mutilation of herms in context of Actaeon, Tiresias & masturbation

To reduce men’s sexual disadvantage, the ancient Greek lawmaker Solon wisely established in Athens public brothels with affordable rates. Over the subsequent century and a half, public-spirited persons erected in Athens numerous herms — pillars featuring the face and erect penis of the messenger god Hermes. These actions in support of men’s sexuality and gender equality weren’t sufficient.[1] In 415 BGC, the penises and faces of all the Athenian herms were mutilated. That symbolic violence against men’s genitals and faces, like the death of Adonis, exemplifies deeply entrenched castration culture. In ancient Greek myth, goddesses harshly punished Actaeon and Tiresias merely because they gazed upon them bathing naked. Under such gender-oppressive circumstances, ordinary, hard-working men like the uncultured Greco-Roman garden god Priapus resorted to masturbation.

Peplos Kore, from Athens c. 525 BGC, restored as goddess Artemis

Men historically have been reluctant to speak about injustices against men as a gender, including symbolic violence against men. The eminent Athenian general and historian Thucydides lived during the time of the symbolic violence against the herms. Rather than recording his personal feelings about being a man in fifth-century BGC Athens, Thucydides wrote a history of the Peloponnesian War. In that history, men are merely actors and instruments of political developments. Thucydides described institutionalized violence against men in the Peloponnesian War as if nothing needed to be said about gender devaluing men’s lives and men’s sexuality.[2] Here’s how he recorded the symbolic violence against men’s penises and faces in Athens in 415 BGC:

In the city of Athens, many stone herms, the square-cut type, stand at private doors and at holy places in accordance with local custom. Most of their fronts were mutilated during one night.

{ ὅσοι Ἑρμαῖ ἦσαν λίθινοι ἐν τῇ πόλει τῇ Ἀθηναίων (εἰσὶ δὲ κατὰ τὸ ἐπιχώριον ἡ τετράγωνος ἐργασία πολλοὶ καὶ ἐν ἰδίοις προθύροις καὶ ἐν ἱεροῖς) μιᾷ νυκτὶ οἱ πλεῖστοι περιεκόπησαν τὰ πρόσωπα. }[3]

The ancient Greek verbal form translated here as “were mutilated {περιεκόπησαν}” comes from the verb περικόπτω. It literally means “to cut off all around.” The ancient Greek noun πρόσωπα is more commonly translated as “faces,” an alternate meaning of the Greek word. In any case, Thucydides, in accordance with his general practice of gender repression, didn’t specifically mention the mutilation of the herms’ penises. Like Thucydides’s history, other less prominent texts about this event similarly describe the symbolic violence against the herms with forms of “to mutilate {περικόπτω},” without specifying exactly what was mutilated.[4]

Ithyphallic herm painted on Athenian red-figure krater

Aristophanes’s comedy Lysistrata, performed in Athens in 411 BGC, tellingly offered an ancient sexual-assault “joke.” Lysistrata concerns the gender-exclusive exploitation of men in fighting wars. It specifically concerns the Peloponnesian War of Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War. Comically and ironically resisting the gender injustice that Thucydides’s history gender-obtusely records, Athenian women in Lysistrata refuse to have sex with Athenian men until the men stop participating in the violence against men of the Peloponnesian War. Athenian men are thus sexually frustrated. They are appearing in public with painfully enduring erections. The old man leading Lysistrata’s chorus of old men warns the Athenian men:

If you’re wise, you’ll cover yourself with your cloaks, so that
one of the herm-cutters won’t see you.

{ εἰ σωφρονεῖτε, θαἰμάτια λήψεσθ᾿, ὅπως
τῶν ἑρμοκοπιδῶν μή τις ὑμᾶς ὄψεται. }[5]

In context, these verses clearly refer to violence against men’s genitals and similar symbolic violence against herms. Moreover, these verses plausibly refer obliquely to the well-known, widely discussed symbolic violence against the penises and faces of herms just four years earlier.[6]

Satyr with an axe attacking a herm’s face (hermocopide)

Writing about 100 GC, Plutarch obliquely indicated that the mutilation of herms in Athens in 415 BGC involved violence against their penises. In his life of the Athenian politician and general Nicias, Plutarch described how Nicias had vainly argued against the Athenians’ disastrous Sicilian Expedition. Then Plutarch commented:

No signs could deter the people from the expedition, even though the signs had never been so obvious and clear. One such sign was the mutilation of the herms. All these statues, except for one, had their extremities cut off in a single night. The one unharmed herm was called the Hermes of Andocides. That one was dedicated by the Aegeïd tribe and stood in front of what was at that time the house of Andocides. There was also the affair of the altar of the Twelve Gods. An unknown man suddenly leaped upon the altar, straddled it, and then cut off his own genitals with a stone.

{ οὐδὲ γὰρ τὰ προὖπτα καὶ καταφανῆ τῶν σημείων ἀπέτρεπεν, ἥ τε τῶν Ἑρμῶν περικοπή, μιᾷ νυκτὶ πάντων ἀκρωτηριασθέντων πλὴν ἑνός, ὃν Ἀνδοκίδου καλοῦσιν, ἀνάθημα μὲν τῆς Αἰγηΐδος φυλῆς, κείμενον δὲ πρὸ τῆς τότε οὔσης Ἀνδοκίδου οἰκίας, καὶ τὸ πραχθὲν περὶ τὸν βωμὸν τῶν δώδεκα θεῶν. ἄνθρωπος γάρ τις ἐξαίφνης ἀναπηδήσας ἐπ᾿ αὐτόν, εἶτα περιβὰς ἀπέκοψεν αὑτοῦ λίθῳ τὸ αἰδοῖον. }[7]

Penises are extremities of herms. The man castrating himself on the altar of the Twelve Gods makes best sense in the context of parallel violence against the herms’ genitals. Both indicate hostility towards men’s sexuality under castration culture.

Herm of Demosthenes

Ancient Greek myth also attests to hostility towards men’s sexuality under gynocentrism. Consider Actaeon. Through his mother’s familial line he was the grandson of Cadmus, the king of Thebes. Along with other men, Actaeon and his dogs were hunting on Mount Cithaeron in central Greece. There he encountered the goddess Diana, the granddaughter of Titans through her mother’s familial line. Healthy masculine desire to see the face and body of a naked woman didn’t prompt Actaeon’s encounter with the bathing Diana. Fate brought him to her:

While she of the Titans was being bathed there in her usual spring waters,
look! Cadmus’s grandson, his day’s labor deferred,
with unsure steps wandering through the unknown woods,
comes to the place. Fate so made it thus.
When he entered the grottoes, dripping with fountains
as they then were, the naked nymphs, seeing a man,
beat their breasts and suddenly filled the whole woods
with shrill cries. Having surrounded Diana,
they covered her with their own bodies. But taller than them
is the goddess herself, and her neck towers above all.
The color of clouds infused by opposing
rays of sun or the color of rosy dawn would be
as Diana’s face was, she seen then without her clothes on.

{ Dumque ibi perluitur solita Titania lympha,
ecce nepos Cadmi dilata parte laborum
per nemus ignotum non certis passibus errans
pervenit in lucum: sic illum fata ferebant.
Qui simul intravit rorantia fontibus antra,
sicut erant, viso nudae sua pectora nymphae
percussere viro, subitisque ululatibus omne
implevere nemus circumfusaeque Dianam
corporibus texere suis; tamen altior illis
ipsa dea est colloque tenus supereminet omnes.
Qui color infectis adversi solis ab ictu
nubibus esse solet aut purpureae aurorae,
is fuit in vultu visae sine veste Dianae. }[8]

Many men are afraid to look at goddesses, or talk with them, or have sex with them. Prone to gyno-idolatry, men within gynocentric culture feel themselves to be inferior to goddesses. A man accidentally seeing a goddess naked might be embarrassing for both. However, such a fortuitous sight doesn’t challenge goddesses’ dominance over men. Such a sight is likely to enthrall a man further in gyno-idolatry.

Nonetheless, Diana was furious that Actaeon had accidentally seen her naked, bathing in the grotto. She treated him with contempt and dehumanized him:

Amid the surrounding turmoil of her servant-nymphs,
Diana stood with her side turned away and bent her head
backwards. And in this way she wished that she had her usual arrows.
What she had, she drew, and she drenched the man’s face
with water. Sprinkling his hair with a vengeful wave,
she added these words, foreboding a calamitous future:
“Now, you having seen me with my clothes off, you could speak
about it, if you are able to speak.” Without threatening more,
she gave his water-sprinkled head the horns of a lively stag,
gave his neck greater length, and made his ears pointed.
She changed his hands into feet, his arms into long
legs, and covered his body with a spotted hide.
And fear was added. Autonoë’s heroic son Actaeon fled,
and he himself marveled at his swift running.

{ Quae quamquam comitum turba est stipata suarum,
in latus obliquum tamen adstitit oraque retro
flexit, et ut vellet promptas habuisse sagittas,
quas habuit sic hausit aquas vultumque virilem
perfudit, spargensque comas ultricibus undis
addidit haec cladis praenuntia verba futurae:
“Nunc tibi me posito visam velamine narres,
si poteris narrare, licet.” Nec plura minata
dat sparso capiti vivacis cornua cervi,
dat spatium collo summasque cacuminat aures,
cum pedibusque manus, cum longis bracchia mutat
cruribus et velat maculoso vellere corpus.
Additus et pavor est. Fugit Autonoeius heros
et se tam celerem cursu miratur in ipso. }

Classics scholars have been shamefully silent about the silencing of men. The goddess transformed the man Actaeon into a stag. He was no longer able to speak words like the human being he was. Actaeon’s own dogs spotted him and tore into him:

First Blackhair makes a wound in Actaeon’s back,
next Killer, then Climber bites onto his shoulder —
they ran forth later than other dogs, but by shortcuts over mountains
came faster than the usual way. While they hold their master,
the pack’s others gather and bring their teeth into his body.
Now no place lacks a wound. Actaeon groans and makes a noise,
and it isn’t a human noise, yet not a noise that any stag
would make. He fills the well-known mountain ridges with mournful laments.

On every side the dogs bite, and with their jaws in his body
lacerate their master under the deceiving image of a stag.
Not until his life had ended by many wounds
was the rage of the quiver-bearing Diana satiated.

{ Prima Melanchaetes in tergo vulnera fecit,
proxima Therodamas, Oresitrophos haesit in armo:
tardius exierant, sed per compendia montis
anticipata via est. Dominum retinentibus illis,
cetera turba coit confertque in corpore dentes.
Iam loca vulneribus desunt. Gemit ille sonumque,
etsi non hominis, quem non tamen edere possit
cervus, habet maestisque replet iuga nota querellis.

Undique circumstant mersisque in corpore rostris
dilacerant falsi dominum sub imagine cervi.
nec nisi finita per plurima vulnera
vita ira pharetratae fertur satiata Dianae. }[9]

Violence against men because of absurdly defined male sex crimes must end. Women are complicit in penal justice systems that vastly gender-disproportionately punish persons with penises. Women must relinquish their unjustified rage and gave peace a chance.[10]

Actaeon being killed by his hounds

In another ancient Greek myth, the nymph-mother Chariclo perceived hostility towards men’s sexuality too late to save her son Tiresias from blindness. One day Tiresias sought to satisfy his thirst. That’s not a crime. He accidentally saw the goddess Athena naked, bathing in springs on Mount Helicon. Men seeing with their eyes isn’t wrong. Nonetheless, here’s what happened:

Unspeakably thirsty, he went to the flowing fountain,
wretched man! Unwittingly he saw what was not permitted.
Athena was furious with him, but she spoke nonetheless:
“You will never recover your eyesight, you, Tiresias,
Everes’s son. What divine power led you down this harsh path?”
She spoke, and then night seized the young man’s eyes.
He stood speechless, anguish glued his knees together,
and helplessness held back his voice.

{ διψάσας δ’ ἄφατόν τι ποτὶ ῥόον ἤλυθε κράνας,
σχέτλιος· οὐκ ἐθέλων δ’ εἶδε τὰ μὴ θεμιτά.
τὸν δὲ χολωσαμένα περ ὅμως προσέφασεν Ἀθάνα·
“τίς σε, τὸν ὀφθαλμὼς οὐκέτ’ ἀποισόμενον,
ὦ Εὐηρείδα, χαλεπὰν ὁδὸν ἄγαγε δαίμων;”
ἁ μὲν ἔφα, παιδὸς δ’ ὄμματα νὺξ ἔλαβεν.
ἑστάκη δ’ ἄφθογγος, ἐκόλλασαν γὰρ ἀνῖαι
γώνατα καὶ φωνὰν ἔσχεν ἀμαχανία. }[11]

In short, Athena blinded Tiresias for accidentally seeing her naked. Tiresias was initially a man made speechless like Actaeon. Unlike Actaeon turned into a stag, Tiresias couldn’t run because anguish glued his knees together.

Tiresias’s mother Chariclo, who had been bathing naked with her friend Athena, profoundly lamented Athena’s harsh punishment of Tiresias. Chariclo had no idea how the ruling goddesses treat men, even men who are the sons of their friends:

What have you done to my son,
lady? Is this how you goddesses are friends?
You took away the eyes of my child. Accursed boy,
you saw the breasts and body of Athena,
but you won’t see the sun again!

{ τί μοι τὸν κῶρον ἔρεξας
πότνια; τοιαῦται, δαίμονες, ἐστὲ φίλαι;
ὄμματά μοι τῶ παιδὸς ἀφείλεο. τέκνον ἄλαστε,
εἶδες Ἀθαναίας στήθεα καὶ λαγόνας,
ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἀέλιον πάλιν ὄψεαι. }

Athena of course blamed her action on the god Cronos, who had castrated his father Uranus. We need women leaders. Women, including goddesses, must lead in a new direction to promote justice for men. If women don’t lead in promoting true gender equality, their own sons will suffer.

Men have long endured sexual deprivation amid cultural hostility to men’s sexuality. About two thousand years ago, the uncultured Greco-Roman garden god Priapus complained:

The ancient Priapuses had river nymphs and woodland nymphs,
and a place that a god’s stiff penis could undergo.
Now so lacking a place to approach and so full is my libido
that I might think that all the nymphs have perished.
Shameful indeed it is to do, but so as not to burst with desire,
I’ll put aside my pruning hook and make my hand my lover.

{ Naidas antiqui Dryadasque habuere Priapi,
et quo tenta dei vena subiret, erat.
nunc adeo nihil est, adeo mea plena libido est,
ut Nymphas omnis interiisse putem.
turpe quidem factu, sed ne tentigine rumpar,
falce mihi posita fiet amica manus. }[12]

Men in truth are not gods like Priapus, nor are women goddesses or nymphs. Men are similar to dogs on occasion, yet as meninists insist, men are human beings. Men deserve better than masturbation. Men deserve to be loved in the fullness of their human being. Men masturbating indicates that society has not encompassed well the needs of men.[13]

Violence against the penises and faces of herms in Athens in 415 BGC and ancient Greek myths about the sexual victimization of Actaeon and Tiresias testify to historically entrenched hostility toward men’s sexuality. In ancient Greco-Roman culture, sophisticated Priapus poems protested against brutalizing men’s sexuality. Today, all persons of good will around the whole world should lovingly support men’s sexuality.

Castration culture hurts women as well as men. In ancient Greek myth, the love goddess Aphrodite burned with passion for the more than heavenly young man Adonis. He died in a significant way:

By chance his dogs, having followed tell-tale tracks,
roused a swine from hiding, and as it prepared to rush from the woods,
Cinyras’s grandson Adonis pierced it with an oblique blow.
Immediately with its curved snout it dislodged the spear,
stained with its blood. The fierce boar chased the frightened one,
who was seeking a safe place. It buried all its tusks beneath
Adonis’s groin and flattened the dying one upon the yellow sand.

{ forte suem latebris vestigia certa secuti
excivere canes, silvisque exire parantem
fixerat obliquo iuvenis Cinyreius ictu:
protinus excussit pando venabula rostro
sanguine tincta suo trepidumque et tuta petentem
trux aper insequitur totosque sub inguine dentes
abdidit et fulva moribundum stravit harena. }[14]

The swine struck Adonis in his genitals and killed him. The swine represents vicious proponents of castration culture. Their actions cause immeasurable grief:

On the hills lies beautiful Adonis, with tusk-wounded thigh,
wounded in his gleaming thigh by a gleaming tusk, and he grieves Aphrodite
as he breathes his final faint breath. His dark blood drips over his
snow-white flesh, under his brow his eyes grow dim,
and the rosy hue flees from his lip. Around him
dies also the kiss that Aphrodite will never again carry away.

{ κεῖται καλὸς Ἄδωνις ἐν ὤρεσι μηρὸν ὀδόντι,
λευκῷ λευκὸν ὀδόντι τυπείς, καὶ Κύπριν ἀνιῇ
λεπτὸν ἀποψύχων· τὸ δέ οἱ μέλαν εἴβεται αἷμα
χιονέας κατὰ σαρκός, ὑπ’ ὀφρύσι δ’ ὄμματα ναρκῇ,
καὶ τὸ ῥόδον φεύγει τῶ χείλεος· ἀμφὶ δὲ τήνῳ
θνᾴσκει καὶ τὸ φίλημα, τὸ μήποτε Κύπρις ἀποίσει. }[15]

death of Adonis

Beneath the groin and next to the thigh is the center of a man’s being, an instrument of his blessing. The great ancient Greek woman poet Sappho loved her brothers Charaxos and Larichos through difficult circumstances. Sappho taught women how to respond to the mortal sexual violence that Adonis suffered:

“He is dying, Aphrodite — he, graceful Adonis. What to do?”

“Beat your breasts, young women, and tear your clothes.”

{ κατθνάσκει, Κυθέρη᾿, ἄβρος Ἄδωνις· τί κε

θεῖμεν; καττύπτεσθε, κόραι, καὶ κατερείκεσθε κίθωνας. }[16]

In ancient Greece, women annually mourned Adonis with a festival called the Adonia. Women put into broken pots shallow earth seeded with fennel and lettuce seeds. These broken pots were known as “Gardens of Adonis.” They carried the Gardens of Adonis to rooftops. There the seeds sprouted and quickly withered. Gardens of Adonis, like a hateful Garden of Priapus, represent barrenness.[17] The Adonia commemorates that under hostile conditions, men’s seminal blessing withers and becomes merely inert yellow sand stained with blood.

Stay, Adonis,
stay, ill-fated Adonis, so that I may possess you one last time,
so that I may embrace you and mingle with you, lips with lips.
Rouse yourself a little, Adonis, to kiss me for a final time.
Kiss me as long as your kiss lives on,
until you breathe your last into my mouth, until your spirit flows into my heart,
and I drain your sweet love.

{ μεῖνον Ἄδωνι,
δύσποτμε μεῖνον Ἄδωνι, πανύστατον ὥς σε κιχείω,
ὥς σε περιπτύξω καὶ χείλεα χείλεσι μίξω.
ἔγρεο τυτθόν, Ἄδωνι, τὸ δ’ αὖ πύματόν με φίλησον,
τοσσοῦτόν με φίλησον ὅσον ζώει τὸ φίλημα,
ἄχρις ἀποψύχῃς ἐς ἐμὸν στόμα, κεἰς ἐμὸν ἧπαρ
πνεῦμα τεὸν ῥεύσῃ, τὸ δέ σευ γλυκὺ φίλτρον ἀμέλξω,
ἐκ δὲ πίω τὸν ἔρωτα· }[18]

Alas for Adonis!

{ ὦ τὸν Ἄδωνιν }[19]

If you are unwilling to help men in order to progress toward gender equality, at least help men to promote the welfare of your daughters and sons, or the daughters and sons of family and friends.

Bust of Phrasikleia kore with crown of lotus buds and holding a lotus bud.

* * * * *

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Notes:

[1] Solon was reportedly the chief magistrate (archon) of Athens early in the sixth century BGC. The earliest visual and physical evidence of herms in the ancient Greek world dates to late in the sixth century (about 520-500 BGC). Osborne (1985) p. 48. Hipparchus {Ἵππαρχος}, son of Pisistratus, ruled Athens from 527 to 514 BGC. He reportedly erected herms in Athens. Platonic dialogue Hipparchus 228d–229a and Fragments of Old Comedy, Comic Adespota 238 from Story (2011) pp. 372-3. On the origin of herms more generally, Osborne (1985) pp. 47-57, Furley (1996) pp. 13-28.

Herms stood in places of ordinary life: before entrances to house, along public walkways (stoai) and near marketplaces and gymnasia (physical training facilities). Menander’s The Lyre Player / Kitharistes {Κιθαριστησ} refers to a “large group of statues of Hermes {herms} at the north-western entrance to the Athenian agora.” Arnott (1997) p. 127, n. 5 to Kitharistes fragment, v. 65. In addition:

In the gymnasium not far from the Athenian market-place, called Ptolemy’s from the founder, are stone herms well worth seeing.

{ ἐν δὲ τῷ γυμνασίῳ τῆς ἀγορᾶς ἀπέχοντι οὐ πολύ, Πτολεμαίου δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ κατασκευασαμένου καλουμένῳ, λίθοι τέ εἰσιν Ἑρμαῖ θέας ἄξιοι }

Pausanias, Description of Greece 1.17.2 (Attica), ancient Greek text and English translation (modified slightly) from Jones (1918). For more on the democratic associations of herms in ancient Athens, Quinn (2007) pp. 91-3.

Enthralled with a hateful phallus ideology, scholars have failed to recognize that herms challenge elite gynocentrism. A perceptive scholar understood that herms challenge elite cultural values in a way relevant to men’s distinctive sexual being:

the herm’s phallus makes an issue of the ‘undersized penis’ of the kouros, which Stewart suggested was originally intended to deflect attention ‘from this unheroic, unsightly and embarrassingly uncontrollable organ’ rather than attract it. The herm’s phallus can be seen as a direct challenge to the moderation and sexual regulation valued by the Attic aristocratic mentality, symbolized in the fetishization of small penises, and in particular the dainty genitals of the kouros.

Quinn (2007) p. 103. The kouros is an ancient, trans-Mediterranean sculpture of a highly stylized nude young aristocratic man. The ancient, trans-Mediterranean sculpture of a highly stylized young aristocratic woman (kore) complemented the kouros in representing elite values. Against the elite reign of the kore, herms affirmed ordinary men’s bodily value in ordinary household life.

[2] Thucydides was born in Athens about 460 BGC, his familial birthplace. He lived through the devastating plague in Athens in 430 BGC. He then risked his life as a general leading an Athenian military expedition to Thasos. Nonetheless, Thucydides was exiled from Athens in 424 BGC for failing to prevent the Spartans from taking the city Amphipolis on the Thracian coast. Thucydides thus wasn’t living in Athens when the herms were mutilated in 415 BGC. However, he surely had enough contracts in Athens to have been informed how exactly the herms were mutilated.

Thucydides doesn’t treat men as a distinctive gender. Within the constraints of dominant anti-meninist discourse, scholars are scarcely capable of analyzing Thucydides’s treatment of men and the gender injustice of excluding women from war. See, e.g., O’Sullivan (2024) and Shannon-Henderson (2019).

[3] Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War 6.27, ancient Greek text from Smith (1921), my English translation, benefiting from that of id., which translates πρόσωπα as “faces.” Subsequent quotes from Thucydides are similarly sourced.

Most scholarly works, including Smith (1921), translate πρόσωπα as “faces” in Thucydides’s account of the mutilation of the herms. Furley stated:

Thucydides tells us specifically that it was the faces of the Herms which suffered, but countless modern writers have speculated on the basis of a passage in Aristophanes that the phallos of the Herms also, or perhaps primarily, received the attention of the vandals. … I do not believe Thucydides can have meant by the πρόσωπα of the Herms their facade, including the phallos. I note, however, that Seneca once uses ‘facies’ (Phaedra 1047) to mean exactly ‘body’, ‘figure’, not ‘face’.

Furley (1996) p. 28, including ft. 66. In a passage describing the mutilation of the herms in Plutarch, Lives, Alcibiades 18, Perrin (1916) translated πρόσωπα as “faces and forms.” Moreover, Thucydides in describing the Athenians in battle used πρόσωπα to mean the battle-front. History of the Peloponnesian War 1.106. In describing the mutilation of the herms, Thucydides might have used πρόσωπα to mean fronts / facades. I have given the “father of objective history” Thucydides the benefit of the doubt in the translation above. If Thucydides referred only to the mutilation of the herms’ faces, that limitation provides further evidence of reluctance to mention sexual violence against men.

Quinn suggested that only the herms’ faces were mutilated. Crediting the leading historian of Greek sculpture Andrew Stewart, Quinn observed:

although the vases seem to show herms with ‘freestanding’ erections, suggesting that they were attachments, it may be that all or most archaic and classical herms had phalluses carved in relief like the Siphnos herm (Figure 1), which would be very difficult to chop or knock off entirely unless the marble was originally cut along the bedding. (To carve a ‘freestanding’ phallus from the same block of stone would of course be very wasteful, and this kind of virtuosity is customarily reserved for large scale civic statements, such as the Nike of Paionios.)

Quinn (2007) p. 90, n. 21. A penis carved in relief could nonetheless still be mutilated with a stone or a hammer. Mutilating a penis doesn’t imply knocking it off entirely.

In her hatefully anti-meninist work, Keuls highlighted the “castration” of the herms and denied that their faces were mutilated. Celebrating what she interpreted to be Athenian women’s deed, Keuls in the first paragraph of the first chapter of her book dramatically declared: “When Athens awakened, almost all of these phallic sculptures had been castrated.” Keuls (1985) p. 16. Interpreting Thucydides’s description of the mutilation of the herms, Keuls declared:

The Greek word used by the author for “front” is prosopon — literally, “that which meets the eye” — a word which can mean facade, mask, character, but also “face.” Despite his delicate {sic} phrasing, face is surely not what Thucydides had in mind.

Keuls (1985) p. 387. Cf. Furley (1996) p. 28, and Quinn (2007) p. 90, n. 21. Being sure of what Thucydides had in mind and trivializing his peculiar phrasing as “delicate” signals Keuls’s tendentious ideological commandeering of ancient evidence.

Both the faces and penises of the herms probably were mutilated. Thucydides’s account, along with other evidence, indicates that the herms’ faces were mutilated. Furley (1996) p. 28. Evidence from Aristophanes’s Lysistrata and Plutarch’s life of Nicias, presented subsequently above, strongly suggest that the herms’ penises were also mutilated. Reviewing passages from comic texts concerning the “impieties of 415,” Furley declared, “the truth in the historical case must be that faces as well as phalloi of the Herms were damaged.” Furley (1996) p. 145 (Appendix 2).

As Furley (1996) demonstrates, classicists themselves are reluctant to refer to men’s penises. See similarly in the context of the mutilation of the herms, Osborne (1985), Furley (1996), Henderson (2000) (note on Lysistrata vv. 1093-4), and Quinn (2007). Phallus / phallos (plurals phalli and phalloi) are ideological terms distant from the physical reality of men’s penises. Not surprisingly, “phallus” has been used in gross misinterpretations of men’s gender position in ancient Greece. Keuls (1985). A mere student writing a course paper at the University of Amsterdam deserved a high mark for referring to “the herm’s penis.” Theun (2015) p. 10.

The mutilation of the herms was regarded as a serious matter. The mutilation occurred just before a large Athenian armada was to sail to fight in Sicily (the Sicilian Expedition). Athenian officials offered a large reward for information about the perpetrators. They heard testimony from a variety of informants.

The Athenian statesman and general Alcibiades was implicated in the matter. According to Thucydides, men jealous of Alcibiades linked the profanation of the Eleusinian mysteries with the mutilation of the herms. These men claimed that Alcibiades was involved in both outrages:

They exaggerated and shouted that both the profanation of the Eleusinian mysteries and the mutilation of the herms had been done with the intention of overthrowing the democracy, and that none of these acts had been committed without his involvement.

{ ἐμεγάλυνον καὶ ἐβόων ὡς ἐπὶ δήμου καταλύσει τά τε μυστικὰ καὶ ἡ τῶν Ἑρμῶν περικοπὴ γένοιτο καὶ οὐδὲν εἴη αὐτῶν ὅ τι οὐ μετ᾿ ἐκείνου ἐπράχθη }

Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War 6.27. These accusations were treated seriously enough that Alcibiades was called back from the Sicilian Expedition.

Tertullian shows that the Eleusinian mysteries possibly were substantially connected to herms. The Eleusinian mysteries are commonly thought to involve enacting the story of Hades seeking a wife, the young woman Persephone, and her mother Demeter. However, the Christian scholar Tertullian, writing about 200 GC to disparage the gnostic heretics (the Valentinians) for being secretive about their beliefs, likened them to earlier Athenian priests of the Eleusinian mysteries. He then presented a sensational view of the Eleusinian mysteries:

It is just the same way concerning the Eleusinian mysteries, itself a heresy of Athenian superstition. It is a disgrace that they keep silent about them. In this way they torture for a long time those they initiate before they accept them. They train initiates for five years in order to build up belief by suspense and so cause what is seen exhibited to have awe so great as to match the desire that has been elicited. Thus follows their duty of secrecy. They guard closely what they are finally to reveal. Then the entire godhead of the sanctuary, the entire object of devoted sighs, the entire secret signed on all tongues is revealed to be a representation of a penis.

{ nam et illa Eleusinia, haeresis et ipsa Atticae superstitionis, quod tacent, pudor est. idcirco et aditum prius cruciant diutius initiant quam consignant, cum epoptas ante quinquennium instituunt ut opinionem suspendio cognitionis aedificent atque ita tantam maiestatem exhibere videantur quantam praestruxerunt cupiditatem. sequitur silentii officium; attente custoditur quod tarde invenitur, ceterum tota in adytis divinitas, tota suspira epoptarum, totum signaculum linguae: simulacrum membri virilis revelatur. }

Tertullian, Against the Valentinians {Adversus Valentinianos} 1.2-3, Latin text from Riley (1971), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. Tertullian perhaps was projecting backwards what he knew about the Vestalia and the “innermost sanctuary of Vesta {penus Vestae}.” That is more widely regarded as including representations of penises. Another source indicates that the interpreter (hierophant) of the Eleusinian mysteries was a castrated man. Hippolytus of Rome, Refutation of All Heresies 5.3

The mutilation of the herms was plausibly intended to weaken or abort the Athenians’ immediately impending Sicilian Expedition. That expedition nonetheless went forth. It was a colossal disaster for Athens. On the context and response to the mutilation of the herms, Osborne (1985), Furley (1996), Quinn (2007), and Hamel (2012).

The mutilation of the herms was effectively resolved politically by harshly punishing men despite questionable evidence. Given surviving sources, the most plausible perpetrators were participants in an oligarchic hetairia, an elite men’s social-political club. Cf. Keuls (1985) pp. 387-95 (crediting women for the “castration”). Thucydides commented:

No one was able to say with certainty, neither then nor later, about who did the deed.

{ τὸ δὲ σαφὲς οὐδεὶς οὔτε τότε οὔτε ὕστερον ἔχει εἰπεῖν περὶ τῶν δρασάντων τὸ ἔργον. }

History of the Peloponnesian War 6.60. Nonetheless, about twenty-three men were killed or sent into exile for being implicated in mutilating the herms. Another twenty-six men were convicted of profaning the Eleusinian mysteries and suffered heavy fines. Kousser (2015) p. 79.

[4] E.g. Andocides, On the Mysteries {Περι Των Μυστηριων} 39-40; Plutarch, Lives, Alcibiades 18. Writing in Latin in the first century BGC, Cornelius Nepos in his work About Eminent Men {De viris illustribus}, About Great Generals of Foreign Nations {De Excellentibus Ducibus Exterarum Gentium}, Alcibiades 3, used the verb “to be cut down {accido}.”

[5] Aristophanes, Lysistrata vv. 1093-4, ancient Greek text from Henderson (2012), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. Here’s the English translation of Jack Lindsay (1926) and the English translation of an unknown translator. Lindsay’s translation for Lysistrata v. 1094 merely warns, “Who knows what kind of person may perceive you?”

Henderson’s note to Lysistrata vv. 1093-4 states, “In 415, just before the departure of the Sicilian expedition, the faces and phalli of the pillar-images of Hermes, which stood in the streets throughout Athens, were mutilated.” That’s the consensus scholarly view of what parts of the herms were mutilated.

For the compound word “Ἑρμοκοπίδης {herm-cutter},” Henderson’s translation is “Herm-Docker clan.” Given the ancient association of docks / ports with women’s genitals, Henderson suggests that women would mutilate the men’s erect penises. That’s a plausible inference in the context of Lysistrata, but not with respect to the mutilation of herms in Athens in 415 BGC. No historical evidence indicates that a women’s political protest of sexual refusal occurred in 415 BGC..

In discussing the mutilation of herms in Athens in 415 BGC, Plutarch uses the term “Ἑρμοκοπίδης {herm-cutter}.” Plutarch, Lives, Alcibiades 20.5, 21.5. Plutarch probably took that word from Lysistrata v. 1094. Plutarch’s diction attests to the relevance of Lysistrata v. 1094 and men’s penises to the mutilation of the herms.

Men suffer emotionally and physically from sex deprivation. A thoroughly gynocentric treatment of medical allusions in Lysistrata commented:

in Lysistrata, the men are ashamed of their erect phalluses and try to hide them under their clothes or explain them away (985-94, 1082-5). The symbol of male pride in its full vigour must now be covered because it is a κακόν, a terrible disease which tortures men.

Tsoumpras (2020) p. 14. Men’s sexuality isn’t a terrible disease. In a well-ordered society, women and men cherish men’s sexuality as a blessing.

Lysistrata underscores the importance of a gender-inclusive perspective on sexual assault. Lysistrata advises the beautiful young woman Reconcilation {Διαλλαγή} to assault sexually Spartan men if they don’t subordinate themselves to her desire:

If he doesn’t give his hand, take him by his cock.

{ ἢν μὴ διδῷ τὴν χεῖρα, τῆς σάθης ἄγε. }

Lysistrata v. 1119. Lysistrata suggests that wives normally engage in such sexually abusive behavior toward their husbands. Following modern decorum with respect to sexual assault, McClure characterized uncritically Lysistrata’s injunction to Reconciliation:

The injunction that she should lay hold of any unwilling man «by the prick» corroborates her status as a prostitute, since it is a gesture frequently associated with whores (ἢν μὴ διδῷ τὴν χεῖρα, τῆς σάθης ἄγε, 1119).

McClure (2015) p. 78, which includes an associated footnote providing references for her claim. Classics urgently needs to embrace meninist literature criticism to serve adequately gender equality and social justice.

An undergraduate honors thesis reproduces well the current state of classical scholarship. This thesis optimistically concludes:

it is impossible to say definitively that Aristophanes was a feminist, but it is not so difficult to see the makings of one.

This honors thesis further opines that women “could be exactly the cure for the ailing democracy and failing empire.” Fulton (2011) pp. 51, 53. Those not well-educated within today’s institutions surely understand that women are complicit in violence against men and that women are intimately associated with civic failings.

[6] With characteristic hateful anti-men bigotry, Keuls asserted that women mutilated the herms in Athens in 415 BGC:

I can see no other explanation for Aristophanes’ sudden preoccupation with female protest than that he, and at least part of the audience, knew or suspected that the castration of the herms had been perpetrated by women, a suspicion which by now could not possibly find overt expression. The mutilation was an act of impotent rage, and the women, their sense of independence fanned by the counter-cultural ritual of the Adonia, might well have rebelled at the prospect of renewed war and the inevitable slaughter being planned by their men.

Keuls (1985) p. 395. Keuls apparently was incapable of thinking that Aristophanes thought that Athenian women would protest because they loved Athenian men and despaired that so many Athenian men were dying in the gender-structured violence against men of the Peloponnesian War. Women historically have been horrified at men’s deaths in war.

The most credible evidence indicates that Athenian women celebrated the Adonia months before the night that the herms were mutilated in Athens. The Athenians’ armada departed for the Sicily in mid-summer 415 BGC. The herms were mutilated shortly before that departure. The date for the celebration of the Adonia in Athens is a matter of conflicting evidence and scholarly claims. The most contemporary evidence is Aristophanes’s Lysistrata vv. 387-98. These verses indicate that the Adonia was celebrated in the spring.

A scoliast’s note to Lysistrata stated that this comedy was also titled Adoniazousai {Αδωνιαζοσαι}. Reitzammer, (2008). The later title probably associated Athenian women’s protest against Adonis’s death with Athenian women’s protest against men’s deaths in the Peloponnesian War (Lysistrata vv. 387-98). That association supports dating the Adonia in Athens in 415 BGC to the spring, at least two months before the Sicilian Expedition departed. Cf. Plutarch, Lives, Alcibiades 18 and Nicias 13. For a careful analysis of the evidence concerning the date of the Athenian Adonia, Dillon (2003).

Keuls (1985) is misleading about the date of the Adonia in relation to the mutilation of the herms. Suggesting that Athenian women mutilated the herms, Keuls declared:

it should be remembered that the Adonia was being celebrated about this time {when the herms were mutilated}, which gave the women temporary freedom of movement.

Keuls (1985) p. 391. Keuls also declared:

In fact, Lysistrata provides the most contemporary evidence for the approximate coincidence of the Adonia with these other events {including the mutilation of the herms}.

Id. p. 394. Similarly, id. pp. 383 (“the coincidence with the Adonia”), 395 (“The mutilation of the herms was an act of impotent rage … fanned by the counter-cultural ritual of the Adonia”). In fact, Lysistrata indicates that the Adonia occurred months before the mutilation of the herms. Keuls apparently knew this:

Beginning with Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, literary sources establish that at least some of the deliberations over and preparations for the Sicilian expedition, possibly even the sailing itself, took place while the women of Athens celebrated the Adonia festival.

Id. p. 23. Deliberations and preparations for the Sicilian expedition took place from early spring to mid-summer in 415 BGC. Dillion (2003) pp. 6-12. The Adonia occurred during this period. However, the historical evidence indicates that the Adonia probably occurred months before the herms were mutilated. Id.

No evidence indicates that Athenian women mutilated the herms. Lysistrata v. 1094 expresses fear that herm-mutilators would engage in sexual violence against a man with an erection. Within Lysistrata, that reference to herm-mutilators plausibly refers to Athenian women. But as an allusion to historical events, it plausibly alludes to men mutilating herms in 415. Lysistrata itself shows that Aristophanes could imagine women crossing gender categories. Lysistrata thus does not provide clear evidence that women mutilated the herms in 415.

Keuls interpreted absence of evidence that women mutilated the herms as evidence that women committed that crime. The conspiracy of silence unraveled, but it actually didn’t, at least until Keuls revealed it:

It is, of course, improbable, if my speculation is correct, that in time the truth would not have leaked out. The hypothesis that the women were responsible provides the most likely explanation for the fact that this historical mystery remained unsolved: the truth was too shocking to acknowledge. By the time suspicions about the identity of the culprits began to filter through, so many heads had rolled that it would have been impossible to point the finger at that theoretically nonexistent class, the citizen women.

Keuls (1985) p. 393. According to this “analysis,” apparently Aristophanes and others knew that women mutilated the herms, but were unable to say so, because they theoretically believed women didn’t exist and they sought to maintain a conspiracy of silence responsible for killing men. That’s extremely bad reason in a highly acclaimed book. A scholar declared about Keuls’s “theory” that women mutilated the herms:

there is no support for it whatever in our sources. Indeed, Keuls has to ignore much of the evidence we do have in order to make her case. … That Keuls … urges a theory that has no support in our source without making the weakness of that theory clear is unfair in a book aimed at general readers, as most will not be in a position to assess the validity of her assertions for themselves.

Hamel (2012) pp. 301. Within today’s intellectual circumstances, persons are reluctant to criticize Keuls’s hateful anti-men bigotry, and they are willing to accept her unsupported “speculation” as compelling argument. For an example of reluctance to criticize Keuls, Reitzammer (2016) p. 21 and p. 157, n. 67; id. p. 84 and p. 194 n. 108. A master’s thesis learnedly declares, “Keuls makes a compelling argument for the women of Athens being the perpetrators.” Pettit (2014) p. 25.

Relatively well-documented judicial proceedings and actions in Athens concerning the mutilation of the herms indicates that many men were accused and convicted of mutilating the herms based on contemporary evidence. Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War 6.60, Hamel (2012) chapters 7-12. On the charge of mutilating the herms, about twenty-five men were either executed or fled fearing severe punishment.

Throughout history, penal systems have predominately punished persons with penises. That’s a grave gender injustice that’s almost never discussed. To recognize lives of Athenian men who suffered severely under the charge of having mutilated the herms in Athens in 415, names of such men are listed here:

Euctemon, Glaucippus, Eurymachus, Polyeuctus, Plato, Antidorus, Charippus, Theodorus, Alcisthenes, Menestratus, Eryximachus, Euphiletus, Eurydamas, Pherecles, Meletus, Timanthes, Archidamus, Telenicus, Panaetius, Diacritus, Lysistratus, Chaeredemus, Diocleides, Teucrus / Teucer, Andocides, Alcibiades

Andocides, On the Mysteries {Περι Των Μυστηριων} 34-5, 52-3, 66-8; Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War 6.27; Kousser (2015) p. 79, Hamel (2012). Cf. Keuls (1985) p. 388, Pettit (2014) p. 25. Men’s lives should matter!

[7] Plutarch, Lives, Nicias {Νικίας} 13, ancient Greek text and English translation (modified) from Perrin (1916). Following in the tradition of Thucydides, Perrin’s translation elided where on his body the man mutilated himself. Here’s Perrin’s translation of the final sentence in the quote above:

An unknown man leaped upon it all of a sudden, bestrode it, and then mutilated himself with a stone.

The ancient Greek text clearly specifies that the man mutilated his “genitals {αἰδοῖον}.” Castration for too long has been ignored, trivialized, or treated as a joking matter.

[8] Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.173-85, Latin text of Magnus (1892) via Perseus, my English translation, benefiting from those of Lombardo (2010) and Miller (1916). The English translations of Brookes More (1922) and A. S. Kline (2000) are freely available online. According to Ovid, Venus / Aphrodite ardently loved Adonis after her son Cupid accidentally grazed her breast with one of his love-inducing arrows.

“Spring water {lympha}” is closely associated linguistically with “young woman {nympha}.” Actaeon was on Mt. Cithaeron in Boeotia when he saw Artemis in her bath.

The Roman goddess Diana is largely equivalent to the Greek goddess Artemis. In a ranking of divinities by the number of shrines and temples dedicated to that divinity in the ancient Greek world, Artemis is second only to Apollo. Hussey (1890) p. 60. The emphasis on the maternal line of descent for both Actaeon and Diana underscores the relevance of this story to gynocentrism and men’s gender subordination to goddesses.

Ovid significantly interpolated his story of Venus’s love for Adonis with his story of Hippomenes winning the right to marry the eagerly willing, beautiful Atalanta. When Atalanta and Hippomenes were passing a temple of the Great Mother goddess Cybele, Venus inspired Hippomenes with desire to have sex with the warmly receptive Atalanta in a nearby cave. For doing so, Venus transformed the couple into lions serving Cybele along with Galli priests. Ovid’s interpolation thus further emphasizes castration culture.

The subsequent two quotes above are similarly from Ovid’s account of Actaeon and Diana: Metamorphoses 3.186-99 (Amid the surrounding turmoil…) and 3.232-9, 249-52 (First Blackhair makes a wound…).

[9] Even the brutal killing of Actaeon that the goddess Diana / Artemis instigated isn’t uniformly condemned. Ovid commented:

Common talk is undecided. To some, more vindictive than just
was the goddess for being seen. Others praise her and call her act worthy
of her severe virginity. Both parts find reasons.

{ Rumor in ambiguo est; aliis violentior aequo
visa dea est, alii laudant dignamque severa
virginitate vocant: pars invenit utraque causas. }

Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.253-5, sourced as previously. Ovid, Sorrows {Tristia} 2.103-6. suggests Ovid personally had sympathy for Actaeon.

Ovid and Callimachus provide the only two surviving versions of the myth of Actaeon and Diana / Artemis in which Actaeon dies without having done any wrong: “the wider Graeco-Roman literary tradition paints Actaeon as either an intentional voyeur, a victim of lust, or a hubristic hunter in the mould of Orion.” Hawes (2008) p. 25. On variants of the myth of Actaeon and Diana / Artemis, id. and Lacy (1990).

[10] Callimachus, Hymn 5, On the Bath of Pallas / In lavacrum Palladis {Εισ Λουτρα Τησ Παλλαδοσ} vv. 77-84, ancient Greek text from Clayman (2022b), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. and Nicetich (2001). The subsequent quote above is similarly from Callimachus, Hymn 5.85-9 (What have you done…).

The story of Actaeon and Artemis and the story of Tiresias and Athena are part of a larger collection of myths describing a hunter hunted by a goddess. On that myth group, Fontenrose (1981).

[11] Professor Eva C. Keuls’s highly acclaimed book The Reign of the Phallus exemplifies the problem. Keuls’s book begins:

In the case of a society dominated by men who sequester their wives and daughters, denigrate the female role in reproduction, erect monuments to the male genitalia, have sex with the sons of their peers, sponsor public whorehouses, create a mythology of rape, and engage in rampant saber-rattling, it is not inappropriate to refer to a reign of the phallus. Classical Athens was such a society.

Keuls (1985) p. 1. These categorical, disparaging statements about men are misleading or false. These statements would cause Keuls to be called a misandrist, if such name-calling occurred as does calling someone a misogynist. According to Keuls:

Plato’s own pupil Aristotle was one of the fiercest misogynists of all time, obsessed with the need to prove that women play no genetic part in reproduction.

Id. p. 405. That statement ridiculously mischaracterizes Aristotle. It suggests Keuls’s own narrow-minded obsession. Aristotle himself produced many, wide-ranging, highly regarded studies:

Aristotle (384–322 B.C.E.) numbers among the greatest philosophers of all time. Judged solely in terms of his philosophical influence, only Plato is his peer: Aristotle’s works shaped centuries of philosophy from Late Antiquity through the Renaissance, and even today continue to be studied with keen, non-antiquarian interest. A prodigious researcher and writer, Aristotle left a great body of work, perhaps numbering as many as two-hundred treatises, from which approximately thirty-one survive. His extant writings span a wide range of disciplines, from logic, metaphysics and philosophy of mind, through ethics, political theory, aesthetics and rhetoric, and into such primarily non-philosophical fields as empirical biology, where he excelled at detailed plant and animal observation and description.

Text from the beginning of the Aristotle entry in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.

Regarding classical Athens, Keuls depicts an elite fantasy that has little relation to ordinary Athenian life. Most Athenians normally lived in the Athenian hinterlands. Most were probably too poor to have more than one-room lodgings. Their wives and daughter surely worked among other men in tending animals, gathering food and textile materials, washing clothes, buying and selling goods, and carrying water. For Athenian conditions during the Peloponnesian War (a time of particular focus for Keuls), Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War 2.16-7 and 2.52.

Keuls’s fantasy world depicts Athenian men as beasts oppressing women through “phallocracy.” Keuls makes clear the hateful, anti-men bigotry by which she defines phallocracy:

as used in this book, the concept denotes a successful claim by a male elite to general power, buttressed by a display of the phallus less as an organ of union or of mutual pleasure than as a kind of weapon: a spear or war club, and a scepter of sovereignty. In sexual terms, phallocracy takes such forms as rape, disregard of the sexual satisfaction of women, access to the bodies of prostitutes who are literally enslaved or allowed no other means of support.

Id. p. 2. Keuls describes as a “special favorite” among phallic visual motifs “spearing, slashing, and clubbing to death of defenseless animals.” Id. p. 407. On Keuls’s faulty reading of images, Shapiro (1986). The penis has suffered historically from a deeply entrenched image problem. Keuls built The Reign of the Phallus on formal sexual bias against men.

The hateful, anti-men bigotry of Keuls’s The Reign of the Phallus has been celebrated among intellectual elites. Keuls did research for her book at the Institute for Advanced Study (Princeton, NJ). That’s an elite institution in which Albert Einstein was one of the first professors. The University of California Press published The Reign of the Phallus in 1985. National Book Critics Circle selected it as a finalist for 1985 in its General Nonfiction category. As a Professor at the University of Minnesota, Keuls was selected as a Scholar of the College in 1989. The University of California Press reprinted in 1993 a largely unchanged second edition of The Reign of the Phallus. Keuls was subsequently honored with a place on the University of Minnesota’s Scholars Walk monument. Perhaps lacking his rhetorical subtlety in studying medieval gender, Keuls with her phallic work didn’t rise to the eminence of Georges Duby in French intellectual life. Nonetheless, the influence of the hateful anti-men bigotry of The Reign of the Phallus is still apparent in students’ education. See, e.g. Pettit (2014).

[12] Songs of Priapus {Carmina Priapea} 33, Latin text from Porter (2021a), my English translation, benefiting from Gua, Hayes & Nimis (2017) and Porter (2021b). Here are English translations by Leonard C. Smithers and Sir Richard Burton.

Men’s sexual despair can progress beyond masturbation. Callimachus has a man declare:

For me this would have been best:
to toss my hair for Cybele
to the Phrygian flute.

{ ν μοι τοῦτ᾽ ἂν ἦν ὀνήϊσ[το]ν
.]υ[.].[.]Κ[υβή]βηι τὴν κόμην ἀναρρίπτειν
Φρύγ[α] πρ[ὸς] αὐλὸν }

Callimachus, Iambus 3.34-6, ancient Greek text and English translation (modified) from Clayman (2022a). Men castrated themselves to become Galli eunuch priests serving the Phrygian goddess Cybele.

[13] Cf. Foster (2024), Mares (2020).

[14] Ovid, Metamorphoses 10.710-6, Latin text of Magnus (1892) via Perseus, my English translation, benefiting from those of Lombardo (2010) and Miller (1916).

[15] Bion of Smyrna, Lament for Adonis {Επιταφιοσ Αδωνιδοσ} vv. 7-12, ancient Greek text and English translation (modified) from Hopkinson (2015). Here’s an English translation of the Lament for Adonis by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1851) and by J. M. Edmonds (1912).

Bion’s Lament for Adonis draws upon Theocritus, Idyll 15, That idyll describes a festival of Adonis at the palace of Ptolemy II, the pharaoh in Egypt from 284 to 246 BGC.

[16] Sappho, Fragment 140 / 140A, ancient Greek text from Campbell (1982) via Digital Sappho, my English translation, benefiting from that of id. On translating Sappho. Here’s the translation of Edwin Marion Cox (1924).

[17] The Gardens of Adonis were part of a widely practiced women’s festival of Adonis, the “Adonia {Ἀδώνια}.” On Gardens of Adonis in ancient Athens, Reitzammer (2016).

The Gardens of Adonis birthed an ancient proverb: “More barren than Gardens of Adonis {᾿Ακαρπότερος εἶ ᾿Αδώνιδος κήπων}.” Text as recorded in the second century GC by the Greek sophist Zenobius. Corpus Paroemiographorum Graecorum 1.49 / Leutsch & Schneidewin (1839) p. 19. For related references concerning the barrenness of Gardens of Adonis, Plato, Phaedrus 276B and Plutarch, Plutarch, Moralia, On the Delays of the Divine Vengeance / De sera numinis vindicta {Περι Των Υπο Του Θειου Βραδεωσ Τιμωρουμενων} 560B-C (section 17). For further ancient citations concerning this proverb, Reed (1995) p. 324, n. 30.

On the garden of Priapus, Richlin (1982). On Richlin’s approach to Priapea, see notes [4] and [6] in my post on Priapea.

[18] Bion of Smyrna, Lament for Adonis vv. 42-9, sourced as previously.

[19] Sappho, Fragment 168, sourced as previously.

[images] (1) Peplos Kore restored as goddess Artemis. Restoration based on the study of Vinzenz Brinkmann and painted by Ulrike Koch-Brinkmann. This restored replica is preserved in the Glyptothek (Munich, Germany). Source image (alternate version) thanks to Marsyas and Wikimedia Commons. The Peplos Kore, a Parian marble statue, originally was painted, but the painting has survived only in traces. It was made around 525 BGC. The Peplos Kore apparently stood originally on the Acropolis of Athens. Here’s the Peplos Kore in its surviving form. The restoration as Artemis isn’t securely know. Here’s an alternate restoration of the Peplos Kore as Athena. More information about the Peplos Kore.

(2) Ithyphallic herm painted on Athenian red-figure krater. Ithyphallic herm painted on Athenian red-figure column krater. Painted c. 480–470 BGC and attributed to the Geras Painter. Preserved as item 83.AE.255 in the J. Paul Getty Museum. Source image from item 7 in Tsiafakis (2019). Statues of herms were honored. See, for example, the two-handled red-figure jar (neck amphora) depicting a herm in front of an altar. It was made in Athens in 470–460 BGC and painted by the Nikon Painter. The herm has been honored with a wreath on its penis and flowers on its head and shoulder. It’s preserved in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, as accession # 68.163.

(3) Satyr with an axe attacking a herm’s face (hermocopide). Painting on red-figure pelike from Nola. Attributed to the Geras Painter, c. 470 BGC. Preserved as Lausanne, Musée cantonal d’archéologie et d’histoire, 3250. AVI 4123, Corpus Vasorum 352524. Image (color-adjusted) from Plate 2 of Murer (2023). Murer convincingly argues that this image belong to a group of images known as “mimetic satyr images”: “depictions of satyrs destroying tombs and herms may refer to actual events from the world of the polis.” Id., Summary.

(4) Herm of Demosthenes. Sculpture made about 1520 GC and preserved as item 292 in the Glyptothek, Munich, Germnay. Replica of a herm erected in the Athenian agora in honor of the statesman Demosthenes and made by Polyeuktos, c. 280 BGC. Source image thanks to Bibi Saint-Pol and Wikimedia Commons. Here’s an image of a copy of a herm sculpted by Alkamenes of Athens in the fifth-century BGC. It was dedicated by Pergamios in Pergamon, Bergama.

(5) Actaeon attacked by his hounds. Detail from a Lucanian red-figure nestoris, Metaponto, made c. 390-380 BGC and painted by the Dolon Painter. Preserved in the British Museum as GR 1865.1-13.17 (Cat. Vases F 176), Pourtalès Collection. Image thanks to Jastrow (2007) and Wikimedia Commons.

(6) The Death of Adonis (with Venus, Cupid, and the Three Graces). Painted by Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1614. Preserved in the Israel Museum, Jerusalem as accession # B00.0735. Via Wikimedia Commons.

(7) Bust of Phrasikleia kore with crown of lotus buds and holding a lotus bud. Parian marble statue made between 550 and 540 BGC by Aristion of Paros {Ἀριστίων Πάριος}. Preserved in the National Archaeological Museum of Athens. Color reconstruction by Vinzenz Brinkmann, Ulrike Koch-Brinkmann, and Heinrich Piening in the Gods in Color exhibition. Source image via Wikimedia Commons.

References:

Arnott, W. G., ed. and trans. 1997. Menander. Heros. Theophoroumene. Karchedonios. Kitharistes. Kolax. Koneiazomenai. Leukadia. Misoumenos. Perikeiromene. Perinthia. Loeb Classical Library 459. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Campbell, David A., ed. and trans. 1982. Greek Lyric, Volume I: Sappho and Alcaeus. Loeb Classical Library 142. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Clayman, Dee L., ed. and trans. 2022a. Callimachus. Aetia. Iambi. Lyric Poems. Loeb Classical Library 421. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Clayman, Dee L., ed. and trans. 2022b. Callimachus. Hecale. Hymns. Epigrams. Loeb Classical Library 129. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Dillon, Matthew PJ. 2003. “‘Woe for Adonis’ – but in Spring, not Summer.” Hermes: Zeitschrift für klassische Philologie. 131 (1): 1-16.

Fontenrose, Joseph Eddy. 1981. Orion: The Myth of the Hunter and the Huntress. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Review by Richard Martin.

Foster, Serrin M. 2024. “Women Deserve Better Than Abortion.” United States Conference of Catholic Bishops.

Fulton, Kristen Montelione. 2011. Women’s Masculine, Maternal and Minor Roles in Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, Ekklesiazusae and Thesmophoriazusae. Thesis for Bachelor of Arts with Honors, Department of Classics, Emory College of Arts and Sciences (Atlanta, Georgia, USA).

Furley, William D. 1996. “Andokides and the Herms: A Study of Crisis in Fifth-Century Athenian Religion.” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies. Supplement. 41 (65): iii–162.

Gua, Tyler, Evan Hayes, and Stephen Nimis. 2017. Priapea: Songs for a Phallic God. An Intermediate Latin Reader: Latin Text with Running Vocabulary and Commentary. Faenum Publishing.

Hawes, Greta. 2008. “Metamorphosis and metamorphic identity: the myth of Actaeon in works of Ovid, Dante and John Gower.” Isis: Journal of the Classical Association of Victoria. 21: 21-42.

Hamel, Debra. 2012. The Mutilation of the Herms: Unpacking an Ancient Mystery. North Haven, CT: Debra Hamel. Review by Carolyn Swan.

Henderson, Jeffrey, ed. and trans. 2000. Aristophanes. Birds. Lysistrata. Women at the Thesmophoria. Loeb Classical Library, 179. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Hopkinson, Neil, ed. and trans. 2015. Theocritus. Moschus. Bion. Loeb Classical Library 28. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Hussey, George B. 1890. “The Distribution of Hellenic Temples.” The American Journal of Archaeology and of the History of the Fine Arts. 6 (1-2): 59–64.

Jones, W. H. S., ed. and trans. 1918. Pausanias. Description of Greece. Volume I: Books 1-2. Loeb Classical Library 93. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Kousser, Rachel. 2015. “The Mutilation of the Herms: Violence toward Sculptures in the Late Fifth Century B.C.” Chapter 8 (pp. 76-84) in Margaret M. Miles, ed. Autopsy in Athens: Recent Archaeological Research on Athens and Attica. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Keuls, Eva C. 1985. The Reign of the Phallus: Sexual Politics in Ancient Athens. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Revised edition published in 1993. Review by Jenifer Neils, by Shapiro (1986), and by Michele Viehl.

Lacy, Lamar Ronald. 1990. “Aktaion and a Lost ‘Bath of Artemis’.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies. 110: 26–42.

Leutsch, E.L.A. Schneidewin, F.G., ed. Corpus Paroemiographorum Graecorum / T. 1, Zenobius, Diogenianus, Plutarchus, Gregorius Cyprius. Cum Appendice Proverbiorum. Gottingae: Vandenhoeck et Ruprecht.

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Mares, Courtney. 2020. “Vatican official tells UN: Women deserve better than abortion.” Catholic News Agency, Vatican City, Oct. 2. 2020.

Mathew, Philip. 2021. “The Desecration of the Statues of Hermes, 415 BCE.” World History Encyclopedia. Online.

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Murer, Cristina. 2023. “Die Pelike des Geras-Malers aus Lausanne und die Zerstörungswut der Satyrn.” Antike Kunst. 66: 3-17, and plates 1-3.

Nisetich, Frank J., trans. 2001. The Poems of Callimachus. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Review by Andrew Faulkner.

Osborne, Robin. 1985. “The Erection and Mutilation of the Hermai.” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society. 31: 47–73.

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Hermes and Priapus against oppression: farting isn’t enough

In an ancient Greek religious hymn, the god Apollo threatened to kill the infant god Hermes. When Apollo picked him up to carry him away, Hermes farted. Farting, which usually creates a sonic and olfactory shock, can be a defensive response to oppression. In ancient Greece, stone pillars topped with the head of Hermes commonly had a erect penis pointing upwards towards Hermes’s belly. That suggests farting as a defense against the oppression of men’s sexuality. Men’s sexuality is closely associated with the low-class, hard-working god Priapus. The eminent Latin poet Horace described Priapus farting to rout a child-killing witch and her demonic female-friend from lush, new gardens in Rome. The witches, however, headed into the center of the city and continued to terrorize men. Farting isn’t enough to defend men distended from oppression.

Placed in antiquity alongside the enormously influential Homeric epics the Iliad and the Odyssey, the Homeric Hymn to Hermes tells of the infant god Hermes farting. This religious hymn begins with an honorary imperative:

Muse, celebrate Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia,
he patron of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks,
he the beneficent messenger of the immortals.

{ Ἑρμῆν ὕμνει, Μοῦσα, Διὸς καὶ Μαιάδος υἱόν
Κυλλήνης μεδέοντα καὶ Ἀρκαδίης πολυμήλου,
ἄγγελον ἀθανάτων ἐριούνιον }[1]

Hermes’s father Zeus, the son of Kronos, had strong, independent sexuality. He was married to the goddess Hera. Maia, a nymph with beautiful hair, was one of Zeus’s extra-marital loves:

Maia was bashful. She avoided the throng of blessed gods
and abided inside a cave of shadows upon shadows. There Kronos’s son
used to unite with the beautiful-haired nymph in the depth of night
while sweet sleep gripped white-armed Hera.

{ αἰδοίη· μακάρων δὲ θεῶν ἠλεύαθ’ ὅμιλον
ἄντρον ἔσω ναίουσα παλίσκιον, ἔνθα Κρονίων
νύμφηι ἐϋπλοκάμωι μισγέσκετο νυκτὸς ἀμολγῶι
ὄφρα κατὰ γλυκὺς ὕπνος ἔχοι λευκώλενον Ἥρην }

Hermes was thus born out of wedlock to Maia and Zeus in a cave on Mount Cyllene. Men typically endure heightened paternal uncertainty for births out of wedlock. Zeus, a god who bore the epithets “Of Marriage Rites {Τελειος},” “Giver of Signs {Σημαλεος},” “Averter of Evil {Ἀλεξίκακος},” and “Paternal {Πάτριος},” knew that Hermes was his son. Hermes, who also knew that Zeus was his father, was proud of his parents.[2]

In the evening on the first day of his life, the infant Hermes set out to steal cattle from his older half-brother Apollo. From Apollo’s herd at Pieria, Hermes led away fifty cows, leaving behind only a bull and four herding dogs. Hermes had the cows walk backwards to obscure their get-away. Moreover, Hermes fashioned from shrubs and trees huge sandals for himself to make his infant footprints look like those of a giant. He took the cows to a secret lodge by the river Alpheus. There he sacrificed two cows to the twelve gods of Olympia.[3] Then he went home to the cave on Mount Cyllene and crawled back into his cradle.

Searching for his missing cattle, Apollo divined that Hermes stole them. Apollo thus traveled to Mount Cyllene to the cave in which Hermes and his mother Maia lived. Without seeking permission, Apollo searched every recess of their temple-like home. He even opened treasuries filled with nectar, ambrosia, gold, silver, and Maia’s many fine clothes.[4] Apollo found no cows there. He then sternly addressed the infant Hermes:

You, child lying in your cradle, inform me where my cows are,
and quickly. We will otherwise soon quarrel unnaturally.
I will seize you and fling you into murky Tartarus,
into gloom of painful fates with no scheme’s escape. Neither mother
nor father will have you released into light. Instead, beneath the earth
you will be damned, being a leader only among destructive men.

{ ὦ παῖ, ὃς ἐν λίκνωι κατάκειαι, μήνυέ μοι βοῦς
θάσσον, ἐπεὶ τάχα νῶϊ διοισόμεθ’ οὐ κατὰ κόσμον.
ῥίψω γάρ σε λαβὼν ἐς Τάρταρον ἠερόεντα,
ἐς ζόφον αἰνόμορον καὶ ἀμήχανον, οὐδέ σε μήτηρ
ἐς φάος οὐδὲ πατὴρ ἀναλύσεται, ἀλλ’ ὑπὸ γαίηι
ἐρρήσεις, ὀλοοῖσι μετ’ ἀνδράσιν ἡγεμονεύων. }

Although only an infant, Hermes responded with shrewd speech highlighting his infant status:

Apollo, son of Leto, what is this harsh speech you uttered,
you actually coming here looking for your field-dwelling cows?
I haven’t seen them, nor overheard about them, nor been relayed word.
I couldn’t tell you, nor earn an informer’s reward,
nor do I resemble a cattle-stealer, a strong man.
That’s not my kind of deed. I’ve been concerned with other things.
Sleep is my concern, and my mother’s milk,
and having swaddling around my shoulders and warm bathwater.
I hope no one learns the source of this dispute.
Surely the immortals would be astonished
if a newborn child crossed through his home’s doorway in search of
cows that live in fields.

{ Λητοΐδη, τίνα τοῦτον ἀπηνέα μῦθον ἔειπες;
καὶ βοῦς ἀγραύλους διζήμενος ἐνθάδ’ ἱκάνεις;
οὐκ ἴδον, οὐ πυθόμην, οὐκ ἄλλου μῦθον ἄκουσα.
οὐκ ἂν μηνύσαιμ’· οὐκ ἂν μήνυτρον ἀροίμην,
οὔτε βοῶν ἐλατῆρι, κραταιῶι φωτί, ἔοικα.
οὐκ ἐμὸν ἔργον τοῦτο, πάρος δέ μοι ἄλλα μέμηλεν·
ὕπνος ἐμοί γε μέμηλε καὶ ἡμετέρης γάλα μητρός,
σπάργανά τ’ ἀμφ’ ὤμοισιν ἔχειν καὶ θερμὰ λοετρά.
μή τις τοῦτο πύθοιτο, πόθεν τόδε νεῖκος ἐτύχθη·
καί κεν δὴ μέγα θαῦμα μετ’ ἀθανάτοισι γένοιτο
παῖδα νέον γεγαῶτα διὰ προθύροιο περῆσαι
βουσὶ μετ’ ἀγραύλοισι. }

Hermes’s deceptive words and his fluttering of his eyelids didn’t dupe his older half-brother Apollo. Apollo again threatened Hermes:

Now come, if you don’t want to be put to your last and final sleep,
step down from your cradle, you friend of dark night.
The prize you will have among immortals from now on is this:
all your days you shall be known as the commander of robbers.

{ ἀλλ’ ἄγε, μὴ πύματόν τε καὶ ὕστατον ὕπνον ἰαύσεις,
ἐκ λίκνου κατάβαινε, μελαίνης νυκτὸς ἑταῖρε.
τοῦτο γὰρ οὖν καὶ ἔπειτα μετ’ ἀθανάτοις γέρας ἕξεις·
ἀρχὸς φιλητέων κεκλήσεαι ἤματα πάντα. }

With those menacing words, Apollo picked up the infant Hermes to carry him away.

Hermes defended himself against his older half-brother’s domineering action. To break free, he broke wind:

After setting his mind to it, Hermes the strong slayer of Argus,
as he was born aloft in the arms of Apollo, sent forth an omen-bird —
the menial servant of the belly, an insolent message-man —
and after that gave an energetic confirmatory sneeze. Apollo heard it,
and from his hands let glorious Hermes fall to the ground.

{ σὺν δ’ ἄρα φρασσάμενος, τότε δὴ κρατὺς Ἀργεϊφόντης
οἰωνὸν προέηκεν ἀειρόμενος μετὰ χερσίν,
τλήμονα γαστρὸς ἔριθον, ἀτάσθαλον ἀγγελιώτην,
ἐσσυμένως δὲ μετ’ αὐτὸν ἐπέπταρε. τοῖο δ’ Ἀπόλλων
ἔκλυεν, ἐκ χειρῶν δὲ χαμαὶ βάλε κύδιμον Ἑρμῆν }[5]

Hermes on the ground couldn’t escape from the larger and faster Apollo. They brought their dispute before their father Zeus. Hermes gave his lyre to Apollo as compensation for stealing cattle. The two half-brothers thus reconciled.[6] Farting by itself wasn’t enough for Hermes to pacify his older half-brother Apollo.

ancient Greek herm

Two iambs of Callimachus, a highly learned poet writing in Greek in the third century BGC, recognize the relevance of Hermes, men’s sexuality, and farting. Callimachus’s seventh iamb tells an “origin story {αἴτιον}” for “Hermes Hand to Hand / Hermes Perpheraios {Ἑρμῆς Περφεραῖος}” as worshiped in Ainos in Thrace. That local cult of Hermes is attested on fifth-century BGC coins from Ainos. Those coins show a crude statue of Hermes with an erect penis.[7] According to Callimachus’s iamb, flood waters of the river Scamander washed into the sea a crude wooden statue of Hermes Perpheraios. Fishermen from Ainos inadvertently caught the statue in their nets. They disparaged it and sought to use it as firewood. Despite strenuous efforts, the fishermen couldn’t chop it up. Moreover, the statue’s incantations prevented it from being burned. Bewildered, the fishermen threw it back into the sea. When it returned again in their nets, they built a shrine for it, offered it some fish they had caught, and worshiped it as a god. They passed it hand to hand among themselves, each honoring it. An oracle from Apollo confirmed the statue’s divinity. Hermes Perpheraios, residing in this statue, was thus received into Ainos as a god.[8]

Like the statute of Hermes Perpheraios, men’s sexuality historically has been depicted as crude and disparaged. Castration culture, entrenched in Hesiod’s Theogony, is analogous to attempting to chop up Hermes Perpheraios. The god most explicitly associated with an erect penis is Priapus, a crude, rustic minor divinity tasked with the menial, dangerous work of guarding gardens. Despite hostility towards men’s sexuality, it continues to appear unexpectedly, like Hermes Perpheraios in the fishermen’s net. Men historically have been gender-disparately burdened with competing for women’s love, just as men seek to catch fish. In the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, Apollo and Hermes resolve their dispute to their mutual satisfaction. Apollo thus supports Hermes in Callimachus’s seventh iamb. Men’s sexuality, however, has not yet been supported equally with women’s sexuality.

Ithyphallic herm painted on Athenian red-figure krater

Callimachus’s ninth iamb tells of another statue of Hermes. In this iamb, a man who loves the handsome young man Philetadas sees at a wrestling school a statue of Hermes with an erect penis. In the ancient Greek world, young men like Philetadas would practice wrestling nearly naked at such a school. The man distrustfully questions the statue of Hermes:

Hermes, O bearded one, why does your penis
point to your beard and not to your feet?

{ Ἑρμᾶ, τί τοι τὸ νεῦρον, ὦ Γενειόλα,
ποττὰν ὑπήναν κοὐ ποτ᾿ ἴχνιον }[9]

Men can have an erect penis even when they don’t desire to have one. In Callimachus’s iamb, the statue of Hermes declares that a sacred mystery explains his erect penis.[10] Men’s sexuality should be appreciated as a sacred mystery. Moreover, men’s sexuality lovingly belongs in the context of men’s faces, not their feet. A Latin proverb alludes to the issue with a Latin pun on “feet {pedes}” and the second-person form of the verb “to fart {pedo}”:

Don’t fart in public, so you don’t thus raise your feet to your belly!

{ Sic a ventre pedes leva, ne publice pedes! }[11]

An erect penis also points toward a man’s belly. In cultures that associate men’s penises with their feet, not their faces, men might respond defensively with their bellies. Farting is justified in response to oppression of men’s sexuality.

Priapus farted to defend himself against the evil incantations of a “heinous old woman {anus}.” She was the witch Canidia, along with her demonic female friend Sagana. They and their monstrously malicious witch accomplices Folia and Veia tortured and killed a boy. They sought his dried-up bone marrow and liver to use in a love charm for Canidia to have sex with Varus. He was an elderly man with strong, independent sexuality. Their actions were unspeakably evil:

Deprived of any moral conscience, Veia
with a hard hoe dug into
the earth, she grunting with the labor,
so that the boy could be buried
and die gazing at the spectacle
of food changed two or three times in an endless day.
His face protruded from the earth, as stands out the chin
of a body suspended in water.
His dried-up bone marrow and liver, sucked out,
they would use for a love potion,
when his eyeballs had finally rotted away
after once being fixed on the forbidden meal.

{ abacta nulla Veia conscientia
ligonibus duris humum
exhauriebat, ingemens laboribus,
quo posset infossus puer
longo die bis terque mutatae dapis
inemori spectaculo,
cum promineret ore, quantum exstant aqua
suspensa mento corpora;
exsucta uti medulla et aridum iecur
amoris esset poculum,
interminato cum semel fixae cibo
intabuissent pupulae. }[12]

Buried in the ground up to his head, dying of starvation while tortured with the sight of food, the boy cursed the wicked witches:

Magic potions don’t have divine right to do divine wrong. They cannot
overturn human retribution. A solemn curse of castration
cannot be expiated by a dreadful sacrificial victim.
Even when, with my breath forced out, I perish,
I’ll run to you at night as a Fury
and I, my ghost with its hooked claws, will attack your face,
for such is the divine power of spirits of the dead.
Upon your tormented heart I will sit down.
I will carry away your sleep with terror.

{ venena maga non fas nefasque, non valent
convertere humanam vicem.
diris agam vos: dira detestatio
nulla expiatur victima.
quin, ubi perire iussus exspiravero,
nocturnus occurram Furor
petamque voltus umbra curvis unguibus,
quae vis deorum est Manium,
et inquietis adsidens praecordiis
pavore somnos auferam. }

The boy figuratively described Varus’s lack of sexual interest in Canidia as castration. The boy insisted that the horrific love potion that Canidia sought to make from his organs wouldn’t overturn Varus’s castration. Men’s impotence is an epic disaster. More female wickedness isn’t the answer to men’s impotence.

Known for his erect penis, Priapus rightly feared the witch Canidia and her demonic female friend Sagana. Priapus reportedly inhabited a crude fig-wood statue standing in lush “new gardens {novi horti}.” The wealthy, politically connected Roman Maecenas created these gardens by 35 BGC on the former site of a pauper’s cemetery on Esquiline Hill just outside Rome’s Servian Wall. Priapus was thus fabricated like Hermes Perpheraios, but inhabited a much more hospitable initial position. Priapus, however, experienced in Maecenas’s new gardens a horror even worse than fishermen attempting to chop up and burn Hermes Perpheraios:

Why should I recount each detail — that speaking alternately in solemn
agreement, Sagana and spirits of the dead resounded sad and shrill,
thus a wolf’s beard with the tooth of a spotted snake
Canidia and Sagana furtively buried in the earth, how consuming a wax effigy
the fire blazed higher, so that I as a witness, but not one unavenged,
would shudder at the voices and deeds of those two Furies.

{ singula quid memorem, quo pacto alterna loquentes
umbrae cum Sagana resonarint triste et acutum
utque lupi barbam variae cum dente colubrae
abdiderint furtim terris et imagine cerea
largior arserit ignis et ut non testis inultus
horruerim voces Furiarum et facta duarum }[13]

Responding to such potent horror, Priapus defensively farted:

Then, sounding as loud as a bursting bladder, my fig-wood
buttocks split with a fart, and away they ran into the city.
Canidia’s teeth as well as Sagana’s high wig
tumbling down, along with herbs and bindings enchanted
by lizards, you would have seen with great laughter and joy.

{ nam, displosa sonat quantum vesica, pepedi
diffissa nate ficus; at illae currere in urbem.
canidiae dentis, altum Saganae caliendrum
excidere atque herbas atque incantata lacertis
vincula cum magno risuque iocoque videres. }[14]

That fart was a Pyrrhic victory for Priapus. It dispelled Canidia and Sagana from Maecenas’s new gardens on the outskirts of Rome into the center of the city itself. Witches at the center of the city serve gynocentrism.

The witches continued to manipulate and dominate men. The persona of the great Roman poet Horace in his Epodes is an Everyman just as capable of farting as the Everyman Priapus. Nonetheless, he surrendered to Canidia:

Now, right now, I surrender to your effective lore,
and bowing, I pray by Proserpina’s kingdom,
and by Diana, a divinity not to be aroused,
and by your books of spells capable
of unfixing the stars and calling them down from the sky.
Canidia, spare me from your sacred voicings,
and, turning back your swift spell-wheel, release, release me.

{ Iam iam efficaci do manus scientiae,
supplex et oro regna per Proserpinae,
per et Dianae non movenda numina,
per atque libros carminum valentium
refixa caelo devocare sidera,
Canidia: parce vocibus tandem sacris
citumque retro solve, solve turbinem. }[15]

The vicious witch Canidia offered no mercy. She exulted in goading him to suicide. She gleefully declared:

You’ll want only to jump from the highest tower,
only to pierce your chest with a Noric sword,
and all in vain you’ll weave a noose for your neck,
sick with self-loathing and sadness.
Then, as a horsewoman, I will ride on my enemy’s shoulders,
and the land will yield to my arrogance.

{ voles modo altis desilire turribus,
modo ense pectus Norico recludere
frustraque vincla gutturi nectes tuo
fastidiosa tristis aegrimonia.
vectabor umeris tunc ego inimicis eques
meaeque terra cedet insolentiae. }

Farting was enough to prompt the god Apollo to let go of the cattle-stealing infant Hermes. Farting isn’t enough to get rid of a witch riding on a man’s shoulders.

Despite the temporary, tactical farting successes of the gods Hermes and Priapus, farting has a bad reputation historically. A Sumerian proverb from perhaps four thousand years ago associated a great man with a man who doesn’t fart:

He is a man who can lift the heavens — and he doesn’t fart.

{ lu2 an il2-la ce10 nu-ub-dur2-re }[16]

Contrary to gyno-idolatrous myth, woman fart equally with men. In a Neo-Assyrian text from the first half of the first millennium BGC, a man taunts his girlfriend Ishtar of Babylonia:

Why did you fart and were ashamed about it?
Why did you make the wagon of her beloved have a foul smell?

{ ammēni taṣrutīma tabāšī gišsaparra ša bēliša
ammēni taškunī nipiš ri-[x] }[17]

About 50 GC in the Roman colonial province of Judaea, a soldier with an aggressive fart caused a war resulting in the deaths of more than 30,000 persons:

The usual crowd had assembled at Jerusalem for the feast of unleavened bread. The Roman cohort had taken up its position on the roof of the portico of the temple. A body of men in arms invariably mounts guard at the feasts to prevent disorders arising from such a concourse of people. One of the soldiers, raising his robe, stooped to expose his buttocks indecently to the Jews and made a noise associated with his posture. Enraged at this insult, the whole multitude with loud cries called upon the Roman procurator Cumanus to punish the soldier. Some of the more hot-headed young men and seditious persons in the crowd started a fight. Picking up stones, they hurled them at the troops. Cumanus, fearing a general attack upon himself, sent for reinforcements.

{ συνεληλυθότος γὰρ τοῦ πλήθους ἐπὶ τὴν ἑορτὴν τῶν ἀζύμων εἰς Ἱεροσόλυμα καὶ τῆς Ῥωμαϊκῆς σπείρας ὑπὲρ τὴν τοῦ ἱεροῦ στοὰν ἐφεστώσης, ἔνοπλοι δ᾿ ἀεὶ τὰς ἑορτὰς παραφυλάττουσιν, ὡς μή τι νεωτερίζοι τὸ πλῆθος ἠθροισμένον, εἷς τις τῶν στρατιωτῶν ἀνασυράμενος τὴν ἐσθῆτα καὶ κατακύψας ἀσχημόνως προσαπέστρεψεν τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις τὴν ἕδραν καὶ τῷ σχήματι φωνὴν ὁμοίαν ἐπεφθέγξατο. πρὸς τοῦτο ἅπαν μὲν τὸ πλῆθος ἠγανάκτησεν, καὶ κατεβόων τοῦ Κουμανοῦ κολάζειν τὸν στρατιώτην, οἱ δὲ ἧττον νήφοντες τῶν νέων καὶ τὸ φύσει στασιῶδες ἐκ τοῦ ἔθνους ἐχώρουν ἐπὶ μάχην, λίθους τε ἁρπάσαντες ἐπὶ τοὺς στρατιώτας ἔβαλλον. καὶ Κουμανὸς δείσας, μὴ τοῦ λαοῦ παντὸς ἐπ᾿ αὐτὸν ὁρμὴ γένοιτο, πλείους ὁπλίτας μεταπέμπεται. }[18]

In this instance, farting was used in conjunction with colonial oppression, not against oppression. A medieval European proverb expressed more generally a contextual problem with agonistic farting:

One who farts when he wishes, farts when he does not wish to fart.

{ Qui pedit dum vult, pedit dum pedere non vult. }[19]

Farting is often difficult to control, and its effects unpredictable. Farting had so little value as deterrence that in ancient Rome a wife might beat her husband with impunity:

One man supplies magic incantations, another sells Thessalian
potions — these enable a wife to confuse her husband’s mind
and to beat on his buttocks with her sandal.

{ Hic magicos adfert cantus, hic Thessala vendit
philtra, quibus valeat mentem vexare mariti
et solea pulsare natis. }[20]

Circumstances, intentions, and lived experiences don’t provide a reliable fundament for farting as a defense against oppression.

Radical olfactory change is necessary to liberate men from oppression. Hermes, like Odysseus, is a liberating role model of guile and verbal sophistication.[21] Hermes’s older half-brother Apollo lacked sensitivity to the rank oppression of men. That rank oppression that should have made him more responsive to Hermes’s farting. Priapus with his farting fumigated Maecenas’s new gardens and rid them of horrid witches. Yet the witches settled in the center of Rome, just as they have inhabited the center of modern cultures. No stench, not even that of men having no reproductive rights, men being massively gender-disproportionately imprisoned, and men being gender-categorized as disposable persons for use in wars, seems sufficient to dispel the witches and their acolytes from their commanding positions. Massively better olfactory sensitivity can start with you. If you smell something, say something!

We ask for facility in learning, the gift of Hermes.

{ αἰτοῦμεν εὐμάθειαν Ἑρμᾶνος δόσιν }[22]

Men making offerings to an ithyphallic herm. Painting on Attic red-figure column krater
Woman making offerings to an ithyphallic herm. Painting on Attic red-figure column krater.

* * * * *

Read more:

Notes:

[1] Homeric Hymn to Hermes (Homeric Hymns 4, To Hermes {Εἲς Ἑρμῆν}), vv. 1-3, ancient Greek text from West (2003), my English translation, benefiting from those of Thomas (2020), Rayor (2004), West (2003), Shelmerdine (1995), and Evelyn-White (1914).

Scholars generally regard the Homeric Hymn to Hermes as the latest of the lengthy Homeric hymns. A rhapsode apparently composed this hexameter poem after 522 BGC. It has “a date of c.450 {BGC}, with a considerable margin of uncertainty on either side.” Thomas (2020) pp. 22-3.

Subsequent quotes above from the Homeric Hymn to Hermes are similarly sourced. Those quotes are from vv. 5-8 (Maia was bashful….), 254-9 (You, child lying in your cradle …), 261-72 (Apollo, son of Leto …), 289-92 (Now come, if you don’t want…), 294-8 (After setting his mind to it…).

[2] The infant Hermes knew his begetting. Immediately after Hermes built a lyre, he acted like bantering young men at festivities:

He sang of Zeus, son of Cronos, and lovely sandalled Maia,
how they used to converse in companionable love,
and he declared the famous names of his own genealogy.

{ ἀμφὶ Δία Κρονίδην καὶ Μαιάδα καλλιπέδιλον,
οἳ πάρος ὠρίζεσκον ἑταιρείηι φιλότητι,
ἥν αὐτοῦ γενεὴν ὀνομάκλυτον ἐξονομάζων }

Homeric Hymn to Hermes, vv 57-9. Percy Bysshe Shelley’s translation of these verses brings out the scandal:

He sung how Jove and May of the bright sandal
Dallied in love not quite legitimate;
And his own birth, still scoffing at the scandal
And naming his own name, did celebrate;

Shelley, “Hymn to Mercury,” vv. 72–8, quoted and discussed in Phillips (2020). The relationship between Maia and Zesus was like ones between courtesans and Greek men:

The frequentative verb implies, as 7 μισγέσκετο did, that this was not one of Zeus’s one-night stands, and the stem ὠρ- < ὀαρ- points to time spent in intimate conversation. ἑταιρεῖος and φιλότης both apply to consummation as well as affection, but ἑταιρεῖος pulls the expression distinctly towards the latter (see LSJ s.v. I.6).

Thomas (2020) p. 178, footnote omitted. Thomas elaborated on lyric at “festivals {κῶμοι}” in relation to Homeric poetry:

Pindar too understood that praise in the epinician komos is linguistically connected to erotic banter among komasts, and epic had long mentioned the sex-appeal of young choral dancers. So though it at first appeared that such connections were peculiar to Hermes, the hymnist allows an audience to realise that of course the worlds of praise-poetry and of courtesans at parties are not totally removed.

Thomas (2018) p. 4 of preprint.

[3] Olympia isn’t explicitly specified, nor are twelve gods. Hermes, however, kills two cows in the manner of a cultic sacrifice to twelve gods:

All this must be connected with the sacrifices at Olympia, which is by the Alpheios {Alpheus}, to the Twelve Gods. Pindar speaks of Heracles, the founder of the Olympic Games, “honoring the stream of Alpheios with the twelve ruler gods” (Olympian 10.48). Hermes was associated with Apollo there, for the two shared one of the six altars (Herodorus, fr. 34 Fowler). It seems likely, therefore, that the Hymn was composed for performance at Olympia.

West (2003) p. 14. For additional analysis of the sacrifice, Thomas (2017). In ancient Greek myth, twelve Olympian gods resided on Olympus, which came to be identified with Mount Olympus in northern Greece, far from Olympia. The local cult to twelve gods at Olympia probably included some local gods. Hermes was one of the gods worshipped at Olympia. Johnston (2002) pp. 126.

[4] The characterization of Maia and Hermes’s cave / palace seems to depend on the personal context from which it is described. Vergados (2011a).

[5] Here farting is describing in the high diction of epic. Katz (1999). While the text doesn’t literally designate a fart rather than a burp, “It can hardly be doubted that ‘servant of the stomach’ is a striking metaphor for the breaking of wind.” Id. pp. 316-7. Cf. Shelmerdine (1995) p. 111.

[6] The Homeric Hymn to Hermes seems particular relevant to young men in the archaic Greek world. Johnston (2002) p. 111. This hymn was perhaps performed at Olympia “during a festival of Hermes {Hermaea} that encouraged or celebrated the maturation of males.” Id. p. 116. The maturing of young men involves them learning about social regulation of their sexuality. Apollo’s threats to Hermes represent the threat to young men of being dominated. Harrell (2005). For a more general educative perspective on the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, Jarczyk (2017).

[7] Callimachus’s Iambi 7-11 are a series with each iamb / iambus {ἴαμβος} being an origin story / aition {αἴτιον}. Nisetich (2001) p. 110. Callimachus wrote a large work entitled Origin Stories / Causes / Aetia {Αἴτια}. On the close relationship between Callimachus’s Iambi and Aetia, Clayman (1988).

Callimachus’s Iambi have survived only in fragments. In addition, narrative summaries of the poems (Diegesis) have survived in the first or second century GC Papyrus Milan I 18 (the Milan Diegesis). On limitations of the Diegesis, Acosta-Hughes (2002) p. 14. Those limitations don’t substantially affect the above analysis.

The translation “Hermes Hand to Hand / Hermes Perpheraios {Ἑρμῆς Περφεραῖος}” is from Nisetich (2001) p. 110. That translation makes sense of Iambus 7 as an aition. They perhaps handed the statue hand to hand within “some sort of race.” Acosta-Hughes (2002) p. 298, n. 53. The name doesn’t seem to be related in this iamb to Zeus Perpheretas / Zeus Pherpheretas, or to the Perpherees {Περφερέες}, “five men sent by the Hyperboreans {Ὑπερβόρειος} to bring sacrificial offerings to Delian Apollo.” Id. p. 298, n. 54; Herodotus, Histories 4.33. Another translation of Hermes Perpheraios is “Hermes the Wanderer.”

Hermes was a prominent figure in the ancient Greek iambic traditional. He repeatedly appears in the iambs of Hipponax. Vergados (2011) pp. 88-97, Acosta-Hughes (2002) pp. 300-1. Callimachus’s Iambus 7, like his Iambus 6 concerning the famous statue by Phidias of Zeus at Olympia, displays a “humorously irreverent attitude to divinities qua artefacts.” Kerkhecker (1999) p. 195. In contrast to Phidias’s statue of Zeus, the statue of Hermes Perpheraios is a crude, minor work of Epeius, who fashioned the Trojan horse that the Greeks used to conquer Troy. On the contrast between the statues of Iambi 6 and 7, Acosta-Hughes (2002) pp. 295-6, 298.

Callimachus’s Iambi 7 and 9 feature ithyphallic statues of Hermes. That the Hermes statue in Iambus 7 is ithyphallic is implicit, given the surviving text. Here are images of a silver tetradrachm from Ainos c. 460-55 BGC and one from Ainos c. 455-53 BGC. On the identification of the ithyphallic Hermes Perpheraios under the goat’s head, May (1955) pp. 57-65. A lead weight from Ainos about three centuries later has a similar schematic representation of the ithyphallic Hermes Perpheraios standing on a throne. Since Iambus 7 gives an aition of Hermes Perpheraios worshiped in Ainos, the Hermes Perpheraios of Iambus 7 is surely ithyphallic.

Herodotus recorded that the Greeks, and the Athenians first among them, adopted images of the ithyphallic Hermes from the Pelasgians:

It was not so with the ithyphallic images of Hermes. The making of these came from the Pelasgians, from whom the Athenians were the first of all Greeks to take it, and then handed it on to others. For the Athenians were then already counted as Greeks when the Pelasgians came to dwell in the land with them and thereby began to be considered as Greeks. Whoever has been initiated into the rites of the Cabeiri, which the Samothracians learned from the Pelasgians and now practice, he understands what my meaning is. Samothrace was formerly inhabited by those Pelasgians who came to dwell among the Athenians. It is from them that the Samothracians take their rites. The Athenians, then, were the first Greeks to make ithyphallic images of Hermes, and this they did because the Pelasgians taught them. The Pelasgians told a certain sacred tale about this, which is set forth in the Samothracian mysteries.

{ τοῦ δὲ Ἑρμέω τὰ ἀγάλματα ὀρθὰ ἔχειν τὰ αἰδοῖα ποιεῦντες οὐκ ἀπ᾿ Αἰγυπτίων μεμαθήκασι, ἀλλ᾿ ἀπὸ Πελασγῶν πρῶτοι μὲν Ἑλλήνων ἁπάντων Ἀθηναῖοι παραλαβόντες, παρὰ δὲ τούτων ὧλλοι. Ἀθηναίοισι γὰρ ἤδη τηνικαῦτα ἐς Ἕλληνας τελέουσι Πελασγοὶ σύνοικοι ἐγένοντο ἐν τῇ χώρῃ, ὅθεν περ καὶ Ἕλληνες ἤρξαντο νομισθῆναι. ὅστις δὲ τὰ Καβείρων ὄργια μεμύηται, τὰ Σαμοθρήικες ἐπιτελέουσι παραλαβόντες παρὰ Πελασγῶν, οὗτος ὡνὴρ οἶδε τὸ λέγω· τὴν γὰρ Σαμοθρηίκην οἴκεον πρότερον Πελασγοὶ οὗτοι οἵ περ Ἀθηναίοισι σύνοικοι ἐγένοντο, καὶ παρὰ τούτων Σαμοθρήικες τὰ ὄργια παραλαμβάνουσι. ὀρθὰ ὦν ἔχειν τὰ αἰδοῖα τἀγάλματα τοῦ Ἑρμέω Ἀθηναῖοι πρῶτοι Ἑλλήνων μαθόντες παρὰ Πελασγῶν ἐποιήσαντο· οἱ δὲ Πελασγοὶ ἱρόν τινα λόγον περὶ αὐτοῦ ἔλεξαν, τὰ ἐν τοῖσι ἐν Σαμοθρηίκῃ μυστηρίοισι δεδήλωται. }

Herodotus, Histories {Ἱστορίαι} 2.51, ancient Greek text and English translation (modified) from Godley (1920). The Pelasgians are identified with the Tyrrhenians (or Tyrsenians). Herodotus, Histories 1.57. Moreover, according to Callimachus, “‘Pelasgian’ and ‘Etruscan’ are one and the same.” Nisetich (2001) p. 113, citing Callimachus, Aetia {Αἴτια} 4.7. The sacred mystery to which Callimachus’s refers in Iambus 9 is probably that of the Cabeiri / Cabiri. Acosta-Hughes (2002) pp. 296, 301-2.

The influential Roman public figure Cicero described Mercury, the Roman god corresponding to the Greek god Hermes, as having an erect penis:

He has a more disgusting, aroused penis traditionally attributed to being stirred up by the sight of Proserpina.

{ obscenius excitata natura traditur quod aspectu Proserpinae commotus sit }

Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods {De Natura Deorum} 3.56, Latin text from Rackham (1933), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. Proserpina corresponds to the Greek goddess Persephone.

[8] For Hermes Perpheraios speaking incantations, Iambus 7, v. 44. For Callimachus’s Iambi, Clayman (2022a). On the story of Hermes Perpheraios, Petrovic (2010). This iamb is tellingly written in alternating iambic trimeters and ithyphallics. Its dialect of ancient Greek is “literary Doric with some Aeolic features.” Acosta-Hughes (2002) p. 5.

[9] Callimachus, Iambus 9, ancient Greek text and English translation (modified) from Clayman (2022a). Michael Gilleland provides a slightly different translation.

Just as in Iambus 7, the statue of Hermes Perpheraios speaks in Iambus 9. However, in Iambus 9, the viewer first speaks to the statue, and the statue respond. Cf. Anthologia Palatina 12.143. In that epigram, an ithyphallic man who loves the young man Apollophanes complains of his love to an ithyphallic Hermes statue. The Hermes statue responds with sympathetic words. In contrast, speaking-statue epigrams typically have the statue addressing passers-by. Acosta-Hughes (2022) pp. 302-3.

With a prominent ithyphallic Hermes, Iambus 7’s meter doesn’t include any ithyphallics and is simply iambic trimeter. Underscoring the poem’s sophistication, Callimachus wrote it in the ancient Greek dialect form known as literary Doric. Like Iambi 3 and 5, Iambus 9 “faults {men’s} sexual behavior in a homerotic setting.” Acosta-Hughes (2002) p. 303.

[10] In explaining Hermes’s erection, Iambus 9 apparently refers to a sacred tale of the Pelasgians from the Samothracian mysteries. Herodotus, Histories {Ἱστορίαι} 2.51, provided and discussed in an earlier footnote. In ancient Greek literature, Hermes’s erection is more typically explained, in a men-disparaging way, by immediate lust. Acosta-Hughes (2002) pp. 301-3.

[11] Proverb 29453 in Walther (1963-69), Latin text from id., my English translation. While this proverb is found in a medieval manuscript, it might date to the classical period. Another Latin proverb similarly puns on farting and feet:

We believe it to be foot noise when you fart, you inflated one.

{ Credimus esse pedis strepitum, dum, turgide, pedis. }

Proverb 3682 in Walther (1963-69), Latin text from id., my English translation. The great twelfth-century grammarian Serlo of Wilton used this proverb in teaching students.

[12] Horace, Epode 5.29-40, Latin text from Rudd (2004), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. The subsequent quote above is similarly from Epode 5.87-96.

Regarding the translation of anus above, “Anus is rarely used in Latin literature as an indicator of solely age and gender, without additional, pejorative associations.” Migdał (2014) p. 57. In Epode 5, the boy refers to the witches assaulting him as “filthy hags {obscenae ani}.” A poetic persona of Horace refers ironically to Canidia as an anus. Epode 17.47.

In Epode 5.88, for dira detestatio, the translation is “terrible malediction” in Rudd (2004), while “ill-omened” execration is suggested in Watson (2003) p. 245. The doubling between “curses {dirae}” and “ill-omened {dirus}” points to the importance of detestatio, particularly its link to “cut off the testes {detestor}.” Reflecting philology’s historical problem with men’s genitals, Watson (2003) ignores the allusion to testes and castration. Horace uses “the common Prapic pun on testis = testicle/witness” in Satires 1.8.36, 44. Gowers (2012).

Canidia appears as a major character in Horace’s Satire 1.8 and his Epodes 5 and 17. She in also mentioned in Satires 2.1.48 and 2.2.95, as well as Epode 3.8. Writing in the third century GC, Pomponius Porphyrion identified her with the “perfume woman {unguentaria}” Gratidia of Naples. Scholars haven’t generally accepted that identification.

Canidia has been treated as a literary fiction distinctive to each poem. Paule (2017). Such interpretation reflects a deplorable pattern of trivializing men’s lives, lived experiences, and expressed concerns. Moreover, “the kinds of activity which Horace attributes to Canidia really did go on, or were widely believed to do so. … It is apparent that underlying Epode 5 is a notable substratum of fact.” Watson (2003) pp. 176, 179. Many men in ancient Rome and today keenly sense Canidia in their lives.

Horace’s Epodes apparently were composed, along with his Satires, from 42 BGC to 31 BGC. Watson (2003) p. 1. The Epodes widely circulated as a book about 30 BGC. Archaic Greek iambic poetry and Callimachus significantly influenced Horace’s Epodes, as well as Latin literature more generally. Id. pp. 4-19, Clayman (1980) Chapter 4. Epodes 8 and 12 “are clearly influenced by the Iambi.” Clayman (1980) p. 78.

[13] Horace, Satires 1.8.40-45, Latin text from Fairclough, my English translation, benefiting from that of id. Horace’s Satires 1.8 has been editorially summarized as “Priapus complains that the Esquilian hill is infested with the incantations of witches {Conqueritur Priapus Esquilinum montem veneficarum incantationibus infestari}.” This poem is written in dactylic hexameter, an epic meter appropriate to Priapus’s epic action. The subsequent quote above is similarly from Horace’s Satires 1.8.46-50.

On the historical context of Satires 1.8, Higgins (2017). Canidia in this satire might figure P. Canidius Crassus, an eminent supporter of Mark Antony. On the use of magic dolls and binding spells in ancient witchcraft, Hanses (2022) pp. 254-60.

The significance of Callimachus’s Iambi to Horace’s Satire 1.8 has been under-appreciated:

What has been observed is that Sat. 1.8 bears a resemblance to Callimachus’ Iambi 7 and 9, both of which feature ithyphallic herms.

Sharland (2003) p. 102. Explanations of that relationship have focused on the obvious (the presence of a statue) and the abstract: the poets’ role and transgressing generic conventions. Id. p. 102, ft. 18. Sharland provides a more elaborate explanation and more emphatic association:

Priapus’ fart which brings Sat. 1.8 to a speedy conclusion, is not merely an ordinary fart, but is, in fact, as I would suggest, a Callimachean fart. That the fart should terminate the satire before it gets too long would naturally be good in Callimachean terms: because, as the readers of the monstrously long Sat. 2.3 discover unequivocally, a big satire is a big evil. Moreover, by farting the Priapus is, as we have seen, using the ‘blunt’ end of his weapon to achieve this effective editing, bringing the satire to a quick and neat conclusion, just as at Sat. 1.10.72ff. the Horatian satirist advises using the other side of the stilus in the stringent editing that is so important for good composition: ‘saepe stilum vertas …’ Inspired in part by Callimachus’ Iambs 7 and 9, but incorporating some indecorous, scatological aspects of the Old Comic tradition in Roman satire, Sat. 1.8 is the complete opposite of Sat. 2.3: 1.8 is a light and delightful exposition of ‘how to write Callimachean satire.’ The flatulent Priapus of Sat. 1.8 is therefore not merely a figure that is representative of Horace’s character, or who is just ‘Horace in disguise’. The Priapus is rather a potent symbol both of Horace’s devotion to his Callimachean aesthetics and of his irrepressible and effervescent irreverence as poet.

Id. pp. 107-8.

Horace’s Satires 1.8 seem to me to include a Callimachean fart in a textually specific sense. Satires 1.8 implicitly refers to a pun on pedes / pedo to give a ridiculous aition in Latin translation for why Priapus’s penis is pointing to his belly and face, rather than his feet. Moreover, with Callimachean erudition, Horace’s textual play reaches back to the Homeric Hymn to Hermes in having the fart send the witches into the city. With his fart, Priapus ultimately defends himself no more successfully than Hermes does by farting in the hands of Apollo. On Horace’s use of the Homeric Hymns, Harrison (2016). Harrison identifies in Horace’s Odes 1.10 a likely use of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Id. pp. 81-2.

[14] Horace, Satires 1.8.46-50. Priapus may have injured himself in defending himself with a fart. “Fig wood {ficus}” tends to crack easily, and ficus is linguistically associated with anal fissures. Hallet (1981).

The interpretation of lacertis has been a problem:

uincula: threads (licia) tied to a rhombus to entwine the wax doll (cf. Virg. Ecl. 8.73-4, 78; Tuper 1976: 44-6). Here, love-knots worn as bracelets; lacertis goes with excidere.

Gowers (2012) p. 279. If “lacertis goes with excidere,” then the herbs and love-knots, but not the teeth and wig, come tumbling down from the arms. That’s awkward and insipid. A better interpretation associates lacertis with incantata, with lacertis understood as the genitive plural of “lizards {lacertae / lacerti}.” White (2006) p. 382.

Scholars have poorly understood the social significance of Horace’s Satires 1.8. A leading scholarly commentary with gross anti-meninism has superficially interpreted its conclusion:

Priapus appeals to the curious uiator for male solidarity against female inuidia and presents the spectacle as a shared joke at the expense of women (Richlin 1992:58, Henderson 1999: 101).

Gowers (2012), concluding commentary on Satire 1.8. On Richlin 1992, see note [6] in my post on Priapea. On Henderson 1999, see note [5] in my post on Horace’s gender-complacency. As Gowers makes clear, men are complicit in female “malice {invidia}.”

Horace’s Satires 1.8 sets up a sensory revelation. “Priapus’ garden is truly a nexus of sensory stimuli.” Norgard (2015) p. iii. Priapus farting plausibly produced a large, but temporary change in the garden’s smell. Such an atmospheric change isn’t enough to transform men’s lived experience of oppression. As Gowers (2012) indicates, social change in sensory capabilities is also necessary.

[15] Horace, Epode 17.1-7, Latin text from Rudd (2004), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. The subsequent quote above is similarly from Epode 17.70-5. On the witches using a wheel — iunx / turbo / rhombus {ῥόμβος} — in sorcery, Callon (2010) pp. 38-46. On the bodily experience of the supernatural attacks in Epodes 5 and 17, Wright (2021).

[16] Sumerian Proverbs t.6.1.12b.5 (l. 8), Sumerian transliteration and English translation (modified insubstantially) from the Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature, second edition (ETCSL).

[17] Late Assyrian transliteration and English translation (modified insubstantially) from Lambert (1975) p. 120, numbered K 6082.B.14-6 + 81-7-27, 241 (from tablet found at Nineveh). An alternate translation:

Why did you break wind and feel mortified?
Why did you stink up her boyfriend’s wagon like a wi[ld ox]?

Foster (2005) p. 947, translating from Lambert (1975). The associated collection of texts now tends to be called Divine Love Lyrics (DLL):

The texts describe in detail the complex rituals and verbal ceremonies that involved Marduk, his wife Zarpanitu and his lover Ištar of Babylon. … The DLL texts had clear cultic setting. The colophon of the ritual tablet of the set – after listing the cultic instructions and the incipits of the dicenda – informs that the series is a qinayyâtu, “rites against a (female) rival.” Thus, it appears that the DLL texts record a ritual in which a divine ménage-à-trois, involving Marduk, his wife Zarpanitu and his lover Ištar of Babylon, was performed publically in different locations in the city of Babylon, mirroring, so we believe, human, not only divine, emotions.

Nathan Wasserman and Rocio Da Riva, describing their forthcoming critical edition.

[18] Josephus, History of the Jewish War Against the Romans {Ἱστορία Ἰουδαϊκοῦ πολέμου πρὸς Ῥωμαίους} (The Jewish War / Bellum Judaicum) 2.224-6 (Chapter 12, section 1), ancient Greek text and English translation (modified insubstantially) from Thackeray (1927).This incident perhaps generated an aphorism:

Today is the thirtieth Sabbath. Would you fart at the circumcised Jews?

{ hodie tricesima sabbata: vin tu curtis Iudaeis oppedere? }

Horace, Satires 1.9.69.

[19] Proverb 24465 in Walther (1963-69), Latin text from id., my English translation. Other Latin proverbs similarly recognized the problem of controlling farting:

Farting in the sheepfold, one afterwards does that in the royal court.

One who is accustomed to farting near the thicket or near the sheepfold,
does not abandon this habit when he arrives at the royal court.

{ Pedens in caula post hoc facit illud in aula.

Pedere qui suevit prope dumum vel prope caulam,
Hoc non delevit, quando pervenit ad aulam. }

Proverbs 21130c and 21130d, similarly from id. Another proverb on farting can be interpreted as either admonishing or giving license:

Fart upon a hill. Fart where you wouldn’t want to fart.

{ Pede super colles, pedes ubi pedere nolles }

Proverb 21130b, similarly from id. This proverb can also be interpreted as a humorous commentary on Matthew 5:14:

You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.

{ vos estis lux mundi non potest civitas abscondi supra montem posita

ὑμεῖς ἐστε τὸ φῶς τοῦ κόσμου οὐ δύναται πόλις κρυβῆναι ἐπάνω ὄρους κειμένη }

Latin Vulgate and ancient Greek text from Blue Letter Bible.

[20] Juvenal, Satires 6.610-2, Latin text and English translation (modified slightly) from Braund (2004). As these verses illustrate, men are complicit in the oppression of men.

[21] Hermes, like Odysseus, is a trickster figure with a widely varying character:

Both god and the hero share the peculiar and somewhat obscure epithet, πολύτροπος {many turns}. It suggests versatility, indirection, adaptability, but also movement on a twisted path.

Clay (2019) p. 67, endnote omitted. For πολύτροπος, Homeric Hymn to Hermes vv. 13, 439, and Odyssey, passim, e.g. Odyssey 1.1. Hermes and Odysseus also share the epithets “full of tricks and wiles {ποικιλομήτης}” and “many skilled {πολύμητις}.” Id. p. 78, note 1. Odysseus’s grandfather Autolykos was a cattle thief like Hermes. Id. pp. 70-1. On Hermes’s complexity as a figure, Vinci & Maiuri (2022).

[22] Callimachus, fr. 221 Pf. (iambic), ancient Greek text and English translation from Acosta-Hughes (2002) p. 302. It “seems rather likely” that this fragment belongs to Iambus 9. Id. A substantively similar translation: “We ask from Hermes the gift of easy learning.” Clayman (2022a) p. 519. Id. notes, “Cf. Call. Epig. 48, where a similar request is made to the Muses by Simus the son of Miccus.” In Callimachus’s snide Epigram 48, a mask of Dionysus on the wall of a school declares:

Simus, the son of Miccus, dedicated me to the Muses and asked for easy learning.

{ Εὐμαθίην ᾐτεῖτο διδοὺς ἐμὲ Σῖμος ὁ Μίκκου ταῖς Μούσαις }

Ancient Greek text and English translation (footnotes omitted) from Clayman (2022b).

The tradition of archaic Greek iambic poetry is associated with ethical learning. Apparently originating in Ionia in the seventh and sixth centuries BGC, archaic Greek iambic poetry is now associated with Archilochus of Paros, Hipponax of Ephesus, and Semonides of Amorgos:

this is a type of poetic utterance at once ethical, in that it may serve as a medium for the criticism or shaming of another (psogos or “blame” poetry), and coarse or low, in that it embodies a realm wherein elements of diction, theme, or imagery that are normally excluded from more elevated poetic forms (e.g. elegy) are very much at home. And the speaker is often represented as being shameless and disreputable, or at least lowborn and socially marginal.

Acosta-Hughes (2002) p. 2. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes draws upon the archaic Greek iambic tradition. Boner (2009). Callimachus, Horace, and later exponents have significantly reshaped the iambic tradition while maintaining its ethical value.

[images] (1) Ancient Greek marble herm. From about 520 BGC Siphnos in the Aegean island chain the Cyclades. Preserved as accession # Inv.3728 in the National Archaeological Museum of Athens. Image thanks to Ricardo André Frantz and Wikimedia Commons. (2) Ithyphallic herm painted on Athenian red-figure krater. Ithyphallic herm painted on Athenian red-figure column krater. Painted c. 480–470 BGC and attributed to the Geras Painter. Preserved as item 83.AE.255 in the J. Paul Getty Museum. Source image from item 7 in Tsiafakis (2019). (3) Men making offerings to an ithyphallic herm. Painting on Attic red-figure column krate. Made about 480–470 BGC by the Pan Painter. Preserved as item 83.AE.252 in the J. Paul Getty Museum. Source image from item 6 in Tsiafakis (2019). (4) Woman making offerings to an ithyphallic herm. Painting on Attic red-figure column krater. Painted c. 480–470 BGC and attributed to the Geras Painter. Preserved as item 83.AE.255 in the J. Paul Getty Museum. Source image from item 7 in Tsiafakis (2019).

A herm / herma {ἑρμῆς} is a rectangular pillar often topped with a man’s head and having a man’s genitals carved in the center of the pillar. In 415 BGC, during the night before the Athenian armada was to embark for Syracuse to fight in Sicilian expedition of the Peloponnesian War, all the herms (hermai) in Athens had their genitals mutilated. Mutilating genitals of herms is an expression of castration culture.

References:

Acosta-Hughes, Benjamin. 2002. Polyeideia: The Iambi of Callimachus and the Archaic Iambic Tradition. Hellenistic Culture and Society, 35. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Introduction. Reviews by Paul Ojennus and by Annette Harder.

Boner, Justin. 2009. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes and Archaic Iambography. B.A. Thesis, New College of Florida.

Braund, Susanna Morton, ed. and trans. 2004. Juvenal and Persius. Loeb Classical Library 91. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Callon, Callie. 2010. “Sorcery, Wheels, and Mirror Punishment in the Apocalypse of Peter.” Journal of Early Christian Studies. 18 (1): 29–49.

Clay, Jenny Strauss. 2019. “Hide and Go Seek: Hermes in Homer.” Chapter 5 (pp. 67-78) in Miller & Clay (2019).

Clayman, Dee L. 1980. Callimachus’ Iambi. Leiden: Brill.

Clayman, Dee L. 1988. “Callimachus Iambi and Aitia.” Zeitschrift Für Papyrologie Und Epigraphik. 74: 277–286.

Clayman, Dee L., ed. and trans. 2022a. Callimachus. Aetia. Iambi. Lyric Poems. Loeb Classical Library 421. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Clayman, Dee L., ed. and trans. 2022b. Callimachus. Hecale. Hymns. Epigrams. Loeb Classical Library 129. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Evelyn-White, Hugh G. 1914. The Homeric Hymns and Homerica. London: William Heinemann Ltd.

Fairclough, H. Rushton, trans. 1926. Horace. Satires. Epistles. The Art of Poetry. Loeb Classical Library 194. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Faulkner, Andrew, ed. 2011. The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press. Review by Alberto Bernabé.

Faulkner, Andrew, Athanassios Vergados, and Andreas Schwab, eds. 2016. The Reception of the Homeric Hymns. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Table of Contents. Review by Stephen Sansom.

Foster, Benjamin R. 2005. Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature. Third Edition. Potomac, MD: CDL Press.

Godley, A. D., ed. and trans. 1920. Herodotus. The Persian Wars. Loeb Classical Library 117-120. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Gowers, Emily. 2012. Horace, Satires, Book I. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Latin text and commentary.

Hallett, Judith P. 1981. “Pepedi/Diffissa Nate Ficus: Priapic Revenge in Horace, Satires 1.8.” Rheinisches Museum Für Philologie. 124 (3-4): 341–47.

Hanses, Mathias. 2022. “Ovid and the Magic Doll: Witchcraft and Defixiones in Amores 3.7.” Classical Journal. 117 (3): 249–83.

Harrell, Sarah E. 2005. “Apollo’s Fraternal Threats: Language of Succession and Domination in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies. 32 (4): 307–29.

Harrison, Stephen. 2016. “The Homeric Hymns and Horatian Lyric.” Chapter 4 (pp. 79-94) in Faulkner, Vergados & Schwab (2016).

Higgins, John. 2017. “Horace Satires 1.8: A Blast from the Past.” New England Classical Journal. 44 (3): 139-149.

Jarczyk, Magdalena. 2017. “Aspects of Myth in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” Symbolae Philologorum Posnaniensium Graecae et Latinae. 27 (3): 189-236.

Johnston, Sarah Iles. 2002. “Myth, festival, and poet: the Homeric Hymn to Hermes and its performative context.” Classical Philology. 97 (2): 109-132.

Katz, Joshua T. 1999. “Homeric Hymn to Hermes 296: Τλήμονα Γαστρὸς Ἔριθον.” The Classical Quarterly. 49 (1): 315–19.

Kerkhecker, Arnd. 1999. Callimachus’ Book of Iambi. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Review by James Clauss.

Lambert, W. G. 1975. “The Problem of Love Lyrics.” Pp. 98–135 in Hans Goedicke and J. J. M. Roberts, eds. Unity and Diversity: Essays in the History, Literature, and Religion of the Ancient Near East. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.

May, J. M. F. 1950. Ainos, Its History and Coinage, 474-341 B.C. London: Oxford University Press.

Migdał, Justyna. 2014. “Old Women: Divination and Magic or anus in Roman Literature.” Symbolae Philologorum Posnaniensium Graecae et Latinae. 24 (2): 57–67. Alternate source.

Miller, John F. and Jenny Strauss Clay, eds. 2019. Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press. Review by Maciej Paprocki.

Nisetich, Frank J., trans. 2001. The Poems of Callimachus. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Review by Andrew Faulkner.

Norgard, Amy Lynn. 2015. The Senses and Synaesthesia in Horace’s Satires. Ph.D. Thesis. Urbana, Ill.: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.

Paule, Maxwell Teitel. 2017. Canidia, Rome’s First Witch. Bloomsbury Classical Studies Monographs. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Review by Peta Greenfield.

Petrovic, Ivana. 2010. “The Life Story of a Cult Statue as an Allegory: Kallimachos’ Hermes Perpheraios.” Pp. 205-224 in Jannis Mylonopoulos, ed. Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome. Leiden: Brill.

Phillips, Tom. 2020. “Unapprehended Relations.” Classical Receptions Journal. 12 (1): 109-27.

Rackham, H., ed. and trans. 1933. Cicero. On the Nature of the Gods. Academics. Loeb Classical Library 268. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Rayor, Diane J. 2004. The Homeric Hymns: A Translation with Introduction and Notes. Updated edition, 2014. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Review by Stephen Evans.

Rudd, Niall, ed. and trans. 2004. Horace. Odes and Epodes. Loeb Classical Library 33. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Sharland, Suzanne. 2003. “Priapus’ Magic Marker: Literary Aspects Horace, Satire 1.8.” Acta Classica: Proceedings of the Classical Association of South Africa. 46 (1): 97–109.

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Skinner, Marilyn B. 2016. “Canidia’s Debut: Horace Satires 1.8.” Pp. 650-657 in Aldo Setaioli, ed. Apis Matina. Studi in Onore Di Carlo Santini. EUT Edizioni Università Di Trieste. EUT Edizioni Università di Trieste. Alternate source.

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Thomas, Oliver. 2017. “Sacrifice and the Homeric Hymn to Hermes 112-41.” Pp. 181-199 in Sarah Hitch and Ian Rutherford, eds. Animal Sacrifice in the Ancient Greek World. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Alternate source.

Thomas, Oliver. 2018. “Hermetically unsealed: lyric genres in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” Alternate source. Pp. 173-188 in Felix Budelmann and Tom Phillips, eds. Textual Events: Performance and the Lyric in Early Greece. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Thomas, Oliver, ed. and trans. 2020. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Cambridge Classical Texts and Commentaries, 62. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Reviews by Gabriela Cursaru, by Katharina Epstein, and by Cecilia Nobili.

Tsiafakis, Despoina. 2019. Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum, Fascicule 10: Athenian Red-Figure Column- and Volute-Kraters. Los Angeles, CA: J. Paul Getty Museum.

Vergados, Athanassios. 2011a. “Shifting Focalization in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes: The Case of Hermes’ Cave.” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies. 51 (1): 1–25.

Vergados, Athanassios. 2011b. “The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: Humour and Epiphany.” Chapter 5 (pp. 82–104) in Faulkner (2011).

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gender horror in W. H. Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles”

Hephaestus polishing Achilles's shield for Thetis

In the Iliad, Achilles’s goddess-mother Thetis asks the iron-forging god Hephaestos to make new armor for Achilles. Achilles needed new armor to rejoin the horrific violence against men of the Trojan War. About seven years after the end of World War II, W. H. Auden in his poem “The Shield of Achilles” recast Hephaestos making Achilles’s armor. Auden represented gender horror in a more subtle way than did the Iliad.

Auden’s poem begins with “she.” That “she” is Achilles’s goddess-mother Thetis:

She looked over his shoulder
For vines and olive trees,
Marble well-governed cities
And ships upon untamed seas,
But there on the shining metal
His hands had put instead
An artificial wilderness
And a sky like lead.

A plain without a feature, bare and brown,
No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,
Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,
Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood
An unintelligible multitude,
A million eyes, a million boots in line,
Without expression, waiting for a sign. [1]

Men have long revered a great mother goddess. Like a young child, Achilles revered his mother Thetis. He prayed to her for help. Hephaestos, who regarded himself as deeply indebted to Thetis, would do anything for her. He credited Thetis with acting courageously to save his life after his mother, the hateful head-goddess Hera, threw him off Mount Olympus because of his physical disability. In the Iliad, Thetis isn’t a demure, passive goddess who merely looks over men’s shoulders.[2]

inspecting shield for Achilles, Thetis sees herself reflected in it as Hephaestus polishes the other side

Auden represented Thetis according to the gender pieties of post-World War II men. Auden’s Thetis is pure, innocent, and moral:

She looked over his shoulder
For ritual pieties,
White flower-garlanded heifers,
Libation and sacrifice,
But there on the shining metal
Where the altar should have been,
She saw by his flickering forge-light
Quite another scene.

Barbed wire enclosed an arbitrary spot
Where bored officials lounged (one cracked a joke)
And sentries sweated for the day was hot:
A crowd of ordinary decent folk
Watched from without and neither moved nor spoke
As three pale figures were led forth and bound
To three posts driven upright in the ground.

The woman Thetis wants to see fruitful nature, well-governed, peacefully trading cities, and traditional religious beliefs and practices. The man Hephaestos represents the artificial, inorganic, cruelty of modern, bureaucratic society. The officials and sentries are men. The ordinary decent folk are women. The abstract, scarcely colored figures are men suffering penal punishment. One of those men would come to be in modern medieval scholarship the model for “WomanChrist.”[3] No one laughs.

Achilles with his pride died seeking glory in violence against men. In the honor culture of archaic Greece, pride and shame were the measure of men. That measure separates men from the ordinary joys of life. After World War II, ordinary men, like the three pale figures in Auden’s poem, faced the honor-culture measure of men:

The mass and majesty of this world, all
That carries weight and always weighs the same
Lay in the hands of others; they were small
And could not hope for help and no help came:
What their foes liked to do was done, their shame
Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride
And died as men before their bodies died.

The three pale figures bound to three posts died as men because they lost their pride. That isn’t like Jesus and one of the two thieves crucified with him.[4]

Gender stereotypes deny men’s feelings and obscure the emotional horror of violence against men. So it is in Auden’s poem:

She looked over his shoulder
For athletes at their games,
Men and women in a dance
Moving their sweet limbs
Quick, quick, to music,
But there on the shining shield
His hands had set no dancing-floor
But a weed-choked field.

A ragged urchin, aimless and alone,
Loitered about that vacancy; a bird
Flew up to safety from his well-aimed stone:
That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third,
Were axioms to him, who’d never heard
Of any world where promises were kept,
Or one could weep because another wept. [5]

Why did Auden write, “That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third”? The prevalence of boys being raped is about equal to the prevalence of girls being raped. Violence against males typically isn’t explicitly specified. The victim is merely “a third.” The mediated masses don’t weep because men are raped or men are killed. Famous poets, economists, and bureaucrats succeed with the same art. Their sense of social justice follows the logic and statistics of profit in competition for attention.

Out of the air a voice without a face
Proved by statistics that some cause was just
In tones as dry and level as the place:
No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;
Column by column in a cloud of dust
They marched away enduring a belief
Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief. [6]

Hephaestus giving to Thetis the armor he made for Achilles at her request
Thetis presents Achilles with the new armor that she had Hephaestus make for him.

The Every Woman has never walked a mile in his shoes. She doesn’t know what it would mean to be for him.

The grim-lipped armorer
Thetis of the shining breasts
Rushed away to Achilles.
None cried out in dismay
At what the goddess had brought
To equip her son, the strong
Iron-hearted man-slaying Achilles
Who would not live long. [7]

W. H. Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles” depicts modern gender horror. That seems quite different from the massive slaughter of men in the Iliad. The Iliad and Auden’s poem, however, are part of the same old song.[8] Sing a new song of justice for men!

* * * * *

Read more:

Notes:

[1] W. H. Auden, “The Shield of Achilles,” stanzas 1-2, quoted from Mendelson (2022) vol. 2. This poem was originally published in “Poetry, October 1952.” Fuller (1998) p. 449. Based on that citation, Poetry apparently is a periodical, probably published in Britain or the U.S. Alan Jacobs didn’t provide a better citation. Auden (2024) p. 79. Further research indicates that Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles” was first published in Poetry, a magazine founded in 1912 by Harriet Monroe in Chicago and published by the Modern Poetry Association (USA), which in 2003 became the Poetry Foundation. In 1952, Karl Shapiro was the editor of Poetry. For additional citation details, Auden (1952).

Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles” was reprinted as the title poem and the first poem of the center section of Auden (1955). That book, The Shield of Achilles, won a National Book Award in the U.S. in 1956 and was reprinted in that year. Auden (1956). For a critical edition of the poem, Mendelson (2022) vol. 2, pp. 417-8; textual notes, id. pp. 956-7.

Hephaestos making a shield and other armor for Achilles at the request of the goddess Thetis is narrated in Iliad, Book 18. The description of Achilles’s shield in the Iliad is an early and influential example of ekphrasis — a detailed verbal description of a work of visual art. Hephaestos is more commonly named with the Latinate form, Hephaestus.

W. H. Auden is a very eminent poet. He was Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets from 1954 until his death in 1973. For additional scholarly resources on Auden, the Auden Society. Auden is “generally considered the greatest English poet of the twentieth century.” Auden is at least comparable in status to T. S. Eliot. See, e.g. St. Amant (2018).

The Shield of Achilles is a major work of Auden:

It is the boldest and most intellectually assured work of his career, an achievement that has not been sufficiently acknowledged, in large part because its poetic techniques are not easily perceived or assessed. It is the most unified of all Auden’s collections, and indeed — once its intricate principles of organization are grasped — may be seen as the true successor of those long poems of the 1940s.

Auden (2024), Jacobs introduction, p. x. Its central, title poem, “The Shield of Achilles,” is according to Jacobs, “Auden’s staggeringly ambitious revision” of the ekphrasis of the shield of Achilles that Hephaestos makes in the Iliad, Book 18. Id. p. xxi.

Auden valued “The Shield of Achilles” highly enough to have made two recordings of him speaking it. He recorded the poem in 1968 for the Spoken Arts label in New Rochelle, New York. Here’s a edited version and a fuller version. He also recorded “The Shield of Achilles” in 1971 for Yale Series of Recorded Poets, issued by Westinghouse Learning Press, New York. Mendelson (2022) vol. 2, pp. 758-9. Others have also recorded the poem, e.g. Joshua Gibbs (2014) and Henry Blaine Silver (2022).

Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles” has been widely discussed through to the present day. This poem “puts the post-war scene into just the kind of oblique and dramatically archetypal context that brings out both its full horror and its religious meaning.” Fuller (1998) p. 451. For a scholastic analysis of the poem, Reed (2021). Some have understood it to contrast implicitly the beauty, lyricism, and personal heroism of archaic Greece with the “martial horror” of modernity, “the anxious meaninglessness of modern life, the warfare engendered by it, and the cruel social realities that lie behind both.” Brown (nd). Without explicitly considering war gender-structured as violence against men, Belloncle read “The Shield of Achilles” as illuminating “the constancy of war throughout the ages.” Summers similarly perceived:

Auden’s point, then, is not that the Homeric idealization of war contrasts with contemporary militarism, but that the heroic age contained within it the seeds of modern dehumanization. … The poem thus exposes the disparity between the idyllic appearance of the Homeric world and the ugly realities that the appearance conceals, and it suggests a continuity of those realities into the contemporary world.

Summers (1984) p. 220. A central continuity is the gender position of men in relation to war.

Subsequent quotes above, except the final one, are similarly from Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles.” Those quotes are stanzas 4-5 (She looked over his shoulder…), stanza 6 (The mass and majesty of this world, all…), stanzas 7-8 (She looked over his shoulder…), and stanza 3 (Out of the air a voice without a face…).

[2] Discussions of Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles” have considered gender only superficially when they recognize that Auden changed Thetis’s position. For example, a Homeric scholar declared:

One of the most significant changes that Auden has made to the original tale of the making of the shield is the role of Thetis in the scene. In Iliad 18 Thetis does not follow Hephaestus into his workshop (468 τὴν μὲν λίπεν αὐτοῦ ‘he left her there’). By introducing Thetis as an anxious viewer of Hephaestus’ making of the shield, Auden reminds us that the shield reflects not only the story of Achilles but also that of Thetis.

Yamagata (2023) p. 3. The shield also implicitly represents the story of the mass slaughter of men. Why don’t Auden and other elite authors remind readers about the horrific history of violence against men within structures of gender injustice that men have long endured?

[3] Newman (1995). See also Georges Duby’s study of medieval women. Cf. medieval ostentatio genitalium.

The central section of Auden’s The Shield of Achilles begins with “The Shield of Achilles” and ends with “Ode to Gaea.” In ancient Greek myth, Gaea / Gaia is a mother goddess who represents the earth and the origin of all life. She urged her son Cronos to castrate her husband / his father Uranus. “Ode to Gaea” ends with praise for Gaea as pure, unchanging truth:

And Earth, till the end, will be herself; she has never been moved
Except by Amphion, and orators have not improved
Since misled Athens perished
Upon Sicilian marble: what,
To her, the real one, can our good landscapes be but lies,
Those woods where tigers chum with deer and no root dies,
That tideless bay where children
Play bishop on a golden shore.

Auden (1955) pp. 58-9, “Ode to Gaea,” final stanza.

[4] Humility, not pride, characterized Jesus, e.g. Matthew 11:29 (Jesus calls himself gentle and lowly in heart), John 13:1-16 (Jesus washing his disciples’ feet), Luke 22:24-27 (Jesus teaches that leaders should be humble and serve others), Luke 14:7-11 (Jesus teaches that he who humbles himself will be exalted), Philippians 2:5-8 (Jesus obediently humbled himself on the cross). One of the thieves crucified with Jesus humbly asked for forgiveness. The other thief arrogantly demanded that Jesus save himself and them. Luke 23:39-42.

[5] Salter, who described “The Shield of Achilles” as “my own favorite among his midsized poems,” reads the ragged urchin as having never heard that “one could weep because another wept” as representing the “tragedy” of the poem. Salter (2023). Summers (1984) similarly interprets this verse as central and profound. Id. p. 232. The verse seems to me better interpreted as bathetic. Similar words of Paul to the Christian community at Rome are less cloyingly sentimental and more shocking:

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep.

{ εὐλογεῖτε τοὺς διώκοντας ὑμᾶς εὐλογεῖτε καὶ μὴ καταρᾶσθε χαίρειν μετὰ χαιρόντων κλαίειν μετὰ κλαιόντων }

Romans 12:14-15 via Blue Letter Bible.

[6] Poets disparaging statistics now seems banal. Perhaps in 1952 contempt for statistics was a more interesting position:

Among the writers who most influence Auden in this period was the Austrian thinker Rudolf Kassner (1873–1959), especially in his 1919 book Zahl und Gesicht. The German phrase of his title generally means “quantity and quality,” but literally means “Number and Face,” and in 1950 Auden wrote a poem, “Numbers and Faces,” that resonated with Kassner’s ideas. Kassner’s distinction becomes a way for Auden to rearticulate the distinction he made in his 1946 poem “Under Which Lyre” between the followers of Apollo and the followers of Hermes: the Apollonians of the earlier poem live in the later poem’s “Kingdom of Number,” while Hermetics are drawn to particular human faces.

Auden (2024), Jacob’s introduction, pp. xxii-iii. In newspapers and popular journals, use of statistics is highly rhetorical. Like words, statistics can describe truth, but don’t necessarily do so. Apart from the logic of a particular moral framework such as utilitarianism, neither words nor statistics can prove a cause morally just.

[7] This stanza is a modified version of Auden’s final stanza in “The Shield of Achillles.” Auden’s original has the poor dear goddess Thetis crying in dismay and blaming the disabled man Hephaestos:

The thin-lipped armorer,
Hephaestos, hobbled away,
Thetis of the shining breasts
Cried out in dismay
At what the god had wrought
To please her son, the strong
Iron-hearted man-slaying Achilles
Who would not live long.

Auden thus significantly changed the song of the Iliad concerning Thetis and Hephaestos. Auden’s recasting of the Iliad perhaps served the emotional needs of men returning home after participating in the horrific violence against men of World War II.

Auden’s concern for time patterns is signaled in the The Shield of Achilles’s third section, entitled “Horae Canonicae {Canonical Hours}.” That’s a time pattern associated with early Christian communities. One specification of these hours occurs in the Rule of Saint Benedict, composed about 530 GC. Auden’s section “Horae Canonicae” has the epitaph, “Immolatus vicerit {Having been sacrificed, he conquered}.” That’s a reference to Christ. It’s perhaps taken from Venantius Fortunatus’s hymn, “Sing, my tongue, the strife of glorious combat {Pange lingua gloriosi proelium certaminis}.” Medieval Latin poets adapted “Pange, lingua” it to mock courtly love. It also provided the meter for Angelbert’s poem lamenting the horrific violence against men at the battle of Fontenoy in 841. Jacobs sees “The Shield of Achilles” as fulfilling “Immolatus vicerit.” Auden (2024), Jacob’s introduction, pp. xxiv-xxxiv. Auden, however, provides no critical perspective on men’s sacrificial gender position. It wasn’t the time for Auden to fill that negative space.

Auden included in The Shield of Achilles an obscure prefatory epigraph lamenting bad conditions and temporal disjointedness:

From bad lands where eggs are small and dear
Climbing to worse by a stonier
Track, when all are spent we hear it — the right song
For the wrong time of year.

Auden (1955), epigraph printed just below the dedication “For Lincoln and Fidelma Kirstein.” Cf. Ecclesiastes 3:1-11. The time of year, like the time of day, is a continually recurring event. If the right time of year exists, it will come. The right song for the right time of year will come.

[8] Within the same section of The Shield of Achilles in which “The Shield of Achilles” comes, Auden placed another poem, entitled “The Truest Poetry Is the Most Feigning.” Concerning the poet in relation to the generic human, gendered as male (“Man”), this poem concludes:

For given Man, by birth, by education,
Imago Dei, who forgot his station,
The self-made creature who himself unmakes,
The only creature ever made who fakes
With no more nature in his loving smile
Than in his theories of a natural style,
What but tall tales, the luck of verbal playing,
Can trick his lying nature into saying
That love, or truth in any serious sense,
Like orthodoxy, is a reticence.

Quoted from Mendelson (2022) vol. 2, p. 424. Randall Jarrell, an eminent poet, aptly commented:

I know that I ought to respond, “True, true! I’ll never tell the truth again. Anybody like to join me in some tall tales and verbal playing?” But what I really say is — but I’ll be reticent.

Jarrell (1955) p. 604. Jarrell wasn’t generally contemptuous of Auden’s poetry. Jarrell in various ways greatly admired Auden poetry, which had a large influence on him. On Jarrell’s relationship with Auden, Jarrell (1952 / 2005) and Monroe (1979), Chapter 5.

Auden was an acute and severe self-critic. He rejected some of his published poems as “dishonest.” In his preface to his Collected Shorter Poems: 1927-1957, Auden wrote:

A dishonest poem is one which expresses, no matter how well, feelings or beliefs which its author never felt or entertained. For example, I once expressed a desire for ‘New styles of architecture’; but I have never liked modern architecture. I prefer old styles, and one must be honest even about one’s prejudices. Again, and much more shamefully, I once wrote:

History to the defeated
may say alas but cannot help nor pardon.

To say this is to equate goodness with success. It would have been bad enough if I had ever held this wicked doctrine, but that I should have stated it simply because it sounded to me rhetorically effective is quite inexcusable.

Auden (1957) p. 15.

Auden eventually described his poem “September 1, 1939” as “the most dishonest poem I have ever written.” Just as for “The Shield of Achilles,” war is a central concern of “September 1, 1939.” Germany invaded Poland on September 1, 1939. Auden’s poem “September 1, 1939” was first published in the U.S. public affairs journal The New Republic on October 18, 1939 under the editorship of Bruce Bliven. By the mid-1950s, Auden rejected this poem and refused to have it included in any of his poetry collections. On “September 1, 1939,” Mendelson (1999) pp, 477-8, Lenfield (2015), and Woo (2023).

Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles” seems to me to be more dishonest than his “September 1, 1939.” Having interpreted “The Shield of Achilles” without regard for gender, Jarrell described it as an “impressive, carefully planned, entirely comfortless poem.” Jarrell (1955) p. 604. But Jarrell also observed, “a comfortable frivolity about much of ‘The Shield of Achilles.’” Id. p. 607. Was Auden comforting himself at the reader’s expense? Mendelson observed:

From the moment it appeared in print in 1952 “The Shield of Achilles” was welcome in anthologies for its sturdy unobjectionable sentiments against violence and war. Yet the moral and technical intelligence of Auden’s poem rests in its deeper inexplicit argument about the relation of language and act, and it is a greater and more disturbing work than even its admirers suggest.

Mendelson (1999) p. 375. Mendelson, who interpreted the poem without regard for gender, seems to me to have characterized it well in a way that he himself didn’t understand.

[images]

(1) Hephaestus polishing Achilles’s shield for Thetis. Painting by the Dutuit Painter on a two-handled amphora (wine/oil jar). Made in Athens about 470 BGC. Preserved as accession # 13.188 in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Credit: Bartlett Collection — Museum purchase with funds from the Francis Bartlett Donation of 1912. Source image via MFABoston under non-commercial Terms of Use. A Gorgon-head image (Gorgoneion) is a common shield device and appears on the shield of Achilles in the Sarti fragment of the Tabulae Iliaca. Hardi (1985) p. 22. Hephaestus forging armor for Achilles at Thetis’s request is a well-established theme in images crafted throughout history. Here’s an image collection for that theme.

(2) Thetis, inspecting the shield that Hephaestus made for Achilles, sees herself reflected in it. Hephaestus polishes the other side. A craftsman works on the helmet for Achilles. Fresco made 48-75 GC in the House of Paccius Alexander (IX 1, 7, triclinium e), Pompeii. Preserved in Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli (MANN inv. 9529). Source image thanks to Marie-Lan Nguyen and Wikimedia Commons. Here’s another photo. This composition might have adapted a representation of Aphrodite seeing herself in the Shield of Ares. Hardie (1985) p. 19. Eight paintings of Thetis in the forge of Hephaestus have survived in Pompeiian wall frescos from before 79 GC. Id. Here are Thetis in the forge of Hephaestus in the House of Siricus {Domus Vedi Sirici} (VII.1.47) and in the House of Ubonus {Domus Uboni} (IX.5.2).

(3) Hephaestus giving to Thetis the armor he made for Achilles at her request. Painting by the Foundry Painter on an Attic red-figure caylix krater (wide-mouth jar used for mixing water and wine), made 490-480 BGC. Preserved as accession # F 2294 in the Altes Museum, Antiquities Collection {Antikensammlung}, Berlin, Germany. Credit: Formerly in the Schloss Charlottenburg. Source image thanks to Bibi Saint-Pol and to Wikimedia Commons. Hephaestus presenting Thetis the armor he made for Achilles at her request is a well-established theme in images crafted throughout history. Here’s an image collection for that theme.

(4) Thetis presents Achilles with the new armor that she had Hephaestus make for him. Painting by the Alamura Painter on an Attic red-figure calyx krater, made 470-460 BGC. Preserved as accession # 48.262 in the Walters Art Museum. Credit: Acquired by Henry Walters, 1925. Enhanced source image via Wikimedia Commons. The Walters describes this image as a generic departure scene in which a young man heading off to war stands by his family’s altar and receives armor from a woman. The shield here contains an image of a long, sinuous snake. That’s a common feature on representations of the shield of Achilles in Pompeiian frescoes. Hardie (1985) p. 28, n. 119. The snake on the shield of Achilles probably represents “the constellation of the serpent, Draco, which separates the two Bears of the poles.” Id. p. 19. Thetis presenting armor to Achilles might well have become a generic image of a man departing for war.

(5) Shield of Achilles as imagined by John Flaxman, c. 1810-1817, and crafted in silver gilt by Philip Rundell for Rundell Bridge & Rundell. Completed in 1821 for George IV’s British coronation banquet. At the center is the god Apollo riding a quadriga. Preserved as RCIN 51255 in the Royal Collection Trust, Britain.

References:

Auden, W. H. 1952. “The Shield of Achilles.” Poetry (Chicago, IL, by the Poetry Foundation). 81 (1): 3-5.

Auden, W. H. 1955. The Shield of Achilles. New York, NY: Random House.

Auden, W. H. 1956. The Shield of Achilles. New York, NY: Random House.

Auden, W. H. 1966. Collected Shorter Poems: 1927-1957. London: Faber and Faber.

Auden, W. H. 2024. The Shield of Achilles. With preface, introduction, and notes by Alan Jacobs. W.H. Auden: Critical Editions. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Introduction (alternate web presentation). Review by Steve Donoghue.

Belloncle, Sophia. 2024. ‘He Would Not Live Long: The Postwar World in W.H. Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles.”Voegelin View. Essays. Online.

Brown, Rick. nd. ‘A Bloody Torpor: The Banality of Violence in Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles.”’ Modern American Poetry Site. Online.

Fuller, John. 1998. W. H. Auden: A Commentary. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Hardie, P. R. 1985. “Imago Mundi: Cosmological and Ideological Aspects of the Shield of Achilles.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies. 105: 11–31.

Jarrell, Randall. 1952 / 2005. Randall Jarrell on W.H. Auden. Edited by Stephanie Burt and Hannah Brooks-Motl. New York, NY: Columbia University Press.

Jarrell, Randall. 1955. “Review: Recent Poetry.” The Yale Review: A National Quarterly. Summer, 1955, pp. 598-608. Includes Jarrell’s review of Auden’s The Shield of Achilles.

Lenfield, Spencer. 2015. ‘Why Auden Left: “September 1, 1939” and British Cultural Life.’ Journal of the History of Ideas Blog. Posted online Dec. 9, 2015.

Mendelson, Edward. 1999. Later Auden. New York, NY: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux.

Mendelson, Edward, ed. 2022. Poems. Vol. 1: 1927-1939. Vol. 2: 1940-1973. The Complete Works of W. H. Auden. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Review by Steve Donoghue and Salter (2023).

Monroe, Hayden Keith. 1979. An Ornament of Civilization: The Literary Criticism of Randall Jarrell. Ph.D. Thesis, University of North Carolina at Greensboro.

Newman, Barbara. 1995. From Virile Woman to WomanChrist: Studies in Medieval Religion and Literature. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Reed, Monique. 2021. “The Shield of Achilles by W.H Auden – Teaching Presentation – Analysis of context, poem and language.” YouTube video.

Salter, Mary Jo. 2023. “Our Auden.” Literary Matters. 15.2. Online.

St. Amant, E. A. 2018. “W H Auden versus T S Eliot.” Online post at eastamant.com.

Summers, Claude J. 1984. ‘“Or One Could Weep Because Another Wept”: The Counterplot of Auden’s “The Shield of Achilles.”’ The Journal of English and Germanic Philology. 83 (2): 214–32.

Woo, David. 2023. “Review: Auden in the 21st Century (on The Complete Works of W. H. Auden: Poems, Volume I: 1927–1939 and Volume II: 1940–1973, edited by Edward Mendelson).” The Georgia Review. Sprint, 2023, online edition.

Yamagata, Naoko. 2023. “Thetis and the Shield of Achilles – Reading the Iliad with Auden.” Chapter 16 (pp. 395-410) in Maciej Paprocki, Gary Vos, and David John Wright, eds. The Staying Power of Thetis: Allusion Interaction and Reception from Homer to the 21st Century. Sovereign of the Sea: the Staying Power of Thetis in the Greco-Roman World and Beyond (Conference). Berlin: De Gruyter. Cited by pdf page number in the open research online version.

Catullus on bridging the gender divide for Colonia

Disparaging men’s sexuality contributes to the social construction of the gender divide. The Roman poet Catullus, writing about 60 BGC, considered this matter personally in relation to a fellow-citizen of his home city of Verona. That fellow-citizen was utterly failing to fulfill his sexual responsibilities to his young wife. Catullus’s proposed action for Colonia superficially adheres to the obtuse, yet common, penal principle of dysfunctional social groups: “the beatings will continue until morale improves.” However, with keen insight into bridges and connecting, Catullus subtly identified and sought to remedy a structural gender problem underlying men’s sexual failures.

Catullus harshly disparaged his fellow-citizen for a sexless marriage. Sex between lively, loving persons is sensual. According to Catullus, his fellow-citizen is wholly insensate:

He’s a most tasteless man and doesn’t sense to the extent of
a two-year-old child, asleep in his father’s rocking arms.
Though he’s married to a young woman, the freshest flower,
a young woman more frisky than a tender little goat,
needing to be watched more carefully than the ripest grapes,
he lets her play around as she pleases. He doesn’t make the smallest bang,
doesn’t raise himself in his part, but lies like a soft tree-trunk
in a trench, hamstrung by a Ligurian axe,
feeling everything as much as if it never existed at all.
The dullard is like that. He sees nothing, he hears nothing,
what he himself is, whether he is or is not, that he doesn’t even know.

{ insulsissimus est homo, nec sapit pueri instar
bimuli tremula patris dormientis in ulna.
cui cum sit viridissimo nupta flore puella
et puella tenellulo delicatior haedo,
adservanda nigerrimis diligentius uvis,
ludere hanc sinit ut lubet, nec pili facit uni,
nec se sublevat ex sua parte, sed velut alnus
in fossa Liguri iacet suppernata securi,
tantundem omnia sentiens quam si nulla sit usquam,
talis iste merus stupor nil videt, nihil audit,
ipse qui sit, utrum sit an non sit, id quoque nescit. }[1]

Husbands oblivious to their beautiful wives are scarcely alive. Compassion for them is nearly inconceivable with ordinary sense.

Ya’an-Kangding Highway Bridge Crossing the Dadu River in China

Catullus figured his sexually failing fellow-citizen as a dilapidated bridge for Colonia. His poem begins with a direct address to Colonia:

O Colonia, you who desire to folic on a long bridge
and are ready to dance, but fear the unfit
legs of the little bridge standing on its reused wood —
that it might fall supine and sink into the encompassing mud.
May you get a good bridge made fit for your passion,
on which could be undertaken even sacred service for the dance god,
if you would give me, Colonia, the gift of greatest laughter.

{ O Colonia, quae cupis ponte ludere longo,
et salire paratum habes, sed vereris inepta
crura ponticuli axulis stantis in redivivis,
ne supinus eat cavaque in palude recumbat
sic tibi bonus ex tua pons libidine fiat,
in quo vel Salisubsili sacra suscipiantur:
munus hoc mihi maximi da, Colonia, risus. }[2]

Colonia is a young, lively, passionate wife and a place with a faulty bridge. Colonia etymologically centers on farming / plowing. Her bridge’s faults — being small and weak, with unfit legs and old wood — suggest her husband’s sexual failure. Colonia’s bridge is both a bridge and her husband’s genitals failing to bridge the gender divide.[3]

Like the double referents of Colonia and the bridge, the gift that Catullus personally requests from Colonia — “the gift of greatest laughter {munus maximi risus}” — also has double referents. The subsequent four verses elaborate on one referent and hint at another:

From your bridge I want a certain fellow-citizen of mine
to go headlong into the mud, by both head and feet tumbling,
truly where the whole wine-vat and stinking swamp
is the most discolored and deep abyss.

{ quendam municipem meum de tuo volo ponte
ire praecipitem in lutum per caputque pedesque,
verum totius ut lacus putidaeque paludis
lividissima maximeque est profunda vorago. }

A man tumbling off a bridge could be “the gift of greatest laughter” only in a vicious and narrow sense. Scholars have rationalized the man tumbling off the bridge as a propitiatory sacrifice to make the bridge satisfactory for Colonia.[4] That interpretation lessens the viciousness and eliminates a fitting context for laughter. In his diction elaborating on his fellow-citizen falling from the bridge, Catullus uses language associated with disparaging the vaginas of some old women.[5] Compared to penises, vaginas typically are highly and warmly regarded in ancient literature. For the passionate and outrageous Catullus, “the gift of greatest laughter” plausibly encompasses sex with his fellow-citizen’s wife.[6] Catullus thus associates the husband-cuckold with unappealing sexual intercourse and himself with appealing sexual intercourse. The double referents of “the gift of greatest laughter {munus maximi risus}” are thrusting the husband from the bridge and having sex with the husband’s lovely wife.

Akashi Kaikyo Bridge in Japan

Showing unusual concern for the sexually inert husband, Catullus figured his own strong, independent sexuality as redemptive. Catullus explained to Colonia that he himself would from the back side thrust her bent-over husband from the bridge:

I want to thrust him bent over right now from your bridge,
if I can, to arouse him suddenly from foolish lethargy
and to leave behind a backwards spirit in the rank filth,
as a she-mule would leave behind an iron shoe in a tenacious abyss.

{ nunc eum volo de tuo ponte mittere pronum,
si pote stolidum repente excitare veternum
et supinum animum in gravi derelinquere caeno,
ferream ut soleam tenaci in voragine mula. }

Men’s tonic masculinity can confer the seminal blessing of abundant life, avert sickness and death, and even arouse a man from sexual lethargy. Myths of gender oppression imagine women being compelled to become domestic service animals with iron shoes on their hooves so that they can undertake heavy burdens. Catullus understood that men such as his fellow-citizen actually experience such a mulish position. The tenacious abyss abstractly represents oppressive demands gynocentric society imposes on men. To shed their lethargy and become fully alive, men must leave behind the iron shoes, the iron shackles, and the iron cages imposed on them, along with other metaphorical fecal matter. Catullus isn’t being gratuitously cruel to his fellow-citizen, but imagining himself providing harsh, necessary character reformation.[7]

Men’s impotence has long been regarded as an epic disaster. One should not simply blame the man-victim, nor of course rape him and thrust him from a bridge into the mud. Like everything else in the cosmos, men’s impotence is socially constructed within structures of dominance and oppression. Difficulties in bridging the gender divide are structural. Unsatisfying bridges, ideologically weakened by institutions of penal punishment and myths of patriarchy and misogyny, cruelly oppress women and men. Women and men must help to arouse men and to liberate men from the iron shoes weighing them down. Catullus imagined liberating a man. You should, too!

We don’t need to build bridges. The bridges we have are sufficient for us. We merely need to deploy our bridges well.

Golden Gate Bridge in California, USA

* * * * *

Read more:

Notes:

[1] Catullus, Poems {Carmina}, Poem {Carmen} 17, vv. 12-22, Latin text (modified insubstantially) from Thomson (1997), my English translation. Many translations of Carmen 17, e.g. Smithers (1894), Burton (1894), Cornish (1904), Rau (1999), and Kline (2001), are freely available online.

I’ve translated “blackest grapes {nigerrimae uvae}” as “ripest grapes.” In context, the blackest grapes mean the most desirable grapes. While skin-color racism existed in ancient Rome, it apparently didn’t color the meaning of this phrase here.

Catullus wrote Carmen 17 in the rare Priapean meter. That meter “combines two ‘aeolic’ cola, a glyconic followed by a pherecratean.” Morgan (2010) p. 35. Some other verses in Priapean meter are attributed to Catullus:

This enclosure I dedicate and consecrate to you, Priapus,
at Lampsacus, where your house and sacred grove are, Priapus,
since you are chiefly worshiped in the cities of the coast
of the Hellespont, which is richer in oysters than other coasts.

{ Hunc lucum tibi dedico consecroque, Priape,
qua domus tua Lampsaci quaque silva Priape,
nam te praecipue in suis urbibus colit ora
Hellespontia ceteris ostriosior oris. }

Here oysters perhaps alludes to men’s testicles. The only other surviving text in Priapean meter attributed Catullus is: “there is the desire to lick from my … {– ⌣ – ⌣⌣ de meo ligurrire libido est}.” Catullus, Fragments 2 and 3, Latin text of Eisenhut (1956) and English translation (modified) from Cornish, Postgate & Mackail (1913) pp. 182-3. Id., like most scholars, regards the attribution of these verses to Catullus as doubtful.

Catullus wrote three other poems “focalized through the generic perspective of Priapus.” Uden (2007) abstract. These poems are Carmina 16, “I with my dick will bang up your crapper and stuff your mouth {Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo}”; 46, “Porcius and Socration, two left hands {Porci et Socration, duae sinistrae}”; and 57, “O rem ridiculam, Cato, et iocosam {O, Cato, what a ridiculous and funny thing}.” Priapus poems (Priapea / Priapeia) of antiquity critically concern men’s sexuality and often parody grotesque stereotypes of men’s genitals and men’s gender. For some relatively uncritical analysis of these poems, Uden (2007).

In one Priapea, Priapus appears as a crude wooden form protecting a bountiful garden from thieves. Men are gender-associated with crudeness and gender-directed to relatively dangerous jobs. This Priapus, however, maintained his self-esteem and recognized his importance. He explains to a traveler:

On me is placed in spring a decorated garland,
on me in the fervid sun red grain,
on me sweet grapes with green vines,
on me an olive hardened by frigid cold.
From my pastures the tender little she-goat
carries to the city her udders matured with milk,
and from my sheepfold the plump lamb
sends home the strong hand heavy with coins,
and a young calf amid its mother’s mooing
spills forth its blood before the gods’ temples.

{ Mihi corolla picta vere ponitur,
mihi rubens arista sole fervido,
mihi virente dulcis uva pampino,
mihi gelante oliva cocta frigore.
meis capella delicata pascuis
in urbem adulta lacte portat ubera,
meisque pinguis agnus ex ovilibus
gravem domum remittit aere dexteram,
tenerque matre mugiente buculus
deum profundit ante templa sanguinem. }

The traveler, not a thief, apparently desires Priapus sexually, or the fruits of the garden. However, in another horror of castration culture, Priapus is violently castrated:

Traveler, you therefore should revere this god
and hold your hands high. This advantages you,
for see, a fierce penis stands prepared.
“I’d like, by Pollux” you say, but by Pollux, see the bailiff
is coming! With his strong arm he breaks off
my penis, which becomes an apt cudgel for his right hand.

{ Proin, viator, hunc deum vereberis
manumque sursum habebis. hoc tibi expedit;
parata namque trux stat ecce mentula.
“velim pol” inquis at pol ecce vilicus
venit, valente cui revulsa bracchio
fit ista mentula apta clava dexterae. }

Priapea 2 (85 Bücheler, from the Appendix Vergiliana), Latin text from Fairclough (1918) vv. 6-15 and 16-21 (of 21), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. and those of Burton & Smithers (1890), who wrongly attribute the poem to Catullus. Here are some Latin reading notes for Priapea 2. The phrase “and hold your hands high {manumque sursum habebis}” could mean “keep your hands off the fruits growing close to the ground,” but hands held high is also a gesture of reverence. Similarly, “for see, a fierce penis stands prepared {parata namque trux stat ecce mentula}” has an erotic, non-masochistic sense. In contrast, the bailiff’s “apt cudgel {apta clava}” is brutalizing figure of the penis and purely punitive. Priapea 2 (85 Bücheler, from the Appendix Vergiliana) isn’t part of a poetic collection conventionally known as Carmina Priapea.

Priapea 2 signals the expansion of castration culture over time. The generic trajectory of Priapus poems regrettably droops toward infertility:

The generic narrative that is developed for the priapeum moves from the fertile and productive visions of nature in the genre’s code models to a partially urban landscape suffused with artificiality, leisure, indulgence and infertility.

Uden (2010) p. 215. Literary scholars should recognize that castration culture and associated infertility is socially constructed and not immutable or inevitable. Authors such as Catullus, Maximianus, and Rabelais have sought to promote penal justice and renew appreciation for men’s penises.

Subsequent quotes above are sourced similarly from Catullus’s Carmen 17. Those quotes are vv. 1-7 (O Colonia, you who desire…), 8-11 (From your bridge I want a certain fellow-citizen…), 23-6 (I want to thrust him bent over…). The above quotes thus cover all the verses of Carmen 17.

[2] Despite obvious figurative use of “Colonia,” Colonia has tended to be interpreted only as a specific, real town:

Colonia: usually identified since Guarinus with the modern village of Cologna, a few miles eastward from Verona, the marshy situation of which fits well with the description in the text.

Merrill (1893) p. 37, note to v. 1. More recently, scholars have identified Colonia with Vorona. Watson (2021) p. 38, with review of relevant scholarly literature in footnotes 6-7. Much more important is Colonia’s double referent as a place with a bridge and the wife of Catullus’s fellow-citizen.

Salisubsili, translated above as “dance god,” is not otherwise known. That word apparently is the genitive singular of Salisubsilus, It might be a variant of Salisubsalus or Salisubsalius. The name of this god seems to be rooted in dance: “to jump {salire / salio}.” Cf. Catullus, Carmen 17.2. Salisubsilus is perhaps associated with the god Mars. Salii were priests who did ritual war dances. They are known to have existed in Rome and Verona. Merrill (1893) p. 37, note to v. 6, and Adamik (2019) p. 321.

[3] Rudd observed:

There is something very strange about crura. Merrill tells us what it is. “The noun,” he says, “is unique in this humorous application to inanimate objects, pes being commonly used in such connections.” In other words your legs are crura, but the legs of your chair are not.

Rudd (1959) pp. 239-40. Rudd astutely recognized the bridge as representing the husband’s sexual failure, and Colonia, the sexual vigorous wife. Watson asked:

In making a bridge central to the mise en scène of a piece involving the jesting humiliation of a husband, is Catullus alluding, in a kind of Alexandrian footnote, to Greek γεφυρισμός, derived from γέφυρα ‘bridge’, in its transferred sense of ‘subjecting someone to mockery and abuse’?

Watson (2021) p. 39. That’s possible abstractly, but the bridge’s most specific alternate referent is best regarded as the husband’s genitals.

[4] E.g. Quinn (1969) p. 24, Morgan (2010) pp. 39-40. For additional relevant references, Watson (2021) pp. 38-9. A propitiatory sacrifice suggests piety rather than laughter, at least in traditional Greco-Roman religion.

[5] Specific words Catullus uses invoke disparaging figures of the vaginas of particular old women. Consider “mud {lutum}.” In a classical poem, a man harshly disparages his impotent, “villainous penis {scelestus penis}.” He condemns his penis to a highly unattractive woman — “a two-toothed woman-friend resembling old Romulus {bidens amica Romuli senis memor}.” Like Catullus’s aim for his fellow-citizen, this man’s penis faces mud, which figures the vagina of the old, unattractive woman: “you will immerse your wandering penis-head in her noisy mud {vagum sonante merseris luto caput}.” Priapea 4 (83 Bücheler, from the Appendix Vergiliana), incipit “What is this strange occurrence {Quid hoc novi est}?”, vv. 19 (villainous penis), 26 (two-toothed woman friend…), 37 (you will immerse), Latin text of Fairclough (1918), my English translation. Watson credited this reference to a referee. The referee suggested that the verse from Priapea 4 “may be indebted to and consciously ‘stain’ the concluding lines of Catullus 17.” Watson (2021) p. 50, ft. 84. Whatever the specific case, the figure of mud in relation to the vagina (or possibly the anus) seems more general.

In relation to the “deep abyss {profunda vorago}” of Catullus’s Carmen 17, Priapea 4 (83 Bücheler, from the Appendix Vergiliana), v. 32, refers to a “deep trench {profunda fossa}” in figuring the old, unattractive woman’s vagina. Sourced as previously. Catullus 17.18-9 refers to a soft tree-trunk in a “trench {fossa}” in an apparent figure of the husband’s sexual failure. In harsh invective against the eunuch Baeticus, Martial disparages him for not engaging sexually with men’s anuses. In a contrast with masculine anuses, Martial refers to the vagina as “the feminine abyss {femineum barathrum}.” Martial, Epigrams 3.81.1. The association of whirlpool / abyss {vorago} with women is probably rooted in the ancient Greek myth of the women-monsters Scylla and Charybdis.

[6] Catullus in another poem describes an unfeeling husband as a mule. In particular, he addresses Lesbia’s husband: “you mule, not feeling anything {mule, nihil sentis}.” Carmen 83.3. Catullus loves Lesbia. See, e.g. Carmen 92. Zarker argues that Lesbia’s husband, Q. Metellus Celer, is also the mule of Carmen 17. That would make Colonia a code name for Lesbia, and create a stronger association between the “gift of greatest laughter” and Catullus desire to cuckold the husband / fellow-citizen of Carmen 17. Identifying Q. Metellus Celer as the husband in Carmen 17 isn’t necessary for reasonably interpreting the gift as having a referent to cuckolding the husband.

[7] For simplicity of exposition I equate the ego of Carmen 17 with Catullus. In the surviving anthology of Catullus’s poetry, Carmen 17 is paired with Carmen 16. The ego of Carmen 16 expresses strong, independent sexuality. That ego is plausibly understood not as Catullus, but as Priapic persona that Catullus critically assumes. Uden (2007). The ego of Carmen 17 might similarly be a persona dramatically acting to change a man’s gender position. That ego could be a sophisticated exponent of Priapus in a particular literary representation. Cf. Kloss (1998) pp. 64-6.

In Carmen 17, the husband, Catullus’s fellow-citizen, has been interpreted as both an anti-Priapus figure and a Priapus figure. Anti-Priapus, Morgan (2010) pp. 36-40; Priapus, Watson (2021) pp. 43-51. Those starkly contrasting interpretations highlight lack of critical understanding of Priapus.

[images] (1) Ya’an-Kangding Highway Bridge Crossing the Dadu River in China. From photo made on June 13, 2019. Source image thanks to 来斤小仓鼠吧 and Wikimedia Commons. (2) Akashi Kaikyo Bridge in Japan. From photo made on June 26, 2005. Shared by Aurelio Asiain on flicker under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 2.0 license. (3) Golden Gate Bridge in California, USA. Photo made on October 12, 2014. Source image thanks to Wa17gs and Wikimedia Commons.

References:

Adamik, Tamás. 2020. “Vocabulary of Catullus’ Poems: Hapax Legomena as Vulgar Words.” Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae .59 (1-4): 317–25.

Burton, Richard Francis, and Leonard C. Smithers. 1890. Envocation to Priapus Priapeia, or, Sportive Epigrams on Priapus. Cosmopoli. 1995 reprint.

Cornish, F. W., J. P. Postgate, and J. W. Mackail, ed. and trans. 1913. Catullus. Tibullus. Pervigilium Veneris. Revised by G. P. Goold (1988). Loeb Classical Library 6. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Fairclough, H. Rushton, revised by G. P. Goold. 1918. Virgil. Aeneid: Books 7-12. Appendix Vergiliana. Loeb Classical Library 64. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Kloss, Gerrit. 1998. “Catullus Brückengedicht (c. 17).” Hermes. 126 (1): 58–79.

Merrill, Elmer Truesdell. 1893. Catullus. Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press.

Morgan, Llewelyn. 2010. Musa Pedestris: Metre and Meaning in Roman Verse. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Quinn, Kenneth. 1969. “Practical Criticism: A Reading of Propertius I. 21 and Catullus 17.” Greece & Rome. 16 (1): 19–29.

Rudd, Niall. 1959. “Colonia and Her Bridge: A Note on the Structure of Catullus 17.” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association. 90: 238–42.

Thomson, D. F. S. 1997. Catullus. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Uden, James. 2007. “Impersonating Priapus.” The American Journal of Philology. 128 (1): 1-26.

Uden, James. 2010. “The Vanishing Gardens of Priapus.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology. 105: 189–219. Alternate source.

Watson, Lindsay. 2021. “Catullus’ Priapean Poem ( c . 17).” Antichthon. 55: 35–52.

Zarker, John W. 1969. “Mule, Nihil Sentis (Catullus 83 and 17).” The Classical Journal. 64 (4): 172–77.

Greek women warriors danced Pyrrhic victory for gender equality

Men historically have been burdened with fighting in wars gender-structured as violence against men. Women warriors, however, have achieved prominence in public discourse throughout history. In ancient Greek culture, the goddesses Athena and Artemis were eminent women warriors, as were the Amazons. Moreover, men in ancient Greece delighted in viewing nearly naked women performing Pyrrhic war dance. Mortal women warriors did not, however, contribute significantly to Greek military action. As thoughtful Greek military and civic leader Xenophon recognized in his story about conflict between Greek mercenaries and Paphlagonians, women Pyrrhic dancers in ancient Greece show men’s propensity to credit women imaginatively apart from women’s actual responsibility. That propensity impedes actual progress toward gender equality.

ancient Greek woman Pyrrhic dancer and aulos-player

The ancient Greek philosopher Plato argued that women should have significant military responsibility. He declared that girls as well as boys, and women as well as men, should receive military training:

We are establishing gymnasiums and all physical exercises connected with military training, including the use of the bow and all kinds of missiles, light skirmishing and heavy-armed fighting of every description, tactical deployments, company-marching, camp-formations, and all the details of cavalry training. In all these subjects there should be public instructors, paid by the State. Their pupils should be not only the boys and men in the State, but also the girls and women. The women will understand all these matters — being practiced in all military drills and fighting while still girls. When grown to womanhood, they will take part in deployments and rank-forming and the piling and shouldering of arms. They will do this, if for no other reason, at least for this reason: if ever the guards of the children and of the rest of the city should be obliged to leave the city and march out in full force, these women should be able at least to take their place. If, on the other hand — and this is quite a possible contingency — an invading army of foreigners, fierce and strong, should force a battle around the city itself, then it would be a sore disgrace to the State if its women were so badly raised as not even to be willing to do as do the mother-birds. Mother-birds fight the strongest beasts in defense of their broods. If, instead of facing all risks, even death itself, our women would run straight to the temples and crowd all the shrines and holy places, they would drown humanity in the disgrace of being the most craven of living creatures.

{ γυμνάσια γὰρ τίθεμεν καὶ τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον ἅπαντα τοῖς σώμασι διαπονήματα τοξικῆς τε καὶ πάσης ῥίψεως καὶ πελταστικῆς καὶ Επάσης ὁπλομαχίας καὶ διεξόδων τακτικῶν καὶ ἁπάσης πορείας στρατοπέδων καὶ στρατοπεδεύσεων καὶ ὅσα εἰς ἱππικὴν μαθήματα συντείνει. πάντων γὰρ τούτων διδασκάλους τε εἶναι δεῖ κοινούς, ἀρνυμένους μισθὸν παρὰ τῆς πόλεως, καὶ τούτων μαθητὰς τοὺς ἐν τῇ πόλει παῖδάς τε καὶ ἄνδρας, καὶ κόρας καὶ γυναῖκας πάντων τούτων ἐπιστήμονας, κόρας μὲν οὔσας ἔτι πᾶσαν τὴν ἐν ὅπλοις ὄρχησιν καὶ μάχην μεμελετηκυίας, γυναῖκας δὲ διεξόδων καὶ τάξεων καὶ θέσεως καὶ ἀναιρέσεως ὅπλων ἡμμένας, εἰ μηδενὸς ἕνεκα ἄλλου, ἀλλ᾿ εἴ ποτε δεήσειε πανδημεὶ πάσῃ τῇ δυνάμει καταλείποντας τὴν πόλιν ἔξω στρατεύεσθαι τοὺς φυλάξαντας παῖδάς τε καὶ τὴν ἄλλην πόλιν, ἱκανοὺς εἶναι τό γε τοσοῦτον, ἢ καὶ τοὐναντίον, ὅγ᾿ οὐδὲν ἀπώμοτον, ἔξωθεν πολεμίους εἰσπεσόντας ῥώμῃ τινὶ μεγάλῃ καὶ βίᾳ, βαρβάρους εἴτε Ἕλληνας, ἀνάγκην παρασχεῖν περὶ αὐτῆς τῆς πόλεως τὴν διαμάχην γίγνεσθαι, πολλή που κακία πολιτείας οὕτως αἰσχρῶς τὰς γυναῖκας εἶναι τεθραμμένας, ὡς μηδ᾿ ὥσπερ ὄρνιθας περὶ τέκνων μαχομένας πρὸς ὁτιοῦν τῶν ἰσχυροτάτων θηρίων ἐθέλειν ἀποθνήσκειν τε καὶ πάντας κινδύνους κινδυνεύειν, ἀλλ᾿ εὐθὺς πρὸς ἱερὰ φερομένας πάντας βωμούς τε καὶ ναοὺς ἐμπιπλάναι καὶ δόξαν τοῦ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένους καταχεῖν ὡς πάντων δειλότατον φύσει θηρίων ἐστίν. }[1]

Orosius and other ancient historians recognized that women could be fierce and brutal fighters. Nonetheless, in ancient Greece, as in most other societies throughout history, boys but not girls were trained to fight in wars. Almost exclusively men fought and died on battlefields of institutionalized violence.

women Pyrrhic dancers in erotic context

Despite Greek women not fighting in ancient Greek military actions, Greek men enjoyed watching naked or nearly naked women dance the Pyrrhic war dance. Pyrrhic dance consists of movements like that of a soldier engaged in close, armed fighting.[2] After 460 BGC, numerous ancient Greek vases show paintings of women doing Pyrrhic dance. The majority of these women are naked. The vases seem to be associated mainly with men’s symposia (banquets), the hiring of women dancers, or the training of women dancers. Based on surviving artifacts, vase paintings of women doing Pyrrhic dance apparently were most popular from 440 BGC to 420 BGC.[3] Like accounts of Amazon women warriors, women doing Pyrrhic dance seem to have pleased men’s erotic imagination in democratic Athens.

ancient Greek woman dancer / acrobat

About half a century after ancient Greek vase paintings of women doing Pyrrhic dance were most numerous, the Athenian military and civic leader Xenophon included in his Anabasis {Ἀνάβασις} a story about a woman performing a Pyrrhic dance. The Anabasis recounts the experience of a large Greek mercenary army (the Ten Thousand) hired to help the Achaemenid prince Cyrus the Younger seize the Achaemenid throne from his brother Artaxerxes II. As the Greek mercenaries traveled back to Greece from Persia, they plundered food in Paphlagonia along the Black Sea in present-day Turkey. The Paphlagonians in turn attacked relatively vulnerable small groups of Greek soldiers. Relations between the Greeks and the Paphlagonians became very hostile:

Then Corylas, who happened at that time to be ruler of Paphlagonia, sent ambassadors to the Greeks. The ambassadors, who rode horses and wore fine clothes, carried word that Corylas was ready to do the Greeks no wrong and to suffer no wrong at their hands. The Greek generals replied that they would take counsel with the Greek army on this matter, but meanwhile they received the Paphlagonian ambassadors as their guests at dinner. The Greek generals also invited to the dinner other men in the Greek army as seemed to them best entitled to an invitation. By sacrificing some of the cattle they had captured and also other animals, the Greeks provided an adequate feast. All dined reclining upon straw mats and drank from cups made of horn found in the country.

{ ὁ δὲ Κορύλας, ὃς ἐτύγχανε τότε Παφλαγονίας ἄρχων, πέμπει παρὰ τοὺς Ἕλληνας πρέσβεις ἔχοντας ἵππους καὶ στολὰς καλάς, λέγοντας ὅτι Κορύλας ἕτοιμος εἴη τοὺς Ἕλληνας μήτε ἀδικεῖν μήτε ἀδικεῖσθαι. οἱ δὲ στρατηγοὶ ἀπεκρίναντο ὅτι περὶ μὲν τούτων σὺν τῇ στρατιᾷ βουλεύσοιντο, ἐπὶ ξένια δὲ ἐδέχοντο αὐτούς· παρεκάλεσαν δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνδρῶν οὓς ἐδόκουν δικαιοτάτους εἶναι. θύσαντες δὲ τῶν αἰχμαλώτων βοῶν καὶ ἄλλα ἱερεῖα εὐωχίαν μὲν ἀρκοῦσαν παρεῖχον, κατακείμενοι δὲ ἐν στιβάσιν ἐδείπνουν, καὶ ἔπινον ἐκ κερατίνων ποτηρίων, οἷς ἐνετύγχανον ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ. }[4]

This banquet was in effect a diplomatic affair. It provided a hospitable context for settling peacefully the violent conflict between the Paphlagonians and the traveling Greek mercenary soldiers.

At the banquet, Greek soldiers performed war dances ostensibly for entertainment. First two Thracian men danced in full armor to flute music. After some sparring with sabers, one pretended to kill the other and despoil him of his weapons. The victor marched out singing. Other Thracian men carried out the soldier pretending to be dead. The Paphlagonians misunderstood this artful acting. They lamented the Thracian soldier’s death.

ancient Greek women Pyrrhic dancers in a banquet scene

The next dance was particularly relevant to the diplomatic occasion. This dance, which Xenophon called the “carpaea {καρπαία},” realistically represented the conflict between Paphlagonian farmers and the Greek mercenary soldiers:

The manner of the dance was this: a man who has laid aside his weapons is sowing by driving his cattle. He turns about frequently, as would a man in fear. A roving bandit approaches. As soon as the sower sees him coming, he grabs his arms, goes to meet him, and fights with him to save his yoked cattle. The two men do all this in rhythm to flute music. In the end, the roving bandit binds the man and steals the yoked cattle. Sometimes, the cattle’s master binds the roving bandit and yokes him along with the cattle. With the roving bandit’s hands tied behind him, the sower then drives on.

{ ὁ δὲ τρόπος τῆς ὀρχήσεως ἦν, ὁ μὲν παραθέμενος τὰ ὅπλα σπείρει καὶ ζευγηλατεῖ πυκνὰ μεταστρεφόμενος ὡς φοβούμενος, λῃστὴς δὲ προσέρχεται· ὁ δ᾿ ἐπὰν προΐδηται, ἀπαντᾷ ἁρπάσας τὰ ὅπλα καὶ μάχεται πρὸ τοῦ ζεύγους· καὶ οὗτοι ταῦτ᾿ ἐποίουν ἐν ῥυθμῷ πρὸς τὸν αὐλόν· καὶ τέλος ὁ λῃστὴς δήσας τὸν ἄνδρα καὶ τὸ ζεῦγος ἀπάγει· ἐνίοτε δὲ καὶ ὁ ζευγηλάτης τὸν λῃστήν· εἶτα παρὰ τοὺς βοῦς ζεύξας ὀπίσω τὼ χεῖρε δεδεμένον ἐλαύνει. }[5]

Xenophon’s concluding description of alternatives destroys the mimesis. Xenophon seems to be prompting the reader to consider critically the action at a higher level of abstraction. Conflict between nomads and farmers have deep historical and mythic roots.[6] In Xenophon’s time, the dominance of sedentary civilizations wasn’t clear. The conflict between the Paphlagonians and the roving Greek mercenaries points to a more general conflict relevant to civic leaders.

Two further dances were less representational. A Mysian soldier entered and performed a dance simulating combat between two and then one enemy soldiers. He “was whirling and doing aerial somersaults while holding shields {τοτὲ δ’ ἐδινεῖτο καὶ ἐξεκυβίστα ἔχων τὰς πέλτας}.”[7] He thus danced “so as to make a fine spectacle {ὥστε ὄψιν καλὴν φαίνεσθαι}.” He then did a different, Persian war dance. Subsequently, Mantinean and Arcadian soldiers, dressed richly in arms, came forward and marched, sang, and danced as if at a festival for the gods. These dances clearly weren’t mimesis of violent conflict.

Young woman doing Pyrrhic dance as part of women's physical training.

The final dance at the diplomatic dinner was the most significant and the most influential. The presentation of exclusively war dances created a diplomatic incident:

As they watched, the Paphlagonians were horrified that all the dances were under arms. Seeing that they were astounded by this, the Mysian man persuaded one of the Arcadians who had a dancing girl to let him bring her in after first dressing her in the finest way he could and giving her a light shield. She danced the Pyrrhic with grace. That was followed with great applause, and the Paphlagonians asked whether the Greeks’ women also fought alongside their men. The Greeks replied that these very women had routed the king from his camp. So the evening ended.

{ ὁρῶντες δὲ οἱ Παφλαγόνες δεινὰ ἐποιοῦντο πάσας τὰς ὀρχήσεις ἐν ὅπλοις εἶναι. ἐπὶ τούτοις ὁρῶν ὁ Μυσὸς ἐκπεπληγμένους αὐτούς, πείσας τῶν Ἀρκάδων τινὰ πεπαμένον ὀρχηστρίδα εἰσάγει σκευάσας ὡς ἐδύνατο κάλλιστα καὶ ἀσπίδα δοὺς κούφην αὐτῇ. ἡ δὲ ὠρχήσατο πυρρίχην ἐλαφρῶς. ἐνταῦθα κρότος ἦν πολύς, καὶ οἱ Παφλαγόνες ἤροντο εἰ καὶ αἱ γυναῖκες συνεμάχοντο αὐτοῖς. οἱ δ᾿ ἔλεγον ὅτι αὗται καὶ αἱ τρεψάμεναι εἶεν βασιλέα ἐκ τοῦ στρατοπέδου. τῇ μὲν οὖν νυκτὶ ταύτῃ τοῦτο τὸ τέλος ἐγένετο. }[8]

Greek women warriors surely hadn’t routed the Paphlagonian king from his camp. Men, however, love to credit women, even if that credit has no factual basis. A beautiful woman gracefully dancing a war dance provides men with an imaginative victory over harsh reality.

young woman performing Pyrrhic dance at ancient Greek symposium

The Greeks quickly concluded the diplomatic matter. They demanded nothing from the Paphlagonian ambassadors:

On the next day, the Greeks introduced the ambassadors to the army. The Greek soldiers passed a resolution to do the Paphlagonians no wrong and to suffer no wrong at their hands.

{ Τῇ δὲ ὑστεραίᾳ προσῆγον αὐτοὺς εἰς τὸ στράτευμα· καὶ ἔδοξε τοῖς στρατιώταις μήτε ἀδικεῖν Παφλαγόνας μήτε ἀδικεῖσθαι. }

The Greek soldiers thus literally accepted the terms that the Paphlagonian king Corylas had given them. Corylas has proposed “to do the Greeks no wrong and to suffer no wrong at their hands {Ἕλληνας μήτε ἀδικεῖν μήτε αὐτὸς ἀδικεῖσθαι}.” After the diplomatic dinner and all the war dances, including a Greek woman’s Pyrrhic dance, the Greeks soldiers resolved “to do the Paphlagonians no wrong and to suffer no wrong at their hands {μήτε ἀδικεῖν Παφλαγόνας μήτε ἀδικεῖσθαι}.” Emphasizing their commitment to not further pillage the Paphlagonians, the Greek army promptly sailed away from Paphlagonia. The Greeks apparently didn’t believe the asserted martial prowess of Greek women. They apparently didn’t even believe that the Paphlagonians were intimidated by the Greek display of martial dances, including a woman performing Pyrrhic dance. Within Xenophon’s story, the woman’s Pyrrhic dance and the claim about Greek women’s military success is treated as a fantasy.[9] Xenophon apparently had contempt for men’s delight in women’s Pyrrhic dancing.

Women’s Pyrrhic dance in ancient Greek served as an idle distraction from military and gender reality. Only Greek men actually were taught to fight and die in institutionalized violence against men such as the horrific and stupid Trojan War. Moreover, while women predominately danced for pleasure, men who danced for pleasure tended to be disparaged as “effeminate.” In ancient Athens, artistic representations of Pyrrhic dance shifted with the rise of democracy from showing men Pyrrhic dancers to showing women Pyrrhic dancers.[10] More extensive and more competitive public discourse seems to favor gender delusions that both men and women enjoy. Those delusions are Pyrrhic victories that impede true progress toward gender equality.

women Pyrrhic dancer and aulos-player between two young men, with temple in background

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Read more:

Notes:

[1] Plato, Laws {Νόμοι} 813D-814B (Book 7), words of the Athenian stranger {Ἀθηναῖος ξένος}, ancient Greek text and English translation (modified slightly) from Bury (1926). The Athenian subsequently queries:

Shall we, then, lay down this law: that up to the point stated, women must not neglect military training, but all citizens, men and women alike, must pay attention to it?

{ Οὐκοῦν τιθῶμεν τὸν νόμον τοῦτον, μέχρι γε τοσούτου μὴ ἀμελεῖσθαι τὰ περὶ τὸν πόλεμον γυναιξὶ δεῖν, ἐπιμελεῖσθαι δὲ πάντας τοὺς πολίτας καὶ τὰς πολίτιδας }

Plato, Laws {Νόμοι} 814C (Book 7), sourced as previously. The Athenian’s interlocutor Cleinias {Κλεινίας} readily agrees to this proposal.

[2] Ancient Greek Pyrrhic dance (pyrrhichē {πυρρίχη}) had a “striking warlike character.” Ceccarelli (2004) p. 91. In the Iliad, Hector’s dance for Ares amid the horrific Trojan War probably was a forerunner of Pyrrhic dance. For Hector’s dance for Ares, Iliad 7.237-43. Fifth-century BGC texts and vase paintings attest to Pyrrhic dance. Plato described this war dance:

The warlike dance division, being distinct from the peaceful, one may rightly call Pyrrhic. It represents modes of eluding all kinds of blows and shots by swerving and ducking and side-leaps upward or crouching. It also represents the opposite kinds of motion, which lead to active postures of offense, when it strives to represent the movements involved in shooting with bows or darts, and blows of every description.

{ τὴν πολεμικὴν δὴ τούτων, ἄλλην οὖσαν τῆς εἰρηνικῆς, πυῤῥίχην ἄν τις ὀρθῶς προσαγορεύοι, τάς τε εὐλαβείας πασῶν πληγῶν καὶ βολῶν ἐκνεύσεσι καὶ ὑπείξει πάσῃ καὶ ἐκπηδήσεσιν ἐν ὕψει καὶ ξὺν ταπεινώσει μιμουμένην, καὶ τὰς ταύταις ἐναντίας, τὰς ἐπὶ τὰ δραστικὰ φερομένας αὖ σχήματα ἔν τε ταῖς τῶν τόξων βολαῖς καὶ ἀκοντίων καὶ πασῶν πληγῶν μιμήματα ἐπιχειροῦσαν1 μιμεῖσθαι. }

Plato, Laws {Νόμοι} 815A (Book 7), sourced as previously. Ancient Greek Pyrrhic dance was performed at contests, festivals, and temple ceremonies. It was “the most eminent martial dance.” Vickers (2016a) p. 41. On Pyrrhic dance, Ceccarelli (2004), Ceccarelli (1998), Goulaki-Voutira (1996), and Poursat (1968).

Pyrrhic dance apparent changed character from fifth-century BGC Greece to the second-century GC Roman Empire. Writing at the end of the second century GC, Athenaeus remarked:

The pyrrichê {Pyrrhic dance} of our times is rather Dionysiac in character and is more respectable than the ancient kind. For the dancers carry Bacchic wands in place of spears, they also hurl at one another fennel stalks, they carry torches, and they dance the story of Dionysus and India, as well as the story of Pentheus.

{ ἡ δὲ καθ᾿ ἡμᾶς πυρρίχη Διονυσιακή τις εἶναι δοκεῖ, ἐπιεικεστέρα οὖσα τῆς ἀρχαίας· ἔχουσι γὰρ οἱ ὀρχούμενοι θύρσους ἀντὶ δοράτων, προΐενται δὲ ἐπ᾿ ἀλλήλους νάρθηκας καὶ λαμπάδας φέρουσιν ὀρχοῦνταί τε τὰ περὶ τὸν Διόνυσον καὶ | τοὺς Ἰνδούς, ἔτι τε τὰ περὶ τὸν Πενθέα. }

Athenaeus of Naucratis, The Learned Banqueters / Deipnosophistae {Δειπνοσοφισταί} 14.631ab (29), ancient Greek text and English translation (modified slightly) from Olson (2006-2012).

[3] On women Pyrrhic dancers being naked in the majority of surviving paintings, Poursat (1968) p. 605 and Goulaki-Voutira (1996) p. 4. On the chronology of representations of women performing Pyrrhic dance, Osborne (2018) p. 164, Poursat (1968) p. 604. On women’s Pyrrhic dancing mainly occurring at symposia, id p. 8, Douka (2008), and Osborne (2018) pp. 186-7. On dancing at symposia more generally, Olsen (2017) and Jesus (2009). Xenophon’s Symposium describes a boy and girl dancing for the entertainment of the symposiasts. Women also did Pyrrhic dances in services for the goddesses Artemis and Athena. Poursat (1968) pp. 599-604 and Valdés Guía (2020). For a tendentious, resolutely gynocentric analysis, Delavaud-Roux (2017). Women also danced at women’s social gatherings, such as when Nausicaa and her servant-women gathered to wash clothes by the seashore. Odyssey 6.112-21.

Watching dancing was associated with the pleasures of symposia:

Let us fasten garlands
of roses on our brows
and get drunk, laughing gently.
Let a gorgeous-ankled girl
dance to the lyre, carrying
the thyrsus with its rich ivy tresses.
With her let a boy, soft-haired
and with sweet-smelling
mouth, play the lyre,
pouring forth a clear song.

{ στεφάνους μὲν κροτάφοισι
ῥοδίνους συναρμόσαντες
μεθύωμεν ἁβρὰ γελῶντες.
ὑπὸ βαρβίτῳ δὲ κούρα
κατακίσσοισι βρύοντας
πλοκάμοις φέρουσα θύρσους
χλιδανόσφυρος χορεύῃ.
ἁβροχαίτας δ᾿ ἅμα κοῦρος
στομάτων ἁδὺ πνεόντων
κατὰ πηκτίδων ἀθύρῃ
προχέων λίγειαν ὀμφάν. }

Anacreontea 43.1-11, ancient Greek text and English translation (modified insubstantially) from Campbell (1988).

[4] Xenophon of Athens, Anabasis {Ἀνάβασις} 6.1.2-4, ancient Greek text and English translation (modified slightly) from Brownson & Dillery (1998). Subsequent quotes above are similarly sourced from Xenophon, Anabasis 6.1.8-14. Vickers (2016b) provides a slightly modified translation of Anabasis 6.1.1-15. The Greek army of mercenaries is conventionally known as the Ten Thousand.

[5] Here “roving bandit” translates the ancient Greek λῃστής, which describes a robber, pirate, or buccaneer and comes from the Epic form ληΐς, meaning booty or spoils. Xenophon used a similar term in describing actions of some of the Greek mercenaries: “and others (of the Greek mercenary army) lived by pillaging in Paphlagonia {οἱ δὲ καὶ λῃζόμενοι ἐκ τῆς Παφλαγονίας}.” Anabasis 6.1.1.

[6] E.g. the conflict between Abel the pastoralist and Cain the farmer in Genesis 4:1-16. The Sumerian myth The debate between Winter and Summer hints of conflict between farmer and the sheep-herder. It describes a conflict between the brothers Winter (the god Enten, perhaps associated with a farmer and stored grain) and Summer (the god Emesh, perhaps associated with sheep-herders). The head god Enlil declares Enten to be a faithful farmer and superior to Emesh. Here’s the Sumerian composite text and an English translation via ETCSL. Kramer called this work Emesh and Enten: Enlil Chooses the Farmer-God and described it as “the closest extant Sumerian parallel to the Biblical Cain-Abel story.” Kramer (1972) p. 49.

Highly developed mobile societies continued to exist in central Eurasia long after the rise of cites in northern Mesopotamia and elsewhere. These mobile societies moved long distances. Mongol invasions of Eastern Europe early in the thirteenth century and the Mongol sacking of Baghdad in 1258 indicate a type of military threat that Xenophon probably recognized about 1600 years earlier.

[7] On interpreting the described bodily movements, Vickers (2016a) pp. 36-7.

[8] The reactions of the Paphlagonians to all the martial dances (Anabasis 6.1.12) is δεινὰ ἐποιοῦντο: “they thought it most strange,” Brownson & Dillery (1998); “they were indignant,” Vickers (2016a) p. 30, Vickers (2016b) handout. The Paphlagonians here are also described as “indignant/upset.” Vickers (2016a) p. 33.The ancient Greek adjective δεινός encompasses horrible, fear-inspiring, and strange. In the next sentence, the Mysian soldier observes that the Paphlagonians “were astonished {ἐκπεπληγμένους αὐτούς}.” The Paphlagonians feeling “resentment” doesn’t seem fitting here. Cf. Vickers (2016a) p. 30. Given the overall context, I’ve translated δεινὰ ἐποιοῦντο as “they were horrified.”

In “they (the Greeks) said that these very women had routed the king from his camp {οἱ δ᾿ ἔλεγον ὅτι αὗται καὶ αἱ τρεψάμεναι εἶεν βασιλέα ἐκ τοῦ στρατοπέδου}” (Anabasis 6.1.13), the referent of “king {βᾰσῐλεύς}” isn’t clear. It’s typically taken to be the Persian king Artaxerxes II. E.g. Olsen (2021) p. 189; Olsen (2017) p. 28, n. 33; Vickers (2016a) p. 30; Flower (2012) p. 185; Ma (2010) p. 512. Flower takes this claim to be an allusion to the action of the concubine from Miletus in Anabasis 1.10.2-3. Flower (2012) p. 185. However, the Paphlagonians weren’t plausibly aware of that action, nor of the Persian king of kings being in some “camp {στρᾰτόπεδον}.” Making an incomprehensible quip to the Paphlagonians isn’t conversationally reasonable. In context, “king {βᾰσῐλεύς}” makes better sense as an obviously ridiculous reference to the Paphlagonian leader Corylas, whom Xenophon previously called “ruler {ᾰ̓́ρχων}.” The Paphlagonians would recognize a reference to Corylas as “king {βᾰσῐλεύς}” to be bombastic and the alleged military action of the Greek women to be ridiculously fictitious. They would laugh along with the Greeks at it. This interpretation is consistent with Xenophon’s ending of the story, as analyzed above.

[9] At least one ancient Greek reader seems to have read in a simple, partisan way Xenophon’s story about the conflict with the Paphlagonians. Modern scholars have scarcely been more critical. A leading study of the Anabasis declared:

Whether Xenophon intended this “grim pleasantry” {the claim that Greek women routed the king} simply to be read in context as a means for the Ten Thousand to inspire fear in the Paphlagonians (you had better not mess with us when even our women can fight in pitched battles) or to serve as a timeless example of how simple it is for Greeks to defeat Persians, one can readily imagine why later Greek readers would have picked up on the latter implication.

Flower (2012) pp. 185-6, with “grim pleasantry” quoting the Hellenistic writer Demetrius, On Style 131. Id. p. 185. Neither of these two alternative interpretations provide a perceptive, sophisticated reading of Xenophon’s story.

Modern scholarly readers have projected their own fantasies onto Xenophon’s story. One scholar declared:

The dances, whatever their original context (symposiastic or festive), are used for a purpose, to entertain but also to intimidate the Paphlagonians, by giving an image of the prowess, the diversity but also the unity of the Ten Thousand: fencing, light infantry raiding and footwork, hoplitic square-bashing. (The Paphlagonians duly ask for alliance after these terrifying displays.)

Ma (2010) pp. 511-2. The Paphlagonians didn’t “ask for alliance after these terrifying displays.” After these displays, the Greeks accepted the terms that the Paphlagonian ambassadors had brought to Greeks prior to the banquet.

Modern scholars have interpreted the dance show more literally and more obtusely than the Paphlagonians probably did. One scholar declared:

The series of dances, taken together, indicates the performers’ martial, physical, and even cultural superiority.

Vickers (2016a) p. 33. The Greek mercenaries thus enacted a “cultural triumph of martial mousike.” Id. p. 35. The woman’s Pyrrhic dance was “the climax {sic} of the evening” and helped the Greek mercenary army to “convey an impression of martial strength.” Baragwanath (2019) p. 124. In a presentation entitled, “The Cultural Triumph of Martial Dance in Xenophon’s Anabasis 6.1.1-14,” Vickers declared:

I argue that the sequence of performances is purposefully crafted to create a choreographic narrative, which substitutes for actual battle; the Greek army ‘defeats’ the Paphlagonians with dance, not war.

Vickers (2016b). The fictive quality of this literary analysis becomes inescapably clear with a textual citation:

The message of the evening’s entertainment is inescapable, and the Paphlagonians duly accept peace (6.1.14). The episode and its dancing warriors indeed showcase the cultural superiority of the Ten Thousand, and their martial prowess.

Id. In Anabasis 6.1.14, the Paphlagonian ambassadors don’t speak or act. In that passage, the Greek mercenary army (the Ten Thousand) unconditionally accept the Paphlagonian king’s prior terms for peace.

Scholars seem to have idealized the Greek mercenary army in a way that Xenophon didn’t. A scholar thus perceived that the Greeks’ performance for the Paphlagonians sent the message that “the Greeks are powerful and ever-ready warriors, who use weapons skillfully even in their leisure-time pursuit of dance.” Olsen (2016) p. 176, Olsen (2021) p. 191. That interpretation is then bluntly forced upon Xenophon’s story:

When the Greeks subsequently make peace with the Paphlagonians and depart from the region (ἔδοξε τοῖς στρατιώταις μήτε ἀδικεῖν Παφλαγόνας μήτε ἀδικεῖσθαι, 6.1.14), the agreement is tinged by the prior evening’s display of Greek force and skill. Xenophon implies that the Greek army possesses the ability to defeat the Paphlagonians by force, but instead magnanimously agrees to leave them in peace.

Olsen (2016) p. 176, Olsen (2021) p. 191. Xenophon was a sophisticated rhetorician. He wrote nothing indicating that the Greek mercenaries “magnanimously” agreed to leave the Paphlagonians in peace. In contrast, the ending of his story is meaningfully jarring.

[10] Athenian pottery made before 460 BGC depicts men doing Pyrrhic dances. After that date, only women Pyrrhic dancers appear on Athenian pottery. Osborne (2018) p. 164, Poursat (1968) p. 604. Depictions of women performing Pyrrhic dance apparently were most popular from 440 BGC to 420 BGC. Depictions of Pyrrhic dance subsequently became rare. Poursat (1968) p. 604. The change from representing men Pyrrhic dancers to representing women Pyrrhic dancers is a component of a broad pattern of change in the content of paintings of everyday life on Athenian pottery. The change in the content and style of Athenian paintings seems to be linked to the rise of democratic values and greater appreciation for contemplation and collaboration. Osborne (2018). The gender structure of dance in ancient Greece illustrates the instrumentalization and devaluation of men’s lives. The importance of public deliberation in driving such a change is consistent with Georges Duby’s rise to eminence as a scholar of medieval women.

Men doing Pyrrhic dance in ancient Athens

[images] (1) Pyrrhic dancer and aulos-player. Painting by the Cassel painter on a red-figure krater (vessel for mixing wine and water). Painted in Athens about 440-430 BGC. Preserved as inventory # Cp 761; G 480 in the Louvre Museum (Paris, France), which supplied the source image.

(2) Women Pyrrhic dancers, depicted along with the winged god Eros and the young man Kallias, charged with mutilating herms. In a lower register, a young man amorously pursues a young woman. Painting by the Polygnotos group on an Attic red-figure hydria (water jug). Painted about 430 BGC in Athens. Preserved as inventory # 4014 in Museo Archaeologico Nazionale, Firenze (Florence, Italy). Source image thanks to ArchaiOptix and Wikimedia Commons. This hydria is Beazly Archive 213776. For some artistic analysis, Matheson (1995) p. 287, which catalogs it as PGU 168.

(3) Woman dancer / acrobat. Above her are beads and two tympana (drums), instruments associated with dancing. Painting by the Foundling Painter and made on a red-figure hydria. Painted about 340-330 BGC in Campania, Italy. Preserved as museum # 1814,0704.566 in the British Museum, which supplied the source image.

(4) Women Pyrrhic dancers in a banquet scene. The winged god Eros is next to the leftmost woman Pyrrhic dancer and next to the woman aulos-player. Painted about 430 BGC on a red-figure hydria made in Athens. Preserved as item # 7359 in the National Museum of Denmark (Copenhagen), which supplied the source image under a CC-BY-SA license via Osborne (2018) Plate 27. For discussion of this painting, id. pp. 164-6.

(5) Young woman doing Pyrrhic dance as part of women’s physical training. Painted by Polygnotos on a red-figure hydria in Athens c. 440 BGC. Preserved as item H3232 (Naples, inv. 81398) in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, Italy. For additional photos of this painting and some analysis, Matheson (1995) pp. 23-5, including Plate 17. Matheson cataloged this hydria as P 67.

(6) Young woman performing Pyrrhic dance at an ancient Greek symposium. Perhaps a symposium of the gods (Dionysian feasting), with the goddess Athena doing Pyrrhic dance. Painted about 400 BGC on an Athenian red-figure krater by a painter associated with the Talos Painter. Preserved as item H 5708 in the Martin von Wagner Museum (Würzburg, Germany), also cataloged as ARV 1339 5 / Beazley Archive 217527. Source image thanks to ArchaiOptix and Wikimedia Commons. Here’s an alternate image.

(7) Women Pyrrhic dancer and aulos-player between two young men, with temple in background. Painting by the Pothos painter on red-figure krater made in Athens in the second half of the fifth century BGC. Preserved as item 732 in Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, Austria, which supplied the source image. Also cataloged as Beazley Archive 215764.

For additional, freely available images of women performing Pyrrhic dance, Poursat (1968) and Goulaki-Voutira (1995). A painting of a woman Pyrrhic dancer running in front of men symposiasts, Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale: STG 281 (Beazley Archive 213564), attributed to the Lykaon Painter, is shown in Osborne (2018) p. 184 (Figure 7.19) and Matheson (1995) p. 94 (Plate 70).

(8) Two young men doing Pyrrhic dance. Painted on an Attic red-figure hydria by a painter similar to the Dikaios painter. Part of the Pioneer Group. Painted about 500 BGC. Preserved as accession # 21.88.2 (credit: Rogers Fund, 1921) in The Met Museum, New York, USA, which supplied the source image.

References:

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