breastfeeding or a wet-nurse. Recall Vergil’s epithet for Ceres, Alma, “nourishing
Ceres.” Salmon suggests that Inter-stita (Oscan anter-statai) may be “the midwife
who stands ‘between’ when delivering the offspring, whereas (in Latin) she stands
‘opposite,’ whence [she is called] obstetrix” (1967: 159 n. 4).

Maatuis kerriiuis (10) refers to the deity ensuring a supply of dew (more of this
later) to the crops. In line 15, deivai. genetai is understood to mean something like
the Latin genetrix, “mother,” here possibly referring to Ceres as the wife of Jupiter.
Perna Keriaii may be the goddess of happy childbirth, although Altheim (1931:
92–108) associates her with Anna Perenna, the goddess of the returning year.

Another common epithet for Ceres has been identified in liganakdikei. entrai
(line 8), interpreted as Chthonic Ceres.47 The word entrai (Latin Intera) is equated
with the Greek .ν.ρτερα, having to do with the underworld. The word liganakdikei.
has been widely accepted (Vetter 1953: 106; Le Bonniec 1958: 42) as the equivalent
of the Latin legifera, or the Greek θεσμοφ.ρος, “bringer of law,” a common epithet
of this goddess. In book 4 of the Aeneid (cf. Servius ad Aen. 4.58), when Dido is
offering a sacrifice to win the love of Aeneas, she makes a particular offering to
Cereri legiferae. Servius there explains the epithet as indicating that Ceres favors
weddings, since she was the first to marry Jupiter, and she is in charge of the founding
of cities, the first step of which was to mark their boundaries with the furrow
of the plow.48

The next group, diumpais. Kerriiais. (7), anafriss. kerriiuis (9), maatuis. kerriiuis
(10), diuvei. verehasiui (11), and diuvei. regaturei (12), are associated with moisture
for the crops. In Varro, diumpais. kerriiais appear as Lympha, “moisture.” But
Lympha is also interpreted as Nymphae, in the sense of water nymphs. Prosdocimi
(1996: 531) here refers to a “pangreek” or Orphic cult of the Nymphs; mention
of the Nymphs again recalls both Proserpina, who is abducted while gathering
flowers with the Nymphs, and Eurydice, whom the Nymphs mourn so bitterly at
the end of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice.


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
269

In line 9, anafriss. kerriiuis is identified as rain (Imbres), and in line 10, maatuis.
kerriiuis, as mentioned earlier, may be dew for the crops. diuvei.verehasiui and
diuvei.regaturei are two aspects of Jupiter, which Salmon (1967: 158) interprets
as Jupiter Juventus, bringer of dew to the crops, and as Jupiter Rigator, “Jupiter
the irrigator.” Vergil does not refer to water deities in the context of their bringing
moisture to the crops, but they are included as Achelous (1.9, the river water
that Liber mixed with the grape), Neptune (1.14), and Ocean and Tethys, etc.
(1.29–31).

hereklui. kerriiui (13) is widely accepted as a reference to Herakles, who is associated
with the lesser Eleusinian mysteries, which were said to have been established
in his behalf so that he could become initiated from the underworld. Servius
has drawn attention to the fact that Vergil’s reference to the river Achelous

(G. 1.9) refers to river water in a general sense, but also alludes to the battle between
Herakles and the river god Achelous, who lost one of his horns in their
wrestling match. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the broken horn becomes the original
cornucopia, but in Vergil, the “Acheloan cups” refer to wine-drinking vessels. Thus
Vergil’s proem shares yet one more detail with the Agnone Tablet.49
In line 14, patanai. piistiai. seems to suggest something like the deity who opens
the grain hull, making it easier to separate the grain from its husks. In Vergil’s invocation
of Augustus Caesar (25ff.), he suggests the various realms where the future
god may choose to rule: over the sea (29ff.), or perhaps (32ff.) he will become a
new constellation in the heavens, “where a place is opening (panditur) between the
constellation Virgo and the pursuing claws of Scorpio, who even now is drawing
in his arms to make room for you.” Vergil incorporates the idea of “opening”—in
this case, the sky—to facilitate Augustus’ pending apotheosis, just as the deity
Patana on the Agnone Tablet opens the hulls to facilitate access to the grain. The
opposite motion of Scorpio, who is closing his claws to make room in the heavens
for Augustus, contrasts nicely with the opening of the heavens (or the husks). The
reference to the constellation Virgo here not only anticipates Vergil’s later allusion
in the Georgics to Aratus’ account of the end of the Golden Age, wherein Virgo,
also known as Justice (Iustitia/Dike/Astraea), holds a grain of wheat in her hand,
because, in Aratus’ account of the myth of the Ages, it was Justice/Dike (instead of
Chronos, as in Hesiod, or Saturnus, as in Ennius) who ruled over an agriculturally
based Golden Age; as the races declined, she retreated from mortal company and
finally retreated to the heavens, leaving the last traces (vestigia, “footprints”) of
Justice on earth among farmers:

o fortunatos nimium, sua si bona norint,
agricolas, quibus ipsa procul discordibus armis
fundit humo facilem victum iustissima tellus!
. . . extrema per illos
Iustitia excedens terris vestigia fecit. (G. 2.458–460, 473–474)
O blessed farmers, if only they knew their blessings!

For them, far from discordant weapons,

most just Earth (Tellus) herself pours forth an easy living. . . .

When she retreated from the earth, Justice left her last traces among them.


270 Patricia A. Johnston


Fortunatus, the Latin equivalent of the Greek word .λβιος, describes the blessings
of initiates into the mysteries of Eleusis:

Happy (.λβιος) is he among men upon earth who has seen these mysteries;

but he who is uninitiated and who has no part in them, never has lot of like

good things once he is dead, down in the darkness and gloom. (Hymn Dem.

480–482)

Lines 16ff. of side A include what appears to be a ritual sequence. It seems to
say something about the site being sanctified by an ara ignaria or “altar of fire”
(aasai. purasiai), with further instructions for the ritual, including rites being
offered near the garden for the Floralia (fiuusasiais az.hurtum. sakarater). Sakarater
is in the subjunctive mood, and is equivalent to sanciatur or sacrificetur, “Let it be
sanctified.” Flora also appears in Varro’s list, and perhaps should be considered in
the Persephone sequence, since she is picking flowers with the Nymphs at the time
of her abduction. Side A concludes with Pater Euklus, as I have mentioned, whom
Prosdocimi interprets as Hades.

Side B begins with a statement that “these altars are [now] standing” (line 1),
followed by the names of the deities for whom the altars now stand, and concluding
with a similar reference to the sanctification of the ara ignaria (aasai. purasiai.
saahtum, ll. 19–20), which now stand in place, as an annual ritual (alttrei putereipid.
akenei, ll. 21–23). Although it is reasonable to assume that a great many rites
had to be performed annually, the provision that these rites must be performed
annually recalls Herodotus’ account of the episode during the Persian War, in
480 BCE: The Athenians believed their crops would fail if they did not perform
the Eleusinian rites annually, but at the time when they had to be performed, the
Athenians were on the island Salamis, driven out of Athens by Xerxes and his Persian
forces. According to Herodotus (8.65), when the time came for the rites to be
performed, the Athenians saw from the island of Salamis that a ghostly procession
was making its way from Athens to Eleusis—thus the gods came to their aid and
performed the rites for them.

The final line of side B proclaims: hurz. dekmanniuis stait: “The garden stands
on account of (per [It.]) the Dekumanii.” The Dekumanii apparently refer to Samnites
or Samnite-Roman colonists.

Thus the tablet appears to specify the deities who are to be worshiped on side A,
and the establishment of their altars on side B. The pattern of repetition of statif
suggests a hymn or prayer, a function similar to that of Vergil’s invocation.

Death and the Underworld

The Agnone Tablet lists not only aspects of Ceres concerning human and agricultural
fertility, but also references to death and the underworld, with particular reference
to Persephone and Hades. This is also true of Vergil’s proem to the Georgics.
The last of the options offered to Caesar is that he may choose to rule over the
underworld (136ff.): “Whatever you will be—for Tartarus does not expect you
as its king—let not so dire a longing to govern come to you, even though Greece


The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
271

admires Elysian Fields, and Proserpina, when summoned, refused to follow her
mother.” Vergil’s statement that Proserpina refused to return to the world above
when summoned is contrary to the received tradition, as I have shown elsewhere,50
comparing Vergil’s placement and treatment of both Proserpina here, and Eurydice
at the end of the fourth Georgic. Both Proserpina and Eurydice are relegated to
the underworld even though, prior to Vergil’s account of the story of Orpheus and
Eurydice, tradition suggests that Orpheus did succeed in bringing Eurydice back
from the dead. Vergil’s version, of course, once written, became the locus classicus,
and thus the alternate versions tended to be forgotten. The word dives, “wealth,”
was said to come from Dis (Hades), since the wealth that comes from crops is sent
up from below the soil, that is, the underworld. When Orpheus laments the death
of Eurydice, he complains of raptam Eurydicen atque inrita Ditis / dona—“Stolen
Eurydice and the gifts of Dis given in vain” (G. 4.519–520). The crops nourished
by Ceres are also dona Ditis, and Proserpina herself was known as dona Ditis. They
are all part of the cycle of birth, death, and regeneration.

Thus both side A of the Agnone Tablet and Vergil’s proem open and close with
members of the triad consisting of Ceres, Persephone, and Liber or Hades, figures
associated with agricultural and human fertility as well as with death and
regeneration. The parallel indicates not only Vergil’s familiarity with Hellenistic
traditions, as some commentators will maintain, but also his deep awareness of
the rituals of the Italic goddess of grain.

Notes

1. E.g., Wilkinson 1969: 121ff.; Bailey 1935; Boyance 1963; Conington and
Nettleship [1898] 1963; Farrell 1991; Mynors 1990; Putnam 1979; Thomas 1988.
2. Walter Burkert (1987) also includes the Mithraic cult, which is not significant
in Vergil’s time, if indeed the cult did exist at that time, although the later
association of Mithras with Apollo, who is of course very important in the early
Empire, is interesting to note.
3. Graillot 1912: 115; Bailey 1935: 177; Zanker 1990: 17; Wilhelm 1988:
77ff.
4. Zanker 1990: 109.
5. Cf. Henrichs 1993: 13–43.
6. The early linkage of Liber and Ceres, as well as Proserpina and Herakles, is
dramatically illustrated on the Tabula Agnone, a bronze tablet dated to 250 BCE.
For details, see Appendix A.
7. Thomas 1988, 1: ad 2.380–383, p. 226.
8. Henrichs 1993: 22.
9. Cf. ibid.: 31 n. 45. Henrichs observes that Detienne associates Dionysus’
“beneficial presence with Athens and his destructive visitations with the Argolid,
Boeotia and Thrace,” whereas Henrichs believes “this particular polarity has more
to do with the different articulations of Dionysus in myth and cult.”
10. Burton 1972: 98.
11. Dio Cass. 51.4.1; cf. Clinton 1989.
12. Cf. Callim. Hymn 6.21.

272 Patricia A. Johnston


13. Cf. Farrell 1991: 76: “[Vergil’s] farmer is not only general, but priest presiding
with sacred implements over rites founded by Celeus, Iacchus, and the goddess
of Eleusis.”
14. Johnston 1977.
15. Bayet 1951: 9–11; cf. Le Bonniec 1958: 134ff.; Wilkinson 1969: 149.
16. Clinton, (1986: 43–49) argues that the author of the mysteries may have
been an initiate, but does not reflect the cult myth; cf. Clinton 1992: 35. (Note that
Clinton distinguishes between Plouton and Hades.)
17. Cf. Cic. N.D. 2.66.
18. Johnston 1977: 161–172.
19. Griffiths 1970: 42–43.
20. Cf. Hdt. 2.59, 61; Plut. Is. Os. 356.
21. Griffiths (1970: 54) observes that the swallows seem to be Astarte’s, even
though they may also have Egyptian antecedents.
22. “The boucranion was originally the head-dress of Hathor, but with the frequent
identification of the two goddesses, it was commonly worn by Isis, too. One
result was the identification of Isis and Io, whom Zeus was said to have changed
into a cow” (Griffiths 1970: 351 ad 358b19).
23. Cf. Forbes Irving 1990: 211–216; and Seaford 1980: 23–29.
24. Thomas 1988, 2:69.
25. Hesiod frr. 124–126, 294–296; Merkelbach and West 1970; Austin (1977:
31) notes that the epithet, as a reference to Cumae’s Chalcidian founders, is
anachronistic.
26. Thomas 1988, 2:235.
27. Forbes Irving 1990: 215.
28. Mylonas 1961: 15–16.
29. Griffiths 1970: 54.
30. Proteus is called Α.γ.πτιος in Homer, and is said to live on the island of
Pharos. In Herodotus (2.112), he is a mortal king living in Memphis. In Euripides’
Helen, he is king of Pharos; cf. Burton 1972: 182–183; Thomas 1988, 2:217–218.
31. Thomas 1988, 2:233.
32. Cf. Ovid Met 6.669–670; Verg. Ecl. 6.78–81.
33. Thomas 1988, 2:235.
34. Plutarch records (Is. Os. 358e) that in some versions, Isis’ child, Horus, is,
like Orpheus, dismembered. In some accounts Dionysus is a descendant of Io/Isis.
Note that Diodorus Siculus (4.25.1) refers to Orpheus as a hierophant at Eleusis.
Cf. Griffiths 1970: 441–442 ad Plut. Is. Os. 37.365B.
35. Thomas (1988, 2:37–39, ad G. 3.3–8) believes these are allusions to Callimachean
versions; Mynors observes (1990: 179) that, Hellenistic or not, the connection
between these tales and Georgics 3 is Pelops’ expertise with horses, and
that Herakles was “an expert cleaner-out of cow-byres.”
36. Burton 1972: 103.
37. Diod. Sic. 1.85.5; Plut. Is. Os. 20. Diodorus Siculus (1.88.5) claims that
Busiris is Egyptian for το. Οσ.ριδος τ.φους, which is in fact correct (Burton 1972:
14–15).
38. Burton 1972: 15; Hdt. 2.59: “Second in importance [to Bubastis] is the assembly
at Busiris—a city in the middle of the Delta, containing a vast temple dedicated
to Isis, the Egyptian equivalent of Demeter, in whose honor the meeting is

The Mystery Cults and Vergil’s Georgics
273

held.” Hdt. 2.61: “I have already mentioned the festival of Isis at Busiris.” Diod.
Sic. 1.85: “Some explain the origin of the honor accorded this bull in this way,
saying that at the death of Osiris his soul passed into this animal, and therefore up
to this day has always passed into its successors at the time of the manifestation of
Osiris; but some say that when Osiris died at the hands of Typhon, Isis collected
the members of his body and put them in an ox (bous), made of wood covered over
with fine linen, and because of this the city was called Bousiris.”

39. Mylonas 1961: 240: “The Lesser Mysteries were instituted for the benefit
of Herakles when he wanted to be initiated . . . from the Lesser Hades.”
40. E.g., Cic. N.D. 3.42ff.
41. Cf. Ovid Fasti 1.551; Propertius 4.10; Livy 1.7; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 1.9.
42. Cf. Aratus Phaen. 2.536–537; Johnston 1980: 25–28.
43. Ross 1987: 177–183.
44. Ovid Met. 9.176–178, 181–185; cf. Sen. De benef. 4.8.
45. Cf. Hymn Dem. 480–482: “Happy is he among men upon earth who has
seen these mysteries; but he who is uninitiated and who has no part in them, never
has lot of like good things once he is dead, down in the darkness and gloom”;
Soph. fr. 541 (Nauck); Pindar fr. 121 (Bowra); etc.
46. Prosdocimi 1996: 435–630.
47. Note that in Aen. 6.138, Proserpina is referred to as Juno Inferna. Zuntz,
in his book Persephone (1971: 399–400, not referring to this tablet), takes strong
exception to the notion that “Demeter Chthonios” associates her with the underworld;
he maintains that it merely associates the goddess with the soil over which
she rules.
48. Cf. Spaeth 1996: 53.
49. Jean Bayet (Les Origines de l’Hercule romain [Paris, 1926], 121; cf. Salmon
1967: 160 n. 6) suggested that at Agnone, Hercules is Heracles fecondant—a fertilizing
force.
50. Johnston 1977.

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PArT III

MITHRAS



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CHAPTER 15


The Amor and Psyche relief in the Mithraeum
of Capua Vetere: An Exceptional Case of
Graeco-roman Syncretism or an Ordinary
Instance of Human Cognition?

luthEr h. martin

The “main characteristic feature of Hellenistic religion[s]” such as Mithraism
has been described as “syncretism,” as has the entire Hellenistic age
(Grant 1953: xiii). However, the utility of this category of syncretism,
usually understood as some sort of mutual influence upon a religious practice
or representation by two (or more) cultures in contact, is contested.
If employed as an explanatory category, as it often is, it explains nothing.
From a historical perspective, all religions are syncretistic, that is,
constituted of temporal antecedents and influenced by contemporaneous
contingencies. Even when used as a descriptive category, consequently,
“syncretism” is simply the redundant naming of a historically constructed
conundrum to be explained (Martin 1983; see now Leopold and Jensen
2004 for an excellent historical and theoretical overview of uses of this
category). If, then, we begin with the notion of Hellenistic syncretism as a
problem to be explained, the Amor and Psyche relief in the Mithraeum of
Capua Vetere, the only known presence of these popular Greek figures in
a sanctuary devoted to the Roman deity Mithras, would appear to present
an exceptional case indeed.

The Amor and Psyche relief in the
Mithraeum of Capua Vetere

The small (32 . 36 cm), white marble relief of Amor and Psyche in the
Mithraeum of Capua Vetere portrays the nude, winged child Amor leading
the larger (adult) female figure of Psyche, also winged, by the light of
his torch (Fig. 15.1). He grasps Psyche’s left arm with his right hand while
holding the torch in his left (CIMRM 186: see Merkelbach 1984: 296,


278 Luther H. Martin



Figure 15.1. Amor and Psyche. Photo by Patricia A. Johnston.


Abb. 27; Vermaseren 1971: 23 and pl. 20). Psyche wears an ankle-length
diaphanous dress, the hem of which she holds in her right hand. As in
conventional representations of the pair, the wings of Amor are birdlike,
whereas those of Psyche are butterfly wings. Unlike conventional representations,
the feminine attributes of Psyche have been moderated, giving
her a more masculine appearance (Merkelbach 1984: 82). The relief, highlighted
by a red border painted on the wall around it, was probably inserted
in the wall of the Mithraeum during its first period of use, during
the early to mid-second century CE (Vermaseren 1971: 49–50, 50 n. 1).

Little discussion has been devoted to the significance of the Capuan
Amor and Psyche relief. Reinhold Merkelbach considers Psyche to be a
representation of the enigmatic “nymphus,” the second grade of Mithraic
initiation (Merkelbach 1982: 24; 1984: 88–92), and Amor to be that of
Heliodromus, the sixth grade of the initiation (Merkelbach 1984: 92)—
though he offers little evidence for these conclusions.1

More interestingly, Richard Gordon emphasizes that the position of the
relief in the Capua Mithraeum is above a niche at the longitudinal center of
the left (southern) bench of the Mithraeum. He suggests that such niches,
which mark the center of benches along the two side walls in virtually all


Amor and Psyche in the Mithraeum of Capua Vetere
279

Mithraic temples, represent the solstices that, according to Porphyry, are
the gates by which souls enter and depart the cosmos (Porph. Antr. 2).
Following Porphyry, Gordon argues that souls descend into this world of
being through the “northern” gate and re-ascend through the “southern”
gate (Porph. Antr. 24–25)—“north” and “south” referring here to the astrological
orientations of the cosmos represented in the formal structure
of Mithraic temples and not to the actual cardinal points (Gordon 1996b:
56). In this astrological interpretation, the Capuan Amor and Psyche relief
is located above the niche marking the “southern” portal of the soul’s
re-ascent (Gordon 1996b: 56–58; so also Beck 2000b: 162 n. 69).2 While
Eros (Amor) is traditionally associated with freeing the soul from the conditions
of this existence (Schlam 1976: 31), the implication of the Capuan
relief is that the re-ascent of the soul is under the guidance of a winged
Amor as well. Indeed, Porphyry characterizes the north winds, which he
considers to assist in the descent of the soul, as erotikos (Porph. Antr. 26;
Gordon 1996b: 56–58). This descent of the soul, its subsequent trials, and
its final ascent may represent a process for its purification for which initiation
into the mysteries is an analogue (Schlam 1976: 19).

The Possibilities of Historical (Syncretistic) Influences on the
Capuan Amor and Psyche relief within Magna Graecia

Already Hesiod had elevated Eros, one of the oldest of the gods, into a
cosmic principle that was all-powerful over younger gods and men (Hes.
Theog. 118–120). Similarly, the fifth-century BCE philosopher, Parmenides
of Elea, presented Eros as first of all the gods (Parm. 13) and, consequently,
as the cosmic power of love and procreation. Following Parmenides’ logic
that “there can be no real coming to be nor passing away” (Parm. 2; Burkert
1985: 319), a monistic view of the soul follows that is similar to that
reported of Mithraism by Porphyry (Porph. Antr. 25; cf., e.g., Pl. Phd.
79C–D). Of course, this view of a cosmic descent and re-ascent of an immortal
soul was, in some form or another, an increasingly common feature
of Hellenistic religions, culminating in Neoplatonism.3

A further possible association of the Amor and Psyche relief in the
Capua Vetere Mithraeum with the Eleatic tradition of Parmenides is that
its representation of Amor leading Psyche by torchlight is an apparent
allusion to representations of initiation into the mysteries. In the proem
of his poem (Parm. 1), Parmenides seems to employ such representations
of initiation to articulate his understanding of the unity of contrasts, such
as that between death and life (Nussbaum 1996: 1113; see Parm. 19).


280 Luther H. Martin


Parmenides’ native city, Elea (modern Castellammare di Velia), was
one of the first Greek colonies of Magna Graecia. Although conquered by
Rome in 290 BCE, Elea retained its Greek culture until the first century CE
(Lomas 1996: 516). The city is but 153 kilometers (94 miles) southeast of
Capua. Thus, an influence upon the Mithraic community of Capua by an
Eleatic tradition about a procreative and initiatory figure of Eros presiding
over a cosmic descent/ascent of the eternal soul is a historical possibility.

Further, the earliest Greek monuments representing Amor and Psyche
also expressed a view of the immortality of the soul (Schlam 1976: 25), and
the earliest representations of the pair are from the Greek cities of Magna
Graecia—although the wings of the female figure accompanying Eros are
those of a bird (Schlam 1976: 5). Portrayals of Psyche with butterfly wings,
as on the Capuan relief, first appeared in the Crimea in the late fourth or
early third century but became increasingly popular during the Hellenistic
period, as documented, for example, by numerous instances in the vicinity
of Capua, for example, nearby Pompeii (Schlam 1976: 20–21).

If the Capuan relief was influenced by ideas about the descent and ascent
of an immortal soul derived from the Greek Eleatic tradition, this
influence would support Gordon’s interpretation with reference to the
location of the relief in the Mithraeum. And this influence would also
introduce a relationship between this view of the soul and the figures of
Amor and Psyche, a relationship documented also from the material culture
of Magna Graecia.

If, however, the Amor and Psyche relief represents the possibility of
Greek influence within the Mithraic community of Capua, its masculinized
figure of Psyche seems to reflect a Mithraic influence upon this
classical motif as well—an expected modification by a cult that excluded
female participants (Gordon 2005b: 6090).4 And if this relief is a re-
representation of a classical motif in a way that reflects specific aspects
of Mithraic practice, then it must be an intentional representation that
cannot be explained as a random consequence of cultural contact (syncretism),
or dismissed, as in the conclusion of Gordon, as a “marginal
gloss” (Gordon 1994: 121 n. 88).

Historical Evidence outside of Magna Graecia for Mithraic
Associations with Amor and Psyche

Though rare, there is some documentation for associations between Amor-
Psyche and Mithras apart from that of the Capuan relief. For example, a
fragmentary statue of Amor and Psyche was found in the Mithraic exca



Amor and Psyche in the Mithraeum of Capua Vetere
281

vations at Santa Prisca in Rome. It is not known, however, whether this
statue was associated with the Mithraic community there or whether it
was simply “fill” from the demolition of an earlier structure. As the Roman
architect Vitruvius noted, stone from demolished buildings, including
sculpture, was often broken up and used in the concrete foundations
of new construction (Vitr. 6.8.1–7). The excavators of the Santa Prisca
Mithraeum, Maarten Vermaseren and Carel van Essen, simply describe
the statue as one of the “stray finds from the right hand part of” one of the
side rooms off the Mithraeum proper (Vermaseren and van Essen 1965:
476; 478, no. 275). The significance of this find, therefore, while suggestive,
is inconclusive.

Of more interest is the “Tale of Amor and Psyche,” the centerpiece
of Apuleius’ well-known Isis novel, Metamorphoses,5 in which the priest
of Isis is named “Mithras” (Met. 11.22; see CIMRM 466). Roger Beck,
elaborating upon an earlier suggestion by Filippo Coarelli (1989), has argued
that the Apuleius who authored the Metamorphoses may well be the
same Apuleius whose house in Ostia is proximate to the Mithraeum of the
Seven Spheres (Beck 2000a). If so, the author may well have been involved
in the Mithraic mysteries and, consequently, his (fictive?) association of
Isis (and of Amor-Psyche) with Mithras would be of more interest than
just employment of a suggestive name.

The only clear parallel to the Capuan relief is the fragment of a yellow
jasper gem with a portrayal of Mithras as the ubiquitous bullslayer
(the tauroctony) on one side; on its obverse is a depiction of Amor and
Psyche surrounded by the inscription ΝΕΙΧΑΡΟΠΛΗΞ (CIMRM 2356).
Armand Delatte writes that all examples of this inscription on gems refer
either to a deity whose solar character is clear—for example, to Mithras,
Isis, or Leontocephales—or to representations of Amor, either alone or
in conjunction with Psyche (Delatte 1914: 14). Further, Charles King, in
his classic study Antique Gems, notes that yellow jasper was a “favorite
material for the extensive series of intagli connected with the worship of
Mithras” (King 1860: 338). Unfortunately, neither the provenance nor the
present location of this gem is known. And while the exact role of Psyche
in the relationship portrayed on the gem remains unclear,6 the implication
is that Amor and Mithras were, in the minds of some, at least equivalent.

Taken together, the historical evidence—the presence of the Capuan
relief in a Mithraeum, the influences from Magna Graecia upon that relief,
and the lost gem—suggests that the Amor of the Capuan relief was
intended as a representation of Mithras, and/or of his surrogate, the initiating
Pater, who guides and supports with paternal love the descendant
soul of the initiate through his initiatory trials toward a goal of re-ascent.


282 Luther H. Martin


Since, however, the Greek influences upon the relief, while certainly possible,
are not verifiable, and since the provenance of the gem is unknown
and its relevance for the significance of the relief is not, therefore, demonstrable,
such a synthetic conclusion remains highly speculative. As the
anthropologist Fredrik Barth has concluded, “A historical viewpoint [in
and of itself] holds no magic key” for solving cultural puzzles without a
reasonably sound and detailed account of the empirical processes whereby
these materials are produced, transformed, and transmitted (Barth 1987:
9, 22; see Martin 2001).

More tantalizingly, the historical evidence does demonstrate that an association
of Amor and Psyche with Mithras had, in the early centuries of
the Roman Empire, crossed the minds of at least some apart from those of
the Capuan Mithraic community. It is, in other words, not just the possibilities
of historical influence but also the possibilities of human minds that
constitute those res gestae and their surviving representations that we term
history. In the absence, therefore, of any conclusive account of the empirical
(historical) processes whereby such a representation as the Capuan
Amor and Psyche relief was produced, I turn to the cognitive scientists to
explore whether their empirical investigations into the workings of human
minds might be of help. The question raised thereby of the relief, then, is
not whether historical possibilities for explaining its presence and significance
in the context of the Capua Mithraeum can be documented; they
can. The question is, What kind of mind does it take actually to realize
these historical possibilities, and do we have any kind of evidence for that
kind of mind in that kind of context?

The Mind of the Mithraist

Cognitive scientists seek to explain the kinds of mental representations,
both perceptual and conceptual, that the innate capacities of and constraints
upon the cerebral processing of sensory stimuli and sentient input
allow. They attempt, further, to explain the memory, transmission, and
transformations of these mental representations, and the relationships
among them. Employing some of the conclusions of the cognitive sciences,
I argue that the Capuan Amor and Psyche relief represents a conscious
and intentional re-representation of a classical mythic theme in a Mithraic
context. Further, I argue that this re-representation was made possible as
a consequence of quite ordinary, and predicable, cognitive processes such
as that described by developmental cognitivist Annette Karmiloff-Smith
(1992).


Amor and Psyche in the Mithraeum of Capua Vetere
283

According to Karmiloff-Smith, the re-representational process, which
recurs throughout childhood development, is “a specifically human way
to gain knowledge.” By redescribing its own representations, “or, more
precisely, by iteratively re-presenting in different representational formats
what its internal representations represent,” the mind, according
to Karmiloff-Smith, exploits “internally the information that it has already
stored (both innate and acquired)” (Karmiloff-Smith 1992: 15).7 Although
this developmental process of representational redescription is, for
Karmiloff-Smith, primarily endogenous, she notes that “clearly the process
may at times be triggered by external influences” (Karmiloff-Smith 1992:
18). I should like to suggest that this childhood developmental process,
which Karmiloff-Smith attributes to some kinds of new learning among
adults as well (Karmiloff-Smith 1992: 18), is replicated in and exploited by
the Mithraic course of initiation. By this explanation, the Mithraic course
of initiation allowed for the personal (internalized) knowledge acquired
by an initiate through initiation to become externalized and consciously
manipulated. The resultant cognitive flexibility would allow a Mithraic
initiate the intentional ability to produce such seemingly extraordinary
representations as the Amor and Psyche relief.8

I have argued elsewhere that Mithraism belongs to a “mode of religiosity”
that is termed by the cognitive anthropologist Harvey Whitehouse
“imagistic” (2004). Imagistic modalities of religion, as described by White-
house, should not be misunderstood as simply designating a category of
religious traditions that employ images, which, of course, virtually all do.
Rather, in Whitehouse’s description, this modality is characterized by a
diversity of precepts and practices that are based on local knowledge, that
are associated with small-scale, face-to-face groups, and that are transmitted
through infrequently performed rituals, especially through emotionally
salient initiation rites. These traits of social organization and ritual
practice seem to accord well with what is known of Mithraism (Martin
2005).

The rites of initiation by which knowledge in such groups is produced
and transmitted have been described as “rites of terror” (Whitehouse
2000: 21–33). Such initiation rites were characteristic of Mithraism as
well (Martin 2004; 2005) and are dramatically portrayed in the painted
scenes of initiation along the front surfaces of the right (northern) bench
of the Capua Vetere Mithraeum—the direction of descent into this world
in its astrological symbolism. These scenes have been dated in the first half
of the third century CE, following an enlargement of the benches somewhat
earlier (Vermaseren 1971: 50–51).

In the first two of the Capuan initiatory scenes, a Mithraic initiate is


284 Luther H. Martin


depicted as blindfolded and naked (Vermaseren 1971: pl. XXI) and as
menaced, subsequently, by sword and/or by fire (Vermaseren 1971: pl.
XXII; CIMRM 198). Until recently, these scenes were considered the only
extant portrayal of these rites (Vermaseren 1971: 24). In 1976, however,
a large crater was discovered in a Mithraeum in Mainz that confirms that
some form of initiatory threat was a feature of Mithraic initiation generally
(Beck 2000b; Horn 1994). In a scene on this cup, an initiating Father
aims an arrow from his drawn bow directly at the head of the initiate,
who, like the initiate in the Capuan scenes, is portrayed as smaller, naked,
and vulnerable (Beck 2000b: pl. XIII). The emotional salience of such
terrifying rituals would be further heightened by techniques of sensory
deprivation, typical of initiatory experiences generally, such as blindfolding
the initiate and/or situating his initiation in a darkened chamber. The
Mithraic community at Capua apparently practiced such techniques, as
attested by the Capuan initiatory scenes and by the underground site of
the Mithraeum.

These initiatory rites of terror produce personal inspirations or individual
“revelations” in the form of “patterned screen[s] of representations
and feelings against which later insights and revelations . . . [may] be projected”
(Whitehouse 2000: 30).9 Cognitively, these analogical representations
are encoded in the autobiographical memory system and are only
activated and organized by the rememberer when presented with stimuli
associated with his participation in the initiatory rites, such as relevant
persons, images, and/or events.10 In the case of Mithraism, these stimuli
would include, and be reinforced by, an initiate’s further participation in
subsequent stages of initiation either as initiate or as initiator.11

The internal representations occasioned by initiatory rites, as described
by Whitehouse, would not, according to Karmiloff-Smith’s developmental
model, initially be available to conscious access and verbal report
(Karmiloff-Smith 1992: 22; for Whitehouse’s own perspective on the relationship
between Karmiloff-Smith’s model and his own, see Whitehouse
2004: 89–94 and 115–117). According to Karmiloff-Smith’s model, representations
of knowledge in this initial phase are “simply added, domain
specifically, to the existing stock” of stored (or remembered) knowledge
(Karmiloff-Smith 1992: 18). She describes this initial phase as an “internally
driven phase” during which external input ceases to be the focus and
a “system-internal dynamics take over.” Although this “system-internal
dynamics” may culminate in a relevant “behavioral mastery”—of ritual
procedures, for example—its encoding in autobiographical memory will
have minimal effect, if any, on knowledge previously encoded in working
memory (Karmiloff-Smith 1992: 18–19). Given, in other words, two


Amor and Psyche in the Mithraeum of Capua Vetere
285

“procedures for analyzing and responding to stimuli in the external en-
vironment”—ordinary and initiatory knowledge about the world, for
example—the “potential representational links and the information embedded
in [the] procedures remain implicit” (Karmiloff-Smith 1992: 20).

Additionally, the ritual production of internal representations might be
described as an exploitation of innate cognitive systems or templates by
its introduction of selected stimuli. One of the cognitive systems that was
exploited by Mithraism is, I suggest, that relating to place and environment.
As a consequence of our evolutionary history, human beings—like
all species—require, in order to survive, rather detailed information about
their complex, natural surroundings. And, like all species, our mental
capacities are exquisitely attuned to processing just those environmental
stimuli required to establish the parameters of actions necessary for that
survival (Boyer 2001: 120–121). The intelligence of Homo sapiens, consequently,
gravitates naturally to spatial organization—a cognitive ability
especially developed in males (Sherry 2000).

The Mithraic temples themselves, designed, according to Porphyry, as
a “likeness of the cosmos” (Porph. Antr. 6), exploited a syntax of place
and environment (as described by Gordon 1996b), as did the Mithraic
tauroctony, a collage of artistic cliches organized as a “star-map or ‘celestial
template’” (Beck 1998: 125). This Mithraic representation of cosmic
space effectively exploited the innate cognitive sensitivity of its male membership
to spatial location by reflecting and situating the initiate in an
astrological/astronomical organization of the cosmos that was typical of
the Hellenistic cultural environment (Martin 1987). In this first representational
format, however, intuitive experiences of location could not, according
to Karmiloff-Smith’s model, be either generalized or articulated.

In a second format of re-representation, according to Karmiloff-Smith,
initial representations become “reduced” in a way that causes them to lose
many of their details; they become simpler and less specialized but more
cognitively flexible. The rich, evocative complexity of the Mithraeum
as cosmos, for example, could become realized as a safe and controlled
space. The cognitive flexibility that is characteristic of conceptual representations
at this stage can, according to Karmiloff-Smith, be employed
for other goals where explicit knowledge is required (Karmiloff-Smith
1992: 21.) Thus, internal representations of spatial organization and order
produced by Mithraic initiation could be transferred, for example, to an
affirmation of loyalty to the wider ideals of a pax Romana (Merkelbach
1984: 153–188), though yet without any explicitly conscious reflection.

Finally, in a further stage of redescription, “knowledge is recoded into
a cross-system code . . . [that is] close enough to natural language for


286 Luther H. Martin


easy translation into stable, communicable form” (Karmiloff-Smith 1992:
23). Once the ordinary cognitive process of redescription has taken place
and “explicit representations become manipulable,” Karmiloff-Smith
concludes, violations might be introduced into data-driven, veridical descriptions
of the world (Karmiloff-Smith 1992: 22). Such violations would
include those counterfactual and counterintuitive representations and formulations
that are characteristic of every religion (Boyer 2001)—and, I
might add, of their inventive or, if I may, their “syncretistic” representations—
such as that exemplified by the Capuan Amor and Psyche relief.

The cognitive possibilities for representing the Capuan Amor and
Psyche theme in a Mithraic context could, I suggest, only have been a
conscious and intentional consequence of a cognitively mature, flexible,
and innovative mind, such as would have been inculcated by the Mithraic
course of initiation. The mind of the anonymous Mithraist responsible for
this relief would seem to be, therefore, that of one of the highest of the
grades of Mithraic initiation, perhaps that of the (in this case anonymous)
Pater himself. Although the possibility for representing Amor and Psyche
with Mithras was, as we have seen, both a historical and a cognitive
possibility elsewhere than at Capua, the full significance of the Capuan
relief would, in the absence of any centralized organizational structure for
Mithraism, belong to (and largely remain) the local knowledge of those
who had shared in the initiatory regimen practiced by the Capuan Mithraic
community.12

Conclusion

Mithraism was a new Roman religion in an expanding world of Roman
cultural influence. The Mithraic community at Capua represented one of
the earliest and southernmost incursions of “Romanness” into Magna
Graecia. At the same time that Mithraism represented the growing and expanding
dominance of Roman culture, its ritual regimen offered its potential
recruits, the generally uneducated lower ranks of the military and the
petty civil servants who dominated its membership, an incremental possibility
for expanded cognitive flexibility and creativity that was elsewhere
available only through alternative, class-differentiated techniques such
as formal education.13 The competitive advantage of such a supple and
innovative mind is clear, especially among members of the military, who
must deal quickly and decisively with the rapidly changing conditions of
battlefield strategy, and even among the local Roman bureaucrats, who


Amor and Psyche in the Mithraeum of Capua Vetere
287

had to administer an often discontented population. The difference is one
of doing things creatively and with greater self-reliance rather than merely
acting in conventional and expected ways.14

By this interpretation, Mithraic initiation did not transmit any coherent
corpus of Mithraic or “mystery” knowledge (apart, of course, from the
local knowledge developed by each Mithraic cell). Rather, the Mithraic
course of initiation, whatever its local variants, accomplished an increase
in and potentially a perfection of a particular cognitive skill, of the innate
capacity of human cognition to achieve “representational flexibility
and control” (Karmiloff-Smith 1992: 16). It is perhaps the cognitive and
material products of this expanded cognitive flexibility, control, and creativity
that have been dismissed by some observers as examples of syncretistic
nonsense but perceived by others as the “wisdom” of the mysteries.

Author’s NotE: An earlier version of this paper was presented to the Symposium
Cumanum, sponsored by The Vergilian Society, 9–12 June 2004, at the Villa
Vergiliana in Cuma, Italy, on the theme “Interactions of Indigenous and Foreign
Cults in Magna Graecia.” I should like to thank Professors Giovanni Casadio and
Patricia Johnston, the organizers of this symposium, for inviting my participation,
the participants in the symposium for their responses to my presentation,
and Roger Beck, Harvey Whitehouse, and Donald Wiebe for their comments on
its first draft.

Notes

1. Nymphus is a masculinized form of the feminine Greek noun nymphe. Like
the masculinized figure of Psyche represented on the Capuan relief, this masculine
form of the noun also appears only in a Mithraic context (Merkelbach 1984: 88;
see 77 n. 2). Nymphe can mean either “bride” or the “pupa of bees or wasps.”
Merkelbach concludes, apparently by association, that this masculine neologism
means “human pupa” and refers to the second stage of Mithraic initiation. We
might also cite the monograph on Cupid and Psyche by Carl Schlam (1976), in
which he noted that the imagery of the pupa “suggests a concept of the immortality
of the soul, rising from the body like the chrysalis from the pupa.” Further,
and referencing the neglected article on this topic by Otto Immisch (1915), Schlam
concludes that “Greek terms for earlier stages of the cycle of the butterfly support
this interpretation” (Schlam 1976: 8). We can also note that Porphyry uses
nymphai, which he equates with “pleasure-seeking bees,” to refer to souls seeking
birth: Porph. Antr. 18.
2. Gordon correctly identifies the location of the Psyche and Amor relief as
“fixed into the front wall of the [southern] left hand ‘bench’” (Gordon 1996b:
57), which is associated, in his interpretation, with the re-ascent of souls. In what
can only be understood as a typographical error, however, he then writes that the

288 Luther H. Martin


relief is “directly above the niche which is, on the present hypothesis, the appropriate
one for souls entering genesis” (ibid.), that is, of descent into the world of
becoming, which in his interpretation is associated with the northern right hand
bench (ibid.: 56).

3. A commentary on Plato’s Parmenides is attributed to Porphyry.
4. On the possible initiation of women into some Mithraic associations, see
David 2000. At the Cuma symposium at which this paper was presented, Giovanni
Casadio called my attention to and kindly supplied me with a copy of a
photograph showing a scene from a Mithraeum in Budapest in which Mithras is
portrayed grasping the hand of (leading?) a nude figure (initiate?) that is unmistakably
female (Poczy et al. 1989: 25).
5. A marble group of Eros and Psyche has been found in the Isaeum at
Savaria—modern Szombathely—in western Hungary (Vermaseren 1971: 23 and
n. 4).
6. It can be mentioned that the so-called Mithras Liturgy from the Greek
Magical Papyri opens with an invocation of Psyche (PMag. 1.475), though Psyche
is here paired with Pronoia. Some scholars have read Tyche for Psyche (Betz 2003:
88–89).
7. Cognitive innateness, like biological structure, does not (necessarily) imply
a direct causal connection between genetic inheritance and adult behavior. One
cognitivist, Michael Tomasello, has cautioned that “the search for the innate aspects
of human cognition is scientifically fruitful to the extent, and only to the
extent, that it helps us to understand the developmental processes at work during
human ontogeny” (Tomasello 1999: 51). He addresses Karmiloff-Smith’s (1992)
hypothesis as a possible description of one such developmental process (Tomasello
1999: 194–197). The philosopher Andy Clark has emphasized the crucial importance
for developmental processes of structured environmental resources upon innate
cognitive capacities (Clark 1997).
8. I do not argue that Mithraic initiation replicates in any precise way the
specific developmental formats of representational redescription modeled by
Karmiloff-Smith, nor am I qualified to argue for the validity for her specific model.
My suggestion is simply that the incremental process of Mithraic initiation replicates
a developmental process of cognitive maturation like that described by
Karmiloff-Smith.
9. The production of internal representations by initiatory rites and any
“spontaneous exegetical reflections” (Whitehouse 2003: 305) upon them stand in
stark contrast to the knowledge maintained and transmitted within a second mode
of religiosity described by Whitehouse and termed by him “doctrinal.” In this modality,
large-scale, anonymous communities cohere around bodies of teachings
and beliefs held to be “orthodox” by a centralized authority and are maintained
and transmitted by that authority through repetitive and routinized ritual instruction
(Whitehouse 2004).
10. Because rites of initiation are considered to be performed by the deity itself,
in this case by Mithras, or by his authorized surrogate, probably, in the case, by the
presiding Pater, the cognitivists of religion E. Thomas Lawson and Robert N. McCauley
have characterized such rites as “special agent rituals.” Because such rituals
are considered to be performed by the deity himself (or by his surrogate), they are
considered to be especially efficacious and, consequently, need be performed but

Amor and Psyche in the Mithraeum of Capua Vetere
289

once or, at most, infrequently. Such singularly potent events of divine activity are
accompanied by heightened sensory pageantry that contributes, consequently, to
their memorability (McCauley and Lawson 2002: 26–33).

11. Whether initiation rites involve an extended series of trials over a period
of months (or years), as is the case among a number of tribal societies, e.g., the
Nkanu of Angola and the Democratic Republic of the Congo (Eickel 2001; van
Damme 2002), or whether they are structured by a discrete number of stages, as
in Mithraism and a number of other tribal societies, e.g., the Baktaman of Papua
New Guinea, who, like (at least some of) the Mithraists, count seven grades of initiation
(Barth 1987: 12), they should not be viewed as an event or a series of events
but as a process that occurs over time. As a cognitive process, what is required is
a sufficient period of time over which the cognitive process of representational
redescription, as described by Karmiloff-Smith (1992), might be reinforced and
developed. This cognitive process is further reinforced by the repeated participation
of initiates as initiators.
12. Emphasis on the local character of Mithraic knowledge and practice did
not preclude the “emergence” of certain more widely, even universally, shared
Mithraic traits and practices from among the network of autonomous Mithraic
cells, even in the absence of any centralized structure or organization. On noncentralized
processes of biological and cognitive emergence, “in which some kind of
higher-level pattern emerges from the interactions of multiple simple components
without the benefit of a leader, controller, or orchestrator” (Clark 1997: 73), see
Clark 1997: 72–75, 103–128, 163–166; and Johnson 2001.
13. Whereas such rites as the course of Mithraic initiation encouraged and supported
the development and expansion of cognitive capacity, formal education
included, in addition, an intellectual mastery of some prescribed content (Clark
1997: 205).
14. Today, we might refer to such honed but nonschooled knowledge as “street
smarts.”

CHAPTER 16


The Mithraic Body: The Example
of the Capua Mithraeum

riChard Gordon

Within the now considerable corpus of scholarship devoted to the antique
body, the Roman cult of Mithras has been prominent mainly by its absence.
1 Neglect is not difficult to explain. The obsession with deciphering
the “true” meaning of the cult relief, the identification of the cult as
an “astral religion,” the fixation upon origins, the silence of the literary
sources, our ignorance of Mithraic ritual practice, and more important
still, the difficulty of adapting a theoretical discourse elaborated elsewhere
for a cult attested almost solely through archaeology and the uncertain
value of the results to be expected—all these factors have contributed to
this neglect. Moreover, the cult’s initiatory character has encouraged the
assumption that the function of initiation was primarily discursive, to impart
a specifiable quantum of Mithraic lore expressible in discrete constatives.
Against this background, the potential value of taking the body
as our point of entry is that it allows us to raise the issue of whether initiation
in this cult gave rise to a type of knowledge or understanding that
can be termed specifically Mithraic. In this chapter I wish to suggest that
it did, in that important aspects of Mithraic identity could only be transmitted
effectively “through action, enactment, performance,” not through
language.2

As with all treatments of the ancient body, we are dealing in the case
of the cult of Mithras only with mediated or represented, and thus constructed
and notional, male bodies. Even with this proviso, however, the
material, textual and iconographic, available for exploitation is wretchedly
small. Reliable textual evidence, so important, for example, in relation
to the cult of the martyrs (Grig 2004), fails entirely.3 By comparison
with the iconographic material from other “universal” cults in the Roman
Empire, those of the Mater Magna and Isis in particular, there are almost
no images of Mithraists: the complete—and most curious—absence of


The Mithraic Body
291

Mithraic funerary iconography is one reason for this; another is the absence
of relevant narrative or “documentary” panel paintings from Pompeii
or Herculaneum. To an overwhelming degree, the surviving Mithraic
body is, as it were, the body of Mithras himself; Mithraic art directs the
implied gaze almost exclusively toward the god and, as an afterthought,
his assistants, the twins Cautes and Cautopates (Elsner 1995: 210–221).
That said, four classes of images of Mithraists survive, all from within the
context of temple decoration: 1) images of servants at the sacred banquet
of Mithras and Helios, who thus mediate directly between mythic model
and cult-praxis; 2) one or two groups of banqueters within the context
of the cult image, who likewise mediate between myth and praxis; 3) the
images of grade members, some as types, some “portraits” with personal
names, at S. Prisca, probably also on the columns supporting the roof of
the Barberini mithraeum (CIMRM 394), both in Rome; and 4) images of
initiation. I propose to discuss here only this last category, which consists,
with a handful of exceptions, of seven individual images from the mithraeum
of S. Maria Capua Vetere in Campania. This choice was of course
suggested by the fact that Capua lies only a short distance from the Villa
Vergiliana in Cuma; and indeed, the members of this conference were able
to visit the mithraeum courtesy of the Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici
delle Province di Napoli e Caserta.

Since these images of men undergoing different, but apparently unpleasant
and frightening, initiation rituals are unaccompanied by any
kind of text, their role in the mithraeum, and more generally in the cult,
remains uncertain. It can be understood, if at all, I suggest, only by the
rather lengthy detour taken in this chapter. I present first an archaeological
account of the paintings and their subjects, based upon the original report
by Minto and the more recent treatment by Vermaseren. The following
sections offer two different approaches to their contextualization, the first
with reference to the Foucauldian theatre de terreur, the second to Christian
patientia.

The Podium Frescoes in the Capua Mithraeum

The Capua Mithraeum: General


Two features of the podium frescoes at Capua—their poor state of preservation
and their failure to perform the service required of them by the
commentators, namely to “illustrate” rituals known from, or at any rate
alluded to by, literary sources—no doubt explain why, despite their obvious
importance, they have been relatively neglected in the specialist litera



292 Richard Gordon


Figure 16.1. Capua
general.
ture. Of recent standard publications, Reinhold Merkelbach devotes just a
few lines to them, without any attempt at closer analysis (1984: 136–137).4
Robert Turcan (2000: 84) and Manfred Clauss (2000: 103) are likewise
rather off-hand. Only Walter Burkert (1987: 102–104) has properly emphasized
their exceptional nature in the evidence for ancient mysteries.5
Minto himself deplored their state of preservation when they were found.6
The only color plates available, from photos taken in 1967 by Antonio
Solazzi, when the mithraeum was in a poor state of repair (the Soprintendenza
has devoted laudable efforts recently to dehumidify it), were published
by M. J. Vermaseren in his brief monograph devoted to the temple
(1971), and subsequently re-used by A. Schutze (1972).7 Since color plates
were not available for the present volume, although they are really the
only, albeit inadequate, means of illustrating the remnants of the podium
frescoes, I have adopted the pis-aller of confronting the earliest published
images, those of Minto, with rough tracings based on Vermaseren’s plates.
Where these do not agree, Minto’s images, although far from satisfactory,
should be given greater weight because of the massive deterioration during
the intervening half-century.

The mithraeum of S. Maria Capua Vetere, one of the best-preserved
ever found (Fig. 16.1), was discovered in late September 1922 during work
for the foundation of a house in the vico Caserma, about 450 m south of
the Roman amphitheater, and excavated early in 1924 by A. Minto (Minto
1924). Like the mithraea at Caesarea Maritima in Judaea and at Marino
in the Alban Hills, the temple was constructed in one of several series
of intercommunicating vaulted cryptoportici, evidently used for storage of
wine or the like, which seem to have occupied several areas in the center
of the city. The mithraeum, oriented due west-to-east (cult fresco to the


The Mithraic Body
293

west, rear wall with fresco of Luna to the east), was fitted up in the hindmost
room of its series, which had been built c. 100–140 CE not far from
the Capitol. It was approached by a passage 3.30 m wide (Fig. 16.2a, area
denoted o), which was, however, partly blocked in Phase III by the extension
of the southern podium. The internal dimensions of the cryptoporticus
are 12.18 m .3.49 m, the height of the vault 3.22 m.8 Set high up in the
southern vault were three trapeziform scuttles to provide daylight when
and as necessary (Fig. 16.2a).

The mithraeum seems to have been established on a modest scale in the
latter part of the reign of Antoninus Pius, or perhaps under M. Aurelius
and L. Verus. Because it had been carefully cleared and then partly filled
with rubble before being abandoned, no furnishings, pottery, or coins
were found in situ. Dating the phases of use is therefore attended by more
than the usual uncertainties. Largely on the basis of stylistic differences
between the paintings, Vermaseren (who did not conduct any new excavations)
distinguished three phases, two with subdivisions. In Phases I and
IIa–b, there were no podia of the kind usually found in mithraea. Instead,


Figure 16.2a. Capua plan 1. Longitudinal
(A-A) section of the mithraeum. The
representation of the entrance corridor
is at first sight misleading; the view is
however taken from line a in section
B-B, looking south (i.e., toward g).
Figure 16.2b. Transverse (B-B) section.
The fascia walls of the Phase IIIa-b podia
are marked m and l.



294 Richard Gordon


there were low seats (Fig. 16.2b, at h), 1.25 m long, 0.39 m wide, and

0.45 m high, which on the left (south side) abutted a water cistern, 0.55 m
deep, and on the right (north side), a basin connecting with a deep sump
or drain (Fig. 16.2b, at d).9 The implication, I think, is that in these two
phases, meals were eaten from portable lectus in the eastern part of the
temple, toward the entrance. This hypothesis is supported by the facts that
1) the wall-paintings of Phase IIb, which continue below the level of the
later podia, decorate not the cult-fresco area but the eastern section; and
2) whereas the eastern part of the floor simply consisted of tamped earth,
the floor of the western section of the central aisle, up to the end of the
cisterns, was made of cement into which broken slabs of different types of
marble had been pressed. This more elaborate treatment implies that this
area, nearer to the cult fresco, had a special cultic status. The wall panels
on either side at this level were empty, except for a cut-down (i.e., re-used)
Eros-Psyche relief (CIMRM 186) set into the south wall below the central
scuttle (Fig. 16.2a, near g).10
I have already mentioned that the painted decoration of the mithraeum
belongs to different periods. Vermaseren ascribed one poorly preserved
fresco (so faint that Minto did not see it), Panel III on the north wall (Fig.
16.2a, somewhat east of m) to Phase I; the main frescoes on the western
wall (Mithras and the bull, CIMRM 181 and Fig. 16.1 here) and the
east wall (Luna, CIMRM 182) to Phase IIa; the remaining panels, Cautes
(north wall, CIMRM 182), Cautopates (south wall, CIMRM 183) and
the feast scene (southeast corner), to Phase IIb. The podia were extended
to 8.35 . 0.90 m at the beginning of IIIa, and the fascia frescoes were
painted somewhat later, during Phase IIIb. Absolute dates are difficult to
estimate, since the cult fresco itself has been assigned assorted dates between
160 and 200 CE. An expert commentator has indeed recently observed
that “for the third century in particular the chronological fabric
[of Roman painting] remains completely uncertain” (Ling 1991: 187). A
decade after Vermaseren’s monograph, however, the classical archaeologist
P. Meyboom, after a careful comparison between the Capua, Marino,
and Barberini Mithraic frescoes, concluded that Phase IIa at Capua is to
be dated 180–190 CE (Meyboom 1982). On that basis, we can construct
the following scheme:

I IIa IIb IIIa IIIb
160–180 180–200 200–210 210–225 225–240


The extension and widening of the podia can thus be dated to the first
quarter of IIIp. The fascias were constructed of “materiale vario” and


The Mithraic Body
295

buttressed by low transverse walls (see Fig. 16.1); the actual podia were
formed by filling the spaces so created, including the cistern, the basin,
and apparently the sump, with dry rubble. This infill, which fell away as
usual toward the long side-walls to accommodate more diners, was then
covered in plaster. During the second quarter of the third century, the
fascias were inexpertly covered in poor quality, porous plaster and painted
with the frescoes that are my concern here (Fig. 16.3).

Since they are the only new decoration of the temple at this period, it
seems likely that the frescoes were the result of a votive undertaking, comparable
to the marble revetting of the podia at the Mitreo Aldobrandini
in Ostia paid for by Sex. Pompeius Maximus (AE 1924: 119 = CIMRM
233). Their date seems to group them with a number of other relatively
late Mithraic images depicting mythic or ritual moments that have no
earlier counterpart in the cult’s iconographic repertoire. Examples might
be the highly original feast scenes on the reverse of the Fiano Romano
relief (CIMRM 641) and on the terra sigillata dish from the Skt. Matthaus
Roman cemetery in Trier (CIMRM 988); the interest in the details
of the First Sacrifice shown by the altar of Flavius Aper in Poetovio III
(CIMRM 1584); and the recently published Syrian relief now in the Israel
Museum (De Jong 2000). This tendency toward “iconic discursivity” in
the third century can be paralleled in other “universal” cults of the Roman
Empire.

The Podium Frescoes


The podium frescoes consisted originally of thirteen panels, six on the
right (north) fascia, and seven on the left (south; Fig. 16.3). Just seven can
still be deciphered to some extent, four on the right fascia and three on the
left; but even in these cases, both the reading order and the precise events
depicted are unclear. It is, of course, a truism that the apparently simple
act of describing neutrally “what one sees” turns out to be conditioned,
often to a crippling degree, by a priori assumptions. Minto, who had discussed
the frescoes with Cumont in some detail (Cumont 1924), thought
that the reading order proceeded up the right-hand podium starting nearest
to the eastern wall (here RI >RVI) and continued back down the left
(southern) podium (LVII >LI).11 What sense such an order might have
made, Minto does not say; but he evidently believed that the sequence
represented the initiations for all seven initiatory grades, acting as a sort
of anticipatory program: “I fedeli, contemplando queste scene liturgiche,
dovevano provare la suggestione di tutta la loro vita religiosa, attraverso
i diversi gradi di iniziazione” (Minto 1924: 373). He had evidently not


Figure 16.3. Schematic representation of the arrangement of the scenes on the
podium frescoes. The right side represents those on the North podium, the left
those on the south.



The Mithraic Body
297

worked this hypothesis out very carefully, since it is quite unclear how
thirteen panels could have represented initiations into seven grades.

Vermaseren, on the other hand, concluded that the reading order on
both podia was from east to west (i.e., RI >RVI, then LI >LVII). In his
view, the panel scenes depict a more or less complete sequence of initiation
rituals, all undergone by a neophyte, or would-be Corax, in which
members of different grades, such as Miles and Nymphus, act as initiators
(Vermaseren 1971: 49). Although he claims to believe that these representations
have little or no relation to any initiation rituals reported by
literary sources, in practice he constantly attempts to interpret the panels
in the light of these texts. Since my concern here is less with their supposed
documentary value than with their treatment of the body and its implications
for the “truth” conveyed by the cult of Mithras to its adherents, I can
lay these questions of reference and reading order to one side. For what it
is worth, however, my opinion is that initiatory tests were not standardized
between temples, and that each Mithraic community devised its own
forms of initiation with reference to certain “sacralized moments” in the
myth of Mithras, in particular the “Initiation of Helios/Sol” scene that
occurs on complex reliefs, where Mithras seems often to be threatening
or intimidating the sun god.12 There was thus a mere family resemblance
between the initiation rituals of one mithraeum and those of the next, and
there is therefore no reason to attempt to force the texts onto the iconography.
In the immediate case of Capua, I cannot agree with Vermaseren
that the scenes all relate to the initiation of a single grade. No coherent
sequence of events can be made out, and at least panels RII and LIII seem
to be very similar kinds of tests, in that both involve fire. There is therefore
no practical alternative but to approach them from the spectator’s point of
view, as a group, and to try to make out an overall or general claim about
the implied role of the body. The meaning of the panels to the donor and
to the Capuan Mithraists of c. 230 CE cannot now be recovered.

I first offer a brief description of each of the seven surviving panels, arbitrarily
following Vermaseren’s order and placing Minto’s images alongside
what are frankly interpretative tracings of the figures still visible in
Solazzi’s plates published by Vermaseren. In general, since the panels were
in much better condition in 1924, Minto’s accounts, though very brief,
are preferable to Vermaseren’s. All the panels, which range in width from

0.63 m (LV) to 1.63 m (LIII) but are mostly around 1 m wide, are enclosed
within a red-stripe border (there are no inner frames); the scenes occupy
roughly the center of each panel. They thus fall clearly into the tradition
of tabulae pictae in the post-Severan linear style, familiar from several examples
in Rome, and Christian catacombs in particular, where the cen

298 Richard Gordon


tral motif is isolated within its frame—the only hint of an environment is
offered by the indication of ground—and body contours, rather than the
volumes or spatial relationships, are emphasized (Ling 1991: 188–191). To
avoid having to be too precise about the identity of the initiating persons,
I term the main initiator, sometimes called Pater by Vermaseren, the “teletarch,”
his assistant the “mystagogue.” This does not imply that I think
that all the figures represent the same status or individual.

riGht-hand Podium

RI (Fig. 16.4a–b).13
This panel depicts just two persons.14 A small naked figure, blindfolded,
with his hands stretched out apprehensively, walks to the left. Behind him,
to his left, is a much larger figure, dressed like the mystagogues in the remaining
panels, in a short white tunic reminiscent, except perhaps for its
color, of those worn by ordinary workers or slaves in Alltagsszenen.15 He
appears to be guiding the initiand forward by placing his left arm on his
shoulder. This is the only scene that appears to have a clearly introductory,
and therefore quasi-narrative, role.

RII (Fig. 16.5a–b).16
The initiand, again naked and blindfolded, is half-kneeling on his right
knee, with his hands bound behind his back. The editors rightly see an
allusion—probably condensed—to the posture of captured prisoners.17
Behind him, a bearded mystagogue, dressed in the same fashion as in RI,18
and with his left hand at his waist, seems with his right hand to be pushing
the initiand’s head forward, or at any rate preventing it from jerking back.
The mystagogue’s left leg is demonstratively far back, as though to resist
pressure: this stance is emphasized by the lengthy ground/shadow line.
Facing the initiand stands a likewise bearded, thus fully adult, man apparently
wearing a helmet, and dressed in a dark tunic and a cloak, which
billows out behind him. In his left hand, he is holding a lighted torch in
the initiand’s face; the billowing cloak is evidently intended to suggest the
threatening nature of the movement, just as the mystagogue’s stance is
intended to suggest the initiand’s instinctive recoil.19

RIV (Fig. 16.6a–b).20
The initiand stands naked in the center, his hands apparently bound behind
his back, held resolutely by the mystagogue, whose body is hunched forward.
The teletarch, on the left, dressed in tunic, trousers, and cloak, faces
the initiand, evidently again to induce fear and pain. Although the entire


The Mithraic Body
299

a b
Figure 16.4a. In Figures 16.4–16.10, each figure is doubled into a and b: a is the image
provided by Minto in the 1920s, and b is Gordon’s drawing from Vermaseren.
This image: Minto 2.
Figure 16.4b. R1.


a
Figure 16.5a. Minto 3.
Figure 16.5b. R2 revised.


b
central area, including the teletarch’s head, has been damaged (perhaps
even in antiquity), he is most probably again being threatened—here the
initiand’s eyes are not bandaged, so that he could see what was happening.
Vermaseren’s account of this scene (he apparently thought the initiand was
holding a sword, and was being embraced by the mystagogue) is bizarre.

RV (Fig. 16.7a–b).21
In the center, the initiand half-kneels on his right knee. Although Vermaseren
claims the initiand’s arms are resting on his thighs, Minto cor



300 Richard Gordon


b

a
Figure 16.6a. Minto 5.
Figure 16.6b. R4.


a
Figure 16.7a. Minto 4.
Figure 16.7b. R5.


b

rectly saw that they are bound behind him.22 He also believed that the
mystagogue, again standing behind the initiand, is extending a crown over
the initiate’s head. In his view, this was a reference to a victory, apparently
over fear.23 Minto, on the other hand, writing half a century earlier, saw
no crown, and reckoned that this scene should be linked to LIV and III,
in each of which the initiand is kneeling between teletarch and mystagogue.
I incline to think he was right, and that the object being held over
the initiand’s head here is the same as, or related to, the round object on
the ground in LIV, with the crux of the scene to be found in the now-lost


The Mithraic Body
301

action of the teletarch. Vermaseren’s view was heavily influenced both by
Tertullian—although he finally rejected his relevance here—and by his
notion that there was a status progression toward the cult niche, so that at
some point there had to be some sort of reward for the initiand.

Whereas in scenes RII, IV, and V, the teletarch stands on the left of
the scene, in the corresponding panels on the southern podium he seems
always to be on the right; that is, it appears to be an implicit rule of the
sequence, for whatever reason, that the initiand should face the central
aisle or passage.

LII (Fig. 16.8a–b).24
The upper part of the panel is destroyed. In the center, a naked initiand, his
body expressionistically elongated, lies prostrate on the ground, or possibly
on some kind of raised construction, since the feet of the principals extend
much further down the panel; that would account for the “objects” below
him, especially at the foot and hand.25 Several indecipherable objects are
arranged above him. Among them, on the small of his back, Vermaseren
was surely right to see a scorpion (identified by Minto as a snake), its tail
raised in a threatening manner as though about to sting. What the mystagogue,
on the left, is doing cannot be made out (Vermaseren thought he
was dropping something onto the initiand’s feet). The teletarch, of whom
now almost nothing remains, though Minto could see much more, seems

a
b


Figure 16.8a. Minto 8.
Figure 16.8b. L2.



302 Richard Gordon


b

a
Figure 16.9a. Minto 6.
Figure 16.9b. L3.


once again to be threatening the initiand. Whether the latter’s head was
raised, as Vermaseren thought, or the blob belongs to the object held by
the teletarch, can no longer be determined: Minto, at any rate, does not
mention it.

LIII (Fig. 16.9a–b).26
Almost nothing of this panel can now be deciphered. The initiand is kneeling
in the center, on both knees; the mystagogue, one leg stretched far
back, and grasping his shoulders, seems to be pushing him forward with
considerable violence. To the right, the teletarch, wearing a helmet (Vermaseren)
or Phrygian cap (Minto) and a fluttering cloak, implying rapid
movement, holds a lighted torch below the initiand’s arms or hands. Vermaseren
is mysteriously reminded of the claim by Porphyry (Antr. 15) that
initiands into the grade Leo had their hands purified with honey instead
of water, because it is a fiery liquid.

LIV (Fig. 16.10a–b).27
In a scene very similar to LIII, but especially in 1924 better preserved,
the initiand, again on both knees, has his arms crossed over his breast
(Vermaseren) or being held behind his head(?). The mystagogue, in white
tunic and with his legs straddled, again grips the initiand from behind. The
teletarch, head lost but otherwise in the same garb as in LIII, holds a staff,
sword, whip, or similar object in his right hand. To the left of the initiand
is a round object, identified by Vermaseren and Merkelbach as a loaf;
Vermaseren even believed that the teletarch was placing it there with his
right hand, and so turned the scene into an allusion to the divine/human
banquet. In fact, there are two objects, one roughly circular, divided by
seven centripetal lines into eight sections, beneath which is a blob of red
paint. The first object bears no resemblance to loaves depicted elsewhere


The Mithraic Body
303

in the Mithraic corpus, or in still-lives, so there is no reason, compelling
or otherwise, to accept Vermaseren’s account. As mentioned earlier, I incline
to think it is related to the object being held over the initiand’s head
in RV, perhaps in an allusion to Mithras Kosmophoros, Mithras-Atlas in
his role as world-carrier.

Considered as documents in the ordinary sense, then, fragmentary and
bereft of all ancient commentary as they are, the panels from the podia
at Capua are deeply frustrating. We may, however, suggest that the basic
error of previous commentators has lain precisely in the attempt to force
them to “say the same” as the equally fragmented and problematic literary
texts, mainly Christian and thus deeply suspect, which claim to speak for
the cult of Mithras. For it must be obvious that the panels do not “depict”
rituals in any direct or uncomplicated sense. They represent idealized,
constructed allusions to rituals, allusions that could be claimed to have
some special significance either for the donor or for the larger community
of the mithraeum around 230 CE. As such, their greatest value may lie not
in their supposed (but ever hypothetical or “deferred”) documentary character,
but in their revelation of a structure of oppositions, which we may
plausibly claim to be the basic structural elements of the rituals actually
performed, whatever they were.

Oppositions at any rate there certainly are. We can point first to the
contrast between the sizes of the participants: although the initiand is
consistently presented at the center of the spectator’s attention (to which
we shall return), he is always the smallest figure present, smaller than the
mystagogue, and much smaller than the teletarch.28 His size thus correlates
with his prescriptive insignificance, and confirms, if further proof
were needed, the nondocumentary quality of the scenes.29 Second, the
nakedness of the initiand is stressed by the tone of brick red or brown

ab

Figure 16.10a. Minto 7.
Figure 16.10b. L4.



304 Richard Gordon


used, contrasting with the white of the mystagogues and the imposing
appearance of the teletarch, enhanced by his billowing cloak and his military
helmet (if that is what his headgear is). Nakedness outside sporting
or athletic contexts implies absence or negation of social status, most
markedly when it is deliberately contrasted, as here, with the wearing
of clothes.30 Then again, where the detail can be seen, the officiants are
bearded, the initiand beardless, thus signalling the prescriptive contrast
between maturity/membership and youth/initiation. Even more important
in the present context are the contrasts between the body postures:
between prostration, two types of kneeling, being pushed, constrained,
and tied; and vigorous, dominating actions. These contrasts of posture/
autonomy are reinforced by the fact that the initiand is, at least in some
panels, blindfolded, alluding to the key contrast between knowledge and
ignorance. All of these oppositions can be summarized in the grand contrast
between agency and submission, between the free, purposive action
of an agent and the enforced reaction of a subject. The Mithraic schema
corporel is dual and hierarchical, such that the scheme of autonomous
action can only be acquired through the scheme of subjection (cf. Bourdieu
1979: 210–211).

The Body, Suffering, and Identity

Given that they are so clearly focused on the suffering body of the initiand,
it seems plausible to look in the first place to Michel Foucault to help
us contextualize the Capuan images. The Foucauldian body is a socially
appropriate body, the product of historically specific discourses and practices,
an “anatomical body overlaid by culture.”31 Initially, in his work on
social discipline (1975), Foucault’s perspective emphasized solely the relation
between the materiality of the body and its discursive regulation
in theory and practice. On his account, concentrated on the nineteenth
century but with ample reference back to earlier monastic, military, and
penal practice, the body is molded, trained, and pressed by a variety of
techniques into becoming a socially useful instrument (1975: 30–31). “The
phenomenon of the social body is the effect not of a consensus but of the
materiality of power operating on the very bodies of individuals.”32 By
way of the notion of “bio-power,” the subject was not only redescribed
in materialist terms but also shown to be historically contingent. With
the publication of the three volumes of L’histoire de la sexualite (1976–
84), however, Foucault’s social body became primarily a gendered body,
a sexually differentiated body.33 Leaving this to one side for the moment,


The Mithraic Body
305

I want first to explore aspects of the Mithraic body with reference to Foucault’s
earlier distinction between a type of social order based upon “le
modele representatif, scenique, signifiant, public, collectif” and one based
on “le modele coercitif, corporel, solitaire, secret, du pouvoir de punir”
(Foucault 1975: 134).

Foucault’s aim in Surveiller et punir was to write a genealogy of the
modern “scientific-judicial complex,” which turns individuals into objects
of a particular form of discursive knowledge. For heuristic purposes, he
contrasted this complex with an early-modern world in which high rates
of mortality and the absence of an industrial regime produced a “worthless”
body, which was at the same time of the greatest symbolic interest.
The socio-political value of this pre-industrial body lay in its ability
concretely to manifest the dis-symmetry between the power of the state
and that of the individual (1975: 59). So far from concealing its repressive
work, Power gloried in its right to inscribe itself in the most gruesome
fashion upon the body. Conversely, an audience was indispensable. For—
in a sense—it is the spectator, not the culprit, who is the primary actor in
exemplary punishment. Without spectators, the spectacle lacks all moral
sense. In the specific cases of corporal and capital punishment, there are
three criteria of successful ritualization: the quantum of suffering must be
appropriate to the crime; the suffering must be signalled to the audience
in such a fashion that it be never forgotten; and the “excess” of violence
must be intelligible as the writing of power (1975: 37–39). The effect of
such punishment was to expose the crime, itself unspoken or hidden, by
means of rituals of humiliation and suffering. Among the rituals are the
nicely regulated procedures of torture, which, like Kafka’s “eigentumlicher
Apparat” in In der Strafkolonie (1914), simultaneously punished as
they revealed the truth (1975: 46). The “corps montre, promene, expose,
supplicie” is not intended to re-establish a moral equilibrium but destined
symbolically to affirm the superiority of constituted authority. “Le supplice
ne retablissait pas la justice; il reactivait le pouvoir” (1975: 53).

Distantly in the wake of Foucault (and Norbert Elias), ancient historians
have explored the symbolic functions of violent spectacle in antiquity,
both in the “theatre de terreur”34 and in the history of gladiatorial combat.
35 Among these, Kathleen Coleman especially has shown how strikingly
the Roman principate confirms Foucault’s account of the symbolic
value of the body in pre-industrial state repression.36 Indeed, the explicitness,
inventiveness, memorability, and expense of Roman ceremonies
of degradation, the apparently unlimited ability of the judicial system to
produce “worthless bodies” (in Latin: vilis sanguis), the centrality of the
spectators’ consent and desire (Occide! Verbera! Ure!: “Kill him, thrash


306 Richard Gordon


him, burn him!” Seneca Ep. mor. 7.5), and the enthusiastic occlusion of
justice for the sake of reinvigorating Power—all these serve to make the
Principate the example Foucault must have wished he had thought of.

Placed in this context, the Mithraic initiation rituals depicted in the
Capua Mithraeum are extremely suggestive. Although they of course have
no connection with the apparatus of state power, their images of subjection,
degradation, and suffering imply an imaginaire based on the same
premises as the theatre de terreur, namely, the exemplary production of
vilis sanguis, the ingenious multiplication of forms of humiliation, the use
of physical suffering to underwrite the triumph of Power, and a heightened
interest in the reactions of the implied spectator. One remembers that
Capua boasted the second largest amphitheater in the entire Roman world,
built in the late Flavian/Trajanic period over the Republican amphitheater
where Spartacus had trained, and was the center of an important gladiatorial
training-school, commemorated by the Museo dei Gladiatori recently
installed in the Antiquario dell’Anfiteatro dell’antica Capua.37 Of course,
these Mithraic depictions are of voluntary sufferings and humiliations, of
performances rather than of tortures, of roles assumed and played out. But
we cannot deny the evidence that the performances were not “mere” playacting:
they were accompanied by the intentional infliction of pain, to say
nothing of terror and humiliation. The burning torch pushed into the face
of the initiand in RII, the apparent singeing of the man’s arms in LIII, and
above all, the scorpion placed on the bare back of the man in LII make this
evident. The element of role-playing does not in fact constitute a decisive
difference from the real theatre de terreur. Rather, the Mithraic teletarchs
and mystagogues see in that real-world violence a symbolism perfectly
appropriate to their own ends, the production of a Mithraic body “fit for
the job.”38

We may legitimately conclude that the primary intention of the degradation
of the Mithraic body, as depicted on the podia, is to image, both
to the subjects and to the spectator, the superiority of constituted Power,
the legitimacy of authority, and the mystic connection between hierarchy
and salvation. If we compare the gallus, for example, the role of Power
becomes clear: in imitation of Attis, the gallus inflicts upon himself, at
least in the ideal-prescriptive narrative, a wound that, if he survives the
act, separates him from all normal familial-social aims and obligations;
the loss of blood correlates with the loss of manhood, the loss of manhood
signifies an existence solely for the Mother. The act marginalizes the
network of social obligations and dues that constitutes social life, but remains
itself as exceptional as Christian martyrdom. In the cult of Mithras


The Mithraic Body
307

by the mid-third century CE, if we can generalize at all from Capua, the
initiate was induced to believe that he could only attain self-identification
with Mithras by accepting the right of beneficent Authority to inflict pain
and terror for his own good, not once but repeatedly. Whether this was
understood in the manner of Musonius Rufus and popular Stoicism as an
acquisition of ataraxia and apatheia (Francis 1995: 1–52), or more stringently
as a rejection of sin, as Porphyry’s account of the Lion’s purification
with honey would suggest, constituted Authority is perceived as controlling
the sole road to the higher end. The salvific claim of Power is inscribed
on the mind via suffering flesh. In the course of that inscription, both subject
and spectator rehearse the mythic “suffering” of Mithras and intuit
the grand saving Otherness of the Lord of the Cosmos.

The experience of initiation, and indirectly of viewing these scenes,
conveys, I suggest, an intuitive perception of a complex truth. On the one
hand, the experience and contemplation of physical suffering offers the
sole effective means of subjective self-identification with the Mithras of
the bull-killing, who seems at S. Prisca to declare, perlata humeris t[ul]i
maxima divum, “I have borne the commands of the gods on my shoulders
right to the end”.39) On the other hand, that same physical suffering
marks an irreducible ontological distinction between mortal and divinity.
If Mithras can step into the Chariot of the Sun, humans cannot, suffer how
they will. All that remains ultimately is the mystical association, which
cannot be articulated because it endures only in the body itself, between
Power and salvation.40

At the same time, the gender issue will not go away. The exclusion of the
female in these images is all too striking: we are everywhere confronted, in
this private, sacred space, by the painterly convention of the bronzed masculine
body. Although maleness is in the Mithraic context paradigmatic,
this is not the maleness of the elite demand to enter the “marketplaces
and council halls and law courts and gatherings and meetings” (Philo De
specialibus legibus 3.31,169).41 Yet the body with which the spectator is
invited to identify is in a sense a feminized body, a subject acted upon, suffering,
rather than agent, active. The key must, however, be the role of the
passions: the feminization is incomplete precisely because the infliction of
pain and suffering issues not in still more passion but in the opposite, in
their rejection. The Capuan images of initiation suggest the attraction for
some men in the mid-third century CE of an image of the pure circulation
of Power, from domination to submission back to domination, in which
women could play no part. Such pure circulation surely offered a means
of overcoming the “ambiguity and division of gender.”42


308 Richard Gordon


Mithraic Makrothymia?

It may, however, also be that we should look more specifically at wider
developments in the mid-third century CE for our contextualization of the
Capuan images. A few years ago, Brent Shaw brought together a number
of themes relevant to the issue of the Christian glorification of bodily suffering
and torture (Shaw 1996). He saw this glorification as an inversion
of the classical attitude, which, he claims, saw submission as effeminate
or cowardly. Perhaps it would be more accurate to claim that the martyrs’
exaltation of death would have struck Aristotle, for example, as hybristic,
because their suffering is offset by the expectation of future glory (Rhet.
2.8.1385b16–23). The ordinary classical view was that death, bodily injury,
and mutilation must excite our compassion (eleos) (1386a5–16). At any
rate, tracing a line from 4 Maccabees to Cyprian’s De bono patientiae of
the mid-third century,43 Shaw argues that hypomone, “endurance,” which
had been a female merit or virtue connected with the pains of childbirth,
becomes central to an ideology of meritorious suffering, such that the victim
of torture can claim the same merit as that traditionally associated
with the active heroism of andreia, “manliness.” At latest by around 200
CE, when Tertullian’s De patientia was written, this virtue is of supreme
importance in Christianity, for through it one becomes master of one’s
body: the control of food intake and sexual appetite leads up to a readiness
to endure the worst pains in the cause of martyrdom. The ability to
resist suffering and torture thus becomes an important feature in Christian
self-definition. Consistent with this exaltation of endurance is St. Paul’s
transformation of the negative word tapeinos, “mean, low, wretched, subordinate,”
into the ideal of meritorious self-abasement, tapeinosophryne,
“humility” (Ephesians 4.2).

Although all this can properly be seen as a shift prompted by necessity,
as a response to the objective situation of Christians exposed to arbitrary
suffering, there are traces of a similar move in a pagan context. Seneca, for
example, discusses endurance primarily within the context of bodily illness
and public torture in the arena.44 But for him, the lesson to be drawn
is to learn to avoid situations that might expose us to such dangers: since
he has no promise of eternal life, the path of glorification is not open to
him. Moreover, he is at pains to distinguish a less meritorious passive endurance
from an active one: gladiators and athletes endure pain not simply
to fight but to fight better; and the ideal of resistance to torture is not mere
passivity but the reduction of the torturers to helplessness. Seneca thus
avoids the paradoxicality of the Christian view and maintains a form of
active manliness within the passive or “feminized” virtue of endurance.


The Mithraic Body
309

We might suggest that something of this kind is implied at Capua: the
initiand must endure pain, humiliation, and confusion, but in a context
in which this suffering is rendered purposive and therefore, in a sense,
active. The model is anyway Mithras, whose endurance of the bull hunt
was rewarded by the fulfillment of his cosmic role in doing it to death.

That said, two other features of the Capua frescoes are of interest in
suggesting the double nature of the torments applied. One is the role of
fire. As we saw, two of the scenes seem to involve torches—in RII, having
a burning torch thrust into one’s face; in LIII, having to endure having
one’s arms burned from below. Fire occurs regularly in lists of tortures
and sufferings, in the arena and elsewhere: it is second in Seneca’s list in
Ep. mor. 14.4 (ferrum circa se habet, et ignes, et catenas . . .), and third in
Achilles Tatius’ Cleitophon and Leucippe, when Leukippe dares Thersander
to do his worst: “Bring out against me the scourges, the wheel, the fire, the
sword.”45 Fire is thus a “cliche of torment.” At the same time, the torch
resonates widely within the symbolism of the cult of Mithras, emblematic
of the opposition between light and darkness. The torch is thus not simply
a torch.

Secondly, we recall the man lying prone in LII. My first thought was
that this must have evoked the idea of the male pathic, who “acts like a
woman” in suffering the penetration of his body by another man: one of
the key verbs in this connection is inclinor, “lie prone.” But the recognition
of the scorpion sitting on his back makes clear that the sexual connotation
of “lying prone” must be secondary to that of being exposed defenseless to
the scorpion’s sting, or the threat of its attack. Scorpions were reputed to
be ever on the lookout for the opportunity to sting.46 At the same time, in
the Mithraic context, not only does it allude to the bull’s death, at which
the scorpion stings its scrotum, but also a special relationship to the sun,
since scorpions’ venom was at its most poisonous at midday (Pliny NH
11.88).

I would suggest, then, that the larger context of the Capuan frescoes
may be an awareness of the role of patientia in sustaining the readiness of
Christians, not merely male but also female, to accept martyrdom. From
the initiation scene of the Mainz Schlangengefa., where a Father is threatening
to shoot an initiand with a bow and arrow, we may conclude that
some kind of initiatory suffering had probably always been a feature of the
cult of Mithras, just as it has been in other initiatory cults.47 Jan Bremmer
has recently stressed that we should not see the pagan cults of the second
and third centuries CE in isolation from Christianity (Bremmer 2002: 41–
55). Although the examples he gives do not seem to me very convincing,
particularly as regards Mithras, the thought perhaps should not be dis



310 Richard Gordon


missed entirely. For Christian patientia, as experienced in the intermittent
eclats prior to the Decian persecution, may indeed have stimulated among
contemporary Mithraists a desire to explore in ritual a specifically male,
active endurance of suffering, thus offering a “conservative” answer to the
imaginative impact of the public suffering of Christian martyrs. Picking up
a term from the pseudepigraphic Jewish Testament of Job, we might call
such a response to the Christian challenge Mithraic makrothymia (17.7).

As far as their specific content is concerned, the podium frescoes of the
Capua Mithraeum are likely always to remain enigmatic, virtually uninterpretable.
That is why, for all their evident importance as documents, they
have effectively fallen out of discussions of Mithraic ritual/initiation. For
what they mainly demonstrate is the disagreeable truth that iconographic
studies in the absence of written texts cannot take us very far. However, by
studying their structure of oppositions and linking them to wider issues—
namely, the relation between ritual action and the State theater of cruelty,
and the emergence of heroic-passive values in early Christianity, and even
Seneca—we may find a way of recuperating them just as the frescoes
themselves deteriorate physically beyond all hope of restoration.

Notes

1. The ancient body: e.g., Heuze 1985; Sissa 1987; Konstan and Nussbaum
1990; Gleason 1995; Wyke 1998a, 1998b; Foxhall and Salmon 1998; Shaw 1998;
Cooper 1999; Williams 1999; Scanlon 2002. I offered a rather different account
of the topic to the conference “Divinas Dependencias” (1998); see now Gordon
2005a.
2. Kirtsoglou 2004: 16. A different approach to this issue, through the notion
of “star-talk,” will be found in Beck 2006.
3. An unreliable tradition of extreme tests of endurance imposed upon Mithraic
initiates is preserved in the sixth-century commentaries on Gregory of Nazianzus
by Ps.-Nonnus, Comm. in Greg. Naz. Serm. 4.70, §6; 47; Serm. 39 §18 (see now
most conveniently Nimmo Smith 2001: 7, 34–35, 104–105). The details—up to 80
tests, fasting for 50 days, “passing through fire, through cold, through hunger and
thirst, through much journeying by land and sea”—are hyperbolic, but the Capuan
paintings suggest there is a grain of truth within them. Marius Maximus is the
likely source of another tradition, that the emperor Commodus killed someone
during a Mithraic initiation cum illic aliquid ad speciem timoris vel dici vel fingi soleat
(Hist. Aug., Commod. 9; cf. Rives 1995: 72 n. 37). The anecdote fits well with
Maximus’ love of lurid gossip. Ad speciem timoris would, however, likewise fit well
with the Capuan paintings.
4. However, Merkelbach does provide clear black-and-white plates of five of
the scenes (1984: 287–290, figs. 28–32). These are the same images as those reproduced
in Vermaseren’s Corpus (1956–60: figs. 57–61, hereafter cited as CIMRM),
albeit in a whimsical order.

The Mithraic Body
311

5. Almost the sole analogy among the images collected in Bianchi 1976a is the
well-known whipping-scene in the Villa of the Mysteries, Pompeii. Fear, even terror,
by contrast seems to have been commonly employed in the Greek mysteries.
6. The decay is due partly to the poor quality of the original plaster, partly to
the absorption of moisture from the tamped earth floor (Minto 1924: 367).
7. Although his color plates are of great value, Vermaseren was no archaeologist,
and his publication, despite being fuller than Minto’s, is unfortunately poorly
organized, and confused or uninformative on many archaeological questions.
8. All these internal dimensions are taken from Minto (1924: 356). For some
reason, Vermaseren gives the external dimensions, and by a slip gives the width of
the mithraeum as 3.37 m (1971: 3).
9. This sump was also connected to the masonry altar (Fig. 16.2a and b, at i)
by a concealed channel. In addition, there was a well behind wall b (Fig. 16.2b, at
c), equipped with footholds for descent. The cistern on the southern (left) side was
1.28 m long by 0.67 m wide; the dimensions of the basin and sump (right) could
not be determined for fear of causing the collapse of the walls of podia h and l at
this point (Minto 1924: 357 with fig. 4). Vermaseren seems wrongly to have believed
that the cistern and basin continued to function as such after the construction
of the podia (1971: 5). They did not: Minto found them full of the rubble used
to infill the podia (1924: 358).
10. Vermaseren believed (1971: 50 n. 1) that the relief was inserted during
Phase I, which seems very unlikely.
11. Minto 1924: 368–372. Unfortunately, he confused the order of the scenes
on the left podium: as is clear from the draughtsman’s Roman numerals, the order
should be his figs. 15, 14, 16. He also fails to mention his own Scene VIII (= Vermaseren
1971: LIII).
12. Cf. Clauss 2000: 149–151; Turcan 2000: 98. Merkelbach (1984: 123–124)
presents some examples, although his interpretation is eccentric.
13. Minto 1924: 368, scene I, fig. 10 = CIMRM 187 = Vermaseren 1971: 26–27
with pl. xxi = Merkelbach 1984: 287, fig. 28.
14. This is no doubt why Merkelbach (1984: 287, fig. 29), wanting to make it
congruent with the others, claims that a Pater (or at any rate a “teletarch”) was
depicted to the left. Neither Minto nor Vermaseren mentions the fact. There is
indeed a blob in front of the initiand, which on a black-and-white photo might be
a clenched hand; but the color photo shows that it is simply a hole in the plaster.
As so often, Merkelbach’s claims are to be taken with a large pinch of salt; and
anyway, there were probably only two persons depicted in RIII (unrecoverable).
15. Vermaseren oddly claims that this figure is the Pater, when it quite clearly is
not (1971: 27, inconsistent with his p. 26). The identity of the raised object on his
head is uncertain. It is most likely an illusion due to damage to the plaster: all the
other mystagogues have bare heads.
16. Minto 1924: 369, scene II, fig. 11 = CIMRM 188 = Vermaseren 1971: 28–34
with pl. xxii = Merkelbach 1984: 288, fig. 30.
17. Minto 1924: 369; Vermaseren 1971: 29–30.
18. Vermaseren and Merkelbach introduce fantasies here, the first claiming
that the mystagogue is wearing a cape over his tunic “bordered with red” (1971:
28), the second improving on this by claiming that the tunic itself carries a clavis (ared-purple stripe), that is, alludes to the toga praetexta of curule magistrates (1984:

312 Richard Gordon


288, fig. 30). These lines are simply the outlines of the man’s clothes, intended to
provide visual help in identifying his action. The strong outline at the extreme
right, however, is also intended to reinforce the sense of forward movement or
pressure.

19. The horizontal line running across his body, through his hand and toward
the initiand’s face, is certainly the result of damage, and does not indicate that the
teletarch is holding a spear, as Merkelbach claims (ibid.), and as even the color
photo suggests. Minto thought the object he is holding was a sword (1924: 369),
which makes no sense if the initiand is blindfolded. Vermaseren must be right to
think it is a torch.
20. Minto 1924: 369, scene III, fig. 12 = CIMRM 190 = Vermaseren 1971:
34–36 with pl. xxiii. Minto despaired of making sense of this panel; Merkelbach
ignores it completely. Panel RIII (= Vermaseren 1971: 34; see note 14 above) seems
to have represented a man walking left; some blobs of paint in front of him indicate
that there was another person (ibid.: 34); Minto mentions panels III and IV
together, but describes only RIV.
21. Minto 1924: 370, scene V, fig. 13 = CIMRM 191 = Vermaseren 1971: 36–42
with pl. xxv = Merkelbach 1984: 297, fig. 28 (part only), also pp. 95–96 and 136.
22. Vermaseren likewise wrongly claims that the initiand has a beard. The supposed
“sword” on the ground below him is simply a ground-line.
23. Vermaseren did, however, rightly understand that this scene is irreconcilable
with the account of the initiation of a Mithraic “miles” given by Tertullian (De
cor. 15). Merkelbach, on the other hand, blithely sees them as compatible.
24. Minto 1924: 371–372, scene IX, fig. 16 (on p. 374) = CIMRM 193 = Vermaseren
1971: 43–44 with pl. xxvi = Merkelbach 1984: 289 fig. 31.
25. Merkelbach cites [Ambrosiaster] Quaestiones veteris et novi testamenti 93.1
here, a passage referring to the Mithraic initiand being pushed across a water-filled
ditch and having his bonds, made of chicken guts, cut by his “liberator.” This, too,
is likely to be pure fantasy.
26. Minto 1924: 370, scene VIII, fig. 14 (on p. 372) = CIMRM 195 = Vermaseren
1971: 44–45 with pl. xxvii.
27. Minto 1924: 370, scene VII, fig. 15 (on p. 373) = CIMRM 194 = Vermaseren
1971: 45–47 with pl. xxviii = Merkelbach 1984: 290 fig. 32 and p. 137.
28. The one exception is LII, where, if the initiand were standing, he would be
about 1.5 times taller than the mystagogue. But his complete subjection and humiliation
can be more effectively expressed the further he extends over the ground
or couch.
29. Bourdieu mentions the findings of W. D. Dannemeier and F. J. Tumin in
1964, according to which subjects tended to overestimate the size of individuals in
keeping with their subjective estimate of their authority or importance (Bourdieu
1979: 229 with n. 28).
30. Cf. Brown 1988: 96 n. 54. Muller (1997: 87) notes that in the medieval
period, disrobing the person to be punished was part of the humiliation. Older
views of specifically religious nakedness (e.g., Heckenbach 1911) are generally
naive.
31. Gatens 1999: 229.
32. Gordon 1980: 55. I do not of course wish to endorse Foucault’s character

The Mithraic Body
313

istic reification of abstractions, which subsequently turn out to be the real agents
of history (cf. Giddens 1982: 221–222).

33. Cf., for example, Ortner and Whitehead 1981; Butler 1993; Price and Shildrick
1999; Davis-Sulikowski et al. 2001; Kirtsoglou 2004.
34. Du chatiment dans la Cite 1984; MacMullen 1986; Bodel 1994; Cantarella
1991; Hinard and Dumont 2003.
35. For example, Ville 1981; Hopkins 1983: 1–30; Golvin and Landes 1990; Domergue,
Landes, and Pailler 1990; Welch 1994; Kyle 1998; Beacham 1999; Junkelmann
2000; Von den Hoff 2004.
36. Coleman 1990; cf. 1993.
37. The museum, largely inspired by Dssa Valeria Sampaolo, contains some material
from the amphitheater, more, however, from that at Pompeii. The epigraphic
materials are collected in Fora 1996.
38. “C’est-a-dire le schema corporel en tant qu’il est depositaire de toute une
vision du monde social, de toute une philosophie de la personne et du corps
propre”: Bourdieu 1979: 240.
39. Vermaseren and van Essen 1965: 204–205. (Line 9, lower layer, left wall,
c. 210 CE.) Vermaseren reads t(u)li, but the l is imaginary. Forgetting that the -a
of perlata must be elided in the scansion, he claims that this is the sole pentameter
line, which is also very implausible. A proper metrical hexameter, comparable to
most of the other lines, could be produced by assuming a short word of three long
syllables here, such as t[radux]i. But difficulties abound: it is not even certain that it
is a first-person utterance; and in Vermaseren’s drawing (p. 203, fig. 67), the word
is impossibly short, yet with a long gap between the i and m of maxima.
40. See the suggestive remarks of Muller 1997: 90, on the role of the broken
body of Christ in medieval Passion plays.
41. Cited by Lieu 2004: 182.
42. Ibid.: 190.
43. Shaw seems to think 4 Maccabees is Hellenistic, but it can in fact be dated
between c. 18 and 55 CE.
44. Esp. Seneca Ep. mor. 14.4–6.
45. Achilles Tatius Cleitophon and Leucippe 6.22.4, resuming her more rhetorical
outburst at 21.1.
46. Cf. elatae metuendus acumine caudae / Scorpios . . . : Ovid Fasti. 4.163–164;
semper cauda in ictu est: Pliny NH 11.86–87.
47. The Mainz Schlangengefa.: Horn 1994: 23, with pls. 7, 14–16; Beck 2000b:
149–154, with pl. XIII. Others: as Burkert (1987: 102) rightly says, “From Australian
aborigines to American universities.” A good example of the patterned use of
initiatory whipping in New Guinea is provided by Barth 1975: 57 (twice), 65.

CHAPTER 17


Why the Shoulder?: A Study of the Placement
of the Wound in the Mithraic Tauroctony

GlEnn PalmEr

The study of Roman Mithraism has consisted, in large part, of a series
of interpretations and elucidations applied to a complex and enigmatic
corpus of images. The ubiquitous central monument, the tauroctony (Fig.
17.1), in its more detailed examples, offers a bewildering array of images,
among them the awkward, backward-glancing pose of Mithras, the suffering
of the taurine victim, various symbolic animals observing or partaking
in the sacrifice, several major and minor deities witnessing the act, and
the visual narrative of the transitus, Mithras’ apparent sacred journey.

The usual visual center of the tauroctony, and the center of attention of
the surrounding witnesses on the monument, is the sacrificial blow being
struck by Mithras upon the shoulder of the bull. The placement of this
wound is problematic, as will be shown, and is apparently unique to Roman
Mithraism. Thus, I suggest that the wound may have meaning within
Mithraism in addition to the obvious death of the bull. Another allusion to
a bull in Mithraic iconography is the dismembered foreleg of a bull being
carried by Mithras, raising the possibility that the foreleg in itself has some
symbolic significance.

I began my search by poring through Vermaseren’s Corpus of Mithraic
monuments.1 I tallied each monument for which the placement of the
wound was discernible. Surprisingly, the cutting of the victim’s throat,
one of the most common methods of sacrifice depicted in ancient art, accounted
for only 3 percent of the wounds depicted in the Mithraic corpus.
I also discovered that fully 70 percent of the wounds were inflicted in the
shoulder.

Mithras is almost always depicted as straddling the bull while stabbing
it in the shoulder with a dagger or short sword. The antecedent of this
method of killing a bull is found in representations of the goddess Nike.
Elements of the tauroctony traceable to the Nike images include the god


Why the Shoulder?
315


Figure 17.1. Tauroctony.


grasping the bull by its nose or actually inserting fingers into the animal’s
nostrils in order to extend the neck, thereby exposing the animal’s throat
to the knife; the thrusting of a knee into the bull’s back in order to hold
the animal down; and the extension of the god’s other leg backward in
order to steady the sacrificer.2 There are notable differences, however, between
the poses of Nike and Mithras. Nike is usually depicted as looking
forward, intent upon the act she is about to perform, whereas Mithras is
usually depicted with his head turned away from his knife-wielding arm,
looking over his shoulder at the god Helios in the upper left-hand corner
of the monument. The other significant difference is that Nike is depicted
as being on the verge of cutting the bull’s throat, with the knife held out in
front of the animal’s neck. This is one of the usual methods of killing an
animal in Greek and Roman sacrifices. Mithras, by contrast, is dispatching
the bull by stabbing it in the shoulder. This placement of the wound is
an exception to the usual depiction of sacrificial methods, found in literature
and art and in actual practice, of dispatching the victim by cutting its
throat, chopping the neck with an axe, or stabbing it in the flank with a
spear so as to hit the heart, as in the taurobolium.

From an anatomical viewpoint, the shoulder is not an optimal location
at which to administer a fatal stab wound to a bull (Fig. 17.2). This is not
a vital area of the animal’s anatomy. The heart is located at the bottom of
the chest cavity, posterior to the forelegs, and, in a large animal such as a
bull, several feet from the entrance wound at the shoulder.3 The vital jugular
vein and carotid artery lie along the front of the throat, not on the sides


316 Glenn Palmer


Figure 17.2.
Bovine skeleton.
of the neck, as in humans.4 Blood vessels supplying the legs are protected
from above by the shoulder blades.

The huge scapula, or shoulder blade, of the bull covers the upper area
of the forward ribs. The left and right scapulae almost touch at their tops,
forming the characteristic hump at the shoulder.5 This configuration
blocks easy access to the heart from the shoulder region. Indeed, the modern
matador displays his skill by driving a sword into the small triangular
space available between the tops of the scapulae. His long, curved weapon
arcs downward through the animal’s chest with the heart as its intended
target. Only a fatal wound to the heart will cause the collapse of the enraged
animal. Mithras is not aiming for this small area on the centerline of
the animal’s back, but is instead stabbing the right shoulder. Mithras’ dagger,
or short sword, blocked by anatomy, is incapable of reaching the heart
from its entry point at the shoulder. The traditional methods of sacrifice
were expected to cause the quick collapse of the victim. Conversely, stabbing
the muscular shoulder of the bull, far from any vital points, would
more likely enrage rather than subdue the beast. Although this placement
is only symbolic, and probably not a depiction of actual cult practice, it is
a glaring anomaly. This suggests that the shoulder itself is the target.

The bull’s shoulder appears in Mithraic symbolism in images other than
the tauroctony. Many tauroctony monuments include additional scenes on
the left and right sides and across the top.6 These side scenes are thought
to depict episodes in the transitus of Mithras, the significant events of
Mithras’ birth, development, and ascension to the status of solar deity.
One of the typical side scenes depicts Mithras wielding the dismembered
foreleg of a bull in his right hand. Kneeling in front of Mithras is the god
Helios, making a gesture of supplication. Mithras appears to be threatening
Helios with the foreleg as if it were a club. This scene is interpreted
as being the moment in which Helios acknowledges Mithras’ ascendancy


Why the Shoulder?
317

over him as ruler of the heavens (kosmokrator). The foreleg is thus a symbol
of Mithras’ superiority over the other god. This is certainly an eccentric
weapon, and it should cause us to consider whether the disembodied
bull’s foreleg bears cosmological or mythological symbolism, in keeping
with the overall interpretations of the tauroctony. Where, then, do we find
the origins of such symbolism? The foreleg of the bull, as it turns out, is a
prominent icon in Egyptian mythology.

There has been relatively little consideration of the effect of Egyptian
belief on the development of Mithraic doctrine and iconography.7 Certainly
late Egyptian belief was known to Mithraism. Statues of Isis have
been found in association with Mithraic icons.8 Her consort Sarapis was
often equated with Mithras, Jupiter, or Saturn/Kronos on Mithraic monuments.
9 Some Mithraic statues also hold the Egyptian ankh. Priests of Isis
are known to have belonged to the higher grades of Mithraic initiation.10

The foreleg of a bull occupies a prominent place in traditional Egyptian
belief, so much so that I propose the Egyptian pantheon of gods (the
Ennead) and its associated myths as the origin of the Mithraic symbolism
regarding the bull’s shoulder. As will be seen, the Seth-Osiris conflict results
in a bull’s foreleg being placed at the north pole of the cosmic sphere.
This object becomes a powerful and dangerous symbol of order, and of
potential catastrophe. These attributes are invoked in the side scenes of
tauroctony monuments depicting Mithras and Helios mentioned above.

The most direct link to Egypt is the so-called Mithrasliturgie, a spell
found in the Great Magical Papyrus of Paris, which originated in Roman
Egypt.11 Not surprisingly, this spell is riddled with Egyptian magic rites,
interspersed with revelations of the gods. The text provides a spell that
allows the reciter’s soul to ascend into the heavens and travel along the
northern polar axis of the earth, where the worshiper ultimately enters
into the presence of Mithras. During the ascent, the soul encounters other
deities, including Helios. In the magical papyri, Mithras is usually linked
with this god, as he is in the tauroctony. After the worshiper greets Helios,
the god walks toward the polar axis:

 τα.τ. σου ε.π.ντος .λε.σεται ε.ς τ.ν π.λον, κα. .ψ. α.τ.ν περιπατο.ντα

.ς .ν .δ.. (Preisendanz 1928–31, PGM 4.656–658)

After you have said these things, he will come to the celestial pole, and

you will see him walking as if on a road. (Trans. Betz 1992)

Now the worshiper’s soul has reached the pole. Other groups of deities
then appear, one of which is referred to as the “Pole-Lords”:


318 Glenn Palmer


προ.ρχονται δ. κα. .τεροι Ζ' θεο. τα.ρων μ.λανα πρ.σωπα .χοντες
.ν περιζ.μασιν λινο.ς κατ.χοντες Ζ' διαδ.ματα χρ.σεα. ο.το. ε.σιν ο.
καλο.μενοι πολοκρ.τορες το. ο.ρανο., ο.ς δε. σε .σπ.σασθαι .μο.ως
.καστον τ. .δ.. α.τ.ν .ν.ματι. “χα.ρετε, ο. .ερο. κα. .λκιμοι νεαν.αι,
ο. στρ.φοντες .π. .ν κ.λευσμα τ.ν περιδ.νητον το. κ.κλου .ξονα το.
ο.ρ.νο..” (Preisendanz 1928–31, PGM 4.674–681)

There also come forth another seven gods, who have the faces of black
bulls, in linen loincloths, and in possession of seven golden diadems.
They are the so-called Pole-Lords of heaven, whom you must greet in the
same manner, each of them with his own name: “Hail, O guardians of the
pivot, O sacred and brave youths, who turn at one command the revolving
axis of the vault of heaven.” (Trans. Betz 1992)

These bucephalic deities occupy a position in the sky that is similar to the
polar guardians from the Egyptian tradition known as the “Spirits of
the North.” In the Mithrasliturgie, their duties focus on the operation of
the celestial pole, the axis of the cosmic sphere.

After the Pole-Lords are properly honored, the worshiper finally encounters
Mithras in all his radiant glory:

κατερχ.μενον θε.ν .περμεγ.θη, φωθτιν.ν .χοντα τ.ν .ψιν, νε.τερον,
χρυσοκ.μαν, .ν κιτ.νι λευκ. κα. κρυσ. στεφ.ν. κα. .ναξυρ.σι,
κατ.ξοντα τ. δεξι. ξειρ. μ.σχου .μον χρ.σεον, .ς .στιν .ρκτος .
κινο.σα κα. .ντιστρ.φουσα τ.ν ο.ραν.ν, κατ. .ραν .ναπολε.ουσα κα.
καταπολε.ουσα. (Preisendanz 1928–31, PGM 4.696–703)

A god descending, a god immensely great, having a bright appearance,
youthful, golden-haired, with a white tunic and a golden crown and
trousers, and holding in his right hand a golden shoulder of a calf: this
is the Bear which moves and turns heaven around, moving upward and
downward in accordance with the hour. (Trans. Betz 1992)

The bear in this passage is Ursa Major, the constellation that the Mithraeum
at Ponza depicts as containing the North Pole.12 In the Greek magical
papyri, this constellation (or, properly, a part of it; see below) is usually
invoked as a manifestation of a goddess such as Artemis or Aphrodite, or
receives a divine epithet itself, such as “Queen of Heaven.” The Mithrasliturgie
is unusual in describing it as merely an object, albeit a powerful
one. Within this constellation, we find the group of stars known to us as


Why the Shoulder?
319


Figure 17.3. (a) The Egyptian constellation of the Foreleg shown as a portion of
the constellation Ursa Major; (b) the Foreleg (Big Dipper); (c) the Foreleg depicted
as an adze.


the Big Dipper (Fig. 17.3a–c). Although often mistakenly identified as a
constellation, the Big Dipper actually forms just the torso and tail of the
Great Bear, which is represented in full by the constellation Ursa Major.
In the Mithrasliturgie, the Big Dipper acts as a lever that is attached to the
polar axis. Thus, we discover the mechanism by which the heavens revolve:
the Pole-Lords and Mithras use this lever to rotate the cosmic sphere.

While the Mithrasliturgie names this object (Bear) by drawing on Greek
mythology (the story of the unfortunate nymph Callisto), its physical description
as a bull’s shoulder is drawn from Egyptian astrology. The Big
Dipper forms a constellation of its own in Egyptian astrology, where it
is known as the Foreleg (Mes, Fig. 17.3b). The well-known zodiac from
the Great Temple of Dendara provides a graphic display of the Egyptian
circumpolar constellations, with the Foreleg at the center, occupying the
celestial pole. This object came to be in the sky as a result of the Seth-
Osiris conflict.

A version of the murder of Osiris has Seth transformed into a bull when
he commits the act.13 The Papyrus Leiden I states that Seth stomped Osiris
to death with his bovine foreleg:

The stars of the northern sky are called “the never setting ones.” They

guard in the seven-star heavenly body the bull leg, the leg of Seth, with

which he—as a bull—killed Osiris, and thereby prevent that a fight arises

again. Fatigue in the southern sky and fight in the northern sky endanger

the course of the earth. A lamentation [or complaint] before Re can bring

it [i.e., the course of the earth] to a stop. After the ritual against evil, both

skies could move towards each other. The southern sky could pull the


320 Glenn Palmer


Figure 17.4. Procession of the Spirits of the North toward the Foreleg of Seth.
northern sky into its movement, so that it moves also towards the West,
and both finally fall down. (Pap. Leiden 1.348, Verso XI, 5ff. [Schott 1959:
328])

Although the Foreleg has been imprisoned, it is still a threat and requires
a retinue of keepers (Fig. 17.4). The “never setting ones” in this
passage are the sons of Horus, numbering four or seven depending on the
source. They are considered guardians more in the sense of prison guards,
rather than as maintainers of celestial function. The Mithrasliturgie employs
these guardians as the seven Pole-Lords that turn the polar axis.

In order to prevent Seth from harming other gods, Horus, the son of
Osiris, cut the Foreleg from Seth’s shoulder:

And after he had cut out his foreleg he threw it into the sky. Spirits guard
it there: the Great Bear of the northern sky. The great Hippopotamus
goddess keeps hold of it, so that it can no longer sail in the midst of the
gods. (Pap. Leiden 1.348, Verso XI, 5ff. [Schott 1959: 328])

The Hippopotamus goddess is an Egyptian constellation near the North
Pole that represents a manifestation of Isis.

A wall inscription from the tomb of Ramesses VI (twelfth century BCE)
provides a description of this region of the sky similar to the above
passages:

The Spirits of the North, these are the four gods among the followers.
It is they who repulse the tempest of the sky on this the day of the Great
Contest. It is they who take hold of the fore-rope and who maneuver the
aft-rope on the barge of Re, together with the crew of the Imperishable
Stars.14 The four gods who are at the north of the Thigh,15 they are re



Why the Shoulder?
321


splendent in the midst of the sky, south of Orion, then they return to the
Western Horizon.

As to this Thigh of Seth, it is in the Northern Sky attached to two
firestone mooring posts by golden chains. It has been given in charge to
Isis, in her form of a female hippopotamus, who guards it. The Water of
His Gods is round about as the gods of the horizon. Re has placed them
behind it, together with Isis, saying:

Prevent it from going to the Southern Sky toward the Water of his
Gods which issued from Osiris, he who is behind Orion. (Piankoff
1954: 400)

In this passage, the polar guardians, referred to as the Spirits of the North,
guide the sun (the barge of Re, the Egyptian equivalent of Helios’ chariot)
through the sky using physical effort. This is analogous to the rotation of
the cosmic sphere by means of the Foreleg as accomplished by the Mithraic
Pole-Lords.

The Foreleg also came to be known in Egypt as an adze, which is similar
to an axe that has the sharp edge of its blade placed at a right angle to the
handle. The arrangement of stars in the Big Dipper/Foreleg resemble this
instrument (Fig. 17.3c). A bull’s foreleg and an adze were both used in the
Egyptian ritual of the Opening of the Mouth, performed by mourners as
part of funerary rites (Fig. 17.5).16 This ritual was an entreaty to Osiris to
allow the rebirth of a deceased person’s soul. The mummy was presented
with a dismembered bull’s foreleg, symbolizing the leg of Seth. An adze
was then touched to the mummy’s mouth while this passage was recited:

Horus has opened the mouth of NN with that wherewith he opened the
mouth of his father wherewith he opened the mouth of Osiris, with the
metal which came forth from Seth: the adze of metal. That with which
the mouth of the gods was opened, with that do you open the mouth of


322 Glenn Palmer



Figure 17.5. Ritual of the Opening of the Mouth.


NN so that he goes and speaks corporally before the great Ennead of the

gods, in the palace of the ruler who is in Heliopolis. (Otto 1960: v. II,

scene 46 text)

In the Opening of the Mouth, we see that the bull’s leg was a ritual
object as well as an important mythological symbol. Through the conflict
of Seth and Osiris, the bull becomes an ambivalent object. It is a manifestation
both of the murderous Seth and of the hero/victim Osiris in his
reincarnation as the Apis bull. Thus, the Egyptians lived in fear of the large
constellation hanging in the northern sky, while adoring the same creature
in its complete organic form.

I have discussed possible symbolism of the bull’s foreleg. My initial
question sought the purpose behind the placement of the stab wound in
the bull’s shoulder. I suggest that the tauroctony scene depicts, inter alia,
the initial stroke of the knife in the process of dismembering the bull’s
leg. From the Mithrasliturgie, we learn that Mithras retains control of this
powerful and dangerous object after it is placed in the sky. This implies
that Mithras was a more powerful god than the native Egyptian deities,
who could be slain by the foreleg (as Osiris was), and who were required
to imprison the foreleg in the sky with chains and keep a constant fearful
watch around it in order to prevent further mayhem. Indeed, Mithras is
the only god in the Magical Papyri to exert control over this object. In
addition, Mithras is able to wield the foreleg in side scenes of the tauroctony
as a symbol of his supremacy, particularly over Helios/Sol, the former
solar ruler.

A common epithet of Mithras is kosmokrator. The trials of the tauroctony
may be the prerequisite for his ascension to the heavenly duties of the
Mithrasliturgie. Whereas in the tauroctony, events apparently take place
on the Earth, events in the Mithrasliturgie occur along the northern polar
axis. The cutting out of the bull’s foreleg may represent the beginning of


Why the Shoulder?
323


Mithras’ ascent to the status of supreme solar deity. Indeed, it is the power
remaining within the excised foreleg that obtains for Mithras his passage
into the sky on the chariot of Helios, his predecessor.

Notes

1. Corpus Inscriptionum et Monumentorum Religionis Mithraicae (CIMRM ) =
Vermaseren 1956–60.
2. “Nike,” Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC).
3. Popesko 1971: figs. 2, 6, and 39. The size of cattle breeds available to the
Romans varied greatly within Italy itself (Porter 1991: 34), let alone within the far-
flung empire.
4. Popesko 1971: figs. 2, 6, and 39.
5. Ibid.
6. CIMRM Mon. 1430, as an example.
7. However, Roger Beck, in his 1998 article, provides a particularly relevant
example of a possible transmitter of Egyptian knowledge into Roman Mithraism
in the person of Ti. Claudius Balbillus, the Roman astrologer.
8. Witt 1975: 473.
9. Ibid. See also CIMRM Mon. 40 and 693, as examples.
10. Witt 1975: 487.
11. Preisendanz 1928–31 (PGM 4.475–829).
12. Vermaseren 1974. The North Pole is actually in the neighboring constellation
of Ursa Minor, near the star Polaris. There has been no significant change in
the pole’s location since Roman times.
13. Te Velde 1977: 86.
14. The Imperishable Stars is the proper name of Re’s barge.
15. The Thigh is another, inaccurate, name for the Foreleg.
16. Otto 1960, 2: scenes 43–46.

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Zevi, F., ed. 1991. Pompei, I. Naples.

Zuntz, G. 1971. Persephone: Three Essays on Religion and Thought in Magna Grae


cia. Oxford.
———. 1976. “Die Goldlamelle von Hipponion.” WS 10:129–151.


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General Index


Page numbers in italics indicate illustrations.

Abadessa, 204

abrosyne, 40

Abydos, 9

Acheron, 191

Actaeon, 113

Actium, 265; “Actian” Apollo, 266

adyton, 8

Aeacus, 197

Aeneas, 190, 191, 198

Aeneid 6. See Clark, 190–203

Aeschylus, 62, 78, 197; in The Frogs,
197

agathe elpis, 5

Agave, 113

Agnone Tablet, 267–271

Agrai, mysteries of, 6

alabastra, 39

Amasis Painter, 64–68

Ambarvalia, 256

Amor/Eros, 277, 278, 279, 280

Amor and Psyche, 277–289; Amor
and Psyche relief, 277, 278, 294.
See Martin, 277–289

amphorae, Melian, 62

Anacreontic vases, 39

androgyny, 40–41

Annia Appia Regilla, 168, 172,
179–180

anodos, 211

Antoninus Pius, 293

Anubis, 9, 222, 265, 266; at Cumae,

241, 244; Hermes and, 220, 221,
224; Hermanubis, 220, 221, 222,
225, 246

Aphrodite, 205, 214; “Anadyomene,”
220; Venus, 245

Apis, 9

Apollo, 266; Apollo and Artemis, 263

Apuleius: and cult of Isis in Metamorphoses,
8, 23, 217–220; date of
Metamorphoses, 219; and Ostia,
281; Metamorphoses’ Lucius, 217,
218, 232n26

Apulia, 38; Apulia-Calabria, 33, 40

Apulian pottery, 96, 97, 110, 111, 113;
from Armento, 118; from Ruvom,

99

Argos, 220, 221, 224

Aricia, battle of (504 BCE), 37

Aristaeus, 260

Aristocles, 206

Aristodemus “Malakos”, 37–41

Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousai,
140, 145

Aristotle, on beans, 135

Arrhetophoria, 147

Artemis, 207, 208, 209

Arval Brethren, 165

askesis (ascetism), 50

Asterioi, 83

Athena, birth of, 61

Athens, 68


360 General Index


Attabokaoi, 8

Attis, 3, 8, 13, 251

Augustus, 6, 165, 252; initiation into
Eleusinian mysteries, 254

Aula Isiaca, 219

aulos, 39

Aurelius, Marcus, 6, 293; coin of, 238

Avernus, Gate of Dis, 198

Bacchanalia affair, senatus consultum
(186 BCE), 38–40

Bacchanals, 38

Baiae, Venus Lucrina sanctuary, 245

banquets: of Mithras and Helios, 291;
Fiano Romano relief, 295; Skt.
Mathaus cemetery, 295

barbiton, 39

Bauli, 34

beans, and Hades, 134

Bentham, Jeremy, 136

Biae, 34

Big Dipper, 319

Boeotia, ritual vessels of, 62

Bona Dea, 166

Bononiae Papyrus, 107

Bougonia, 263–264

Brimo, 111

Busiris, 263, 272n38

Caffarella/Pagus Triopius, 162, 164,
169

Callatiae and Darius, 132–133

Callisto, 319

Campania (ager campanus), 24. See
Casadio, 33–45, 49

Capreae, 34

Capri, 238

Capua, S. Maria Capua Vetere, 68. See
also Mithraeum at Capua

Capua Amphitheater, 306. See
Gordon, 290–313; Martin,
277–289

Cautes, 291

Cautopates, 291, 294

Cave of the Nymphs, 205–206; Porphyry
commentary on, 207; votives
of, 207

Cecilia Metella, tomb of, 166, 167

Centaurs, 191

Centre Berard of Naples, 235, 248

Cerberus, 77, 81, 87n16, 97, 118, 191

Cerealia, 255

Ceres, 163, 164, 165, 253, 254, 255,
257; certamen Liberi patris cum
Cerere, 35

Chariot of the Sun, 307

Christian martyrdom, 306, 308–310

Chrysippus, 131

cista mystica, 229

Cleopatra, 265

Cocytus, 198

Commodus, 6

consecranei, 11

Corax, 131

Court of Queen’s Bench, London, 131

Cretan Zeus, 134

Crete, 252; gold tablet from, 83n1,
84n4

Croesus, fall of, 88n19

Croton, 33, 133; Hera in Croton, 142

cryptoportici, 292

Cult of Magna Mater, 290; of Isis,
290

Cumae, 33; Aegyptiaca from,
235; Aeneas at, 134; battle of
(524 BCE), 37; founding of, 35;
Licola (location of original harbor),
235; Samnite invasion of, 36; villae
maritimae, 235, 248

Cybele/Meter/Magna Mater, 252; and
Sabazius, 70

Cyniscus, 194, 195

Cyrene, Sacred Laws from, 207

daimones, winged, 214

Damascius, 48, 57n46, 58n52, 133

Danaids, 120

deiknumena, 5

Delos, 9

Delphi, 213

Demeter, 6, 8, 12–16. See Lucchese,
161–189, and Sfameni Gasparro,
139–160

Demetra Prostasia, 151

Demeter Thesmophoros, 140–142

Dendara, Great Temple of, 319


General Index
361

Derveni papyrus 47, 56n34, 57n39,
100, 102

Dike, 205

dinos (dinoi), 62–63; Etruscan, 62; of
Sophilos, 63

Diocletian, 10

Diogenes the Cynic, 101, 131

Dionysus/Bacchus, 1, 7, 15–17, 20–
21, 33, 34, 40, 52, 73, 192–197,
205, 212, 214, 251; Dionysus/Bacchus/
Liber, 253; Egyptian origins,
254; “Eubuleus”, 111; in the
Homeric world, 112; iconography,
61–72; “Liber-Pater”, 34; and
Orphic cults in Locri, 212; teletai
of, 214; “Zagreus”, 52

Dionysus/Triptolemos, 165

Dionysus of Halicarnassus, 38

Dis/Pluto, 256

Domitian, 219

dromenos, 5, 9

dying and rising gods, 11

Edict of Constantine (313 CE), 246; of
Theodosius (392 CE), 246

Egeria, 179

Egypt: as gens fortunata, 267; source
of rebirth doctrine, 133, 134; in
Vergil’s Georgics, 260–267

Egyptomania, in age of Augustus,

219

Ekklesiasterion at Pompeii. See Brenk,
217–227

Elea (Castellamare di Velia), 280;
Eleatic tradition, 279, 280

Eleusinian Mysteries, 5, 6, 7, 77, 80,
254–257; fright of initiates, 191,
198; and Herakles, 260, 263–265.
See Clark, 190–203

Eleusis, 3, 6, 18–49, 172, 191, 251,
256

Elpenor, 86n15

Elysian Fields, 90n28

Empedocles, 133, 134

Empousa, 193–195, 197, 201n21

Encolpius, 131, 133

Ennius, 131, 133, 134

Epizephyrian Locri, 204

epoptes, 6
Erinyes, 97, 108
Eros figures, 40
Etruscans, 70
Eumolpus, 131, 191, 193
Euripides, in The Frogs, 197
Eurydice, as dona Ditis, 256, 260
Eurystheus, 191, 263
Euthymos, 213, 214
evoe saboi, 47
exegesis, 5
eye-cups, 66
eye motif, 68

Faustina the Elder, as Ceres, 172
Faustina the Younger, as Libera, 172
Fellini, Satyricon (1969), 132
Firmicius Maternus, 5
Flegrean (Phlegraean) Fields, 33
Fons Egeriae, 179
fortuna, 9; fortunatae gentes, 1, 25n2
Francois Vase, 63, 64
fratres, 11

galli, 8, 306
Gallienus, 6
Gallus, Cornelius, laudes Galli, 260,
267
Ganymede, 121
Gigantomachia, 61, 63
Giton, 131
Gorgias, 133
Gorgons, 190–191, 193, 194, 195,
196, 198; Medusa, 191, 197
Grotta Caruso. See MacLachlan,
204–216
Gurob papyrus, 57n40, 122

Hades: dual Hades, 101; entrance
in Taenarum in Laconia, 191; as
“Eucles”, 111; gates of, 197, 198;
Hades-Pluton, 151; Plouton, 74;
“terrors of Hades”, 102. See Bernabe,
95–130
Hadrian, 6
Harpies, 108, 109
Harpokrates/Horus, 9, 220, 221, 222,
241, 246, 247


362 General Index


Hekate, 97, 99, 115, 191, 194, 195

Helios, 316, 317

Hellenistic monarchs, 39

Hephaestus, 61–72

Hera/Juno, 220

Heraclitus 47, 51–53; 56n33

Herakles, 77, 81, 87nn14–16, 91n30,
113, 260; and cattle, 263–265;
descent of, 191–199, 200nn8–10;
Eleusinian Herakles, 22–23, 191,
262–267; and Hylas, 263

Hermes, 118, 191, 197

Herodes Atticus, 162–184

Herodotus, 36, 47, 51–52, 260, 264

Hesiodic golden race, 79, 90n26,
92n32

heuresis, 9

hieros logos, 5

Hipponion, 212; lamellae of 47, 51–

53. See Bernabe, 98, 111
Homeric Hymn to Demeter, 194, 204,
256
Horus, sons of, 320
Hydra, 263

Iasos, sanctuary of, 159n38

Ibis, 225

Ichonarum Phobia, 247

imago inferorum, 106. See Bernabe,
95–130

Inaros statue, 239, 244

inscriptions: from Cumae, 35–38,
47, 50–51, 51n60, 53; from Hipponion,
37; from Petelia, 37; from
Thurii, 37; from Torre Nova, 47,
53

inventio, 9

Io, 220, 221, 224; “Io and Isis”, 222,
225

Io (Inachiae), 258–260; of C. Licinius
Calvus, 259–260; Euboean, 259

Iobacchoi, 7

Isaeum (Temple of Isis): Campense
(on Campus Martius), 218, 219; at
Cumae, 235–250; at Philae, 222;
as a private sacellum, 248

Isaeum at Pompeii, 29n50, 217, 218;
architectural styles, 219; frescoes

from, 219; of Isis and Osiris, 220;
tryptychs in “Ekklesiasterion”, 220

Isis, 1, 3, 8, 9, 10, 13, 217, 220, 221,
225, 251; at Cumae, 235–250; Cumae
statue, 239, 245; and Deme-
ter/Ceres, 260–262; as goddess
of death (with ankh), 241–244;
with Harpokrates, 220; with Hermanubis,
220; and Io, 222, 225,
258–260; Iseia, 9; and mysteries of
Osiris, 256–258; Navigium Isidis,
9; with Nephthys, 220; at Pompeii,

23. See Brenk, 217–235
Ixion, 90n26, 120

Job, Testament of, 310

judges of the underworld, 113, 116

Julio-Claudians, 219

Julius Caesar, 165

Juno, 163

Jupiter-Juno-Minerva triad, 165

Justice/Dike, in Orphism, 99, 108,
115

Kalligeneia, 150

Kallis painter, 66, 71

katabasis, 193, 194, 198, 199,
201n15, 211, 212

katharoi, 83

kistai, 166; kistophora, 166

kithara, 39

Knossos, 166

kore, 205, 208–209

Kore (deity). See Persephone/Kore

Kronos, 252

kylix, kylikes, 66, 68, 71

lamellae, 26n36, 47, 52–53, 68, 73–
94, 96. See also Orphic gold tablets

laudes Galli, 260, 267

legifera, 161

legomena, 5

lekythoi, 68, 70

Lenaea stamnoi, 60, 68, 70

Leontocephales, 281

Lerna, 38

Lethe, 97

Leukothea, 12


Liber: certamen Liberi patris cum
Cerere, 35

lightning, 78, 88n20

Livia, 165

Locri 33, 86–87n13; pinakes, 96; 114.
See Bernabe, 118–130, and Mac-
Lachlan, 204–216

locus amoenus, 97, 101, 109, 111,
124–125

Lucania, 40

Lucian’s Dialogues of the Courtesans,
145

Lucretius, 133

Lucretius Rufus, M., 219

Lycurgus and Oedipus, 68

Maenads, 212

Magna Graecia, 1, 33; definition of, 2,
24–25n1

Manetho, 9

Mannella, 204, 205; Persephone in
Mannella at Locri, 142

Marcus Antonius/Mark Antony, 39,
219, 265

Matera crater, 114

megarizein (to throw piglets into
megara), 145

megaron, 161, 166, 169, 172

Meleager, 191, 192, 197

Memory, 97, 98

Menander, portrait of in Sicilian
Lipari, 212

Metamorphoses. See Apuleius

Metapontum, 33

Methone tablet, 84n4

Mithraeum at Dura-Europos, 10

Mithraeum at Capua, 24; Luna fresco

293. See Gordon, 290–313, and
Martin, 277–289
Mithraeum at Ostia (Seven Spheres),
281; Aldobrandini, 295
Mithraeum at Santa Prisca, 280–281,
291; Barberini, 291, 294; Caesarina
Maritima, 292; Marino, 292,
294

Mithraic community, 285; Greek
influence upon, 280, 282; “Romanness”
of, 285

General Index
363

Mithraic funerary iconography, absence
of, 291

Mithraic initiation rites, 283–287,
288n10, 290–313; female initiates,
288n4; maleness and, 307

Mithraic makrothyima, 308–310
Mithraic tauroctony. See Palmer,
314–323

Mithraism, 10, 277, 279; and Egyptian
Ennead, 317; and Egyptian
mythology, 317

Mithraist images, 291; Cautes and
Cautopates, 291; degrees of initiation
in, 11; role of fire in, 309;
scorpions in, 309

Mithras, 1, 4, 10, 17, 277; kosmokrator,
317, 322; Mitra/Mithra, 10;
Mithras Kosmophoros/Mithras-
Atlas, 303; Mithras Liturgy,
288n6; Mithras Tauroctonus, 10;
as name of priest of Isis, 281; and
Sarapis, 317

Mithrasliturgie from Roman Egypt,

317–323
Mnemosyne, 73, 89n25
Morgantina, 215n9
Muhammad in the Koran, 40
Mummy cases, Greco-Roman, 219
Musaios, 103, 122
Musonius Rufus, 307
myesis (initiation), 11, 12
mystes, 5, 6; μύσται and βάκχοι, 52
mystic cults/mystery cults, 11; defini


tion, 2
mythos, 5

naophorus found at Baiae, 245
Neoplatonism, 279
Nephthys, 220, 221, 225
Nero, 219
Nessus, 263
Nichomachi, 248
Nike, representations of, 314–315
Nile River, 222, 258, 266; Dodeka


schoinos, 222; and Isis-worship,
223; Nilescapes, 220, 222; Nile
water, 217

Nubia, 222


364 General Index


nymphe, 205; chthonic elements, 212;
nymphai (nymphs of the cave), 209,
210; nymphus, 278, 287n1

obelisks, 219

Odysseus, 77, 196

Olbia, 118

Olympiodorus, 50n55

Onomacritus, 68

opus latericium, 238; opus reticulatum,
237; opus sectile, 238, 243

orgia, 68, 70, 192

orpheotelestai, 82

Orpheus, 7, 77, 96, 99, 112, 254, 260;
and Demeter, 261; dismembered,
272n35; and Horus, 272n35; as
mediator, 113, 115, 117; in Vergil,
198

Orphic gold tablets, 5. See Edmonds,
73–94; see also Thurii

Orphic imagery. See Bernabe, 95–130

Orphic rites, Egyptian origin of,
101–103

orphikos bios, 82

Orphism, 80, 83; beliefs of, 7, 96. See
Jimenez, 46–60, and Edmonds,
73–94

Oscans, 34

Osiris, 9, 10, 12–17, 217, 218, 220,
222, 225, 226; Osiris/Dionysus,
220; tomb of, on Bigga, 222, 226,
227, 229, 233n42; ushabti of, 220,
228

Paestum, 40, 142

Pagus Triopius (Triopium), 168–169

Palestrina, Nile mosaic at, 228, 229

Pan and Nymphs, cults of, 211, 212,
214

Parmenides, and Eleatic tradition,
279, 280

Pater, 286

Patroklos, 77

Pausilypon, 246; “Temple” at, 237

Peisistratos, 37, 68

Peleus, marriage of, 61–74

Pelinna, 82, 83; Pelinna gold leaf,
122

Pella tablets, 84n4

Pelops, 272n35; and Hippodamea,
263

Pentheus and Auge, 68

Persephone/Kore, 1, 5, 12, 53, 73–74,
76, 77, 79, 80, 86n12, 97, 113,
115, 140, 151, 204, 205, 214, 251,
256; as dona Ditis, 256; feminine
daimon of, 205. See also Proserpina

Persephoneion at Locri. See MacLachlan,
204–216

Pessinous/Pessinus, 8, 252

Petelia, 89n25

Pherai, gold leaf from, 98

Pherecrates, 123

Pherecydes, 133

Philai (Abaton), Temple of Isis at, 222,
228, 229

Phlegraean (Flegraean) Fields, 246

piglets, 145, 166

pinakes, 204, 205

Ploiaphesia, 9

Plouton, 74. See also Hades

Polites, 213–214

Polygnotus, 196

polytheism, 41n2

pomegranate seeds, 135

Pompeii, 34, 217; earthquake in
62 CE, 218

Pompeius, Sextus, 295

Ponza, 238

Poppaea Sabina, 219

Poseidonia-Paestum, Hera in, 142

Pozzuoli, 246

Propp, morphemes of, 76

pro salute imperatorum, 8

Proserpina, 135, 256, 261, 268, 271,
273n47. See also Persephone

Proteus, 260–261, 272n30

Psyche, 277–280; psyche, 7

Psychopompus, 246

Ptolemy I, 9

Pulcinello, 33

Pyanopsia, 135, 166

Pythagoras, 7; Pythagoreans, 22, 80;
Pythagorean Book of the Dead, 74

Pythagorean diet. See Griffith,
131–136


General Index
365

Ramesses VI, 320
reincarnation vs. resurrection, 135
Rhegium, 33
Rome, 217

Sabazius and Cybele, 70
Sacrarium at Pompeii. See Brenk,

217–234
Sacred Grove of Demeter, 178–179
Samothracian mysteries, 7
San Nicola di Albanella, 142, 143,

144

Sarapeion/Sarapeium (Temple of Sara-
pis): at Alexandria, 219, 247; at
Cumae, 241; at Memphis, 223; on
Quirinal, 218

Sarapis/Osiris, 9, 220, 229
Satyricon (1969), 132
Semele, 66–68, 67
Seth-Osiris, 317, 319
Sibyl of Cumae, 1, 192, 198; cave of,

244
Sileni, 214
Sinis-Heraclea, 33
Sirens, 205
Sisyphus, 120
Skirophoria, 141, 145, 150
Skyles (Scythian King), 38, 51–52
Smith, J. B., 41n1
Socrates, 133
Sol Invictus, 10; sol, solis, 9
Solon, 62, 64; and the polis, 71, 87n18
Sophilos, 63
Sorrento/Surrentum, 34, 35
Spartacus, 306
spelunca, 5
Sphinx statue at Cumae, 239, 245
Stoics, 131; Stoicism, 307
Sybaris-Thurii, 33
Symmachus Eusebius, Q. Aurelius

(cos. 391), 248
synchesis, definition of, 161; See Luc


chese, 161–189
syncretism, 277
Syracuse, 134

tabulae pictae tradition, 297–298
Tantalus, 90n26

tarantella, 33
Tarentum, 33
Tarquinius Superbus, 37
taurobolium, 8, 315
tauroctony, depicted on yellow jasper

gem, 281. See Palmer, 314–333
telesterion, 5, 6, 107
Temesa, 213–214
terra laboris, 35
theatre de terreur, 306
Theseus and Perithoos, 113, 197,

198

Thesmophoria/Thesmophorion. See
Lucchese, 161–189; and Sfameni
Gasparro, 139–160

Thetis and Peleus, wedding of. See

Isler-Kerenyi, 61–72
thiasos, 7
Thurii, 33, 37, 77–80, 98, 100, 111;

lamellae from, 52 and 60n84. See

also Orphic gold tabletsThymbraeus, 266–267
thyrsus, thyrsoi, 47, 212. See also

βακχεύειν
Tiberius, 252
Timotheus, 9
Titans, 78, 89n25; and Bacchus,

47–48
Trimalchio, 131
Triptolemus, 254
Trophonius oracle, 89n25
Tryphe, 39
Tuffatore, tomb of, 111
Typhon, 78

Urbano, S., 172–181
Ursa Major (constellation), 318; and
Thigh (Foreleg) of Seth, 320–322

Verus, L., 293
Vespasian, 219
Vesuvius, 33–35; eruption of, 218
Via Appia Pignatelli, 162
Victory/Nike, 99
Villa Farnesina, 219
Villa Giulia painter, 69
Vulci: amphora from, 57n44, 68, 70;

red-figured spina from, 97


366 General Index


Xanthias, 193–197
Xenophanes of Colophon, 12

Zeno, 131
Zeus, 99, 101, Zeus-Eubuleus, 151,
159–160n38

.τέλεστοι, 106

βακχεύειν, 46–60
βάκχη, 52–53; bacchae vs. maenads, 53
βάκχος (bacchos, bacchus), βάκχοι, 47,

98
βεβαχχευμένον, 50, 51, 82

γρ.φος, 133

δρώμενα, 194

.π.δή, 47

λεγόμενα, 107

μύστης (initiate), μύσται, 52; 59n71,
98, 123–124

ναρθηκοφόροι, 48–49
νυκτιπόλοι, 47, 52

.λβιος, .λβιοι, 100; fortunatus, 267
.ρφικ.ς βίος, 50–51
ορώμενα, 107

πολλο. μέν . . . δέ τε πα.ροι, 50

σύμβολα, 98
σ.μα σ.μα, 133

τάφοι, 133
τελετή, 52–53, 80, 100, 102, 106, 107
τέλος, 107


Index Locorum


Boldface page numbers refer to citations in this volume.

Aeschylus
Agamemnon 1090–1097, 1186–
1197, 1309, 1338–1342, 1460,
1468–1488, 1497–1512, 1565–
1576, 1600–160287–88n16
Choephoroe 698 54n11; 1049–1050
202
Eumenides 25 54n11; 273–274
85–86n11
Seven Against Thebes 498 54n11;
653–655, 699–701, 720–791
87–88n16
Suppliants 230–231 85–86n11

Antiphanes234 K-A 54n7

Apollodorus
Bibliotheca 2.5.1287, 191–203

Apuleius
Metamorphoses 119; 11.10223,
232; 11.22 281; 11.23, 11.30
230

Aristophanes
Clouds 55n22, 158n23, 192–198,
202n24, 202n28
Frogs 85 122; 117–13587n15; 144–
145104; 145, 273 103; 289–
304 85n10, 122; 293 201n21;
564ff. 192–198, 338n23
Knights 55n16
Thesmophoriazusae 145

Aristotle
fr. 195, 135
Physics 4.14.223b24 91
Problemata 17.3.916a28 91
Rhetoric 2.8.1385a5–16, 1385b16–

23 308; B26, 1400b526n16
Bacchylides

Dithyramb 5192, 193, 202n31
202n34; 5.56–70 87n16; 5.64
197–198; 5.71–84 192

Callimachus

Aetia 66.1–9207, 215n12
Epigram 58258–259
ffr. 84–85 213
Hymn to Delos 6.21 271n12; 206–

208 249n5

Cato

de agric. 34 34
Catullus 63 8
Claudianus

de raptu Proserpinae 2.287 129

Clement of Alexandria

Protrepticus 2.15.356n38; 2.16.3
47; 2.17 140–141, 145,
156n4; 2.22.156n38; 2.22.2
47, 55, 55n25; 2.34.444n25;
12.118.5.3, 12.120.2.255n15

Stromateis 1.19.92.357n48;
5.13.17.4–657n48
Diodorus Siculus


368 Index Locorum


Bibliotheca historica 1.14, 1.15257;
1.85.5, 1.88.5272n37; 1.92.2
127n23; 1.96.2–5102, 109,
128n31, 129n51; 1.97.1103;
4.3.355n15, 58n59; 4.9.6–7
91n30; 4.14.4, 4.25ff 87n16;
4.25.187n16, 272n34; 4.26.1
87n16; 4.38.4–588n20; 5.2.3
135; 5.3–4159n37, 5.52.2
88n20, 159; 22.7254; 27.4.2
204

Dionysius of Halicarnassus

Roman Antiquities 45n31; 1.9
273n41; 7.9.35 39; 20.9204
EmpedoclesB126D-K 108
Euripides

Alcestis 357–362 86n12

Bacchae 36, 46, 53, 68, 88n20, 254,
262; 40 54n14; 67 54n7; 76–82
55n15; 11357n42; 120–15750;
135–14060n83; 195, 225 54n7;
251, 298, 313, 317, 343 54n14;
366, 528, 605 54n7; 623 54n6;
632 54n7; 734–758, 847–849,
977–981 60n83; 998 54n7;
102054n6; 1093–113660n83;
1124, 1145, 115354n7; 1160–
116460n83; 118954n7

Cretans 47, 50–53, 56n37, 82; fr.
472 47, 51–52, 56n27, 56n37,
92n34, 94n39; 134

Cyclops 519, 52154n.7
Electra 699–746, 1306ff 87–88n16
Helen 272n30; 167–169205; 1364–

136555n15
Herakles 610ff 87n16; 610–613 192
Hercules Furens 23 87n16; 615

129n41; 899, 108558n59,
54n14; 1122, 114254n14; 1277
87n16

Hippolytus 50, 93n36; 560–561
54n6; 948–957 93n36; 952–954
56n27; 954.150–51, 58n57

Ion 50n23; 218 55n15; 716 54n7

Iphigenia among the Taurians 164
54n6; 186–202 87–88n16; 953
54n7; 987–988 87–88n16

Iphigenia at Aulis 106154n6

Orestes 411 54n14; 811–818, 985–
101287–88n16; 1492.355n16;
1546–154887–88n16

Perithoos P.Oxy 3531 195, 197

Phoenissae 347 216n14; 379–382
87–88n16; 792.1255n18; 867–
888, 1556–1559, 1592–1594,
161187–88n16

Trojan Women 341, 367 54n14

Firmicus Maternus

De Errore Profanarum Religionum

18.1, 22.1
Hekataeus of Abdera

FGrH 264F25 101–102

Heraclitus
B14 D-K = fr.87 Marcovich 55n25
B94 D.K = fr.52 Marcovich 100

Herodotus

Commentary on 44n24

Histories 38, 78; 1.90–1.91 88n.19;
1.107.291n29; 2.598, 272n20,
272n38; 2.61 272n.38; 2.112
272n30; 2.133123; 2.171
12, 133, 256; 3.38 132; 4.79
44n24, 54n7, 55n26, 59n63;

4.94 130n61; 4.10854n11;
5.70–5.72 88n18; 8.144.2142;
8.65 270
Hesiod
fr. 124–126, 294–296 259, 272n25
Theog. 118–120279; 310–312,

769–774 85n10
WD 167ff. 92n32; 212–234 100
Hesychius

s.v. 55nn14, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22
Homeric Hymn to Demeter 6, 140
480–482 270, 481–482 59n73

Homer
Iliad 57n.39; 8.369, 23.70–76
85n9
Odyssey 57n.39; 7.146–152, 7.53–
57 86n12; 10.508, 11.11–19
85n9; 11.633–635 85n.10

Idomeneus of Lampsacus

On Demagogues FGrH 338.F2194

Leonidas

AP 9.326 206


Locrian Nossis

AP 7.414 212

Lucian 56n35
Cataplus 22 194, 195
Dialogues of the Courtesans (scho


lion) 145–149

Passing of Peregrinus 56n35
Maccabbees 4308
Menander

Dyscolos 1–49 212
Mithrasliturgie


PGM 4.656–658 317; 4.674–681
371; 4.696–703 318
Moschus

Lament for Bion 3.123–12486n12

Origen

Contra Celsum 103

Orphic Fragments
fr. 32f Kern 59n79
Rhapsodies fr. 340 B =222 K 98
Papyrus Leiden I.348 320

Parmenides of Elea 13279
Paul, St.

Ephesians 4.2308
Pausanias 2.11.3151; 6.6.4–10214;
8.37.568, 72n.31; 151–155
Petronius Arbiter
Satyricon 17.534. See Griffith

131–136

Pindar

fr. 13092n31
frg. P.Oxy.2622 192
Olympian Odes 2.71–1192n31;

2.57–60 85–86n11
Philo

De specialibus legibus 3.31.169307

Plato

Gorgias 493a 104

Phaedo 47, 48–49, 51–53, 55n28,
57nn41, 43; 69c 101, 123;
79c–d 279

Phaedrus 247c2–3, 111d4–e2,
112e-11392n31; 265e 84n8

Index Locorum
369

Republic 363c4–d28292n33; 103;

363d 122
Timaeus 42cd 91n29
(Ps.Pl.) Axiochus 371e 104


Pliny the Elder

Natural History 3.60 34–35

Plutarch

De def. Orac. 55n14
fr. 178 105
Pompey 24, 10
Mor. 358a 258
Mul. Virt. 26.261f-262a 41, 44n29

Porphyry

Antr. 2, 24–25 279; 6285; 18
287n1


Proclus

Hymns 55n24

Seneca

Ep. Mor. 7.5306; 14.4–6308

Sophocles

Antigone 15454n7
Electra 491 195
Trachiniae 219, 704 54n11


Strabo 6.1.5213
Tibullus 1.7.29–32, 39–41 257
Vergil

Aeneid 3.85 266; 6.127; 6.237ff
198; 6.273–294 198; 6.282–289
191; 6.290 191, 198; 8.688,
8.696–706, 8.711–713 265–
266; 11.252 1; 12.458 266

Georgics 1.7–9253, 254; 1.39 256;
1.160–166255; 2.207–211 261;
2.454–457 253; 2.458–460 269;
3.3–4, 3.4–8263; 3.146–153
259; 3.153258; 4.13–17 262;
4.64, 4.149–152252; 4.323
266; 4.471–480 198; 4.519–520
27

Xenophanes of Colophon21A13 D-K 26n16
21F17 D-K 55n16


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Index of Authors


Arias, P. E., 207, 212–213

Barth, F., 282, 289

Bayet, J., 255

Beck, R., 2, 17, 24, 279, 281, 284–
285, 287, 323n7

Bernabe, A., 5, 18, 19, 21

Bianchi, U., 2, 3, 4, 12, 16, 50

Bookidis, N. and J. E. Fischer, 159n33

Bottini, A., 19

Boyer, P., 285

Brelich, A., 5

Bremmer, J., 309

Brenk, F., 9, 23

Brown, C.G., 194, 195, 197–198,
201n20

Burkert, W., 13–17, 89, 100, 135,
166, 268, 271n2, 279, 292

Burton, A., 272n38

Caputo, P., 9, 23, 29n51

Casadio, G., 2, 15, 90n29, 91n29,
125, 215, 287

Ceccarelli, P., 41

Cipriani, M., 142–155

Clark, R. J., 10, 288n7

Clauss, M., 292

Clinton, K., 18

Coarelli, F., 19, 281

Cockle, H. M., 195, 197, 202n27,
202n28

Cole, S. G., 18–19, 157n6

Coleman, K., 305–306

Colpe, C., 2

Comparetti, D., 36, 89n25

Cosmopoulos, M. B., 18–19

Costabile, F., 207

Cumont, F., 2, 14, 295

De Jong, A., 295

Delatte, A., 281

Depew, M., 89n24

de Velasco, D., 105

Dieterich, A., 41n4

Dodd, D. B. and C. A. Faraone, 11,
26n13

Dunand, F., 105

Edmonds, R. G., 5, 21

Eliade, M., 5

Elias, N., 305

Farrell, J., 271n13

Foucault, M., 304–307, 313n32

Francis, J. A., 307

Frazer, J. G., 2, 3, 12, 268

Gordon, R., 2, 15, 16, 17, 24, 278,
279, 280, 285, 287n2

Graf, F., 19, 74

Griffith, R. D., 21, 22, 272n22

Henrichs, A., 253, 271n9

Jimenez San Cristobal, A., 7, 20, 100,
112, 125

Johnston, P. A., 9, 12, 125, 287

Kafka, F., 305

Karmiloff-Smith, A., 282–288

King, C., 281

Kingsley, P., 88n20, 91n30

Lambrechts, P., 11


372 Index of Authors


Leopold, F. and J. S. Jensen, 277

Lincoln, B., 11

Ling, R., 294, 298

Lloyd-Jones, H., 108, 192, 193, 194,
196, 200n9, 202n28

Luraghi, N., 42n.6

MacLachlan, B., 23

Merkelbach, R., 73, 278, 285, 292,
302, 310n4, 311n14, 311n18

Mertens Horn, M., 19–20

Meyboom, P., 294

Minto, A., 291–312

Musti, D., 86n13

Mylonas, G. E., 105, 260

Nock, A. D., 2

Norden, E., 22, 191–192, 194

North, J., 15

Nussbaum, M., 279

Orsi, P., 204, 215n3

Otto, W. F., 41n.3

Paget, R. F., 235

Pailler, J. M., 36

Pettazzoni, R., 2, 25n6

Price, T., 86n13

Pugliese Carratelli, G., 60n86, 123,
157n6

Puhvel, J., 90n28

Redfield, J., 88n20, 93–94n37

Rehm, R., 215n8

Reitzenstein R., 2, 25n3

Rohde, E., 88n20, 133

Roller, L., 27n33

Rudolph, K., 4

Sabbatucci, D., 25n6, 89, 90n26,

93n35
Scalera McClintock, G., 76, 84n7
Schlam, C., 279, 280, 287n1
Schmeling, G., 132
Schmidt, M., 96, 113, 118, 120, 121
Schutze, A., 292
Seaford, R., 88n20
Sfameni Gasparro, G., 2,12,17,20,22
Shaw, B., 308, 313n43
Sherry, D., 285
Smith, J. Z., 26n11, 41n1, 89n23
Sourvinou-Inwood, C., 18, 86n13,

215n5
Thomas, R., 253, 254, 259, 260,
272n35
Turcan, R., 4, 14–17, 36–37, 68n62,

93n35, 292
van Essen, C., 281
Van Genne, A., 75
Vermaseren, M., 2, 4, 281, 291–294,

297–299, 301–303, 314
Vernant, J.-P., 36
Veyne, P., 41n3, 45n36
Warburton, W., 190–191, 199, 199n2
Whitehouse, H., 283–284, 287,

288n9
Zabkar, L. V., 133
Zanker, P., 252
Zeller, D., 16
Zevi, F., 20
Zuntz, G., 88n22, 89n25, 91n29,

91n30, 135, 273n47