weeping-dog tale from ancient India traverses western Eurasia

A weeping-dog tale has traversed wide expanses of space and time. This is how the story goes. A lovely, virtuous woman had a husband.  Her husband had to leave town on a business trip.  A man deeply in love with the virtuous woman exploited her husband’s absence to plead his desire to her.  She refused to have sex with him.  In despair, the suitor felt that he would die from lovesickness.  He sought a go-between, a gossipy, know-everyone old woman, to win for him his desire.  For a large fee, the go-between agreed to bring about that union.

The go-between succeeded with guile.  She fed a female dog meat with pepper.  The dog ate eagerly and began to weep from the heat of the pepper.  The go-between took the weeping female dog to the woman and told her that the weeping dog had been a beautiful woman.  Because that beautiful woman had refused to take a lover, she was transformed into a dog, or so the go-between said.  The virtuous woman hearing that tale was deeply frightened.  She explained that she had rebuffed a importuning man.  She pleaded with the go-between to find that suitor and bring him to her.  The go-between, advancing her material interests at each step, then arranged a tryst between the virtuous woman and her suitor.[1]

weeping dog on bed

Before the use of printing presses, versions of the weeping-dog tale spread from India across western Eurasia and northern Africa.  The weeping-dog tale almost surely originated in India probably some time before the sixth century.  It was incorporated into Sanskrit texts, Persian texts, and Arabic texts.[2]  It also was included in a twelfth-century Latin text in Spain and an English fabliau dating to the thirteenth century.  It was incorporated into a fifteenth-century Arabic text from North Africa.  Particularly as part of the Sindibad / Seven Sages corpus, the weeping-dog tale spread widely across western Eurasia.[3]

The weeping-dog tale was morally recast in an eleventh-century Sanskrit text Kathasaritsaga.  When the go-between told her story of the weeping-dog, the virtuous woman, named Devasmitâ in this version, recognize the attempt to dupe her.  Devasmitâ ordered her maid to pretend to be her.  Suitors, who in this version numbered four, one by one visited the maid disguised as Devasmitâ.  The maid plied the suitor with a drugged drink.  Then the suitor was harshly abused:

the maids took away his clothes and other equipments and left him stark naked; then they branded him on the forehead with the mark of a dog’s foot, and during the night took him and pushed him into a ditch full of filth. [4]

Each abused suitor told the other suitors, who were his friends, that he had been robbed on the way, so that they would be abused like he had been. The go-between was similarly drugged during a visit.  Devasmitâ cut off the go-between’s ears and nose and threw those bodily organs into a filthy pool.  In this version, the virtuous wife remained sexually virtuous,  but led acts of extreme cruelty.

The weeping-dog tale was also recast to celebrate consistently women’s guile.  In the simple version of the story, the guileful go-between dupes the virtuous woman.  Men historically have been more commonly cast as the dupes in popular tales.  Consistent with that pattern, the weeping-dog tale was recast to make the virtuous women guileful and her husband a dupe.  The go-between, not able to locate the original suitor, solicited another man for the tryst.  That man turned out to be the virtuous woman’s husband.  Preparing to sleep with the lover, the virtuous women recognized him to be her husband.  She claimed to be testing him and attacked him for failing the test.  The version of the weeping-dog tale in the Arabic 1001 Nights provides a full description of the wife’s strategic domestic violence:

She started to hit him on the head with her slipper, while, for his part, he protested his innocence, swearing that never in his life had he played her false or done what she had accused him of doing.  He continued to swear by Almighty God and she continued to strike him, weeping, shrieking and calling: “Help me, Muslims!”  He put his hand over her mouth, but she bit it and he then began to cringe before her, kissing her hands and feet.  She was not prepared to accept this, and went on slapping him until she winked to make the old woman stop her. [5]

The version of the weeping-dog tale in which the husband is the ultimate dupe is much more common than the simpler version in which the virtuous wife is the dupe.[6]

The weeping dog tale deserves to be remembered.  It provides insight into fundamental moral forces in human communication.

*  *  *  *  *

Read more:

Notes:

[1] The version of the weeping-dog tale told here is a slightly streamlined version reflecting typical elements in the tale.  The tale has been called the tale of the weeping bitch.  That the dog is female contributes to the claim that it comes from a transformed woman.  However, “bitch” has a derogatory connotation similar to that of “males” used as a substitute for “men.”  Hence rather than referring to the tale as the weeping-bitch tale, I refer to it as the weeping-dog tale.

[2] Versions of the weeping-dog tale exist in the Sanskrit Somadeva’s Kathasaritsaga, Bk. II, Ch. 13.8, trans. Penzer & Tawney (1924) and in the Sanskrit Shuka Saptati, tale 2, trans. Haksar (2009) pp. 12-14.  The story also exists in the Persian Sindibad Nama, trans. Clouston (1884) pp. 33-4, and the Arabic 1001 Nights., trans. Lyons (2008), vol. 2, nights 584-5, pp. 563-6.

[3] Petrus Alfonsi, Disciplina Clericalis, from Old Spanish trans. Hermes & Quarrie (1977), Ch. XIII, pp. 124-5; the English fabliau Dame Sirith (c. 1272). the fifteenth-century North African Arabic text The Perfumed Garden of Sensual Delight, trans. Colville (1999) Ch. 11, pp. 56-9; an early example in the Sindibad corpus in Old Spanish is Libro de los enganos e los asayamientos de las mugeres, in a tale of the fourth counselor, trans. Keller (1956) pp. 30-2.  For discussion of the weeping-dog tale’s textual history, see Annex 8 in Tawney & Penzer (1923) and Schwarzbaum (1962) n. 13, pp. 24-28.  The weeping-dog tale is also called catula or canicula lacrimante.

[4] Somadeva’s Kathasaritsaga, Bk. II, Ch. 13.8, from Sanskrit trans. Penzer & Tawney (1924) pp. 137-8.

[5] From Arabic trans. Lyons (2008), night 585, p. 566.

[6] Clouston (1884) p. 84, comments on no. IX.  Of the versions mentioned above, the simple version occurs only in the Persian Book of Sindibad and in the Sanskrit Shuka Saptati.

[image] sad-looking dog, thanks to AshHughes

References:

Clouston, William Alexander. 1884. The book of Sindibad, or the Story of the king, his son, the damsel and the seven vazirs: from the Persian and Arabic. Privately printed.

Colville, Jim, trans. 1999. Umar ibn Muḥammad Nafzāwī. The perfumed garden of sensual delight = Ar-rawd̲ al-ʻât̲ir fî nuzhatiʼl khât̲ir. London: Kegan Paul International.

Haksar, A. N. D. 2009. Shuka Saptati: seventy tales of the parrot. New Delhi: Rupa Co.

Hermes, Eberhard and P. R. Quarrie, ed. and trans. 1977. Petrus Alfonsi. The Disciplina clericalis of Petrus Alfonsi. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Keller, John Esten, ed. and trans. 1956. The book of the wiles of women. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

Lyons, Malcolm C. 2008. The Arabian nights: tales of 1001 nights. vols. 1-3. London: Penguin.

Schwarzbaum, Haim. 1961-3. “International folklore motifs in Petrus Alphonsi’s Disciplina Clericalis.” Sefarad (Madrid: Instituto Benito Arias Montano de Estudios Hebraicos) 21:2 (1961) pp. 267-299; 22:1 (1962) pp. 17-59; 22:2 (1962) pp. 321-343; 23:1 (1963) pp. 54-73.

Tawney, Charles Henry and N. M. Penzer. 1923. Somadeva Bhaṭṭa. The ocean of story {Kathasaritsaga}. London: Priv. Print. for subscribers only by C.J. Sawyer.

Telesphoros at National Gallery's Heaven & Earth

Heaven & Earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections, at the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. through March 2, 2014, exhibits a culture that tends to be viewed through stereotypes of stagnant elite theocracy, widespread superstition, and Byzantine bureaucracy.  Such phenomenon are far removed from the lived experience of ordinary persons in Washington today.  Yet a crucial function of art is to provide alternative, imaginative perspectives on the world.  For those who take time to appreciate this exhibition, Heaven & Earth shows little recognized mixtures under high artistic abstractions.

Escaping the provincialism of one’s own values and way of life isn’t easy.  In the eleventh century, a Byzantine princess married a high public official from Venice.  A Catholic Christian monk, hostile to the Byzantine princess’s Orthodox Christian culture, observed:

Such was the luxury of her habits . . . that she did not deign to touch her food with her fingers, but would have it cut up into small pieces which she would impale on a certain golden instrument with two prongs and thus carry to her mouth. [1]

Civilized persons in eleventh-century Venice ate with their fingers.  Some golden instruments with two prongs have survived from Byzantium.  Until recently they were identified as medical tools.[2]  They are now recognized as table forks.  You can see five of such forks in the Heaven & Earth exhibition.

Byzantine art is usually thought of as icons and mosaics.  Icons are like Michael Jordan, Marlyn Monroe, and Abraham Lincoln.  When you see an emblem of splayed legs and arm reaching high above, you think big jump and score.  Marlyn gives you a sexy feeling.  Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves.  Byzantine icons were like that in Christianity-imbued Byzantine culture.  Heaven & Earth presents superheroes of Byzantine Christianity in their most famous poses.  These image were thought to have special powers of communication.  Images thought to have special powers of communication have been prevalent throughout history and across cultures.  Icons are not merely a Byzantine curiosity.

Mosaics are explicitly combinations.  They are constructed from discrete, small pieces of colored glass or stone.  The small pieces within a class are both unique in microscopic details and similar in general color and size.  Many pieces from various classes combine to form a larger image, a mosaic.  Heaven & Earth includes a portion of a wall mosaic showing a full-length figure of the Apostle Andrew, pivoting to his left in a vigorous, athletic pose.  A floor mosaic shows a fruit-bearing personification of Autumn.  Another mosaic shows a running fountain and vegetation.[3]  With only minor changes, all three of these mosaics could have been in Christian or non-Christian contexts.  In early Christian Europe and in Byzantium, persons asserted affinity with Greco-Roman culture as a way of presenting themselves as cultural elites.[4]

andreas-pavias-crucifixion

Heaven & Earth includes astonishing works of interrelation.  One is a large icon of a peaceful Virgin Mary with the Christ child.  That icon is associated with protection or shelter.  It’s constructed as a portable mosaic with gold and silver tesserae (constitutive mosaic pieces).  It was a rare and expensive object even in its own time.[5]  Andreas Pavias’s crucifixion icon combined Byzantine and Western European artistic styles and materials.  The image is composed with egg tempera on wood — traditional materials of icons.  It has an other-worldly gold background, but depicts realistically a bustling, diverse city of people around the foot of the cross.  Even just the large number of different styles of headwear among persons in the crowd, all carefully painted, is extraordinary.  Pavias, based in fifteenth-century Crete, served both Orthodox Christian and Catholic Christian clients.[6]

The entrance wall for Heaven & Earth insightfully includes a collection of marble statuettes.  These statuettes apparently were part of a domestic shrine in a wealthy home in early fourth-century Corinth.  The domestic shrine consisted of at least nine marble statuettes of Greco-Roman gods.  The largest is a statuette of the female god Roma.  The irises of her eyes are defined with flecks of gold.  This unusual domestic presence of a Roma statuette suggests that the householder “held high office, or at the very least had aspirations to join the governing classes.”[7]  Worshiping favored gods has always been politically expedient.  Corinth, a bustling trading town, had Christian communities from Paul of Tarsus’s missionary work in the first century.  Christianity in Corinth coexisted for centuries with worship of other gods.

scuplture of Asklepios with Telesphoros

Telesphoros, as depicted in one of the Corinthian domestic statuettes, provides a striking counterpoint to the The Dying Gaul, a magnificent Greco-Roman sculpture now also on display at the National Gallery.  The Corinthian statuette collection includes two statuettes of Asklepios.  Asklepios is a god of medicine and healing, perennial domestic interests.  One of the Asklepios statuettes shows Asklepios with his dwarf son Telesphoros.  Telesphoros in ancient representations always wears a cowl with the pointed cap over his head.  Most prominently associated with a shrine in Pergamon, Telephoros is generally thought to be a Gallic god that Romans absorbed from Galatians in Anatolia.[8]  But look at the face of Telesphoros and at the face of the dying Gaul.  Telesphoros has a wide, round face, a broad nose, a low nose bridge, relatively narrow eyes, and prominent eyelids.  The dying Gaul has a narrow face, a narrow nose, a high nose bridge, and roundish eyes.[9]  Today people tend to associate the facial features of Telesphoros with persons from eastern Eurasia, and the facial features of the dying Gaul, with persons from western Eurasia.  Sculptors in the ancient Greco-Roman world apparently associated both types of facial features with the Gauls.

Heaven & Earth: The Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections is well worth a careful examination.  Important artistic signs are amid the details.

*  *  *  *  *

Part II: the Athenodora stone on exhibit in Heaven & Earth

Read more:

Notes:

[1] Petrus Damianus, Institutio monialis, 11, PL 145, c. &44C, trans. Norwich (1982) p. 60.  The Byzantine princess was probably Maria Argyropoulina.  Her Venetian husband was Giovanni Orseolo, eldest son of Venetian Doge Pietro II Orseolo.

[2] Drandaki et al. (2013) p. 235, Description for no. 105, “Five Bronze Forks,” by Nikolaos D. Siomkos.

[3] Drandaki et al. (2013), mosaic of Andrew the Apostle, no. 47, pp. 128-9; personification of Autumn, n. 97 (p. 228); fountain and vegetal scroll, no. 45, pp. 124-5.

[4] Stirling (2005) provides extensive discussion of elite interest in Greco-Roman culture.

[5] Drandaki et al. (2013) no. 55, p. 135.

[6] Id. no. 172, p. 324-5.

[7] Stirling (2008) pp. 108-9, 132.

[8] The other statuette shows Asklepios enthroned, a posture associated with representations of Asklepios at the ancient temple of Asklepios in Epidauros.  That statuette doesn’t include Telesphoros.  The statuette with Telesphoros is a type known as Asklepios Giustini.  Both (marble) statuettes are thought to have been carved in an Athenian workshop.  The enthroned Asklepios is dated to the second half of the second century.  The Asklepios Giustini is dated to the third or fourth century.  On representations of Telesphoros, Wroth (1882).  The name Telesphoros has a Greek etymology “carrying to the end,” generally interpreted as convalescence.

[9] Stirling (2008) p. 125 describes this Telesphoros as having a “wide, pear-shaped face with closed eyes and a broad nose.”  I closely examined the sculpture in the Heaven & Earth exhibition.  Telephoros appears to me to have large epicanthic folds, but open eyes.  Other representations of Telesphoros are much less finely detailed.  Here’s an image of the dying Gaul’s face.  For the best view of both faces, go to the National Gallery while both Heaven & Earth and The Dying Gaul are still on exhibition.

[images] Andreas Pavias, Icon of the Crucifixion, second half of 15th century, National Gallery, Alexandros Soutzos Museum, Athens; Statuette of Asklepios and Telesphoros, 3rd or 4th century, Archaeological Museum of Ancient Corinth.  Both images courtesy of the National Gallery of Art’s press office.

References:

Drandaki, Anastasia, Demetra Papanikola-Bakirtze, and Anastasia Tourta. 2013. Heaven & earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections.  Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports and the Benaki Museum, Athens.

Norwich, John Julius. 1982. A history of Venice. New York: Knopf.

Stirling, Lea M. 2005. The learned collector mythological statuettes and classical taste in late antique Gaul. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Stirling, Lea M. 2008. “Pagan Statuettes in Late Antique Corinth: Sculpture from the Panayia Domus.” Hesperia. 77 (1): 89-161.

Wroth, Warwick. 1882. “Telesphoros.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies. 3: 283-300.

Pitas Payas paints to prevent cuckoldry in Libro de buen amor

The fourteenth-century Spanish work Libro de buen amor includes the tale of Pitas Payas.  He was a painter in Brittany.  Pitas Payas married a young, beautiful woman, as most men hope to do.

Pitas Payas, like most men then and now, had no choice but to work outside the home to earn money to support his wife.  Being a painter has never been a propitious occupation for earning money.  One month after his marriage, Pitas Payas decided to shift to a less enjoyable, lower status, but potentially more lucrative occupation, that of being a merchant.[1]  He explained to his wife (“my lady”) that he needed to make a business trip to Flanders.  He promised to bring back gifts for her:

And she replied, “My lord, if you must go, then you should start;
But don’t forget our home, and me with my true, loving heart.” [2]

Men believe that their ability to provide material goods makes them worthy of love.[3]  That’s a charming tale.

Nature doesn’t give men the knowledge of personal biological relation to children that nature provides to women.  Pitas Payas, like most men, understood that biological reality.  He was concerned about his wife having sex with another man.  To safeguard his interest in their marriage, he devised an ingenious technological solution.  He asked his wife if he could paint upon her body.  She consented.  Below her navel he painted a guardian lamb.  Then he left on a business trip.

His wife found a lover.  Sex with her lover rubbed off the guardian lamb that Pitas Payas had painted below her navel.  After much difficulties and delay, Pitas Payas relayed to his wife that he was finally coming home.  Her response:

She quickly called her lover, told him what they had to face,
And ordered him to paint on her, as well as he could trace,
A little baby lamb, and on that selfsame place.

Her lover, working quickly from his own understanding, painted a fully grown ram with horns and a protruding penis.

black sheep with horns, symbol of cuckoldry

When Pitas Payas returned from his long business trip, his wife received him coldly and disdainfully.  Pitas Payas asked to see the lamb that he had painted.  His wife taunted him:

“My lord,” she said, “look for yourself, if you are equal to it,
And anything you wish to do, be bold enough to do it.”

Pitas Payas peeped beneath his wife’s navel:

Pitas Payas peeped down there and really almost fainted
To see that horny ram with all its weapons at attention.
“What’s this, dear lady? How can it be that here a lamb I painted
And now I find this head of meat, with which I’m not acquainted?

As any woman always is, when caught in such a jam,
Both shrewd and full of guile, she said, “My lord, what do you mean?
Would not a lamb, within two years, have grown into a ram?
If you had come back earlier, you would have found a lamb.” [4]

In Libro de buen amor, Don Amor uses the tale of Pitas Payas to urge upon the Archpriest of Hita chivalry as understood in the early Arabic life of Buddha.  Medieval Spanish culture, however, lost that ideal to a much more brutal, man-degrading understanding of chivalry.  The historical conditions of chivalry are a crucial framework for understanding the medieval Spanish fiction Libro de buen amor.[5]

While the lost ideal of chivalry is a crucial framework, the tale of Pitas Payas particularly concerns the social and biological reality of paternity.  Cuckolded husbands are common figures of ridicule in medieval literature.  That double punishment parallels the charivari punishment of husbands beaten by their wives.  The social basis for these otherwise puzzling social phenomena is apparent in leading literary analysis of the tale of Pitas Payas.  According to this scholarly work, Pitas Payas abandoned his wife.  Moreover,“she takes a lover because of the physical laws of feminine necessity,” that is, “a woman’s natural needs.”[6]  The analysis gets even more insightful:

Pitas is a man who is more concerned with business than he is with maintaining the integrity of his household; he violates one of the first laws of nature by leaving alone a young woman recently married.  It follows inexorably that his action will turn him into a cuckold.  … The young wife is not evil, while Pitas gets his just deserts. [7]

Pitas Payas thought that painting would protect him from cuckoldry.  He failed to understand the much greater force of social justification and social punishment.

In the U.S. today, millions of children have false beliefs about who their biological father is.  DNA paternity testing could easily eliminate much ignorance and false belief about paternity.  However, it isn’t even used as a prerequisite to the government forcing financial fatherhood on men.  The problem isn’t lack of technology.  It’s men’s lack of social power.  Men lack sufficient social power to gain the knowledge of personal biological relation to children that women naturally have.  Men lack the social power even to generate any serious social attention to that fundamental gender inequality.

*  *  *  *  *

Read more:

Notes:

[1] McGrady (1978), pp. 382-3, describes Pitas Payas’ change in occupations as a “blotch” in the story.  Id. notes that latter writings of the story eliminate Pitas Payas’ change in occupation.  Other writers seemed to have lacked the deep understanding of men’s lives that Libro de buen amor contains.  Variants of the story of Pitas Payas proliferated in European languages from the fourteenth century.  The earliest surviving version is that in Libro de buen amor.  Scholars have perceived a generic relation between the tale of Pitas Payas and Old French fabliaux.  Geary (1996).  Pitas Payas is somewhat similar to the noble knight with the troublesome wife in La Dame Escoilliee.

[2] Juan Ruiz, Libro de buen amor (Book of true love), 475cd, from Old Spanish trans. Daly (1978) p. 139.  All subsequent quotes are from Daly’s translation, s. 474-89.  Juan Ruiz within Libro de buen amor identifies himself as the Archpriest of Hita.

[3] Libro de buen amor, with characteristic contraposition and subtly irony, moves from the tale of Pitas Payas to exposition on the power of money.  The transition occurs through a man gaining a woman’s love through providing her material goods and money:

For some quite trifling bauble you may hold out in your hand,
She’ll serve you loyally, and do whatever you demand.
She’ll surely do for money anything you may ask.
But be it much or little, always give her what you can.

Libro de buen amor, s. 489, trans. Daly.

[4] Pitas Payas’ deferential, foolishly questioning response confirms his wife’s insinuation of his lack of masculine boldness and self-assertion. In the above translation, “head of meat” is my replacement for Daly’s phrase “beast to eat.”  The former seems to me to better convey the contextual tone.  The underlying Old Spanish is “manjar.”  For the verse (483d) containing that phrase, Zahareas (2010), p. 829, includes the commentary, “es quizá un juego comico entre la carne o cabeza del carnero y la mala suerte (Morreale).”

[5] Zahareas (2000) argues that clerical celibacy and concubinage is a central historical layer for understanding Libro de buen amor.  That seems to me to miss the more general, more troublesome historical problem of men’s social subordination.

[6] Zahareas (1965) p. 87.  Id. describes Pitas Payas’ wife as “an abandoned wife.”

[7] Id pp. 88, 91.

[image] Black sheep; thanks to Wikipedia and Sigurdas.

References:

Daly, Saralyn R., trans. and Anthony N. Zahareas, ed. 1978. Juan Ruiz. The book of true love. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press.

Geary, John S. 1996. “The ‘Pitas Payas’ Episode of the Libro de buen amor: Its Structure and Comic Climax.” Romance Philology. 49 (3): 245.

McGrady, Donald. 1978. “The Story of the Painter and His Little Lamb.” Thesaurus 33 (3): 357-406.

Zahareas, Anthony N. 1965. The art of Juan Ruiz, archpriest of Hita. Madrid: Estudios de Literatura Española.

Zahareas, Anthony N. 2000. “Aftermath of Juan Ruiz’s Libro del Arcipreste.” La corónica: A Journal of Medieval Hispanic Languages, Literatures, and Cultures 29.2: 257-274.

Zahareas, Anthony N. 2010. Juan Ruiz. Libro del Arcipreste: Libro de buen amor. Tres Cantos: Akal Ediciones.

Athenodora Christian stone from Athen’s Panathenaic Stadium

Imagine living in Athens after the collapse of the Roman Empire and seeing the majestic ruins of the Parthenon, built on the Athenian Acropolis during the much earlier Athenian Empire.  Christians living in Athens 1500 years ago lived that experience of vanquished empires.  From then has survived an engraved stone for Athenodora.  Scholars describe the Athenodora stone as a funerary stele.[1]  With more imagination, you can sense an inscription on a dedication stone.  The Athenodora stone presents an all-encompassing perspective on historical loss within the maternal hope of a new Athenian Christian church.

Athenodora stone from Panhellenic Stadium, Athens

The inscription on the Athenodora stone seeks poetic reading.  Here’s the Athenodora inscription in a tight English translation respecting the structure of the ancient Greek phrases and lines:

+Athenodora the good, the Attic,
the wife of Thaumasios, the woman who loves god within,
who bore children and nurses infants,
the earth took her, the young, the mother
and holds her, leaving her children in want of milk. [2]

This text could be read straightforwardly as an epitaph for a woman named Athenodora.  The simple cross, sized like a letter, has the position of the first letter in the first line.  Nothing else on the stone explicitly indicates that Athenodora was a Christian.

Various features of the Athenodora inscription indicate that it isn’t a straight-forward epitaph.  The inscription is an epigram composed in iambic trimeter, a meter “not altogether frequent” in fourth-to-sixth-century Athens.  The woman’s name Athenodora (“gift of Athena”) is very unusual.  So to is Thaumasios (“the wonderful”).  The Athenodora epigram’s Greek word for “loving god within” is a “striking word” and “extremely rare.”  In Greek culture before Christianity, it is associated with “joy in or desire for divine possession,” meaning the indwelling of a god.[3]  In the era in which the Athenodora epigram was inscribed, epigrams were a literary genre of subtle and highly developed art.  The Athenodora epigram fits within that genre.

Athenodora can be more insightfully understood as a particular Christian church in Athens.  Athena was the patron god of Athens.  In Christian understanding, Mary the mother of Jesus was the first Christian disciple and figures the church as a particular human community in history.  For Christians in Athens, the gift of Athena was further fulfilled in history with the gift of Mary.  The death of Mary was also the beginning in history of particular Christian churches.  By the early medieval period, a church known as the Church of Theotokos Atheniotissa (the Mother of God, the Virgin of Athens) had been built within the Parthenon.  Early Christian inscriptions show veneration of the mother of God in the region of Athens.[4]  Mary has been particularized in local figures and local churches throughout the history of Christian communities.  So it was in the fifth or sixth century in Athens for a particular church led wonderfully in history by Thaumasios.

The Athenodora epigram has paratactic phrasing like an ancient Christian prayer.  A recent description describes the Athenodora epigram as “syntactically incoherent.”[5]  But consider the ancient Christian trisagion prayer:

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us.

The Athenodora epigram features similarly elaborated paratactic characterization.[6]  Parataxis contributes to the Athendora epigram’s liturgical sense.

Church is at the center of the Athenodora epigram.  Its first two lines consist of four paratactic phrases that move from conventional local credits “good” and “Attic” to extraordinary descriptions evoking “wonderfully guided” and “bearing God within.”  The middle line of the epigram describes a particular church as a maternal figure creating and nourishing Christian disciples.  The last two lines of the epigram cry out like a psalm for that church.  In the psalms, sections of faith and praise alternate abruptly with cries of desolation.  A dedication to a church may well have sought to have disciples enter the church with thoughts of being in want of Christian nourishment.[7]  Mary, the mother of Jesus, died in history.  But particular Christian churches continue to be born and nourished.

The Athenodora stone’s figural design has been misleadingly associated with a classical pediment.  The epigram and figural design are engraved on the top surface (abacus) of an unfinished marble Ionic capital (capping part of an architectural column).  The figural design has been called an aetoma, or tympanum on an engraved pediment.  But those terms from classical architecture have only an abstract geometric relation to the Athenodora stone’s figural design.  An engraving on top of a re-purposed, partly finished Ionic capital doesn’t necessarily have a design meaningful in terms of a classical facade.  The Asclepiodote and Euphemia stones from about fifth-century Athens have triangular shapes on top.  The Asclepiodote stone’s molded triangular shape is quite like pediments common on the top of classical Attic tombstones.  The triangular shape on the Euphemia stone, like that on the Athenodora stone, is rather different.

The Athenodora stone’s figural design, like its epigram, gains meaning with extensive thought.  The figural design consists of a open-top triangle containing a four-petaled rosette symmetrically flanked by two figures that scholars have described as leaves.  Rosettes are infrequent in inscriptions from this period.[8]  Four-petal rosettes symmetrically flanked by two figures are surely even more rare.  However, the design in abstract is similar to early Christian images of two angels symmetrically bearing aloft a chi-rho symbol.  The rosette and flanking figures, whether they are leaves, doves, or angels, could be a simpler form of a common Christian design: some type of Christogram with two flanking figures.[9]

two angels bearing chi-rpo

The open-top triangle appears to be an intentional feature of the figural design on the Athenodora stone.  Carved volutes exist on the top and bottom surfaces of the stone.  The volutes were cut nearly flush with the side surfaces and with the back plain to make the stone roughly rectangular.  For the stone surface to hold the completed figural triangle, the stone would have to be at least 31% taller.  That’s inconsistent with a reasonable geometry for an Ionic capital and the presence of the volute carvings on the top and bottom of the stone.  Hence the triangle was originally engraved without the top angle.[10]

The figural triangle might represent a building with a central opening.  The Roman Parthenon had such an opening, called an oculus.  The oculus admitted light (and rain). On the Athenodora stone, the (partially complete) left and right sides of the triangle are carved as double lines (double incisions).  The bottom side of the triangle, in contrast, is only a single line.  That suggests interpreting the open top of the triangle as an oculus, the sides of the triangle as walls, and the bottom, a floor. A leading scholar of Roman archaeology has observed:

Christian Greeks in Late Antiquity transformed the monumental landscape by building churches while they respected, and even appropriated, the memory of earlier structures.[11]

That macro-context is relevant to the simple triangular figure on the Athenodora stone.  If you think of the triangle as a building, you can understand why it has an opening in the top and double lines for the sides.

The Athenodora stone makes best sense as a dedication stone for an early Christian church in Athens.  Its inscription is an epigram that subtly connects Athena to Mary, the mother God in Christian understanding, and to a particular Christian church in Athens.  Its figural design alludes to a building in which angels bear a representation of Christ.  The stone itself re-purposes and re-orients a partially carved Ionic capital.  Persons viewing the Athenodora stone are positioned in the heavens looking down upon the upper surface of that Ionic capital. The stone’s substance is fine-grained Pentelic marble.[12]  That white marble, which was used for the Parthenon, glistens with a golden hue in sunlight.  Amid reminders of the collapse of empires in post-Roman Athens, the Athenodora stone acknowledges losses and signals a place for a community to continue to grow.

The Athenodora stone is on display in the exhibition Heaven & Earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections at the U.S. National Gallery of Art in Washington through March 2, 2014.  That exhibition includes stunningly beautiful objects.  The Athenodora stone isn’t stunningly beautiful.  But with some understanding, it generates wonder.

*  *  *  *  *

This is Part II of a review of Heaven & Earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections.

Read more:

Notes:

[1] “Funerary stele of Athenodora”  in Zavvou (2013); “An Early Christian Epitaph” in Rife (2004-9); “Grave Epigram for Athenodora” in Sironen (1997) p. 236 (no. 195).  The Athenodora stone was found in 1869 in excavations of the Panathenaic Stadium in Athens.  It is now held in the Epigraphic Museum (Athens), inv. no. EM 9940.

[2] Adapted from translation in Rife (2004-9) p. 268 (added lineation, made minor re-arrangement of some phrases, added initial cross).  Zavvou (2013) and Sironen (1997) p. 236 (no. 195) provide formally looser but substantively similar translations.

[3] The Greek word for “loving god within” is ΦΙΛΕΝΘΕΟΝ (φιλένθεος).  Rife (2004-9), p. 269-70, provides the information in the above paragraph and the quotations, except for the quoted name etymologies.  The etymology of Athenadora, a theophoric name, follows straightforwardly from the etymology for Theodore.  The ancient Greek root of Thaumasios is used in Matthew 21;15 (“amazing things”). The Greek phrase “the earth … holds her” and the bereavement of children echo phrases and themes from post-Classical literary elegiac verse.  Id. p. 270.

[4] See, e.g. Sironen (1997) nos. 328, 332, 333.  Women played important roles in the early Christian church.  For example, Paul of Tarus describes Phoebe as a deacon of the church at Kenchreai and praises her highly:

I commend to you our sister Phoebe, a deacon of the church at Kenchreai, so that you may welcome her in the Lord as is fitting for the saints and help her in whatever she may require from you, for she has been a benefactor of many and of myself as well.

Romans 16:1-2.  See also Acts 18:18.

[5] Zavvou (2013) p. 70.

[6] That parataxis is underscored in Greek through the repetition of an article (ΤΗΝ / την), in translation “the”.  An epigram for Euphemia, who was an honored Christian saint, has similar parataxis.  See Sironen (1997) no. 168 bis.

[7] The abstract architecture of church — a mainly or totally enclosed space that persons enter — should not be taken for granted.  In ancient Mayan culture, persons stood on top of open platforms to encounter gods.  See, e.g. the structures at Chichen Itza in Mexico. The abstract structure of churches parallels Christian understanding of maternal encounter with God.

[8] Sironen (1997) p. 217, comment on no. 168bis.

[9] That design isn’t exclusively Christian.  It’s found in a Buddhist sculpture in India 2200 years ago.  By 1500 years ago, it was probably widespread across Eurasia.  Leaves are associated with an after-life paradise in Greek culture before and after Christianity.  Leaves appear in various arrangements in Greek non-Christian and Christian epitaphs about the time of the Athenodora stone.  Triangles are infrequent, but among those triangles, rosettes commonly occur inside.  Consider, for example, the following three designs below from Attic epitaphs dated roughly to the sixth century.

ancient Greek Christian and Jewish figural epitaphs

Epitaph 1 (on the left above) apparently doesn’t have a coherent figural design.  Epitaph 2 (middle), thought to show two menorahs and thus indicate the burial of Jewish person, is somewhat similar to the design on the Athenodora stone.  However, even abstracting from the significance of the menorah, epitaph 2 isn’t amenable to the above interpretation of the Athenodora figural design.  Epitaph 3 (on the right above) provides an example of a Christogram with symmetric flanking figures that quite clearly appear to be leaves.  Epitaph 3 has a figural design like the four-petal rosette with symmetric, flanking figures in the Athenadora inscription.  That design conforms to a well-established Christian figural geometry.  In the Athenodora inscription, the four-petal rosette is rotated slightly counterclockwise from a vertically symmetric position.  I leave to others to ponder whether that makes it less likely to allude to a Christian cross.  The drawings of epitaphs 1 and 3 are from Bayet (1877), Pl. XVI, nos. 5 and 2.  The drawing of epitaph 2 is from Bayet (1878), Pl. III, no. 4.

[10] The dimensions of the stone are 37 cm by 36 cm by (11 to 12.5) cm.  I estimated with a graphical simulation the minimum additional length required to contain the completed triangle.  In general, the carving on the Athenodora stone is neither exact nor highly skilled.  The baseline of the triangle isn’t exactly square with an approximating rectangle for the stone.  The baselines of the letters aren’t quite straight.  Most obviously, the last two letters of the last verse did not fit on one line.  That’s a size misjudgment of about 10%.  A supposed size misjudgement of at least 31% (and likely more, assuming a reasonable top margin) seems to me to be a qualitatively different and much less plausible occurrence.  The person who composed the figural design may not have been the same person who carved the stone.  The person who carved the stone almost surely was not the same person who composed the epigram.

[11] Rife (2010) p. 431.  In Kenchreai, the port city for Corinth, a Christian basilica constructed roughly about 500 GC overlooked a massive Roman tomb.  Id. pp. 425-31.  With respect to the Athenodora stone, the opening on the top of the triangle is 48% of the base-line inner expanse of the triangle.  The diameter in the oculus of the Roman Parthenon is 19% of the diameter of the dome.  A triangle is a crude or highly abstract representation of a building.  An extraordinarily large oculus isn’t unreasonable within such a representation.  As noted in [10], the carving itself is neither exact nor highly skilled.

The most difficult issue for the interpretation above seems to me to be why the truncated triangle is pushed up against the top edge of the stone and the epigram is centered vertically on the stone.  An alternate interpretation: the figural design originally had a complete triangle, but after the carver placed the epigram in the middle of the stone, rather than at the very bottom, the complete triangle wouldn’t fit.  The carver then added as much of the figural design as would fit above.  That scenario seems to me less likely than the interpretation above for three reasons.  First, the epigram would be crowded at the lower level of the stone.  The importance of the epigram argues against it being crowded into the ground.  Second, if the epigram was carved first and mistakenly placed in the middle of the stone, accentuating that mistake by carving a figural design that purportedly is rightly interpreted as wrongly truncated makes no sense.  Third, this “mistake” interpretation doesn’t connect to other important aspects of the stone and doesn’t provide a meaningfully integrated understanding of the artifact.  Pushing the truncated triangle to the top edge and providing empty space on the lower part of the stone could have been meant to encourage viewers to complete the design beyond what was engraved on the stone.  Examples of such designs in literature are the Gospel of Mark, originally thought to have ended in media res at Mark 16:8, and Asterius of Amasea’s Euphemia ekphrasis.

[12] Rife (2004-9) p.  274.

[images] “Funerary stela, 6th century,” Epigraphic Museum, Athens; courtesy of the National Gallery of Art press office.  Side panel of a Christian sarcophagus made in Constantinople, c. 400, now held at the Le Grand Palais, Paris; thanks to Wikipedia and uploadalt.

References:

Bayet, Charles Marie. 1877. “Inscriptions chrétiennes de l’Attique (pl. XIV, XV, XVI).” Bulletin De Correspondance Hellénique 1 (1): 391-408 (note: the pdf version excludes the plates of drawings).

Bayet, Charles Marie. 1878. “Inscriptions chrétiennes de l’Attique (pl. II, III).” Bulletin De Correspondance Hellénique 2 (1): 162-170.

Rife, Joseph L.  2004-9.  “An Early Christian Epitaph from the Panathenaic Stadium in Context.” ΗΟΡΟΣ (Horos, published in Athens) 17-24 (2004-2009): 267-278.

Rife, Joseph L. 2010.  “Religion and society at Roman Kenchreai.”  Pp. 391-432 in Steven J. Friesen, Daniel N. Schowalter, and James C. Walters, eds. Corinth in Context: Comparative Studies in Religion and Society.  Leiden: Brill.

Sironen, Erkki. 1997. The late Roman and early Byzantine inscriptions of Athens and Attica: an edition with appendices on scripts, sepulchral formulae and occupations. Helsinki: Hakapaino Oy.

Zavvou, Eleni. 2013. “Funerary Stele of Athenodora.” Cat. 16 description, pp. 70-1 in Anastasia Drandaki, Demetra Papanikola-Bakirtze, and Anastasia Tourta. 2013. Heaven & earth: Art of Byzantium from Greek Collections.  Athens: Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports and the Benaki Museum, Athens.