Category Archives: Classics

On anachronistic puffery

Some new reading is surprisingly supportive of the points I made the other day in my post titled A Core of Belief.

The following excerpts on the subject of modern perceptions of ancient Greek divinatory practices come from Michael A. Flower’s The Seer in Ancient Greece (UC Press, 2008) [Buy one now: they’re having an awsome sale!]:

I well remember an incident in a seminar that made a great impression on me at the time. A student of mind from India, who happened to be a practicing Hindu, said that he found nothing peculiar about accepting at face value the Delphic prophecies recounted by Herodotus; for it was simply the case that a god, whom the Greeks happened to call Apollo, was speaking through the priestess. The other students jeered terribly, and my attempts to defend the intellectual legitimacy of his point of vew had little effect. What this incident impressed upon me was not the authenticity of Delphic prophecy, but rather the difficulty that many of us have in taking different systems of belief seriously on their own terms.

I think that in a book of this sort it is not out of place to reveal something of my own biases right at the beginning. The reader will not find any declaration as to the validity of divination. That is not to say that I believe in the power of the Pythia to predict the future or in the ability of seers to determine the divine will by examining the entrails of sacrificial animals. But it is to say that I am convinced that the vast majority of Greeks really believed in such things. They took their own religion seriously, and as a system of knowledge and belief it worked very well for them. It is methodologically inappropriate when modern scholars project their own views about religion on the Greeks and sometimes even claim that the seers as a group were conscious charlatans who duped the superstitious masses. Such assertions fly in the face of work on divination by anthropologists, work that reveals a good deal about the mentality of diviner and client as well as about the social usefulness of divination. (From the Preface, p. xiii-xiv.)

[I]t is common to be told that the priests at Delphi, who knew the questions in advance, put into verse the inarticulate ramblings of the Pythia; that generals cynically (or at least consciously) manipulated the omens to suit their strategic needs or to boost the morale of their troops; and that seers told their employers precisely what they thought they wanted to hear. Since divination is a marginal practice in industrialized Western societies, such questions and answers are formed from the viewpoint that divination must have been an encumbrance to the Greeks, something that rational individuals either had to maneuver around or else had to manipulate for their own interests. Above all, to modern sensibilities, a random and irrational system of divination must not be seen as determining what the elite of the Greek world thought and did. In fact, it has been argued that the elite manipulated divination for their own ends, whether to exploit or to assist the uneducated masses. It is easy enough to validate this prejudice by appealing to the more “rational” segment in Greek society; for instance, by quoting isolated expressions of skepticism, such as the famous line attributed to Euripides that “the best seer is the one who guesses well.”

Our own biases can be hard to overcome. As the anthropologist Philip Peek has observed, “the European tradition tends to characterize the diviner as a charismatic charlatan coercing others through clever manipulation of esoteric knowledge granted inappropriate worth by a credulous and anxiety-ridden people.” In reference to divination in sub-Saharan Africa he concludes: “Instead, we have found diviners to be men and women of exceptional wisdom and high personal character.” I am convinced that if we could go back in time and conduct the sort of fieldwork that a contemporary anthropologist is able to engage in, we undoubtedly would find that Peek’s observation would hold true for the Greek seer as well. (Pages 4-5.)

The book is fascinating. I recommend it to all. It’s the first book-length treatment of the subject.

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Plato: Complete Works

Have you been looking for a complete set of the works of Plato in a modern translation? I had been for a long time, and somehow had not run across Plato: Complete Works, edited by John M. Cooper, with associate editor D. S. Hutchinson, from Hackett Publishing Company. I managed to run across it in a real bookstore, in person! This hefty tome of over 1800 pages includes all the authentic and spurious works organized according to the canon established by Thrasyllus of Alexandria. That is, the works that Thrasyllus considered canonical are arranged in nine tetralogies (groups of four), with a further eight dialogues (Definitions, On Justice, On Virtue, Demodocus, Sisyphus, Halcyon, Eryxias, Axiochus; all of which Thrasyllus considered spurious) and a set of epigrams outside the number. Of course, several of the dialogues included within Thrasyllus’ canonical tetralogies are now recognized as spurious, and other dialogues have their authorship by Plato under discussion. The Letters and Epigrams are of similarly mixed authenticity. (As an aside, the nine tetralogies make me wonder if their number nine was the source for Plotinus’ Ennead, with Plotinus drawing an even greater import from this peculiar arrangement of Plato’s works than is intended. It’s a possibility anyway.)

In any case, this is a nice volume to have, particularly when running across an obscure reference to one of the very hard to find spurious works. The translations are perhaps a little too contemporary for my taste, but they’re effective for reading and getting the gist of the Greek, which is notoriously difficult but rewardingly beautiful with Plato. The footnotes are clear and not too digressive, clarifying quotations and allusions to other works of the period, which is very helpful. This is something that has been restricted to the more expensive editions, so it’s quite nice to have it all at hand in one book. And though the book is too large for reading without a desk, it’s well-bound, using “Bible paper” which is sufficiently opaque to avoid bleed-through and its consequent eye strain. The only thing I found lacking in this volume was an alphabetical list of the works. The Thrasyllan canon’s order is not one that I suspect most people are familiar with, so having an alphabetical table of contents in addition to the regular one would’ve been nice. I put one together myself in a few minutes anyway, so it wasn’t that big a deal.

Anyhow, I recommend the volume. It was a work of love by those involved at Hackett Publishing, the publisher of earlier more extensively introduced editions of most of the translations included in this volume. We should all thank them for their dedication and consideration in putting together such a very useful volume.

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The Silencing of the Oracles

Now moderation, adequacy, excess in nothing, and complete self-sufficiency are above all else the essential characteristics of everything done by the gods; and if anyone should take this fact as a starting-point, and assert that Greece has far more than its share in the general depopulation which the earlier discords and wars have wrought throughout practically the whole inhabited earth, and that to-day the whole of Greece would hardly muster three thousand men-at-arms, which is the number that the one city of the Megarians sent forth to Plataeae (for the god’s abandoning of many oracles is nothing other than his way of substantiating the desolation of Greece), in this way such a man would give some accurate evidence of his keenness in reasoning. For who would profit if there were an oracle in Tegyrae, as there used to be, or at Ptoüm, where during some part of the day one might possibly meet a human being pasturing his flocks? And regarding the oracle here at Delphi, the most ancient in time and the most famous in repute, men record that for a long time it was made desolate and unapproachable by a fierce creature, a serpent; they do not, however, put the correct interpretation upon its lying idle, but quite the reverse; for it was the desolation that attracted the creature rather than that the creature caused the desolation. But when Greece, since God so willed, had grown strong in cities and the place was thronged with people, they used to employ two prophetic priestesses who were sent down in turn; and a third was appointed to be held in reserve. But to-day there is one priestess and we do not complain, for she meets every need. There is no reason, therefore, to blame the god; the exercise of the prophetic art which continues at the present day is sufficient for all, and sends away all with their desires fulfilled. Agammemnon, for example, used nine heralds and, even so, had difficulty in keeping the assembly in order because of the vast numbers; but here in Delphi, a few days hence, in the theatre you will see that one voice reaches all. In the same way, in those days, prophecy employed more voices to speak to more people, but to-day, quite the reverse, we should needs be surprised at the god if he allowed his prophecies to run to waste, like water, or to echo like the rocks with the voices of shepherds and flocks in waste places.

Plutarch, The Obsolescence of Oracles, 413F-414C
Translation by Frank Cole Babbitt, LCL 306

The above is the core of Plutarch’s explanation for the various oracles of the Greek world having fallen silent in the late first and early second centuries AD: there weren’t enough people for them to be necessary. In a way, he may be right, in that votive donations will have steeply declined in the drastic depopulation in the Greek territories. Of course, this was also the time of the explosive growth of Christianity in precisely those territories, a development that Plutarch never mentions, but which certainly played a role in redirecting worship and funding. Further affecting the situation would be the elimination of the city-state democracies, and thereby the Amphictyonic League which supported Delphi, particularly with the advent of the Roman Principate. That is, with the possibility of patronage being limited by the Emperor and a small elite controlling the economy, Delphi and other formerly prestigious sites will have vied for the attention of the few funds available, with the bigger names winning out. Everyone knew Delphi and Dodona, but who in Rome knew Tegyrae or Ptoüm? Most likely, a combination of all of the above-mentioned points was responsible for the silencing of the oracles.

Even Delphi went silent in the late fourth century with the closing of pagan temples by Emperor Theodosius. This was, in a sense, a very real triumph of the Nazarene over the Delian.

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Victorinus and Togas

In section 1.2 of Victorinus’ Commentary on the Apocalypse, we read:

His antiquity and immortality, the source of majesty, are shown by with a white head. For the Head of Christ is God. And with white hair are the multitude of wearers of white (the newly baptized), like wool, because of the sheep, like snow, because of the innumerable crowd of candidates (catechumens) given by Heaven. Eyes like a flame of fire. These are the commandments of God, giving light to those who believe, (but) burning the unbelievers.

Now, part of this explanation may seem puzzling, particularly this: like snow, because of the innumerable crowd of candidates given by Heaven.

It helps to know a little about Roman culture here. Those who put themselves up for election to an office wore a particular toga called the toga candida. This was a toga of the regular shape and size, draped in the usual manner, but was distinguished by being well-bleached and then chalked to make it brilliantly white. Thus, the wearer of such a toga, the candidate (candidatus), shone as brightly as newfallen snow, and was easily distinguished in a crowd. Victorinus here is playing at words, by using candidates (candidatorum) here in a general sense as we do, to refer to anyone in line for a potential position, and in a way that makes use of the word’s very particular connotation of brilliant whiteness. In this case, he describes the catechumens as candidates for becoming Christians. It’s a particularly apt and striking image.

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Cheese sandwich oracle

The case of Sophronius, bishop of Tella (fifth century), is truly amazing, even though, as a supporter of Nestorius, he may be classified as a heretic. The magical experiments of this dignitary of the Church were described by two presbyters and two deacons before the “Robber Synod” of Ephesus in 449 and denounced by the assembled clergy. Someone had stolen a sum of money from the bishop. He gathered the suspects and first made them swear on the Gospel that they were innocent. Then he forced them to undergo the “cheese-sandwich oracle” (tyromanteia). The sandwiches were offered, and the bishop attached a conjuration to a tripod. In principle, the thief would have been unable to eat, but apparently all the suspects ate with a good appetite. So the bishop insisted on another oracle, the phialomanteia: he consulted a spirit that was supposed to appear in a dish into which water and oil had been poured. This method finally revealed the thief.

This peculiar tale is found on page 460 of the new second edition of Arcana Mundi by Georg Luck (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006). As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve been looking forward to its release. An extensive general introduction, epilogue (The Survival of Ancient Magic) and appendix (Psychoactive Substances in Religion and Magic) have been added, each section (Magic, Miracles, Daemonology, Divination, Astrology, Alchemy) has rewritten introductions, and the selection of texts is both slightly different and there are more of them (131 in the second edition as opposed to 122 in the first). Luck’s writing style is still crisp and clear, perfectly explanatory and even somewhat drily humorous at times. He’s obviously benefitted, as have we all, by the numerous publications of magical texts and studies on the subject published over the last twenty years. A very useful Vocabula Magica is included, giving short definitions for the various technical terms used throughout the texts and introductions. The detailed “Select Bibliography” is especially welcome. There is an Index of Ancient Sources, which is useful, and a General Index, which is unfortunately not very detailed.

Caveat emptor: the hardcover edition is without dustjacket, for whatever inexcusable reason. Being that it is a cream-colored cloth cover (the photo shown in my “Currently Reading” spot is apparently of the paperback edition’s cover), not a sensible “library cover” such as Eisenbrauns does so well, I had to return the first copy I received as it seemed to have substituted for a puck in a game of warehouse floor hockey.

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When daemons die

As to the question whether daemons can die, I have heard a story from a man who was neither a fool nor an impostor. The father of Aemilianus, the professor of rhetoric whose students some of you have been, was called Epiterses; he was a school teacher and lived in the same town I did. He told me that he once made a trip to Italy and embarked on a ship that carried commercial goods and a large number of passengers. It was already evening; they were near the Echinades Islands. The wind dropped, and the ship drifted near Paxi.

Many of the passengers were awake, and some were still drinking after having finished their dinner. Suddenly a voice was heard from Paxi loudly calling ‘Thamus! Thamus!’ Everybody was astonished. Thamus happened to be our pilot, an Egyptian, but he was not known by name even to many of us onboard. The voice called twice, and he remained silent, but the third time, he answered. The caller, raising his voice, now said: ‘When you get across to Palodes, announce that the Great Pan is dead.’ On hearing this, Epitherses said, everybody was amazed, and they argued among themselves whether it might be better to do what they were told or not to get involved in something and let the matter go. So Thamus decided that if there should be a breeze he would sail past and say nothing, but with no wind and a smooth sea all around he would announce what he had been told. When he came near Palodes, and there was no wind, no wave, Thamus looked from the stern toward the land and said the words as he had heard them: ‘The Great Pan is dead.’ He had not yet finished when there was much wailing, not just from one person, but from many, mingled with shouts of amazement. Since there were many persons on board, the story soon spread in all of Rome, and Thamus was sent for by the emperor Tiberius. Tiberius became so convinced that the story was true that he ordered a thorough investigation concerning Pan; the scholars at his court—and there were many of them—guessed that he was the son of Hermes and Penelope.

Plutarch, On the Cessation of the Oracles, 418E—419E

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