I

Structure and
History

in Greek M ythology

and Ritual
WALTER BURKERT

UNIVERSITYOF CALIFORNIA PRESS

Berkeley ■Los Angeles ■London

University of California Press
Berkeley and Los Angeles, California
University of California Press, Ltd.
London, England
© 1979 by
The Regents of the University of California
First Paperback Printing 1982
ISBN 0-520-04770-2
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 78-62856
Printed in the United States of America
3 4 5 6 7 8 9
III. T r a n s f o r m a t i o n s o f t h e S c a r e g o a t ....................................
IV . HERACLES AND THE M a s t e r OF A n i m a l s ............................. ■
CO N TEN TS
List of Illustrations vii
Acknowledgments ix
Préfacé xi
Abbreviations xv
I. T he O rganization of M y t h .....................................
1. Tales, Texts, and Reference 1
2. Propp s Heritage and Illuyankas 5
3. The Impact of Lévi-Strauss and Its Limitations 10
4. Programs of Action l4
"*5. Crystallizations: Kumarhi and Kronos 18
6. The Tale Applied 22
7. The Historical Dimension 26
8. Successive Layers and Prehistorie Beginnings 29
II. T h e P e r s i s t e n c e o f R i t u a l .......................................................
1. The Biological Approach 35
2. Herms, Libations, and Branches 39
3. The Demonstrative and the As-If Element in Ritual 45
4. First-Fruits Offerings 52
5. The Evolution of Animal Sacrifice 54
^>6. Myth and Ritual 56
^ 1. Erythrai, Hittites, and Deyotio 59
2. Scapegoat anci Pharmakós 64
3. The Dynamics of the Pattern 67
4. Polycrite, The Virgins of Leuctra, and Tarpeia 72
1. Greek Origins? 78
2. The Oriental Evidence 80
3. Geryon 83
4. Cacus, Indra, and Melampus 85
5. Shamans and Caves 88
6. Hunter, Hero, Savior 94
 Contents

V. T h e G r e a t G o d d e s s , A d o n i s , a n d H i p p o l y t u s . . . . 99 ILLUSTRATIONS
1. The Dying God 99
2. K u b a b a - C y b e l e —M e t e r 102
3. From Dumuzi to Adonis Cult 105
4. The Myths of Dumuzi, Adonis, and Attis lua
1. Entwined Serpents, Oriental. Relief goblet of Gudea . . 31
5. Hippolytus 111
6. The Hunters’ Legacy 116 2. Entwined Serpents, Greek. Engraving on bronze
helmet from C r e te ............................................................ 32
V I. Fro m T e l e p in u s t o T h e l p u sa : In S e a r c h of ^
3- Dolon Pleading for His Life. Gern from the Blakas
D e m e t e r .................................................................................................... Collection ......................................................................... 46
1. Telepinus 123 , . 10,
2. Phigalia and Thelpusa: Demeter s Wrath 125 4. Prisoners in Bangladesh, Pleading for Their Lives.
3. The Plank and the Pectoral 129 News photograph.............................................................. 47
4. Daidala 132 5. Heracles and Iolaus Fighting the Seven-Headed Hy­
5. E i m i m e and D a p h n ep h o r ta 134 dra. Engraved fibula from B o eotia................................. 81
6 The Woods, the Tree, and the Sacrifice 136
7. Mother and Daughter: The C r y s t a l l i z a t i o n o f Greek 6. A God Fighting a Seven-Headed Snake. Seal from
Mythology 138 Teil A sm ar......................................................................... 82
7. Heracles and Iolaus Fighting Monsters.Daunian stela . 87
Notes to Chapter I 143 8. Stylized Man, Three-Horned (?); Stag Below. Neo-
Notes to Chapter II 158 lithic cave paintings, near Porto Badisco...................... 92
Notes to Chapter III 168 9. Three-Horned Heracles-Trecaranus. Daunian stela . . . 93
Notes to Chapter IV 176 10. Horse Head with Front Piece: Nude Goddess. Stone
Notes to Chapter V 187 sculpture from Z in c irli........................................................115
Notes to Chapter VI 203 11. Nude Goddess under Sun Disk. Ivory horse plaque
Bibliography 211 from N im ru d ....................................................................... 116
Selected Index 219 12. Master of Animais; Two Nude Goddesses. Bronze
horse plaque from Teil Tainat.............................................117
 ACKNOW LEDGM ENTS

T he autho r and wish to thank the fol-

P u b l is h e r
lowing for permission to reproduce plates appearing in this book: Verlag
Walter de Gruyter & Co., Berlin, forfig. 1;N. Schimmel, New York, S.
Chapmann, Boston, and Professor D. G. Mitten, Cambridge (Mass.),
for fig. 2; the Trustees of the British Museum for fig. 3; Pictorial Parade
Inc., New York, for fig. 4; the University of Chicago Press for figs. 5 and
12; the Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei, Rome, for figs. 6, 8, and 9;
Verlag J. B. C. Mohr, Tübingen, for fig. 7; Verlag Ferdinand Berger &
Söhne, Horn (Austria), forfig. 10; Gebr. Mann Verlag, Berlin, forfig. 11.
 PREFACE

This book owes its existence to the spécial challenge

inhérent in an invitation to présent the Sather Lectures, and its definite
form to the unique and stimulating atmosphère of the Berkeley campus.
Thus it seemed appropriate to preserve not only the contents but even,
through some modifications and additions, the form and the mood of
these lectures as delivered in spring 1977. It is not an accumulation of
sources and parallels, of théories and bibliography that is intended, but
an actualization of myth’s potentialities to bring about meaningful com­
munication even across the barriers of languages and disciplines, as it
seemed to happen at Berkeley. The method adopted may be called
macroscopie, as different civilizations and vast periods of time are taken
into view. This is not evading the problems of detail, as the notes which
try to evaluate the available evidence will show, but they were not
allowed to outgrow the text. In fact it seems legitimate that even philol-
ogy should occasionally go beyond the microscopy of cherished minutiae
and try to understand the context in which we are operating in a larger
perspective. Let tradition make sense.
The éclipsé of tradition in a rapidly changing world and the im pact of
technology based on m athem atics hâve ousted history from the privi-
leged position it claim ed to hold in the hum anities. Structural— that is,
synchronical— methods hâve taken over and prom ise to bring about a
real science of the hum an m ind and its Creative output. The ‘classical’
disciplines of philology and history hâve to stand up to this challenge.
It is, in a w ay, a paradox that m yth , which is definitely a form of
tradition stem m ing from the depth of the past, should hâve become a
favorite subject of structuralism . B ut as historical methods in this field
seemed to add up to more and more com plications and uncertainties, it
was plausible to hope for a breakthrough by structural analysis of m yth
as an elaborate nonfactual com m unication System. S till it is a question
whether the new ‘science,’ w hile b uild in g up its self-contained schema-
tism , w ill ‘preserve the phenomena’ according to the ancient postulate.
The thesis of these lectures is, in short, that even structures of the

xi
xii Preface Preface
xiii
mind are determined by historical évolution in its largest sense, by tradi­
ogy, psychology, and biology are rapidly d isp ellin g the ancient notion
tion formed and transforming within the complicated pattern of life.
ol hum an nature’ as an im m utable standard. This means for the Optimist
This approach agrees with structuralism in so far as it does not consider
that m a n í s p e r f e c t i b le , f o r t h e p e s s i m i s t th a t m a n is d e s t r u c t i b le , t o b e
any myth in isolation, but tries to establish groups of myths which are
replaced by some better adjusted construct. Our own situation m ay thus
identical as to their semantic structure. It is close to the ‘myth and ritual’
be called dram atically historical, as it is changing at the most profound
position in stressing the spécial significance of this symbiotic connec­
levels. W h at has been assumed to constitute ‘hum an nature’ turns out to
tion, as it manifests itself in structural sequences. Yet it does not con­
be just the tradition of m ankind as developed in a unique historical
sider mind as autonomous, creatively organizing itself, but as dependent
process up to the present day. In this perspective, hum anism m igh t
on the process of cultural transmission amid the récurrent problems of hnally m erge w ith anthropology.
existence. Henee the presumption that the historical perspective will
yield more dramatic insight into myths and rituals than mathematical
It remains to thank ail those who hâve helped me to produce this
models.
book. I greatly profited from the discussions following the Sather Lec­
The first two chapters try to establish the concepts of myth and ritual
tures, and some chapters of them I was invited to present at other uni-
in terms of tradition. That ritual is largely independent of antécédent
versities. My special thanks are due to the colleagues at the Department
ideas is an inevitable conséquence. There follow two examples of aborigi­ of Classics, and to Alan Dundės, Frits Staal, and Wendy O’Flaherty at
nal patterns in varying transformations, the scapegoat experience and Berkeley, and to Norbert Bischof and Max Lüthi at Zurich. Parts of the
the dealings of a magical or heroic helper with the ‘master of animais.’ manuscript were corrected by Brian Vickers and Paul Y. Hoskisson at
The concluding chapters search for traceable historical transmission in a Zurich, and by Stephen Gruen and Thomas Knight at Berkeley, ail of
more restricted area, in the interrelations between the ancient Near East
whom provided much more than mere stylistic advice. Susan Peters,
and Archaic Greece.
Jesse M. Phillips, and others at the University of California Press pre-
The inquiry resolutely transgresses the borderlines of classical Greek
pared the text for the printer with exemplary care. The responsibility for
civilization; it comes back to it, though, continuously. It may be more any faults left is mine.
than a coïncidence that the ñames and the concept of‘myth’ and ‘mythol-
ogy’ were coined by the Greeks in the Greek language. In Greek civiliza­ Uster ¡Zürich, December 1978 W .B .
tion we see myth dominating art and poetry in a spécial way, a complex
which in turn became the major formative power of cultural progress and
set the standard for centuries; we see rational language and thought
struggling for émancipation from myth without ever arriving at a radical
séparation. There are larger and more colorful corpora of mythology in
many other civilizations; there are more exotic and more elabórate rituals
elsewhere. But the Greeks may well claim to represent the most ad-
vanced among the archaic, and the most archaic among the advanced.
Sather Lectures are supposed to elucídate classical literaturę. It is to
be hoped that the mythological ramblings presented here will throw
light even on some well-known texts. Still the term ‘classical,’ imply-
ing, as it does, an ideal standard, has long been a problem in itself. The
corresponding concept of ‘humanities’ is no less in danger, since sociol-
 ABBREVIATIONS

AA Archäologischer Anzeiger
A&A Antike und Abendland
AAA Archaiologikä Anälekta ex Athenon
Abh. Abhandlungen
ABV J . D. Beazley, A ttic Black-Figure Vase Painters, Oxford
1956
AC L’Antiquité Classique
AE Archaiologiké Ephemeris
AfO Archiv fü r Orientforschung
AJA American Jou rn al o f Archaeology
AK Antike Kunst
ANEP The Ancient Near East in Pictures, ed. J. B. Pritchard,
Princeton 1954, Supp. 1968
ANET Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament,
ed. J. B. Pritchard, Princeton 1955,2 3d ed. with
supp., 1969
AOB Altorientalische Bilder zum Alten Testament, ed. H.
Gressmann, Berlin 1927 2
AOT Altorientalische Texte zum Alten Testament, ed. H. Gress­
mann, Berlin 19262
AP Anthologia Palatina
ARV2 J. D. Beazley, A ttic Red-Figure Vase Painters, Oxford
1963 2
ARW Archiv fü r Religionswissenschaft
AS Anatolian Studies
ASAtene Annuario della Scuola Archeologica di Atene
ASS Acta Sanctorum
BAGB Bulletin de l ’Association Guillaume Bude
B ASOR Bulletin o f the American Schools o f Oriental Research
BCH Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique
BICS Bulletin ofth e Institute ofC lassical Studies ofth e University
o f London

XV
XVI Abbreviations Abbreviations X VII

BJb Bonner Jahrbücher ICS O. Masson, Les Inscriptions Chypriotes syllabiques, Paris
BSA Annual o fth e British School o f Athens 1961
BSL Bulletin de la Société de Linguistique de Paris JAF Jou rn al o f American Folklore
CAP Comicorum Atticorum Fragmenta, ed. Th. Kock, Leipzig JCS Jou rn al o f Cuneiform Studies
1880-1888 Jdl Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts
CAH The Cambridge Ancient History, 3d ed., Cambridge JEA Jou rn al o f Egyptian Archeology
1970ff. JH S Jou rn al o f Hellenie Studies
CAH pl. Plates to CAH I & II, Cambridge 1977 JNES Jou rn al ofN ear Eastem Studies
CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum JRAS Jou rn al o f the Royal Asiatic Society
CIS Corpus Inscriptionum Semiticarum JSS Jou rn al o f Semiti c Studies
CJ Classical Journal K Al H. Donner, W . Röllig, Kanaanàische und aramäische
CQ Classical Quarterly Inschriften, I—III, Wiesbaden 1966—692
CRAI Comptes rendus de l ’A cadémie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres KN J . Chadwick, J . T. Killen, TheKnossos Tablets, London
CTA A. Herdner, Corpus des tablettes en cunéiformes alphabé­ 19714
tiques découvertes a Ras-Shamra-Ugarit de 1919 d 1939, KThWb Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament, founded
Paris 1963 by R. Kittel, Stuttgart 1933ff.
CV Corpus Vasorum ISAM F. Sokołowski, Lois sacrées de l'Asie M ineure, Paris 1955
CW Classical Weekly LSCG F. Sokołowski, Lois sacrées clés cités grecques, Paris 1969
DK H. Diels, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 6th ed. by LSJ H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, new
W . Kranz, Berlin 1951 ed. by H. S. Jones, Oxford 1925—40
FAA Enciclopedia delV arte antica classica e orientale LSS F. Sokołowski, Lois sacrées des cités grecques, Supplément,
EL Etudes de Lettres: Bulletin de la Faculté des Lettres de Paris 1962
l ’Université de Lausanne MDAI (Athen) Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts,
ERE Encyclopaedia o f Religion and Ethics Athenische Abteilung
FGrHist F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, MEFR Mélanges d ’Archéologie et d’Histoire de l’Ecole Française
Berlin—Leiden 1923—58 d ’Athènes
GB J. G. Frazer, The Golden Bough I—XIII, London 1911— MH Museum Helveticum
363 NGG Nachrichten von der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu
GRBS Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies Göttingen
HR History o f Religions NJb Neue Jahrbücher fü r Philologie und Pädagogik ( 1831—
HRR Historicorum Romanorum Reliquiae, ed. H. Peter, Leip­ 1897); Neue Jahrbücher fü r das klassische Altertum, Ge­
zig 1 8 8 3 -1 9 0 6 ,I 2 1914 schichte und deutsche Literatur und fü r Pädagogik ( 1897—
HSCP H arvard Studies in Classical Philology 1924)
HThR H arvard Theological Review Oejh Jahreshefte des Oesterreichischen Archäologischen Instituts
IC Inscriptiones Creticae OGI Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones selectae, ed. W . Ditten-
IG Inscriptiones Graecae berger, Leipzig 1903—5
xviii Abbreviations Abbreviations xix
PG Patrologiae cursus completus, ed. A. Migne, Sériés Graeca TAPA Transactions and Proceedings o f the American Philological
et Graecolatina Association
PL Patrologiae cursus complétas, ed. A. Migne, Sériés Latina TGF Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, ed. A. Nauck, Leip­
PMG Poetae M elici G raeci, ed. D. L. Page, Oxford 1962 zig 1889 2
PP La Parola del Passato TLS Times Literary Supplement
PR L. Preller, Griechische M ythologie, 4th ed. by C. Robert, VT Vetus Testamentum
Berlin 1894-1926 WM H. W . Haussig, Wörterbuch der M ythologie, Stuttgart
PW Paulys Realen cyclop'àdie der classischen Altertumswissen­ 1965ff
schaft, new révision begun by G. Wissowa, Stutt­ WSt Wiener Studien
gart 1893ff. YCS Yale Classical Studies
PY E. L. Bennett, J. P. Olivier, The Pylos Tablets, ZA Zeitschrift fü r Assyriologie
I-II, Rome 1973—76 ZAW Zeitschrift fü r Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
RA Revue archéologique ZDMG Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft
RAC Reallexikon fü r Antike und Christentum ZDPV Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins
RAL Rendiconti dell’ Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei ZPE Zeitschrift fü r Papyrologie und Epigraphik
REA Revue des Etudes Anciennes ZRGG Zeitschrift fü r Religions- und Geistesgeschichte
REG Revue des Etudes Grecques ZVS Zeitschrift fü r Vergleichende Sprachforschung
RF1C Rivista di Filologia e di Istruzione Classica
RGG Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 3d ed. by K.
Galling, Tübingen 1957—1965
RHR Revue de l’Histoire des Religions
RhM Rheinisches Museum fü r classische Philologie
RML Ausführliches Lexikon der griechischen und römischen
M ythologie, ed. W . H. Roscher, Leipzig 1884—1937
RPh Revue de Philologie
SA Vk Schweizerisches Archiv fü r Volkskunde
SB Sitzungsberichte
SCO Studi Classici e Orientali
SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum
SIG Sylloge Inscriptionum G raecarum, ed. W . Dittenberger,
Leipzig 1915-24 3
SLG Supplementum Lyricis Graecis, ed. D. L. Page, Oxford
1974
SMEA Studi Micenei e Egeo-Anatolici
SMSR Studi e M ateriali di Storia della Religione
SVF Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, ed. H. v. Arnim, I—III,
Leipzig 1903—21
■c

I.

The Organization
of M yth

1. TALES, TEXTS, AND REFERENCE

^ To modem man^the word ‘m yth,’1 while retaining a
certain fascination even outside tlassical circles, has quite an ambivalent
appeal: to denounce some opinion or attitude as ‘myth’ means to reject it
as irrational, false, and potentially harmful;2 at the same time, ‘myth’
has a nostalgie ring, indicative of some meaningful reality hidden or lost
in the depths of the past or of the psyché, which might be resuscitated as
an antidote to a présent that seems both rational and absurc|. Scholar-
ship, however, is bound to be rational and concerned with facts; I am
afraid that I am not going to fulfill escapist hopes.

What is myth? A simple définition3 will not do. A few years ago Geof-
frey Kirk gave in this sériés a brilliant survey of the varying approaches
of modem Interpreters to myth,4 without arriving at any simple, clear-
cut answer to this question, but nevertheless clearing the ground within
a wide horizon of systematic and historical perspectives. I am not going
to retrace his steps or review once again the history of mythological
studies.5 But since I am going to probe into a few Greek myths and
ri tuais in an' attempt to understand them in terms of meaningful,
essentially human tradition, I hâve to justify this approach in advance by
reflecting ih general terms upon the meaning o f‘m yth.’ Thus I shall try
to formulate some theses which may add up to form a tentative theory of
myth, without Hellenocentric bias; though I am presupposing that
whatever the exact définition of myth may be, Greek corpora such as
Hesiod’s Theogony and Catalogues or the Greek tragédies or the Bibliotheke
of Apollodoms will be included in any such définition.
I gladly take my first thesis from the study of Geoffrey Kirk| Myth
-h lm gLto the more general class o f traditional tqje^ This seems to be trivial,
and scholars usually hasten to take~th£_next Step, to separate ‘true’ myth

L
2 The Organization ofMyth
from other kinds of folktale; still it is worthwhile to reflect, first of all, on
"the fundamental conséquences of this thesis: if myth is a traditional ta le,
it is a phenomenon oflanguage,'ânaTroTTômFspëcîârcrëâïïôTTânalogous
to and outside of normal language,'äs has been marntàiHed from Mann-
hardt toSusanne Langer;7 and if myth is a traditional tale, this should at a
stroke dispose of the qüestion whâTtrRâs"domTtmtêg~icholarly mÿthology
ever sińce Äntiquity: ‘Höw Is my th~created, and by whom?’ It is not the
‘création,’ not the ‘origin’ of myth which constitutes the basie fact, but
the transmission and préservation“,"iven withouf thęjjse of writing in a
‘primitive,’ oral civilization. Whatever Creative agents have been pro-
posed to account for the origin of myths, whether inspired poets or lying
poets, 'Volksgeist,’ the universal human mind, or the unconscious dyr
namics of the psyche,8 they seem to belong ratber to a création myth of
myth than to a rational approach. A tale becomes traditional not by
virtue of being created, but by being retold and accepted; transmission
means interaction, and this process is not ëxplained by lsölating just one
side. A tale ‘created’— that is, inventedby an individual author— may
somehow becorne ‘mythHf it becomesTtraditional, tö Ee"üsed as a means
.of communication in subséquent générations,9 usually with some distor-
tions and reelaborations. At any rate, it is a fact that there are traditional
taies in most primitive and even in advanced societies, handed down in a
continuous chain of transmission, suffering from omissions and misin-
terpretations but still maintaining a certain identity and some power of
régénération.10 The fundamental questions thus would be: How, and to
what extern, can traditional taies retain their identity through many
stages of telling and retelling, especially in oral transmission, and what,
if any, is the role and function of such taies in the évolution of human
civilization?
But what is a tale? If, dealing with language, we adopt the triple
division worked out by analytical philosophy and linguistics of (1) sign,
(2) sense, and (3) référencé,11 a tale belongs evidently to the category of
sense, as against an individual text on the one side, and reality on the
other. It is taken for granted that taies can be translated without loss or
damage;12 they are therefore not dependent on any particular language;
and even within one language the same tale can be told in quite different
ways, in longer or in shorter versions, with morę or less of detail and of
imaginative situations. Thus, within Greek literaturę, the same myth
The Organization ofMyth 3
may appear in such diverse forms as a book of Homer, a digression in
Pindar, a whole tragedy, an allusion in a choral ode, a passage in
Apollodorus, or a scholion on AristophanesJ A myth. qua taie, is not
identical with any given text; the interprétation of myth thereforeisto”
be distiftguishid^rôm-^h&àSiSIpicTation of a textt -<htrngR~l5oth maj7
evolve in a hermeneutic circle and remain mutuallÿ dépendent on ëaeh
others We know, after ail, that we can remember a good taie, and a
mytn, by hearing it just once, without memorizing the words of a text.
What is it, then, that we do remember?
It is not anything ‘real.’ A taie, while not bound to any given text, is
not bound to pragmatic reality either. I think this holds true on quite a
fundamental level. A taie has no immédiate référencé,13 in contrast to a
word or an atomic sentence: this is a rose, this is red, this rose is red. A
taie is not, and cannot be, an accumulation of atomic sentences; it is a
sequence in time, linking different stages by some internai necessity.
There might be immédiate evidence only for the last stage, but usually
the whole taie is in the past tense, and there is no immédiate way to
verify things past. In fact there is no isomorphism between reality and
taie; it seems increasingly as if piles of computerized information were
more représentative of reality than any taie; it is not by coincidence that
modem writers are more and more unwilling, and unable, to tell a
straightforward taie. Reality does not automatically yield a taie. Even a
reporter in a live transmission of, say, a football game can only give a
Personal sélection of what is going on simultaneously; and if anyone tries
to retell what has happened, there is immediately much more sélection,
condensation, structuralization. The form of the taie is not produced by
reality, but by language, whence its basic character is derived: linearity.
Every taie has a basic element ofpoiesis, fiction.
Myth, then, within the ciass of traditional taies, is nonfactual story-
telling. This keeps us close to the sense of the Greek word mÿthos as
contrasted with logos : logos, from légein, ‘to put together,’ is assembling
single bits of evidence, of vérifiable facts; lôgon didônai, to render account
in front of a critical and suspicious audience; mfthos is telling a taie while
disclaiming responsibility: ouk emos ho mÿthos, 14 this is not my taie, but
I have heard it elsewhere. Just by disregarding the question of truth one
may enjoy myth, or wonder, and start thinking.
Yet myth is generally held to be not a passing enjoyment, but some-
4 The Organization of Myth
thing important, serious, even sacred. How can this go together with
the alleged lack of reference to reality? Ever since antiquity, scholarly
mythology has felt the problem, and has tried to évadé it by a kind of
short circuit, by substituting some direct reference on which the serious-
ness and stability of the myth is said to dépend. This meant looking for a
supposedly original, ‘real’ meaning as against the apparent absurdity or
frivolousness of the taie. The favorite reference was to the events of
nature,15 and, secondly, to history: Zeus is the sky, Apollo is the sun,16
the Chimaera is the earth-fire near Olympus in Lycia,17 Phaethon s ca­
tastrophe is just sunset or, more spectacularly, the éruption of the vol-
cano of Thera,18 Oedipus is Akhnaton, and the dragon Siegfried slew is
the Roman army in the saltus Teutoburgensis annihilated by Arminius.19
Schliemann thought he had recovered evidence for the murder of Aga­
memnon from the shaft graves at Mycenae,20 and some seem to think
that if the names of Menelaus and Helen should turn up in Linear B,
Homer would finally be explained. To remain serious: there is no
denying that taies were associated with phenomena or events of this
kind; but it is naive to assume that any taie would arise directly from
facts. Ail interprétations on these lines must use Procrustean methods to
make the taie isomorphic with the purported reality, must eut off
excesses21 attributed to uncontrolled ‘fantasy,’ and thus really kill the
taie, and the myth.
There is a much more subtle method of interprétation which is still, I
think, liable to the same error as the ‘short circuit.’ This is to substitute
for direct reference not any empirical reality, but meta-empirical entities
from the realm of metaphysics or, in a more modem vein, of psychology.
This method has found favor from Plutarch down to modem theology22
and to C. G. Jung.23 It has the advantage of admitting neither of véri­
fication nor of réfutation, since those nonempirical entities may be con-
structed to fit exactly the presuppositions of some set of myths. Still it
has been notoriously difficult to maintain any kind of consistency in such
constructs, keeping in touch at the same time with the myths as attested
and not losing ail contact with empirical reality. Granted that there are
unconscious dynamics of the psyche, there is no reason to assume that
they are isomorphic with any taie, which belongs after ail not to the
realm of the unconscious, but to language. Myths are multivalent: the
same myth may be applied to nature or history, to metaphysics or psy-
The Organization of Myth 5
chology, and make some sense in each field, sometimes even striking
sense, according to the prédilections of the interpréter;24 but the very
plurality of applications must caution us; a myth, qua taie, cannot be
pinned down as referring specifically and immediately to any kind of
reality, to one ‘origin’ outside the taie.
2. PROPP’S HERITAGE AND ILLUYANKAS
This leads to a second thesis, which daims no more
originality than the first: the identity of a traditional taie, including
myth, independent as it is from any particular text or language and from
direct reference to reality, is to be found in a structure o f sense within the
taie itself. Structuralism in general, and the structural study of folktales
and myths in particular, has seen a luxuriant growth in recent years;1 an
exposition and critical discussion of the théories involved could easily fill
more than one book. I hâve no intention of doing this; nor shall I produce
yet another variant of structuralism, with appropriate terminology and,
if possible, diagrams and mathematical formulas. What I shall try to do
is describe the method I am tentatively adopting, and give reasons for
not probing too deeply into other possibilities.
Structure, in the most general sense, means a System of definable rela­
tions between the parts or éléments of a whole which admit predictable
transformations;2 and structuralism tends to assume that it is exactly
this bundle of relations which constitutes the parts as well as the whole.
In a more spécifie way, structuralism is termed the science of signs, to
coïncide with ‘semiology,’ while at the same time the concept of ‘sign’
and ‘language’ has been expanded to cover nearly every aspect of civiliza-
tion. As to the structure of traditional taies, and myth, there are, as far as
I can see, two prominent names which stand for two types of structural
analysis, Vladimir Propp and Claude Lévi-Strauss; there are by now also
lèverai théories aiming at a synthesis of both approaches.
Vladimir Propp, in a book which appeared in Russian in 1928, and
became known to the Western world thirty years later,3 set out to reduce
the whole corpus of Russian fairy-taies to one récurrent pattern, a linear
•eries of thirty-one ‘functions.’ These ‘functions’ are units of plot action;
Alan Dundes has preferred to call them ‘motifemes.’ Propp’s theory can
be summarized in three theorems:4 ‘functions’ (or ‘motifemes’)— and
6 The Organizationof Myth
not the persons involved— are the constant éléments in fairy-tales; their
number is limited; their sequence is fixed. This does not mean that ail of
the ‘functions’ must turn up in a single narrative, but rather that ail the
‘functions’ of a given taie are to be found in due course in the idéal sériés.
That is to say: a folktale— including myth— is a fixed sequence of
motifemes;5 the persons are interchangeable. It is reassuring to note that
this cornes remarkably close to Aristotle’s définition of mfthos as a ‘com­
bination of actions’ with a fixed sequence of beginning, arche, reversai,
peripéteia, and ending, lysis or katastrophé,6 In fact even before Propp’s
book became known, other scholars had been using rather similar meth-
ods to reduce many variants of a taie to one basic pattern, at least since
von Hahn’s Treja formula’ and ‘Aryan expulsion and return formula’; 7
Propp’s contribution was to restrict the sériés to ‘functions,’ excluding
characters and their qualifies and ail spécial, however striking, details.
As a first step in analyzing myths, Lévi-Strauss has advocated a similar
procedure.8 Propp did not claim to hâve established the structure of taies
in general— though some post-Proppian theorists seem to start from
this assumption;9 his claim was made only for taies of one type, repre-
sented by thirty-one ‘functions,’ which may be called ‘the quest.’ Alan
Dundės, who successfully applied Propp’s method to Amerindian folk­
tale, has been working with four more general sequences: Lack—lack
liquidated; Task—task accomplished; Deceit—déception; Interdiction-
violation—conséquence—attempted escape.10 Prominent in Greek and
other mythologies, but hardly to be found in fairy-tales, are sets of
stories concerned with sex and procréation, and with the problem of how
to handle the dead; this overlaps with a sacrificial pattern of killing and
restoration.11
To give one example from Greek mythology of how a sat of apparently
urîrëlated myths can be analyzed as covering the same basic structure, I
tàice those s^pfinripnfal srnries ahniîr rhe mnfhers-.of important heroeSį
Callisto, the mother of Areas, ancestor of the Arcadians;12 Auge, the
mother of Telephus, the founder of Pergamum;13 Danaë, the mother of
Perseus, the founder of Mycenae;14 Io, the mother of Epaphus, ancestor
of the Danai;15 Tyro, mother of Pelias and Neleus, the kings of Iolcos
and Pylos;16 Melanippe, the mother of Boeotus and Aeolus, ancestors of
the Boeotians and Aeolians;17 Antiope, mother of Zethus and Amphion,
the founders of Thebes.18 Such a catalogue of seven mothers, ten boys,
The Organization of Myth 7
five cities, and four tribes seems to put quite a strain on the memory, and
details multiply, if we add parents and further offspring, to make up the
dreary pages qf.mythûIcSiiâLhandbjook^ But the taies told adapt them-
selves neatly to asequence-Qffive ‘functions.’ easy tounderstand/whichT
would call ‘the^gjxi-S-tragedyTj T jJ eaving home: the girl is separated
fronTcKildhood and family life; (2) the idyl of séclusion: Callisto joins
Artemisr^ÿfO ïâkês'â lonély walk to the river, Auge and Io become
priestesses, Antiope becomes a maenad, Danaë is incarcerated in a tomb-
like vault; (3) râpe: the girl is surprised, violated, and impregnated by a
god— it is Zeus for Callisto, Danaë, Io, and Antiope, Poséidon for Tyro
and Melanippe, Heracles for Auge; (4) tribulation: the girl is severely
punished and threatened with death by parents or relatives—Antiope
and Tyro are enslaved to a kind of stepmother, Melanippe is blinded and
incarcerated, Danaë is enclosed in a coffin and thrown into the sea, Auge
is sold to strangers, Io is turned into a cow and chased away, Callisto is
turned into a bear, hunted, and shot; (5) rescue: the mother, having
given birth to a boy, is saved from death and grief, as the boy is about to
take over the power to which he is destined. The agents, places, motiva­
tions and ail the details vary; but there is the fixed sequence of departure,
séclusion, râpe, tribulation, and rescue as a préludé to the emergence of
the hero.19 Yet there is a complication with regard to the animal meta-
morphosis of Callisto the bear and Io the cow: our texts are conspicuously
at variance as to the occurrence of this transformation, before or after
mating with the god, or much later.20 It would be begging the question
to postulate that, since animal metamorphosis is ‘primitive,’ it should
happen as early as possible in the taie, turning the god animal too. We
must rather State that metamorphosis and sexual union are not in a fixed
motifeme sequence; the linearity of the taie structure is suspended at this
point. In fact metamorphosis is not a ‘motifeme’ in this sériés or else-
where, let alone an independent taie type, but a widely applicable motif
to mark a change of rôles, or to hint at some reference outside the taie;
both bear and cattle are of spécial, ritual importance. This, however,
w ill lead from folktale to myth.21
Another example may illustrate how far this method of analysis can
succeed in establishing identity or nonidentity of parallel versions of an-
cient myths. I take the H ittite myth about the dragon Illuyankas22 and
«he Typhon myth as transmitted by Apollodorus; the basic similarity of
8 The Organization ofMyth The Organization ofMyth 9
the H ittite and the Greek version has struck scholars ever since the H it­ versary; (6) the adversary loses his advantage; (7) the champion, resum-
tite text became known.23 But the Hittite text already puts two versions ing action, defeats the adversary; (8) the mortal helper is killed too. A
side by side, a “version which they no longer tell” and “the way in which straightforward combat taie, leaping from (1) to (7), is not too exciting;
they told it later.” This poses the problem of the interrelation of both much more thrilling is the inversion, temporary defeat and disarmament
these versions, which at any rate hâve a common reference to the New of the champion (2,3)— as is to be found in innumerable variations down
Year festival, Purulli. It is, however, easy to set the texts in parallels:24 to present-day movies and comics25— which makes it necessary to resort
to tricks instead of force (5,6).
Old version New version
The unique, paradoxical and disconcerting feature of the Illuyankas
The Storm-god and the Dragon came myth, in both its versions, is the introduction of a mortal helper who
to grips. gets killed finally, though the god’s victory is largely due to him. It is
The Dragon vanquished the Storm- The Dragon vanquished the Storm- here that the two texts diverge conspicuously as to the identity and moti­
god. god, and took his heart and eyes away vation of this ‘actant,’ though the basic sequence, the tragic paradox, is
from him.
unaltered. Hupasiyas’ grim fate seems to be a kind of novella of its own,
The Storm-god besought ail the The Storm-god sought to revënge loosely attached, following the Interdiction-violation—conséquence pat­
gods . . . himself. tern; in the ‘new’ version, the death of the helper is integrated into the
Inaras (a goddess, helping the Storm- He took the daughter of the poor man; main action, though the text does not make it very clear why this was
god) encountered Hupasiyas, a mor- he begat a son; when he (sc. the son) unavoidable; it is indicated, instead, that he accepts his death out of his
tal. He slėpt with her. grew up, he took the daughter of the own free will. This is suspiciously reminiscent of sacrificial ideology;26
Dragon in marriage.
some form of real or symbolic human sacrifice in the context of the New
Inaras took Hupasiyas to the place and The Storm-god instmcts his son; he Year festival, helping the gods to overcome chaos, may well be in the
hid him; Inaras lured the Dragon up (sc. the son) asked them (sc. his wife backg round.
from his lair; the Dragon came with and the Dragon) for the heart and they
The Apollodorus version of the Tyjjhonjpyth almost automatically
his children; they drank every am- gave that to him; he asked for the eyes
phora dry; they are no longer able to and they gave him those, too. The falls into place: (1) Zeus and Typhon corne to grips; (2) Typhon defeats
descend to their lair; Hupasiyas came Storm-god got back his heart and his Zeus; (3) he takes away Zeus’ weapon and his sinews, which are guarded
and trussed the Dragon with a rope. eyes. by a dragoness in a cave; (5) Hermes and Aegipan steal the sinews and
The Storm-god came and killed the When he had engaged the Dragon in (6) fit them again to Zeus; (7) Zeus, resuming action, defeats Typhon.
Dragon. battle, he came close to vanquishing There is a close resemblance to the ‘new’ version of Illuyankas in the
him. motif that the adversary disables the champion by taking parts of his
Inaras instructs Hupasiyas: “Thou The son of the Storm-god shouted: body away from him— ‘heart and eyes’ in H ittite, ‘sinews’ in Greek—
shalt not look out of the window!”; “Spare me not!”; the Storm-god killed which are to be recovered through a dragoness. As the Greek taie is
that man opened the window and he the Dragon and his son too. explicitly located in Cilicia, a ‘late H ittite’ intermediary between the
saw his wife and his children; Inaras Bogazkôy text and Apollodorus’ source is to be assumed. What gets lost
killed him. in the process of transmission is the human character of the helper and
This can be brought into one sequence of motifemes, which turns out to his paradoxical death; this strengthens the supposition that this was
be a characteristic variation of the combat taie: (1) the champion fights rooted in ritual and therefore not easily transférable.
the adversary; (2) the adversary defeats the champion; (3) the champion Recently, Volker Haas has drawn attention to quite another Greek
is helpless; (4) a mortal helper is provided; (5) the helper beguiles the ad- myth which bears a surprising resemblance to the Illuyankas myth as
10 The Organization of Myth
told in the ‘older’ version: Jason and Medea.27 Here, as there, a goddess
— there can be no doubt about Medea’s divine status— takes a mortal
man as her lover, and the two cooperate to overcome the dragon; but
then the mortal man turns away from his superior spouse, and he is de-
stroyed in conséquence. Add that ‘fleeces of the sun’ are prominent in the
Purulli festival, while Jason’s task is to bring the Golden Fleece from
Aia, the country of the sun;28 Aia is the name of the Sun-god’s wife in
Mesopotamian and Hittite reli^Jgji^.29
I do not think this can be coïncidence. But in spite of these suggestive
parallels, it turns out to be impossible to integrate the Hittite and the
Greek taies into one ‘Proppian’ sequence: on the Greek side there is
nothing like the characteristic duality of champion and helper; thus the
whole frame of the Hittite combat myth w ill not fit; on the other side,
the fleeces, though well attested in Hittite ritual, do not enter into the
taie, whereas the Golden Fleece is the very goal of Jason’s expédition. In
fact the Argonaut taie, as established by Karl Meuli long ago,30 belongs
to the type of ‘Helfermaerchen,’ and it would finally fall into Propp’s
sequence of the fairy-tale but for the abnormal continuation, the Medea
tragedy. Let us not try to analyze the complex Argonaut tradition any
further,31 but get back to the more general, basic problems. There has
been some migration of motifs from Hittites to Argonauts, but the taies
in which they appear are different.
3. THE IMPACT OF LEVI-STRAUSS
AND ITS LIMITATIONS
Propp’s method has proved workable in the hands of
different scholars. His theorems seem to hold true: a taie is a sequence of
motifemes; in linguistic terms: a syntagmatic chain with ‘paradigmatic’
variants; in more human terms: a program of actions— taking ‘action’ in
a large sense, including plans, reactions, and passive expérience in the
sequence of the plot. Cri tics may point to the problem of segmentation:1
Which are the joints that separate two ‘functions’ or ‘motifemes’? Is it
not possible to make arbitrary subdivisions ad infinitum? In fact ‘action
theory’2 has provided a certain formalism to describe how compréhen­
sive actions are represented by sériés of minor actions, by single steps;
conversely, the whole sériés o f‘functions’ could be engulfed in one major
The Organization of Myth 11
‘action’ which, in the case of Propp’s sériés, would be the ‘quest.’ Practi-
cal analysis, however, has to take advantage precisely of the alternatives
and variants presented in a set of parallel taies, which make clear the
turning points and ‘joints.’3
What is more generally troubling about structuralism in the wake of
Propp is the apparent lack of System: thirty-one ‘functions’; this seems
quite a random sériés. Every Platonic mind will try to reduce this multi­
tude to some neat, preferably binary, scheme from which they can be
generated: “from chain to System”!4 Dundes has introduced some bi­
nary motifemes, such as ‘Lack—lack liquidated,’ while retaining an open
group of various sequences. Much more systematic models hâve been
worked out by Greimas and Bremond,5 still on the basis of Propp’s
achievement but aiming at a general, formalized ‘narrative grammar.’
One may wonder, though, how one can ever get back from such neat
and barren Systems to describing any identifiable taie in its dynamics, as
Propp’s quest sériés did.
Less systematic, but much more radical, is the other variant of struc­
turalism, headed by Lévi-Strauss.6 His impact has been compared to the
advent of abstract painting.7 I do not think Lévi-Strauss has proved any-
thing, but he has shown in an unprecedented way what scholars can do
with myths. For him, a folktale, taken as a ‘syntagmatic chain,’ makes
no sense at a il.8 Thus the sequence of the taie is broken up, and ail its
éléments— persons, objects, properties, and actions— become free to
serve just as terms in abstract relations: oppositions, proportions, re­
versais, logical quadrangles, ‘functions’ in the mathematical sense. As
Nathorst put it: “He has perhaps found the harmony, but he has certain-
ly lost the melody.”9 We are told there are multiple levels of coexisting
‘codes’ which must be decoded by setting out the fundamental, binary
relations. Lévi-Strauss usually arrives at two columns of concepts repre-
senting the basic opposition and an intermediary between the two, and
he seems to show that this 'médiation is the real achievement of myth.
The method, carried out with an intelligence that keeps surprising
the reader, may work an irrésistible spell on the humanities’ craving
to become, after ail, scientific. And the bewildered objection that this
structuralism produces structures which nobody had seen or understood
before10 is countered from the start: these are unconscious; a native
speaker does not usually know the grammar of his own language in any
12 The Organization of Myth
explicit way but still keeps to it, and with other cultural phenomena it
may be the same.11 I gladly confess that structural interprétations hâve
taught me to notice certain phenomena which had escaped the more
naive, impressionistic view before. Still there are, I think, limits to the
impact of structuralism beyond which it is not reasonable to expect véri­
fiable results. I know, however, that structuralism seems to be so déli­
cate that every criticism of Lévi-Strauss has hitherto been countered by
the assertion that the critic has misunderstood Lévi-Strauss;12 I shall
hâve to face the same accusations of simple-mindedness. These are my
objections:
1. There is a lim it to the use of mathematical formulas, however apt
they are to impress the noninitiate. Mathematical formulas make sense
only if they contain true variables, that is, if they are applicable to more
than one case, and if they are spécifie enough to get beyond banalities. If
we should tell a physicist that the basic formula of electricity is —1+1 =
0, with the notable inversion that + 1—1= 0 too, he would not be too
enthusiastic about that; but is the thesis that every myth is a médiation
between a binary opposition13 really above this level? Besides, it is not
true of every myth. Lévi-Strauss’s formula of médiation, Fx(a) :F y (b) —
Fx(b):Fa-i(y) is complicated enough to suffer from misprint continual-
ly ,14 but if applied correctly— as it was by Kôngâs and Maranda15— it
can equally pertain to songs, lyrics, riddles, and jokes, and to these espe-
cially, but not to every taie. Thus it is a structure, but not the structure
of myth.
2. Science daims to deal with facts outside itself. But to what extent
are structures ‘factual? Besides objective structures, there are projective
structures, structures in the mind of the observer or interpréter which
sometimes are difficult to separate from the objective. We ail know those
deceptive drawings of, say, a cube in perspective, which we clearly see
from above, or from below; with some practice, we can even switch—
the spatial structure is not in the drawing, but is brought out by the
Processing of information in an experienced brain. Furthermore, there
are ‘structures’ which are objective but absolutely irrelevant, such as the
relations of i- dots to commas in any given text. Has structuralism ever
tried to distinguish the essential from the accidentai, the objective from
projections?16 Personal confessions— “the pattern is there; I did not in­
vent it”17—cannot replace critical method. But in fact structuralism is
The Organization of Myth 13
hunting for the unconscious, and seems to set store on infinite adapta-
bility to ever increasing materials, as in Lévi-Strauss’s famous Statement
that a myth consists of ail its versions, so that the Oedipus myth should
include even Freud’s interprétation,18 and in conséquence Lévi-Strauss’s
own. The controversy about ‘God’s truth’ versus a ‘hocus-pocus position’
is old, and cannot easily be settled.19 Structuralism, it has been said, is
just the conséquence of the thesis that ‘God is dead.’20 But how, then,
could it ding to the daim of being a ‘science,’ which had been a starting
point of the structuralist approach? Uninhibited structuralism will dis­
cover absolutely arbitrary superstructures, replacing objectivity by inge-
nuity. In fact Lévi-Strauss’s concept of médiation is distinctively Hegel-
ian. The nature-culture antithesis appeals to Contemporary anxiety about
culture crisis. And if Lévi-Strauss reduces the Oedipus myth to the op­
position o f‘overrating’ and ‘underrating’ of blood relations,21 as if kill-
ing and mating were dealing with exchange rates, we cannot but remem-
ber that he wrote his first important book on ‘les structures élémentaires
de la parenté. ’
3. Structuralism does not lead to understanding, to decipherment. It
would be a ‘structural’ Statement that, in Latin capitals, I : L —F:E, since
the second letter can be generated from the first by the addition of one
horizontal stroke; but this tells us nothing about the use of the alphabet.
The sequence OEOI heading Greek inscriptions allows of perfect struc­
tural analysis: from right to left, it contains the very éléments of Greek
writing, straight line and perfect circle, and a répétition of both with
their essential properties marked out, beginning, middle, and end of the
line, and for the circle, the center. But of course we know the letters
mean ‘gods,’ invoked to witness the record. This is joking— and still a
little bit more than that. Significantly enough, Lévi-Strauss has taken
modem phonology as his model of a structural System successfully estab-
lished;22 but phonology, important as its achievements may be, will not
lead by itself to understanding a single word of any given language. We
hâve to know what language is about. There may be a philosophy which
does not recognize any reality, but only ‘structures,’ signs pointing to
signs, merging the objective with the subjective in some esoteric ‘esprit’-,
Structuralism, in this sense, seems to become the last resort of idealism,
as methodological caution is transformed into ontological assertion.23
Maybe I am too clumsy to join the absolutism of semiology and gét rid
14 The Organization of Myth
of objective reality. A sign System cannot be self-contained: there are no
signs without signification, and signification is void without reference.
And I would still find that, contrary to Lévi-Strauss’s thesis that a taie,
taken by itself, makes no sense, there is much interesting and subtle
sense in each of the myths treated in Mythologiques. Myth number l , 24
for instance, explicitly refers to initiation: a boy râpes his mother, and
therefore he is abandoned by his father; after he has learned hunting,
and has been wounded and healed, he kills his father and lays him to
rest in the sea, but is capable at the same time of providing fire for the
whole community. This is full of meaning, not just in Freudian terms.
And the more abstract antithesis of nature and culture, so dear to Lévi-
Strauss and his followers, is still within the realm of meaningful content,
to be understood not by formai logic, but by human expérience. Struc-
turalism, it is true, can go far beyond that; it is the one method for
dealing with even the unintelligible, the absurd. This might be the
final game of nihilism.
4. PROGRAMS OF ACTION
Now we seem to be caught in the trap of a contradic­
tion: it was said that a taie, including myth, has no direct reference, and
yet that there is no meaningful sign System without a reference. Is not
structuralism the only way out of this dilemma, sacrificing naive mean-
ingfulness to its own logic which emerges even in the absurd? Definiteiy
not. The concept of a ‘structure of sense without direct reference.’ is not
self-contradictory.1 Meaning, though linked with reference, is not iden-
tical with it. It is impossible to treat in any detail here the controversies
of referential, operational, and structural semantics.2 But there might
be agreement that meaningful speech, while dépendent upon life expéri­
ence, présupposés at the same time rules of how to use the variables of
language.3 In a theoretical language, meaning as designated by the sign
would consist of concepts and propositions as constructs;4 the attempts
at a ‘narrative grammar’ introduce similar constructs, abstractions apt
for convenient formalization, such as the ‘transfer of objects’ between
subjects in the System of Greimas.5 This is neat and cvilized, but cannot
account for actions such as ‘killing’: although this may be expressed by
‘taking somebody’s life’ in certain languages, it is definiteiy not a ‘trans­
The Organization of Myth 15
fer’ of an object.6 The meaning of a taie, even at the level of a ‘Proppian’
sequence, is much richer, and more complicated. The very sequence,
however, represents one major semantic ‘m ie,’ which détermines the
meaning of the éléments.
But such a mie has its very special dynamics. The ‘sequence of mo-
tifemes’ could as well be described as a ‘program of actions’; the linguis-
tic représentative of ‘action’ is the verb. In fact if we look more closely
at Propp’s sequence, the major part of his ‘functions’ can be conveniently
summarized in one verb, ‘to get,’ corresponding to the substantive ‘the
quest.’ And this three-letter word does imply quite a complicated pro­
gram of actions. To ‘get’ something means: to realize some deficiency, or
receive some order to start; to hâve, or to attain, some knowledge or
information about the thing wanted; to décidé to begin a search; to go
out, to meet partners, in a changing environment, who may prove to be
helpful or antagonistic; to discover the object, and to appropriate it by
force orguile, or, in more civilized circumstances, by negotiation; then,
to bring back the object, while it still may be taken away by force,
stolen, or lost. Only after ail that, with success established, has the ac­
tion o f‘getting’ corne to its end. Now these are in fact Propp’s functions
8—31, leaving out the role of the helpful partner, and this well-struc-
tured sense is more specific, and more complicated, than any zero-for-
mula such as —1+1 = 0, or even ‘Lack—lack liquidated.’ This structure
is not directly derivable from formai logic; note the asymmetry: the
search is quite different from the return or flight; neither Odysseus nor
the Argonauts can get back on the route whereby they came to Circe or
Aia. Even this, though, has a ring of reality.
In fact if we ask where such a structure of sense, such a program of
actions, is derived from, the answer must evidently be: from the reality
of life, nay, from biology.7 Every rat in search of food will incessantly
mn through ail these ‘functions,’ including the peak of agitation at the
moment of success: then the rat has to run fastest to find a safe place be-
fore its fellow rats take its prey away. In the Propp sériés there is the
motifeme sequence called the ‘magical flight,’8 which often constitutes
the most thrilling part of a fairy-tale, when the magical object, or the
bride, has been gained and the previous owner Starts a pursuit. This
probably is just a transformation of the action pattern described.
Protest will arise that now we hâve committed the worst metabasis eis
16 The Organization ofMyth
allô genos, plunging headlong from the sublime heights of structuralism
into the depths of zoology. But the transition can be justified. Natural
language, after ail, is language of living beings; if sequences of moti-
femes correspond to action programs, we are right in the field of bio-
cybernetics. Of course, even if action programs are not a privilège of the
human race, only man can speak about them. Actions are represented
by the verb; and the verbal root, the ‘zéro form’ of the verbs, in most
languages— including English, German, French, Latin, Greek, and
Turkish— is the imperative; and communication by imperatives is more
primitive, and more basic, than communication by statements.9 The
deepest deep structure of a taie would, then, be a sériés of imperatives:
‘get,’ that is: ‘goout, ask, findout, fight for it, takeand run.’ And the re­
action of an audience to a taie is in perfect accordance with this: under the
spell of a thrilling taie, we will ourselves perform one by one the actions
described— in idle motion, of course. Thus communication in the form
of action sequences, in the form of a taie, is so basic and elementary that
it cannot be traced to ‘deeper’ levels; we may note, in passing, the paral­
lel with dreaming, which also involves action patterns in idle motion. At
the same time, we are still in a field which is anything but simplistic;
even a rat’s brain is quite a marvelous computer, more complicated, in
any case, than any structuralist formula. And can we expect at any level
of life phenomena which are simpler than the simplest DNA molécule?
The biological perspective is confirmed, if we look at the other taie
structures we hâve been dealing with. We need hardly mention the com­
bat taie. It is part of the Propp sériés, but may become independent,
since there are societies which'make the heroic-aggressive values prevail
over economic interest. Remarkably often there are males fighting for
the female. Lack—lack liquidated is indeed the most basic mechanism of
biocybernetics.10 The girl’s tragedy can be seen to reflect initiation rit-
uals; but these in turn are determined by the natural sequence of puber-
ty, défloration, pregnancy, and delivery. If, as observed in certain tribes,
the girl has to leave her father’s house at first menstruation and only ac-
quires full adult status with the birth of a son,11 the correspondence
to the taie structure is almost perfect. The other motifeme sequences
of Dundes, Task—task accomplished, Interdiction—violation—consé­
quence, are situated at a distinctly human level, but still represent some
of the most basic functions of society: authority and morality. Deceit—
The Organization ofMyth 17
déception adds the functioning of intelligence, which may well clash
with both authority and morality.
Thus “the plot has a general human character,” as Franz Boas put
it .12 There are some features of a plot which easily admit formalization:
beginning and ending usually correspond, as in Lack-lack liquidated,
and this makes up a binary opposition which is dear to the computer-
ized mind. But it does not follow that what happens in between should
be equally simple and symmetrical, a neat transformation from minus
to plus. Actions such as ‘to get’ or ‘to fight’ hâve their own complex,
asymmetrical dynamics. Even as to beginning and ending, the Greeks
preferred to speak of the ‘feet’ and the ‘head’ of a taie: you could not
stop in the middle of a taie, or else the rripbos would walk around with-
out a head, a haunting spirit.13 Taie structures are ineradicably anthro-
pomorphic, or biomorphic.
Reducing the structure of taies to programs of actions, we are not
falling again into the trap of the ‘short circuit’: we are not explaining
the taie by some ‘original’ reference to any objective fact. Even if we
were to assume that the first taie told was a report on, say, a success-
ful hunt, it was understood and retold because the members of the
audience were potentially active themselves. The action pattern estab-
lishes a principle of synthesis which is a priori with respect to any spé­
cifie taie. It explains why it is possible that the listener becomes speak­
er in turn— which is the principle of the traditional taie— and why
good taies can be memorized so easily, by hearing them only once:
there are not terribly many items to memorize, since the structure has
largely been known in advance. By virtue of this, traditional taies can
retain a certain stability, even some power of régénération: misunder-
standings can be corrected and omissions restored, as storytellers and
listeners consciously or unconsciously agréé as to taie structures.
Probably this would be the place to start an inquiry into the uncon-
srious dynamics of the psyché, which are situated somewhere between
biology and language, and which no doubt are involved in understand-
ing and retelling taies. Ever since Freud, psychoanalysis has been keen-
ly interested in m yth.14 One basic question would be the relation of
«exual drives to other action patterns, and the “tendency to form” certain
“représentations” of these moving forces, which C. G. Jung has called
‘archétypes.’ 15 This, however, is far beyond my capabilities and compe-
18 The Organization of Myth
tence. And I shall not probe deeper into the délicate problem of ‘sym-
bols. ’16 Let us keep to thesis number three:17 taie structures, as sequences o f
motifemes, are founded on basic biological or cultural programs o f actions, and
pursue our way in the other direction, from the unconscious toward
verbalization.
5. CRYSTALLIZATIONS :
KUMARBI AND KRONOS
There is no denying that in any good taie, many addi-
tional structures may be discemed beyond the fondamental sequences
of motifemes, disregarding still further stabilizing structures of indi-
vidual languages, such as meter, assonance, and rhyme. What makes a
taie spécifie, effective, unforgettable, as it seems, may be the interplay
of multiple structures. I call this the crystallization of a taie.1 Its élé­
ments may thus be heavily overdetermined on account of superimposed
structures, so that every change of detail results in détérioration; this is
the mark of art. The question remains, however, whether a traditional
taie is transmitted as an elaborate work of art, or in some more basic
form.
Among the principles involved in crystallization of meaning are
contrast and symmetry. ‘Tall stories’ need strong contrasts, to fill in an
idéal way the slots provided by the action pattern. Thus the combat
taie,2 the ending of which is victory, will not introduce two medium-
sized, medium-minded, average people to fight— they would rather
shake hands. The prospective victor and the antagonist are made oppo-
sites in every respect: the victor will be bright, handsome, nice, young,
perhaps slim and small, but tough and virtuous, while the adversary
will be dark, ugly, répulsive, old, big and powerfol, but dissolute and
lecherous. The contrast between light and darkness obtrudes itself.
There may be still other ‘codes’ to bring home this opposition to the
audience. In fact most of Lévi-Strauss’s ‘codes’ seem to enter on this
level of crystallization, with the operations of analogy, proportion, and
inversion implied.
Thus the principle of contrast may give color to the peripeteia of a
taie: the champion may be heavily underprivileged at the beginning,
to make his victory ail the more overwhelming; or what précédés ca­
The Organization of Myth 19
tastrophe will be especially idyllic and serene. Hence the beautifol
flowers in the meadow plucked by Little Red Riding Hood as well as by
Persephone before the big bad wolf or Death himself enters into the
action.
Another form of contrast is to duplicate the taie by introducing alter­
natives: the hero has more than one chance. He may fail at the first
attempt but succeed at the second; examples range from the Storm-god
and Illuyankas3 to well beyond Parsifal; or success may be followed by
failure. Or else contrasting characters are introduced, one destined to
fail, one to succeed: the two brothers, or sisters; the good and the bad,
the silly and the clever; this fits with the Interdiction—violation sériés, as
well as with the combat taie.
A more effective crystallization, with contrasts integrated into sym­
metry, is achieved by the clash of two standard action-patterns, notably
sexuality and aggression. Mating and procréation are actions which
define the rôles of male and female, parents and offspring. A combat of
men with women is a startling inversion— the Amazon myth, or the
wife killing her husband; worse still is the father killing his daughter,
or the son killing his mother, perverting in addition the bonds of fam-
ily descent. These then are most concise and mémorable narrative
structures, which may even combine to form an almost systematic
sériés: a father killing his daughter, a wife killing her husband, a son
killing his mother— the Oresteia tragedy.
‘Fantasy’ has often been invoked as the major force in folktale and
myth; that “everything becomes possible”4 has been repeatedly claimed.
But sparkles at the surface may be just reflections produced by some
deep rhythm of the waves. In fact the element of the ‘fantastic’— in
the sense of the ‘impossible,’ from our point of view— is not indispens­
able in myth and not even in fairy-tale; there is nothing impossible in
“Hànsel and Gretel,” one of the best-known fairy-tales of the Brothers
Grimm collection,5 just as there is nothing supernatural in the Oedi-
pus story6 besides the well-established use of an oracle. There are élé­
ments of magic or shamanism in other taies, no doubt, and there are
éléments of ritual especially in myths; the remarkable rôle of animais
largely belongs to these levels. Not being bound to reality, the taie
may skip the finality of death and introduce ‘fantastic’ reversais such as
cutting off heads and putting them back on, or being swallowed and
20 The Organization of Myth
coming out of the belly again. This is action inverted by logie; and many
other ‘fantastic’ motifs are merely logie disregarding reality— straight-
forward, uninhibited action, such as infinité strength, unattainable
swiftness, inexhaustible food. Or take that favorite character of Near
Eastern and Western mythology, the dragon.7 He is only the perfect
crystalłization of the role of the adversary in the combat taie. He is a
snake, because this is the most dreaded and hated animal, having
resorted to Chemical warfare so long ago;8 he has a huge devouring
mouth, because being swallowed and eaten is a most basie anxiety of
every living being; he may hâve wings, making him ubiquitous and
unassailable; he may exhale lire, because this was the most destructive
kind of energy known— his modem counterparts in science fiction
wield nuclear bombs or laser machines. The dragon may abduct and
guard a virgin, to add the fury of sexual rivalry to the combat; but he
is old and ugly; and thus the dragon is invariably overcome, for he has
grown out of the taie structure expressly for this purpose. So far there
is no reason to postulate a spécial kind of logie9 or even an elaborate
store of symbolism; a good taie, overdetermined and ‘crystallized,’ may
just be too logical to be true.
It is another question to what degree oral transmission can preserve
crystallizations over a longer period of time in the absence of poetical,
metrical form. This should be an empirical question. Evidence seems
to show that structures are broken up. There are ail those variants of
folktales, and sets of evidently related taies in different civilizations,
which présupposé some process of transmission yet still exhibit differ­
ent structural features. In this case scholarly discussions may arise as to
whether two taies are ‘the same’ or hâve ‘nothing at ail’ to do with each
other, whether there is ‘superficial sim ilarity,’ or whether some ubiq­
uitous, free-floating ‘motifs’ may account for the resemblance or even
identity. Behind this is the question of what really constitutes the iden-
tity of a taie in different versions. Propp’s theory seemed to provide an
answer. Let us test this with another concrète example, the relation be-
tween the Hittim Kiim^rhi myrH and Hesiod’s Kronos.10
Ever since the Hittite text was published in 1945, the similarity of
these myths has struck interpreters; and there can be no question as to
the priority of the Hittite version. Thus transmission from Hittite to
The Organization of Myth 21
Greek— probably by way of intermediaries, Hurrians, Phoenicians—
had been generally assumed. Geoffrey Kirk, however, imbued with the
refinements of structuralism, struck a note of caution: there is a clear
symmetry in the Greek version which is totally missing from the H it­
tite: the sexual overactivity of Uranos, retributed by castration, on the
one side, and the pseudo-pregnancy and pseudo-abortion of Kronos on
the other; as Kirk puts it, Kronos behaves like a possessive mother in
contrast to Uranos the super-father. There is nothing of this in the
Hittite, where, moreover, the castration of Heaven and the pregnancy
of Kumarbi are intimately linked by the motif of swallowing the géni­
tal organ, which is absent in the Greek. “The plain conclusion is that
neither borrowed from the other.” 11 But how, then, can we retain the
concept of myth as a traditional taie? Kirk cannot even postulate a
common source, because the problem of incompatible structures would
reemerge at the critical joints of any possible stemma; thus he vaguely
speaks of a “complex set of mythical thèmes” 12 as a possible source, a
kind of storehouse of mythical traditions with various structures, there-
by multiplying the unknown without an attempt to define interrela­
tions.
Yet the problem can be solved, if we acknowledge that there is more
than one level of structures. If we take the sequence of actions well set
out by Kirk himself, the Hittite and the Greek myth can be seen to
coincide; and this confirms the Propp hypothesis. The motifemes—
simplifying Kirk’s exposition13 and omitting the Greek additions,
Aphrodite of Paphos and the stone at Delphi— are: (1) Heaven mies as
king; (2) Kumarbi/Kronos rises against him and castrâtes him; (3) Ku-
marbi/Kronos swallows what is a threat to him; (4) Kumarbi/Kronos
cannot hold what he has swallowed; (5) Kumarbi/Kronos is defeated
and displaced by the storm-god Zeus. We are evidently dealing with a
symmetrical duplication of the combat taie, making a mischievous,
finally dethroned god the intermediary; by négation of négation, heav-
enly kingship is reestablished. The means used in the combat are
castration and swallowing, two most primitive methods indeed; the
connecting of the two may be original, but it was replaced even in a
Hittite variant by more civilized means, a copper knife, to separate
heaven from earth.14 Still the main sequence remained intact, the
22 The Organization of Myth
transfer of kingship from Heaven to the ruling god of the panthéon;
and it was not only the taie structure but also this double référencé to
heaven and the ruling god which was transmitted from Hittite to
Greek— that is, myth, not just a taie. But the versions preserved hâve
evolved their own additional ‘crystallizations’— an extension of the taie
structure by adding ‘Alalu’ the Highest at the beginning and embel-
lishment by direct speech in H ittite, and the correspondences of excess
and rétribution in Hesiod, as stressed by Kirk; Kronos as pseudo-
mother in opposition to Uranos is, I dare say, Kirk’s projection; the
anxiety of being swallowed is basie and irreducible. The resuit then
would be that there are superstructures, effective and important narra­
tive structures, which are broken apart in a process of cross-cultural
transmission,15 but that the basie structure of the action pattern may
transcend language barriers and provide communication and under-
standing over a wide range of adjacent civilizations and periods.
6. THE TALE APPLIED
Thus far we hâve been concentrating on traditional
taies in general, though in some cases myth, in a spécial form, seemed
to come in. What, then, is peculiar to myth, in contrast with other
folk-tales? As has often been stated, the différence cannot be found at
the level of form or structure.1 But ail attempts to define myth from
its content seem to eut through living flesh, to tear apart what belongs
together. If myth is defined as a taie about gods, of as a sacred taie,
this would exclude central parts of Greek mythology, including Oedi-
pus.2 Anthropologists hâve found workable a définition of myth as a
taie about origins, things that happened in the remóte past,3 in tilo
tempore. But as to Greek myths, most of them are situated in an epoch
which the Greeks themselves regarded as historical, the epoch of the
Trojan War and a few preceding générations. In various cultures there
are différentiations of taie classes, one of which may be called ‘myth’; 4
none of these is universal, and hardly any are applicable to the Greek
evidence.
The spécifie character of myth seems to lie neither in the structure
nor in the content of a taie, but in the use to which it is put; and this
The Organization of Myth 23
would be my final thesis: myth is a traditional taie with secondary, partial
reference to something o f collective importance. 5 Myth is traditional taie J
applied; and its relevance and seriousness stem largely from this appli­
cation. The reference is secondary, as the meaning of the taie is not to
be derived from it— in contrast to fable,6 which is invented for the
sake of its application; and it is partial, since taie and reality will never
be quite isomorphic in these applications. And still the taie often is
the first and fundamental verbalization of complex reality, the primary
way to speak about many-sided problems, just as telling a taie was
seen to be quite an elementary way of communication. Language is
linear, and linear narrative is thus a way prescribed by language to
map reality.
The phenomena of collective importance which are verbalized by ap-\
plying traditional taies are to be found, first of all, in social life. Institu­
tions or présentations of family, clan, or city are explained and justi-
fied by taies— ‘charter myths,’ in Malinowski’s term;7— or knowledge \l
about religious ritual,8 authoritative and absolutely serious ritual, and i
about the gods involved, is expressed and passed on in the form of such j
tales; then there are the hopes and fears connected with the course of
nature, the seasons, and the activities of food supply; there is the desper­
ate expérience of disease. But also quite general problems of human
society, such as marriage rules and incest, or even the organization of i\
nature and the universe, may become the subject of taies applied; still it
is only philosophical interest, both ancient and modem, that tends to
¡solare the myths of origin and cosmogony,9 which in their proper
setting usually hâve some practical reference to the institutions of a city ;
or a clan. /
A clear and well-known indication of the différence between myth and
fair y-tale is the appearance of ñames. Proper ñames need not hâve a
‘meaning,’ but they hâve a reference.10 From the viewpoint of taie struc­
ture, the persons are blank entities, left nameless in the fairy-tale or
gratuitously filled in with some Hans, Jack, Ivan. Also the name of
‘Polyphemus’ the ‘much-famed’ Cyclops is a filier, produced by accident
in the oral tradition;11 the dragon or dragoness at Delphi can be name­
less12— but ‘Delphi’ gives the reference, and ‘Apollo’: gods and heroes
are present powers in collective ritual, beyond any taie. Even Odysseus
24 The Organization of Myth
was worshiped in Ithaca.13 The reference is partial, fillers abound; in the
myth of Antiope, for instance, the villainous king is providentially
named Lykos, the ‘wolf’; Antiope’s sons, however, are prototypes of
Theban cavalry, and Amphion’s tomb is a place of cuit.14 In this way
Greek myths are connected with families, tribes, cities, places, rituals,
festivals, gods, and heroes: the story about abducted Helen, brûught
back by brothers, could be just a general type of story; with Agamemnon
of Mycenae, Menelaus of Sparta, the Argives, Danai, or Achæans fight-
ing the non-Greek Trojans beyond the Hellespont, it is a myth through
which the self-consciousness of Greeks versus barbarians first asserts it-
self. ‘Prometheus’ is a character of myth because of the general impor­
tance of fire and technology for the real situation of man, and, in addi­
tion, because of the explicit reference to Greek sacrificial practice. If
the reference is deleted, myth turns into folktale. We may State how in
Ovid’s Métamorphosés myth cornes quite close to ‘Maerchen,’ though
elaborate poetic skill combines with a quite general reference to ex­
trême human possibilities and the merging of man and nature. But
contrast Pindar, where myth is alive by virtue of immédiate reference
and relevance to ail aspects of genealogy, geography, expérience, and
évaluation of reality. There is, by the way, no reason to distinguish myth
from saga in the Greek view;15 this distinction is rather due to the Chris­
tian tradition, monopolizing the religious aspects, allowing for a side
branch of legend, and leaving saga outside.
Mythical thinking, then, is not spontaneous invention of myths; we
may dispose of the nostalgie idea of a golden âge when a race of poetical-
ly minded primitives uttered myths instead of plain speech.16 An âge of
myth, in our sense, would be an epoch when adaptation of traditional
taies is the only or the main method of general spéculation and com­
munication, in order to verbalize phenomena, to give them cohérence
and sense. Such a method is anthropomorphic, or biomorphic, but not
at ail simplistic; it is playful in the sense of Piaget,17 adapting reality
to activity rather than activity to reality, but not arbitrary.18 Mythical
thinking takes as operators neither class-inclusion nor the true/false
dichotomy, but actions or sequences of actions. Logic, from Aristotle to
the logic of sets and classes, is based on the nominal phrase: S is P; Socra­
tes, insisting on the phrase ti estin,19 ‘What is it?’ definitely destroyed
The Organization of Myth 25
mythical thinking, which had prevailed in the archaic and still largely
in the classical âge down to the sophists.
Mythical thinking was, and is, not a mechanical répétition of absurdi-
ties, but a mental activity which can bë quite subtle and effective. It
provides, most of ail, a synthesis for isolated facts. To take the simplest
example, genealogy. Hellen had three sons, Doms, Xuthus, and Aeolus;
Xuthus sired two sons, Ion and Achaeus.20 That means: the Greek tribes
know they belong together. Dorians, Aeolians, Ionians, and Achaeans:
they are ail Hellenes, though Ionians and Achaeans are somewhat doser
to each other, which, incidentally, has been confirmed by the study of
Greek dialects.21 Xuthus therefore must be introduced as a filier, to pro­
duce the subclass. Evidently the question of‘historical truth’ is absolute-
ly irrelevant in such a taie; it is neither more nor less effective even if it
is true;22 in its application, it créâtes a System of coordinates to cope
with the present or even with the future. In fact the preestablished struc­
ture of myth is a convenient tool for dealing with new facts, with the un-
known. Wherever the Greeks, in the course of colonization, met ad-
versaries of an equal cultural standard who effectively resisted Greek
domination, these became somehow ‘Trojans’ for them, Trojan allies or
Trojan offspring: Phrygians and, more prominently, Lycians fight for
Ilion in the llia d , Thracians arrive in one of the latest strata, the ‘Dolo-
neia'\ with the pénétration of the West, the Elymi of Sicily, the Vene-
tians of Patavium, the Etruscans, and the Romans were ail provided with
Trojan ancestry.23 The mythical war anticipâtes and illustrâtes the con­
frontation, and gives it some style of enmity with dignity.
Thus myth may constitute preformation of decisions, motivation,
and certainly propaganda. The historical seer Tisamenus copied, in his
dealings with Sparta, his mythical ancestor Melampus;24 the Athenians,
bringing their women and children to Troezen in 480, remembered the
refuge Theseus had taken there,25 and this may even hâve revived their
hope, since Theseus had triumphantly corne back from Troezen to's
Athens. Caesar, the new Romulus, was murdered in the Senate like the
mythical founder ôf Rome,26 and Brutus was bound to kill the tyrant
just because he bore the name of the mythical liberator. Living the wayj /
prescribed by myth may become a tragical burden.27
Enough of examples. Mythical thinking proves to be a major force of
26 The Organization of Myth
conscious life. This is nôt to forget that even below these operations of
adaptations and reinterpretations which constitute the life of myth,
there is also the fonction of telling a taie just for pleasure, even in the
form of ‘Maerchen.’ This is practicing— out of gear, as it were— basic
action programs, which are at the same time sequences of psychic ex­
périence, and thus discharging dépréssion and anxiety, to translate what
Aristotle said about tragedy into more modem terms. Certain expéri­
ences, attitudes, and expectations are preformed, processed, and soci'àt-
ized by telling storiés; they do not contain much of a ‘message,’ much
information value; rather they tend to reestablish and to confirm preex-
isting patterns. Leftist sociologists are justly suspicious o f‘Maerchen.’28
Yet the mere pleasure of storytelling— to which the Greeks often al-
lude29—points to a basic biological value, as the attraction of ‘sweet’
taste points to the basic value of carbohydrates in nutrition. This value
may consist in the mere existence of a stock of shared, verbalized ex­
périence30 which is difficult to replace by computerized blueprints.
7. THE HISTORICAL DIMENSION
One modification, or at least clarification, of the déf­
inition of myth as a ‘taie applied’ is still necessary. This is not to be
understood as postulating two distinct historical epochs, one of ‘pure’
storytelling, one of m yth;1 it does not even présupposé two distinct
operations. In fact the operators used in mythical statements may be
simpler, more elementary, than those in any complété taie. ‘A man be-
got three sons’ or ‘a dog gave birth to something strange’ does not make
up a taie, though it could be a beginning; the myth about the offspring of
Hellen, referring to the extant Greek tribes, is complété, as is the myth
about the dog of Orestheus giving birth to the vine,2 with reference to
the connection of Sirius the Dog Star with viticulture. The reference
is stressed in this case by perspicuous names in the genealogical line
Orestheus—Phytios—Oineus: from ‘mountain’ via ‘growing’ to ‘wine,’
and it becomes more spécifie with Oineus’ offspring settling in Aetolia.
There are some cases where the taie éléments and their application
seem to be intimately fosed, and this gave rise to the illusion that myth
originated directly from there. Language, however, let alone myth, is
The Organization of Myth 27
not produced by facts. More often the incongruence, the tension, be-
tween facts and verbalization will become manifest. The taie tends to
crystallize, by way of contrast and symmetry; it needs distinct and plaus­
ible characters, motivation, and continuity to be effective. On the other
side there are simply facts, stubborn and often annoying. The taie is
flexible, it may accommodate itself; there are many possibilities of re-
interpretation and reelaboration to make the taie fit the circumstances.
But the taie may also break loose again, starting into a flight of free fan-
tasy according to its own, nonreferential logic.
And this is what must hâve happened again and again to myths in
history: consecutive changes of crystallization and application. A well-
stmetured taie, taken to elucidate some complex phenomenon or situa­
tion, may become, in a certain cultural environment, the established
verbalization. It may take over characteristic details from there, which
enlarge and modify its own structure; it may acquire sacred status and
become immobilized; but if retold in a new situation, it will tend to
crystallize again, still preserving some éléments of its former applica­
tion; in its new form it can again be applied to new circumstances, and
so over and over again.
This is the historical dimension of myth, as of language in general. If
T^yth fo alj rts.-details,
t he fact that it braffrîE*^^mcr~5FTS history, of multiple levels of
Application and crystallization. Ttls'pôssible to disregard this, to build
up an all-embracing structural pattern; but the effects of transmission
are there. Tradition is history, and the traditional taie cannot be exempt
from it. In modem linguistics, and folklore, the synchronie, structural
approach has been prévalent for some time; the historical schools appear
to be old-fashioned. And in fact we could hardly accept the daim once
made that folklore is a “historical science . . . largely concerned with
origins”: 3 the concept o f‘origin’ is mythical thinking, applying the taie
of birth or création to the constant flux of reality. Préoccupation with the
‘origin’ of myths is bound to resuit in the perspective of etymology: there
should be a ‘true’ original meaning of a myth; and this must end up in a
vicious regress. Yet the renouncing of ‘origins’ in the absolute sense
should not prevent us from taking account of the dynamics of tradition.
More pertinent than ‘etymology’ would be the analogy of metaphor.4 In
28 The Organization of Myth
fact metaphor is a basic trick of language to cover the unfamiliar with fa­
miliar words on account of partial sim ilarity;5 in this sense, myth can be
defined as a metaphor at taie level. The effect of metaphor is to widen
the scope of the vocabulary, to keep the sign-system finite by a kind of
generalization, to provide a context by analogy, while remaining con-
scious of the fact that this reference by metaphor is somewhat twisted,
preliminary, tentative, one-sided. One could say as much about myth;
though a word metaphor can lose its character and become the only cur-
rent désignation (an exploding grenade hardly calis to mind the fruit
Persephone ate), myth, on taie level, remains incongruous to reality.
This, however, is common to both: to understand a true metaphor one
must know the primary meaning, else one does not get the point of the
secondary application; to understand myth, similar knowledge of histor-
ical levels is required. There are at least two levels, the more general
tale and the more spécifie application; both are subject to the forces of
history.6
One might object that such a way of interpreting myths, though
plausible in theory, would be a hopeless enterprise in practice, in view of
the innumerable changes wrought in the course of tradition— as if one
were to sort out gravel in a river bed in the hope of reconstructing ‘origi­
nal’ rocks, an activity that would not progress beyond the mere pastime
of playing with pebbles. Surely structuralism offers much more ingeni-
ous rules for more rewarding games. But there is reason to be less pessi-
mistic. Myths are not amorphous pebbles, but meaningful structures
transmitted, and sense must be prior to nonsense. It can be seen evolving
in consecutive layers, if we do not methodically shut our eyes to what
taies are about. In addition, there are dues pointing to definite epochs.
Certain features are intimately connected with identifiable cultural
strata, such as the prominent role of animais, or a ritual pattern such
as collecting the bones of a slaughtered victim. This is rooted in Paleo-
lithic hunting;7 the importance of animais for men has drastically,
though gradually, declined since the Neolithic révolution. Sometimes
there are concrete details, objects or tools, preserved in a taie which are
directly datable; ‘requisites,’ though, can change place in the course of
transmission.8 There may be ñames,9 though this criterion seems to be
the least reliable: are there any Greek myths in which ñames can be used
The Organization of Myth 29
to retrace history?10 The name Kronos, to be sure, bears no resemblance
to Kumarbi. Still there are indications which, if used with due caution,
allow one to get an idea of the historical dimensions in which a myth
has corne to be.
8. SUCCESSIVE LAYERS AND
PREHISTORIC BEGINNINGS
To give two examples of the multiple levels of applica­
tion and crystallization, and of the historical dimensions involved, I be-
gin with a set of stories about change of sex. To the structuralist, they
présent a model case of a binary opposition overcome by imaginary
‘médiation.’ 1 Let us still note that the myth, qua taie, does not describe
concepts: it relates a sequence of actions in which even ‘male’ and ‘female’
are not qualifies, but active or passive expérience. A general reference to
the fundamental human condition w ill be granted from the start; every
person finds himself, or herself, ineluctably male or female. But there is
more to it. A change not of sex but of sexual rôles is deeply rooted in
ape prehistory, to mark submission and domination;2 so in this case not
even the metamorphosis is a mere flight of fancy. In fact it is acted out in
certain rituals of puberty initiation. Since their function is to produce
the fully adult male, the opposite status, which is be overcome, is cur-
rently termed ‘female.’ In Greek, paîs, in contrast to either anér orgyné,
is both male and female. In homoerotic ideology, thepaîs definitely plays
the female rôle. It was in Crete that initiation rituals persisted down to
the classical period; we hâve a description of the custom whereby a paîs
was abducted and raped by a man before he received his arms, the
emblems of manhood.3 Cretan Phaistos is the location of a correspond-
ing myth about a girl miraculously transformed by Leto into a mature
boy, Leucippus.4 This taie clearly accompanies the ritual; Leto’s festival
was called Ekdysia, ‘Undressing,’ as Cretan youths called themselves
‘those who undress,’ ekdyômenoi,5 in contrast to the children who were
not allowed at the gymnâsion. Detached from identifiable ritual, but
popular in archaic and classical art, there is the corresponding story of
Caeneus: a girl raped by Poséidon is transformed into a man not only
armed but even invulnérable. Crystallization in this case brings in an
 30 The Organization of Myth The Organization of Myth 31
appropriate end for the uncommon warrior: he is driven upright into the
earth by the blows of Centaurs,6 the wild men of the woods who still
belong to the context of initiation. ‘Weaker’ variations of the same myth
introduce the boy in g irl’s clothes: Theseus arriving in Athens, or Achil­
les amid the daughters of Lycomedes at Scyrus; the ritual reference is
maintained in Athens: at the sanctuary of Apollo Delpbinios, Theseus,
when ridiculed as a ‘g irl,’ Strips and performs the act of ‘lifting the
bull’;7 Scyrus, on the other hand, the faraway island, is a convenient
background for crystallization, be it in a heroic or a burlesque vein;8 the
climax remains the moment when the supposed girl proves to be an un-
mistakable man.
A different reference for the same type of taies is provided by the
special situation of certain ecstatic priests and seers attested in Mesopo-
tamia and ail over Anatolia: being distinct from and in contrast to nor­
mal men, they behaved as females and are called ‘effeminate* by classical
authors.9 Myth présents an explanation for the phenomenon in terms of
^Mnetamorphosis: Tiresias Became a woman while observing copulating
snakes, and a man again when repeating the expérience.10 It is difficult
to say in this case whether éléments of real initiation ritual are still
present in the tale; the extant versions do not even mention that Tiresias
acquired his prophétie gifts in the process. Still the symbol of the Figure 1
copulating snakes, which is identical with the well-known ‘staff of Entwined Serpents, Oriental. Relief goblet of Gudea, c. 2200 b . c .,
Hermes,’ doubtless points to the oriental traditions.11 (See figs. 1, 2.) Louvre. (H. Gressmann, Altorientalische B ilder zum Alten Testament [Berlin
19272] fig. 367.) Seel 8 n. 11.
^ Probably the Greeks met seers of this type in the early orientalizing
period12 and so the name of the most prominent of epic seers, Tiresias,
got into the story. In Greek literaturę, however, it appears detached Odysseus and the Cyclops.13 Kirk has given an interprétation in the
from any pragmatic reality and crystallized to form an element of a terms of Lévi-Strauss; he finds, not surprisingly, “a systematic confron­
burlesque tale: Zeus and Hera quarreled over the question whether maie tation between nature and culture” in “the orderly confusion of atti­
or female enjoys orgasm more, and they accepted Tiresias as a witness tudes” as to civilization and savagery in the description of the Cy-
because he alone had experienced it as both; he made the female win with clopes.14 Most interesting, then, are the verses which give this general
a score of 9 to 1, which, oddly, infuriated Hera, who blinded him in description (Od. 9, 106—12): the Cydopes lead a life reminiscent of the
revenge. This joke, as contained in the old epic Melampodeia, sometimes Isles of the Biest and still without any regard for either law or religion.
ascribed to Hesiod, is still ‘mythical’ by its reference to the general hu­ But what has made the Cyclops famous, polyphemos,15 is hardly this de­
man problem transposed to the suprême divine couple; it dœs not pre­ scription; trying to memorize the tale, I would most easily forget just
sent any solution, though, but rather a piece of ammunition in the con- these verses. What is unforgettable is the action, the encounter with the
tinuing war of the sexes. ogre, the horror, and the narrow escape. The ambivalence of savagery is
The other example belongs to the most famous among Greek myths: a by-product of crystallization, which needs the idyl as a contrasting
32 The Organization of Myth
Figure 2
Entwined Serpents, G reek . Engraving on bronze helmet from Crete, sev-
enth Century B.C., New York, Norbert Schimmel Collection. (D. G. Mitten,
S. F. Oeringer, Master Bronzes from the Classical World [Fogg Art Museum 1968]
47 no. 27; drawing by Suzanne Chapman.) See I 8 n. 11.
background for cannibalism. Viewed from Propp’s structuralism, the
taie would correspond roughly to functions 11—22, but for the fact that
the object to be retrieved, the flocks, is not at the center of interest,
whereas the most striking features are not in Propp’s sériés. The taie
consists basically of a sequence of actions: coming upon a curious place
never seen before; meeting a sinister stränget; finding oneself suddenly
trapped in a cave; then the worst of horrors, cannibalism; then delibera­
tion; manufacturing a weapon; giving an equivocal name; drugging the
adversary; blinding him; his ridiculous failure to summon help; waiting
for him to open the cave; escaping under the sheep; boasting, pursuit,
narrow escape, and curse. In a more systematic way, one can notice a
nucléus of cannibalism overcome by blinding, within a binary frame of
The Organization of Myth 33
trap and escape, and a continuation of attempted revenge by the dis-
abled antagonist, all in a larger frame of the successful quest; the play on
the name is a possible, but not necessary, élaboration.16 More than two
hundred parallels to the Cyclops taie hâve been collected; their similarity
can be seen precisely in this sequence, though not every parallel taie
contains ail the ‘motifemes.’ The immédiate, exciting effect consists, of
course, in our imaginary identification with Odysseus-—though a true
structuralist, to be sure, is away above any feelings of excitement.
This is nearly pure folktale, or rather poetry. perferrly rrysfallizpd in
Homer’s text— except for the fact that Odysseus is, for the Greeks, a
major hero of the Trojan War, king of Ithaca and Cephalonia, where he
has even been worshiped in historical times17; there are even some ob­
scure cuits of the Cyclopes.18 The main action is a struggle for power as
the combat theme outgrows the quest frame. There are two reversais,
from superiority to desperate inferiority, and from inferiority to tri-
umphant superiority.19 This final superiority displays itself in four
‘codes’; man with weapon against unarmed savage; the sober against
the drunkard; the seeing against the blind; the master of language
against the stupid. Thus the myth contains the triumph of cleverness
against brute force, set in the elementary expérience of trap and escape;
but there is more to it. Ever since I was a child I hâve been angry with
Odysseus for his sacrificing the good ram to whom he owes his life. But
if the taie is seen within the general structure of the ‘quest,’ the object
to be gained is precisely the flocks themselves, edible animais, and the
solemn meal is the logical conclusion; the sacrifice. We find the combat
myth entailed in the quest for food. This sheds light on the curious de­
tail of the escape from the cave; in many parallels this is done by putting
on sheepskins, and this masquerade may well be original.20 To gain the
edible animais, man has to assimilate himself to them. To be eaten, or
not to be eaten but to eat, these are the two sides of the basic process of
life. Man eats animais, and consumes them, disturbing the balance of
life; to make up for this, myth introduces an agent who préserves the
flocks and eats men. The ogre, master of animais,21 is a term necessi-
tated by structural logic, as it were, not childlike fantasy.
But in this taie, in the text of the Odyssey, there is a remarkable his­
torical clueT'the weapon manufactured by Odysseus, the spear hardened
by lire. This weapon is in fact superfluous: Odysseus has his sword, he
34 The Organization of Myth
even considers killing the sleeping ogre with it; thus he couid evidently
blind his eye quite easily with his sword. But the taie postulâtes more
special means. The wooden spear, hardened by fire, is, historically, the
primordial weapon of man;22 during the entire early Paleolithic period,
this was the only effective weapon for hunting. Finds prove that man
hunted even éléphants with this kind of spear. It is a simple truth that
the invention of this weapon, which présupposés the use of fire, has
enabled man to become the most destructive of carnivores himself. Thus
at the center of the Cyclops taie we find the invention of the first weapon
described, along with the use of fire. Some of the variants hâve intro-
duced the next major step of technology instead, metallurgy: the ogre is
blinded with melted métal, a motif present even in the text of the
Odyssey, under the guise of a sim ile.23
Does this mean that the Cyclops taie is Paleolithic? The wooden spear
alone would not prove this; but in connection with the ‘master of ani­
mais’ theme, the problem of eating and sacrifice, such a provenience
becomes quite probable, though it is impossible to tell how far either
verbal or ritual tradition was at work, or both. Note that the spear is
manufactured in the taie, ‘invented,’ not taken from outside. Wooden
spears were still in use in the âge of Herodotus and well beyond.24 What
is more important, they persisted in ritual, notably in Rome. The
fetiales inaugurated war by throwing a hast a praeusta into the enemy’s
territory: to mark the beginning of hostilities, the primordial weapon is
employed. Similar customs were preserved in médiéval Europe.25 And
to kindle a fire by drilling remained a magical procedure to escape dis­
tress in Europe down to modem times.26 Whether the Cyclops myth was
connected with anything similar is an open question; we hâve no docu­
ments earlier than Homer;27 to think of puberty initiations28 or the
magic of blacksmiths29 remains possible, but these associations are
unverifiable.30
Still the historical perspective, while preserving the thrilling story,
brings home a message about the situation of mankind which is not
entirely antiquated. Rescued from a dead end by the use of violent tech­
nology more than once, man has triumphantly survived, but remains
endangered by the curse31 of violated nature. The antithesis of nature
and culture is more than a logical game; it may be fatal.
II.
The Persistence
of Ritual
1. THE BIOLOGICAL APPROACH
Stoic philosophy defined man as an animal endowed
with speech, zdon logikôn, and modem anthropology has not proceeded
too far beyond this. Dealing with myth, I tried to make sense of the
epitheton, the differentia specifica\ turning to ritual now, I must perhaps
ask for a certain humility while inquiring into more humble aspects of
the zdon, which still belong to zoé, life, and which are important for
understanding ancient religion, and perhaps religion as such. In fact
religion has become quite a problem ever since the Greeks discovered
their more modem variant of logos.
The word ‘ritual’ may arouse even more ambivalent associations than
the word ‘m yth.’ ‘Ritual’ is something atavistic, compulsive, nonsensi-
cal, at best circumstantial and superfluous, but at the same time some­
thing sacred and mysterious. Ambivalent, too, was the response of clas-
sical scholarship to the concept. The impact of‘ritual’ on classical studies
can be dated to the year 1890, when within twelve months there ap-
peared those three books which inaugurated the ‘Cambridge school’ of
anthropology: Robertson Smith’s Religion o f the Sentîtes, 1Jane Harrison’s
Mythology and Monuments o f Ancient Athens ? and the first— and slim—
édition of The Golden Bough by James George Frazer.3 The most original
thinker among these may hâve been Robertson Smith; his influence on
Emile Durkheim and Sigmund Freud bears witness to it. But for the
general public in the English-speaking world the books of Jane Har-
rison, with those of the outstanding scholars Gilbert Murray4 and Fran­
cis Macdonald Cornford5 in her wake, and above ail The Golden Bough
in diverse abridged éditions, with the monumental third édition in the
background, gained overall influence, looming large even in poetry and
literary criticism as well as in general anthropology. Before Frazer, W il-
35
 6 The Persistence of Ritual
heim Mannhardt6 in Germany had provided the basie collection and
interprétation of European folklore material, which was seen to corre­
spond to ancient ritual. The parallel approach of Hermann Usener7
developed into German ‘Religionswissenschaft’ with his son-in-law Al­
brecht Dieterich,8 who in turn became the teacher of Ludwig Deubner
and deeply influenced Martin Persson Nilsson;9 thus in the indispens­
able handbooks of Deubner and Nilsson Greek religion is reduced to
ri tuais explained by hypothetical primitive beliefs, largely concerning
végétation and fertility, and myth is disregarded. Beyond the Channel,
the slogan ‘Myth and Ritual’ was launched afresh by S. H. Hooke in the
thirties of this Century, with application to Old Testament and Ancient
Near Eastern evidence;10 in the wake of this movement we find, among
others, Lord Raglan, S. E. Hyman, and Theodor H. Gaster.11 After
World War II, reaction has become more and more outspoken; after
the criticisms, notably, of Joseph Fontenrose and G. S. Kirk12 it seems
to be time for second thoughts.
In the ‘myth-and-ritual’ debate, as far as I see, not too much reflection
has been centered on the basie question: What is ritual?13 All will agree
that ritual is something people do, drómena in the term of Plutarch and
Pausanias adopted by Jane Harrison.14 Yet it makes a différence whether
we assume ritual to be the expression of basie, if primitive, ideas about
fertility and végétation spirits, with Mannhardt and Harrison, or of
compulsive drives stemming from unconscious anxiety, with Freud,15
or whether we refrain from such interprétations and keep to structural
descriptions, a method successfully inaugurated by Hubert-Mauss and
van Gennep.16 And there has been now for more than sixty years still
quite another approach toward ‘ritual,’ in biological ethology, from Sir
Julian Huxley to Konrad Lorenz.17 This usurpation of the term ‘ritual’
for the infrahuman instead of the transcendental sphere is a challenge for
the ‘ritualists’ working in the field of anthropology and religion: are we
dealing with a misleading equivocation, or may the biological concept
prove helpful even in the realm of the humanities?
Biology has the advantage of presenting a clear-cut définition of ‘rit­
ual,’ based on careful observation: with animais, ritual is “a behavioral
pattern,” which “acquires an entirely new function, that of communica­
tion. . . . The primary function may still be performed, but it often
recedes.” 18 Lorenz’s standard example is the triumph ceremony of a pair
The Persistence of Ritual 37
of graylags, consisting in common aggression against a nonexistent
interloper; by triumphant cries, these geese assure each other of their
friendship and solidarity. In other words, ritual is action redirected for
démonstration. Characteristic features of ritual in this perspective are:
the stereotyped pattern of action, independent of the actual situation and
émotion; répétition and exaggeration to make up a kind of theatrical
effect; and the function of communication.
Has this anything to do with human, including even religious, ritual?
Lorenz has stressed the “similarity of their fumerions”— in the German
original it reads even ‘equality of function’ (G leichheit) .19 Others are
more cautious. Biologists are hésitant about getting involved with meta-
physics;20 sociologists, claiming the privilège of dealing with humani-
ty, dismiss with scorn any biological approach.21 Both biologists and
sociologists seem to be unaware sometimes that Christian theology and
metaphysics are by no means the only and definitely not the earliest
form of religion and religious ritual (even if ‘ritual’ in current English
may still dénoté Catholic or Anglican church service), nor are those other
highly and rather lately developed religious Systems, Buddhism, Juda-
ism, and Islam. The archaic types of religion, based on the ritual tra­
dition, are rapidly disappearing from the globe in our days. Their study
may indeed become a privilège of history, from prehistory through an-
tiquity to early twentieth-century folklore. And it is significant that
Karl Meuli, working in these very fields, arrived at a concept of ritual
‘custom’ which is practically identical with the biological définition: a
spontaneous reaction artificially exaggerated for the purpose of démon­
stration. 22
It is easy to say that human behavior is learned by socialization, where-
as animal behavior is innate. There is, after ail, some différence between
a snail and an ape. There is a great deal of learned behavior in higher
animais, especially in primates, and there are innate behavioral patterns
even in man. Rituals belonging to this type are weeping, smiling,
laughing.23 Manifest rituals are a complex mixture of innate and learned
éléments. As togreeting rituals, chimpanzees, too, embraceeach other,
pat their shoulders, and kiss hands.24 What seems more important is
that much of human ritual is learned in a négative way: to know the
ritual means to know what is forbidden in connection with it (e.g. laugh-
Iqg in church). Ritual stereotypy means limitation of human liberty and
38 The Persistence af Ritual
individuality; in this sense ritual is regressive, falling back beyond the
specific human level. Humans reaccommodate themselves, in a way, to
animal behavior. That ritual has supplanted instincts has been stated re-
peatedly since Henri Bergson.25
It is easy to say that religious ritual is distinguished from the pro­
fane and from anything animalic— including smiling and kissing hands
— by reference to some ‘higher,’ metaphysical entity, some power, spir-
it, or god.26 Still it is notoriously difficult to dérivé the real, concrète
details of ritual from metaphysical ideas. Not even the central rites of
Christianity, baptism and Holy Communion, are established in this
way; they dérivé their authority from the taie how the founder himself
performed the ritual, which was already there. W ith more perplexing
rituals, scholars usually take refuge in the assertion that the original idea
lying behind a ritual has been misunderstood or lost. In fact, in ancient
religion “the majority of people do what they do without knowing why,”
as Seneca27 observed. But even why there should be any ritual at ali, in-
stead of pure contemplation, can hardly be derived from metaphysics.
Thus it seems promising to turn the issue the other way round: to see
to what extent metaphysical ideas can be derived from ritual.
In some sense this has been done ever since Mannhardt and Usener,
Robertson Smith and Jane Harrison, but without real consistency:
myths hâve been traced to rituals, but the rituals were assumed to dé­
pend in turn on more primitive ideas, which in fact brings in myth
again, just a more primitive myth produced by a supposedly primitive
mentality. The taies of Homer and Hesiod are replaced by the battle of
Summer and W inter or the death of the Year Daemon, and we end up
with Polynesian or Australian ‘ideas’ about mana and totem, which are
partly mythical and partly modem constructs.28 Still even anthropolo-
gists feit they could not do without such methods, since they found it
“inconceivable that any rite should hâve been initiated without there
having been some antécédent idea of what it was intended to achieve.”29
And this inevitably leads to what E. E. Evans-Pritchard has caustical-
ly called the ‘if I were a horse’ argument30: in my attempt at understand-
ing, I imagine myself to be in the situation of the so-called primitive
and figure out what I would do or feel or think or say in that situation;
if I were a horse, I would do this or that. Evidently the premise is
The Persistence of Ritual 39
absurd, and no resuit deduced from it is to be considered reliable. Yet
much of what is called primitive mentality or primitive ideas has been
deduced in this way.
Once again structuralism steps in to escape the regress from obscurum
to obscurius and the willful reconstructions o f ‘origins.’ Structuralism
offers a careful, detailed, and lucid description of ‘what is being done’
without hazardous assumptions about any ‘original meaning’; ail expla-
nations in these terms are denounced as being ‘secondary élaborations.’31
But what is left finally seems to be an empty form from which the very
substance of ritual has been evaporated: being told that the ritual has
A, a beginning, B , a middle, and C, an end,32 is hardly satisfactory,
even if C should be an inversion of A .
Ethology is more substantial. Ethology observes behavior with the
double question ‘How corne?’ and ‘What for?’33 Dealing with both his-
tory and function, it can answer such questions without the ‘if I were a
horse’ method. Thus for an interprétation of human ritual we may tenta-
tively adopt the biological perspective to see how far we can g et by ask-
ing what is the pragmatic, unritualized function of a behavioral pattern,
in order to understand its form and the message transmitted. In this
way, we need not start from any reconstructed ‘ideas’; we need not as­
sume that there was, first, a conscious or even verbalized idea and then,
secondly, some ritual action.34 But we hâve to acknowledge a histori-
cal sequence, and historical continuity, in the development. And if it
should turn out that ritual, in some cases, is older than mankind, this
may seem surprising, but it does not discrédit the approach.
2. HERM S, LIBATIONS, AND BRANCHES
Let us start with a shocking but mémorable case from
the midst of Greek religion: the herm.1 More than two thousand years
hâve done their best to mutilate extant herms and to obliterate what
would still today be scandalous in public; but anybody familiar with
vase-paintings knows what a classical herm looks like: a rather dignified,
usually bearded, head on a four-cornered pillar and, in due place, an
unmistakable, realistically molded, erect phallus. What is more, the
Greeks did not even speak of ‘a herm’ as an object, but of Hermès, the
40 The Persistence of Ritual
god. Greek mythology is rather réticent about this exhibitionist State of
an Olympian god— except for an allusion to barbarian Samothrace in
Herodotus and Callimachus.2 Modem history of religion has coined a
convenient term to cover this and related phenomena, from Babylonian
phallus-shaped boundary stones to phallus-pictures in doorways at Pom-
peii: the phallus is ‘apotropaic,’3 besides having its obvious fertilizing
function. In the case of Hermes, one might argue which function is
prévalent; but in fact there is not much evidence for the fertilizing power
of the herm: herms are not set up in stables or folds, nor in the corn-
fields, and not necessarily in the bedroom.4 They stand in front of the
house, in the market place, at crossroads, and at the frontiers. The first
four-cornered stone herms were set up by Hipparchus, son of Pisistratus,
about 530 B.C. to serve as a kind of milestone.5 Thus we are left with the
‘apotropaic’ meaning; but who is to be kept away by such means, and
why? The indecencies rather catch the sight— and this is why they avert
the evil eye, Plutarch suggested; the Greeks normally found them just
‘laughable.’6
In fact I cannot find any real explanation before ethology observed7
that there are species of monkeys, living in groups, of whom the males
act as guards: they sit up at the outposts, facing outside and presenting
their erect génital organ. This is an ‘animal rim ai’ in the sense noted
above: the basie function of sexual activity is suspended for the sake of
communication; every individual approaching from the outside will
notice that this group does not consist of helpless wives and children,
but enjoys the full protection of masculinity.
W ith man, at least in the more civilized areas of the historical epoch,
there is only the artifact left, instead of real action.8 Still its symbolism,
its signal function, was understood even by those who called it ‘apotro­
paic.’ People consciously or unconsciously know what this action of dis­
play means: a démonstration which transmits a message of potency in its
double sense. Thus the position of the herms at the entrance of the house,
at crossroads, and at boundaries is explained at once. Even the herms of
Hipparchus, set up midway between the village and the agora, while
exhibiting moral epigrams, marked the territory of the tyrant. Cimon’s
victory at Eion in Thrace was commemorated by three herms with epi­
grams at the Athenian agora, whence the ‘Stoa of the Herms’ drew its
The Persistence of Ritual 41
name. A contemporary picture of the Pan painter shows the three as if
enjoying their own indecency.9 Some décades later, feelings of uneasi-
ness seem to arise: by-and-by herms cease to be ithyphallic. But in the
world of Cimon this had still been basically the monument, which draws
attention and may commemorate a victory.
It is not only the phallic sign that belongs to Hermes, but also the
pile of stones; in fact his name ‘Hermes’ is derived from it: hérma is just
a stone set up, hence Hermâas or Hermâon. 10 This interrelation is ex­
plicable precisely from the signal function of both phallus and stone:
piling up stones is an elementary form of leaving marks. In the Alps
there is a pile of stones at the summit of nearly every mountain, and
whoever climbs it feels himself irresistibly drawn to rebuild or enlarge
the pile; thus Greek wanderers used to add a stone to a Hermes p ile.11
This is erecting a monument, telling to anyone passing that here is a
décisive spot and somebody has been here before. The ten thousand
Greeks with Xenophon spontaneously began to pile up a huge stone-
heap where they had first caught a glimpse of the sea; Xenophon says
nothing about any god or daemon invoked, though ox hides, sticks, and
shields were set up as votive gifts;12 such ‘dedications’ too are démon­
stration, and the whole monument was to mark the passage from a
desperate past to a hopeful future. The power is neither in the phallus
nor in the stone; they are signs conveying a message of potency. In
mythical terms, Hermes is just the messenger of Zeus.
There is still another form of setting marks: libation.13 Libation, cere-
moniously pouring out liquids, plays an overwhelming rôle throughout
Near Eastern and Mediterranean religion; it has even been suggested
that the word ‘god’ is to be traced to this act.14 Usually libation is, with-
out any question, taken to be some ‘offering,’ some gift presented to a
divine or daemonic power.15 Still there are serious difficulties in this
view. Libation is quite a peculiar way of ‘giving’: you pour out wine on
the soil, and there it stays: How are the gods in heaven to get any of it?
Mycenaeans and Greeks tried to évadé this problem by putting a libation
bowl into the hand of the god, or by pouring libations into the fire on
the altar; but this is secondary, as especially Hittite evidence shows;16
and the Greek god with the libation bowl in his hand, as if pouring
offerings to himself, becomes a new problem of interprétation.17 There
42 The Persistence of Ritual
are ritual texts of the Hittites with long series of libations: “once for the
hearth, once for the shields, once for the window, once for the window
boit, once beside the window,” and so on. There is no mention of gods
or spirits. The crucial limits of the palace are marked and, as it were,
sealed, in a ritual averting, for example, a thunderstorm.18 Further-
more, there are libations of o il,19 which is not usually a drink for an-
thropomorphic beings. In fact oil is poured on spécial stones: there is
Nestor’s stone in front of the palace at Pylos, where he sits during
sacrifice; there is the ‘omphalôs’ at Delphi near the altar; there are stones
shining with oil at the crossroads.20 Stones for libation, huuaïi, are
prominent in Hittite ritual. In other civilizations, stones are smeared
with butter orgrease.21 One might say that oil libation is a ceremony of
anointing, performed on stones imagined as gods by primitive man. But
anthropomorphic gods are not anointed in Greece. Ancient texts are
ambiguous: Jacob sleeps at night in the desert where he dreams his
dream about the ladder reaching up to heaven, with angels descending
and ascending, whereupon in the morning he sets up a stone, pours oil
on it, and says: This is the house of God, Beth-el.22 God dwelling in
heaven, or in the stone, or being identical with the stone—Jacob is not
at ail obliged to decide between these mutually exclusive theologems;
what he does do is set up a mark, a monument which is to become a
cultic center forever. It is a fact that stains of oil on a stone remain visible
for quite a long time. In Greece, libations are especially common in the
cuit of the dead; this may be explained by the idea that the dead are
‘thirsty,’23 though the Greeks preferred to speak about a ‘bath.’24 But
there is no explicit explanation for the oil libations at the tombs to which
the funeral lekythoi bear impressive testimony. Still libations do leave
marks at the tomb, and it is by these marks that people see whether a
tomb is tended by relatives or not. The grave cuit is a signal communi-
cating the message that the family of the dead person is still alive and
flourishing.
Doubtless libation ceremonies hâve had a long évolution, from even
before the Bronze Age, and different actions may hâve become con-
flated. The element of giving away what cannot be taken back must not
be underrated; but the communicative function of leaving marks,
establishing centers or borders, especially in the case of pouring oil on
stones, is not negligible either. And once we adopt the biological
The Persistence of Ritual 43
perspective, we cannot overlook the fact that marking a territory by
pouring out liquids is a ‘ritual’ behavior quite common in mammals,
especially predators; we are ail familiar with the dog’s behavior at the
stone. To connect this with libation seems to be an outrageous joke—
which, incidentally, occurs in ancient literature.25 Once on the track,
however, one may find that beneath the level of highly developed civili-
zation even in twentieth-century folk customs there is ‘ritual behavior’
at frontiers or boundary stones quite similar to what the dog does.26 If
we are told that such behavior in mammals is directed toward “famil­
iar, conspicuous objects” as well as “novel objects,” if it is explained as
deriving from “autonomie responses to the unknown” and functioning
to maintain the animal’s familiarity with its environment,”27 the
similarity to libation ceremonies, from Hattusa to Delphi, seems to be
more than superficial. In fact divers species of mammals hâve evolved
spécial glands for scent marking; cultural évolution has supplied man
with utensils for similar functions.
Another, less embarrassing ritual is the carrying of branches in pro­
cession. This is quite common in Greek religion; we know of it in the
procession of mystai at Eleusis,28 and especially of the members of the
Bacchic thiasos— the th ym s is the stylized form of it;29 but the custom
was nearly ubiquitous in cuit. Often the worshiper, approaching an
altar or a statue of a god, takes up a branch, or a bundle of branches,
while praying;30 so do the m agi;31 and the Babylonian seer used to
wield a cedar staff at sacrifice.32 Now the pragmatic function of using a
twig is obvious: it is one of the simplest tools enlarging the force of the
arm and its radius of action; it may be used for aggression or at least
for keeping other people away, as we see maenads using their thyrsos
against greedy satyrs. The Roman flamen Dialis carried branches to
keep people off while going to sacrifice.33 Thus carrying a branch is a
general and évident sign of status and power. Still it is remarkable
that male chimpanzees in imposing display swing branches and even
break them from a tree and draw them along, stamping and howling.34
A Dionysiac thiasos moving through town, dancing, shouting, and
swinging branches— isn’t this too a display of energy, demonstrating
the power of the god?
But this is not the whole story about carrying branches. A branch is
ceremoniously carried by somebody pleading for peace or pardon, a
44 The Persistence of Ritual
The Persistence of Ritual 45
hikétes\ his twig is called hik etm a.35 It is taken from an olive tree and is
which is quite common, but hardly commented upon: touching the
draped with some wool. Tragédies gladly used this requisite, but it
knees— more exactly, the hollow of the knee— of the threatening part­
played its rôle in real life as well. Servius, commenting on Virgil, ex-
ner.42 This again means: Sit down, please, and relax. (See figs. 3, 4.)
plains the symbolism:36 oil and wool, both soft and mild, mean peace.
But why, then, the twig? One might refer to the twig as status Symbol,
giving even a minimum of practical safety. But the hiketëria is present- 3. THE DEMONSTRATIVE AND THE
ed and handed over to the lord who accepts the hikétes. It may seem to AS-IF ELEMENT IN RITUAL
be a joke again to point out that ethology knows of appeasement rit-
But let us get back from tempting associations to the
uals which consist exactly in handing over twigs, wool, and the like:
more general problems. The examples adduced prove, I think, that it
material for building nests, notably with birds.37 Yet in fact there is an
makes sense to look at human ritual from the viewpoint of biology,
important, though primitive construction in human civilization for
that it can be interpreted, even within a religious context, as an action
resting and feeling comfortable, made up of branches: the stibâs, as the
pattern redirected for démonstration, sometimes unaltered, sometimes
Greeks say, a bolster of fresh flexible branches to sit or lie on more
transformed into a purely symbolic action, or even into an artifact. We
comfortably than on the bare ground, a structure evidently older than
understand the sign as evolving from an original, pragmatic behavior,
the invention of chairs and beds. There are quite a number of Greek cuits
and retaining its meaning even through some shifts of emphasis.
where the attendants hâve to make a stibâs to rest on for the sacrificial
This is not to say that ail rituals or even the major part of them
feast, in the open air or in primitive huts constructed for the occasion,
go back directly to an animal level. Continuous tradition cannot be
without houses and house furniture. Examples are the Thesmophoria,
proved. It is true that there are empirical observations of a quite aston-
the Hyacinthia, the Hera festival at Samos, or the Dionysia.38 The gods,
ishing persistence of ritual, even in details, across some hundreds or
too, when invited, get their stibâs; this is especially developed in Indo-
even thousands of years; but any tradition may break down. If some
Iranian religion; the Iranian mâgos approaches the altar with the bundle
details of sacrificial ritual can be traced back to the early Paleolithic
of twigs in his hand and then perforais his ceremony ‘in front of the
period,1 still there would be millions of years of évolution separating
branches spread out,’39 and still more familiar is this sacrificial bed of
man from even his nearest relative, the chimpanzee. Among our exam­
twigs or grass in India.40 We find a similar ritual described in the Oedipus
ples, some continuity of ritual from ape to man may be assumed in the
at Colonus, for appeasing the Eumenides: the sacrificer has to çome with
case of handling branches; in the other cases, this is impossible. Phallic
t twenty-seven olive branches, he has to crown the mixing bowl with
démonstration to mark frontiers is not to be found among the apes,
wool, then pour out the libation and lay down his twigs at the spot,
who live in the trees, but with farther relatives who hold territories.
while praying silently.41
Still ethology is not bound to the hypothesis of direct hereditary trans­
To sum up: we hâve, on a practical level, the action of preparing a
mission; the same communicative function may evolve again and again
stibâs, which is older than the Bronze Age thrônos, and still preserved
from a similar stock of behavioral patterns; what ethology supplies is
in Greek cuit; and we hâve, transformed into communication, the dé­
not homology, but an analogy which is of heuristic, not of probative
position of branches for gods on the one side, and the symbolism of
value; it opens up a way for understanding without pushing us.
the hiketma on the other. He who rests on a stibâs gives up ail tension
It is by using this analogy that one feature of ritual, including reli­
and aggressiveness. Stretching out the suppliant’s branch then means:
gious ritual, is brought to light which has often been overlooked or
Lord, let me préparé the bed for you on which you may rest. Sitting or
even intentionally obscured: the element of démonstration, of display.
lying down to rest is also the meaning of an ancient appeasement ritual
It has been a dogma that a truly religious man does not care about ap-
46 The Persistence of Ritual The Persistence of Ritual 47

Figure 3
Dolon Pleading for His Life. Gem from the Blakas Collection, British
Museum, no. 444. (G. M. A. Richter, TheEngravedGems oftheGreeks, Etruscans
and Romans, II [London 1971] no. 298. Reproduced by courtesy of the Trustees
of the British Museum.) See II 2 n. 42.
pearances, about what people will say, that he is alone with his god. At
the same time the term Propaganda was coined by the Catholic church,
and this is no coincidence. Every believer is in constant touch with
other believers, he is disdainfully or painfully aware of his différence Figure 4
Prisoners in Bangladesh, Pleading for Their Lives. News photograph.
from nonbelievers. Even the hermit in the desert is visited by admirers
{London D aily Express, December 20, 1971; Time, January 3, 1972, p. 33.)
and exercises his influence by way of these contacts. Ail the more ritual See II 2 n. 42.
actions performed in common are communicative in function, and vir-
48 The Persistence of Ritual
tually constitute the identity of the group. And since man is conscious
of himself, there is even a reassuring effect in self-demonstration.
In an age of linguistics, ritual may well be called a kind of language.
There are already attempts to analyze ritual in terms of grammar, of
syntax and semantics.2 Before pressing the analogy, however, one has
to take account of the fundamental différence from verbalized language
as to the relation of 'signifiant’ and 'signifie', the behavioral pattern
which serves as a sign is not ‘arbitrary,’ but derives from some prag-
matic fonction which it may still perform at the same time; thus the
message communicated is inseparably bound to it. There is even a cer­
tain stock of innate patterns which are universally understandable, such
as expressions of menace and submission, of joy and mourning. It is
possible to speak of a ‘syntax of rituals’ in so far as rituals can be com-
bined, one following the other, or ‘embedded,’ one stopping while an-
other is performed.3 But as for the single ritual, there is not a ‘deep
structure’ to manifest itself in multiple and varying ‘sentences,’ but
an invariable sequence which must go on from beginning to end. A
lengthy and complex pattern thus may contain just one piece of in­
formation; the sign seems to be much more complicated than the mes­
sage. Still the message may be so important that it repays the invest-
ment.
The message transmitted seems to be concerned mainly with the
solidarity of the group and the exclusion of others. It is easy to see why
ritual in this sense, and especially religious ritual, should be ‘good for
the group. ’ That religion seems to bear rather a high survival value for
the pious community has been said long ago.4 The more modem vari­
ant of Darwinism, however, has radically questioned the concept of
‘group sélection,’ claiming that biologically there is nothing but sélec­
tion of ‘selfish genes.’5 It is granted, though, that a totally new way of
évolution has been opened with human civilization, cultural transmis­
sion superseding genetic propagation; and still as long as the innova­
tion remains confined to biologically conditioned human beings, there
is continuity even in change.
If culture is basically a complex sign System, dominated by the latest
invention, verbalized speech, it is a truism that communication présup­
posés a community, and persistence of culture among mortal individuáis
nécessitâtes methods of transmission across the génération gap. The
The Persistence of Ritual 49
more stable Systems are evidently those which do not rely on chance
imitation,6 but organize their ownperpétuation by enforcing the mies of
the game on the young through éducation in the largest sense, and by
providing occasions for démonstrative rehearsal. And this seems to be
the very place for ri tuai, the reason why it has risen to paramount
importance in aboriginal human society, as an exercise in conformity
maintaining the stability of the System. This fonction of ritual has been
analyzed pertinently ever since Emile Durkheim.7 It is, unfortunately,
severely limited by space: only people who will corne together physi-
cally at least once in their lifetime can undergo its effects. Thus human
community has long ago split into antagonistic groups, competing for
the resources available. There is no questioning the fact that groups are
much more successfol in these conflicts than any individual, encroach-
ing upon each other and ousting the adversary in an incessant process
commonly called history— of which some scientists are, or prétend to
be, blissfolly ignorant. Nothing approaching biological equilibrium has
been attained in the past ten thousand years. But those Systems which
attained relative stability over a period of time and are called definite
‘civilizations’ on account of this owe their success, the maintenance of
their identity, to group solidarity reinforced by ritual. Whether the
fonctioning of the System should be explained by a social contract, a
‘conspiracy’ of the honest participants, or by a chance set of rules amount-
ing to a kind of ‘evolutionarily stable strategy’8 is another question.
At any rate, rituals belong to the strongest éléments of cultural trans­
mission.
It is true that psychoanalysis speaks of individual, private rituals,9
patterns of compulsive behavior, and ethology knows of similar cases of
private ‘superstitions’ in animais, induced mostly by some terrifying
expérience.10 It seems to be a psychological mechanism that anxiety,
caused by some traumatic event, may be overcome by what is called
traumatic répétition.11 There is a tendency to repeat successfol patterns
as well, as an anxiety-reducing strategy. Still this concept of private
ritual, of individual idiosyncrasies, is to be kept apart from that of
ritual proper, which is socialized and communicative. The stereotypy
of behavior occurs in each, but the highly social fonction of the one is
missing in the other. It is possible that a single terrifying event may
provoke certain avoidances; they become ‘ritual’ in the general sense if,
50 The Persistence of Ritual
and only if, they are transmitted to other persons, and to further génér­
ations, who seldom or never w ill share the same expérience; this can
only be done by démonstrative action inviting imitation. Thus the ob­
servations about prívate idiosyncrasies tell us something about the
dynamics of ritual, and possibly about the ‘etymology’ of single traits,
but do not invalídate the basic définition.
This draws attention, however, to the fact that anxiety is involved in
many human rituals, and one might be tempted to make this the
définition of religious ritual. In many languages, the terms for ‘reli­
gion’ imply an expression of ‘fear,’ including Greek eusébeia,12 whereas
religio means just ‘observance.’ 13 “Awe” has been called “the funda­
mental religious feeling.” 14 Any omission or alteration of religious
rimai is liable to provoke grievous anxiety. At the same time many
religious rituals seem intentionally, and artificially, to produce the at­
mosphère of awe,15 using ail the registers of darkness, fire, blood, and
death. What happens, then, is a concentration and shift of anxiety
from reality to a symbolic sphere, and this makes it possible to handle
anxiety to some extent.16 There are so many things that scare primitive
man, and not the primitive alone: hunger, predators, enemies, sick-
ness.17 It is the uniquely human ability of foresight and anticipation of
the future that is bound to raise anxiety to unprecedented levels. If
this were to resuit in dépréssion and despair, it would simply be fatal.
Religious ritual, by producing anxiety, manages to control it. It is just
the stereotypy of the sequence which guarantees that the action w ill not
end up in hopelessness, but reach the prescribed end, and thus présents
a model of how to overeóme. There must be Easter after Good Friday,
and the more gloomy the one, the more brilliant the other. Even feel-
ings of pollution and guilt become manageable, as highly artificial
taboos are set up with expiatory ritual in the background to make up
for each transgression. And as anxiety tends to draw a group together,
group solidarity is ail the more established by the expérience and per­
formance of anxiety overeóme.
If we can explain in this way the development and function of ritual,
even in religious contexts, to a large extent without recurring to ‘ideas’
or ‘beliefs,’ still it remains true that there is no religion, and not even
the most primitive human society, without language; thus a satisfac-
tory définition of religion, and religious ritual, cannot be made with-
The Persistence of Ritual 51
out referring to language which dénotés some extrahuman entity, the
Power, the Numinous, the Divine, the Spirit, the God. But the bio-
logical analogy is not yet done with; it has still some bearing even on
the question of ‘symbolism.’
Ritual has been defined as an action redirected to serve for commu­
nication. There is consequently an element of ‘as if’ even in a n i m a l
ritual. Those graylags of Konrad Lorenz cry triumphantly ‘as if ’ they
had just chased ofiF a rival, having launched an attack at a nonexistent
interloper.18 At Phigalia in Arcadia, the priest of Demeter, wearing
the mask of the goddess, takes a rod and 'thrashes those from under the
earth. 19 The pious Muslim, during the hadj, has to throw six stones
toward two ancient stone-heaps; this is to hit the devil, they say.20
The superstitious man throws three stones where a weasel has crossed
the road,21 to chase not the real animal, but the evil it may portend.
The Incas once a year, armed and shouting, would drive off ‘ail the
evils’ toward the four points of the compass.22 In European folk custom
— still alive in some smaller towns and villages of central Switzerland
— there are days in winter or spring when the youngsters assemble to
crack their whips throughout the community, or to ring bells ail
around the stables and the wells.23 Folklorists will tell them that ‘orig-
inally’ they believed— with Tylor— that the purpose was to drive away
witches or evil spirits by this noise, or— with Mannhardt— that it was
to wake the sleeping végétation. The ancients spoke about men chasing
away wolves with whips, lykôorgoi, luperci24—-this would indeed be a
pragmatic, unritualized function of such a behavior. But the ritual does
not need wolves, as it does not need strong belief in spirits of any kind.
People hâve now been losing their belief in evil spirits for some cen­
turies, but they perform the ritual for the sake of tradition and just for
fitn— and this is not a form void of content: it serves its communicative
purpose as before, independent of beliefs; the important thing for the
youngsters is to be in the group and to display their strength to the
eyes and ears of the others.25 In a deeper sense the imposing display
may help to overcome private anxieties and tensions; Konrad Lorenz
has shown that the shiver of awe and enthusiasm which we feel running
down our back in exaltation is the relie of the nerves and muscles
which raise the hair on the ape’s back and arms.26 Reflex, and ritual,
functions ‘as if’ there were an adversary for the sake of imposing dis­
52 The Persistence of Ritual
play and aggression. Language, and especially myth, gives a name to
this imaginary partner. But even in Greek mythology, which goes to
extremes in personalizing superhuman forces, the beings toward whom
apotropaic’ rimai is directed remain remarkably vague.
4. FIRST-FRUITS OFFERINGS
Much more important than ‘apotropaic’ is sacrificial
ritual. According to the serious and outspoken belief of the Greeks and
the whole Near Eastern and Mediterranean world, sacrifice is a way to
deal with gods.1 There are, though, at least two major forms of ‘sacri­
fice’ which must be kept distinct: offerings of food, especially first
fruits, aparchai, prim itiae, ‘prémices,’ on the one side,2 and animal
sacrifice on the other. The offerings of aparchai were considered by the
Greeks to be the simplest and most basic form of uncorrupted piety;3
and the great and pious anthropologist Father Wilhelm Schmidt con-
curred, trying to prove in his monumental work Der Ursprung der
Gottesidee that the offering of premices was the oldest and the basic act
of religion and that it implied a belief in one good, father-like God
right at the beginnings of humanity.4 Still the inferred belief and the
observable ritual show discrepancies. Granted that offerings of prem­
ices are nearly ubiquitous in primitive religion, it is astonishing to see
that it is quite irrelevant to whom and how these offerings are made. In
Greece, they may be given to any god; in general, such gifts may be
deposited at some holy place where they décomposé or fall a prey to
animais, to strangers and Outcasts, or they may be annihilated, most
commonly by immersion in springs, ponds, rivers, or the sea—a prac­
tice attested since the later Paleolithic Age5— or, in a more spectacular
way, they may be burned. It was a change inaugurating dass society and
high culture when these offerings were given to the temple, that is, to
the priests, in Mesopotamia and in Egypt. There is no direct corrélation
with beliefs; wine for the Olympian gods is poured on the ground.6 The
important thing is that the ‘offerings’ are definitely withdrawn from the
compétence of ordinary man.
Is there a way to explain this by the model used here, as action re-
directed for démonstration? The action concerned is simply ‘to give,’ a
most basic human behavior though hardly innate: every child has to
The Persistence of Ritual 53
learn it at an early age. The most elementary level of ‘giving’ is sharing
food— a practice unknown to apes except for the carnivorous feasts
of chimpanzees;7 it had to evolve in the most primitive human society,
when the males specialized in common hunting while the females were
left tending the fire and the children. Still human ‘giving’ is more than
accidentai sharing, it involves the dimension of time: man gives some-
thing to another person in the expectation of getting something in re­
turn in the foreseeable future, or he gives back because he has received
something in the past. In premodern, precapitalistic societies giving
and giving back evolved to form a most important and complex system
of communication, transforming nearly every human relationship into
an exchange of gifts.8 Giving thus is équivalent to a ‘grudger’s strat-
egy’ (in the terms of sociobiology) which tends to be ‘evolutionarily
stable’;9 it definitely is a most effective method for organizing social
collaboration, and for coping with the future.
Gift sacrifice is ritualized giving in a context of anxiety. There oc-
curs, in the quest for food, a typical anxiety of success. With animais,
any successful individual will see others rushing at him,10 he may be
attacked and chased by a stronger one, and abandoning the prey will be
the only way to avoid catastrophe. Established social hiérarchies may
prevent fighting, but they are not immutable. In human societies,
however, demonstrative abandoning or giving away will secure some
empty space for the possessor of goods, to prevent the clash of greedi-
ness. This is the message of the ‘offering of first fruits’: neither the
precious Ego11 nor any human competitor is to get the first fruit, or
the first calf born, or even the most beautiful virgin of the year. Alex­
ander the Great, in the Gedrosian desert, reacted spontaneously in this
way when he poured the one helmet filled with water into the sand:
nobody could drink—and this resuscitated the soldiers’ solidarity and
hope; David, in a similar situation, poured out the water “before
Jahwe”; 12 thus abandoning became sacrifice. The social function of the
act is evident, the avoidance of fight in a species whose killing poten­
tial has risen to most dangerous levels with the invention of arms. So­
cial order is maintained by giving away. No wonder it is the pater
fa m ilia s , 13 the chief, the king, who most emphatically performs the
offerings of premices. As language gets involved, it will denote and
name the unassailableprinceps, ‘he who takes first,’ beyond the human
54 The Persistence of Ritual
level. Anxiety is transformée!: Don’t be too anxious to get, don’t be
too anxious about losing, be anxious to give and you will get your due.
At the same time, as abandoning turns into conscious giving, man’s
anxiety about the future is both aroused and pacified. There is always
reason for frightening anticipations, there is no guarantee for the out-
come of the next hunt, or of the crops growing in the fields. Fore-
shadowing future problems at the moment of success, redirected giv­
ing, démonstrative offering, will transform anxiety into expectation, as
if there were a partner subject to the unbreakable rule of giving and
giving back: a ‘master of animais,’ a god of végétation,’ a ‘lord of life.’
And once established, it will seem most perilous to violate or even
test the cycle of mu tuai exchange. On the contrary, language w ill spell
out the contract of do ut des, or rather quod dedisti, do ut des. ‘Give, as I
gave’: these are the terms of ancient prayer.14 More advanced morality
has been trying to overcome or sublimate the unabashed selfishness of
this act of piety, without too much success. Expectation of ‘reciprocal
altruism’ definitely is a strategy for one’s own good.15 Still presuppos-
ing, as it does, some guarantee of universal stability, it may daim to
be called ‘religious’ even in a deeper sense.
5. THE EVOLUTION OF
ANIMAL SACRIFICE
Animal sacrifice, the other species of sacrificial ritual,
is basically ritual slaughter, as Karl Meuli has shown, with the feast
ensuing. The original, pragmatic action is hunting and killing for
food.1 That a descendant of apes took to hunting surely was one dé­
cisive step in the évolution of humanity, implying, as it does, the use
of weapons and of fire, the adoption of an upright position suitable for
running, and différentiation of the sexes, with the male supporting the
family.2 These were qui te new obligations, while the use of weapons
brought the danger of self-extinction to the species from the start. It
was through ritual restrictions that these problems were overcome,
rituals that in some form or other persisted wherever civilizations of
primitive hunters survived. Rituals of this kind surround, as it were,
the hunt proper with bloodshed and killing; paying respect to the vic-
tim, they prescribe certain forms of purification and of atonement be-
The Persistence of Ritual 55
fore and after hunting. One characteristic feature is collecting the
bones, especially the thighbones, of the victim and depositing them in
some holy place, and setting the skull of the animal on a tree or on a
pôle; this is attested since the Paleolithic period3 and it forms the cen-
ter of Greek sacrificial practice: burning thighbones on the altar, meria
kaiein, and setting up boukrania to mark a sanctuary or an altar. To ex-
plain this practice by language, one may speak of ‘giving back’ the ani­
mal to some supernatural owner, to tell a myth about how an animal
sprang from the collected bones, new and alive;4 sometimes the hide is
spread out and stuffed, so that the animal seems indeed to be restored;
this too goes back to the Paleolithic period.5 By such means, anxiety
about the extinction of life is both aroused and overcome; these meth-
ods, these ritual restrictions, hâve proved more stable than rational
exploitation.
Hunting lost its basic function with the emergence of agriculture
some ten thousand years ago. But hunting ritual had become so impor­
tant that it could not be given up. Stability stayed with those groups
who managed to make use of the social and psychological appeal of the
ritual tradition by transforming, by redirecting, it until the whole
action became a ritual. As the pragmatic importance declined, the
symbolic value increased. At the Neolithic town of Çatal H'ùyük,6
about 6000 B.C., hunting wild cattle was practiced in ritual form and
in a religious context. Paintings show men ciad as léopards swarming
around the bull: evidently a group of priests or initiâtes who imítate
predators. Two léopards guard the Great Goddess enthroned at Çatal
Hüyùk,7 while the horns of the hunted bulls are set up in ‘sanctuaries’
where a large clay figure of a naked goddess is attached to the wall,
her legs outspread, giving birth to animais. The sacred place is marked
by transferring thereto the relies of hunting: giving back, setting up
the horns as a guarantee of new life, which can only corne from birth.
Thus death is no ultímate menace; the bones of the dead are buried in
these sanctuaries, beneath the horns, beneath the goddess. The sé­
quence of hunting ritual, delibérate death for the maintenance of life,
with ail the anxiety of bloodshed aroused and appeased by symbolic
restoration, helps to overcome the real anxiety of death.
W ild cattle became extinct among the Neolithic farmers; in the
place of game, domesticated animais were introduced into the ritual.8
56 The Persistence of Ritual
With this step animal sacrifice proper had evolved. The rituals of puri­
fication and atonement surrounding the slaughter could persist nearly
unchanged; they could be stressed to mark the passage to and from a
sacred center: rites of ‘sacralization’ and ‘desacralization. ’ The hunting
situation was sometimes artificially restored by claiming that the vic-
tim was a ‘wild’ animal: an ox who had not been used for plowing; or
the bull was set free to be caught again.9 Still man could handle and
manipúlate the domesticated animal as he wished; thus the action be-
came a stately and solemn ceremony, where the victim was expected to
go to the altar as if of its own free w ill.10 And since domesticated ani­
mais are part of human property, sacrifice now meant giving away some
part of prívate property for general consumption; animal sacrifice, at
this step, becarne an ‘offering,’ to be combined with offerings of the
other kind, gifts of food and libation. These usually surrounded the
awe-inspiring center: the slaughter of the victim.
A further step of ritualization was to substitute other kinds of food
for the animal: bread for méat, and wine for blood.11 This probably
goes back at least to the Bronze Age. The symbolic value is raised once
more; the feelings of guilt expressed in the old rituals of atonement
are stated at their extremes by myths telling about killing and eating a
god. Its latest and most sublime form appears in Christian ritual.
I shall not discuss this in detail. Suffice it to summarize: In animal
sacrifice we find a paleolithic, basically human action pattern, hunting
for food, evolving more and more from pragmatic to symbolic level,
while preserving characteristic features in striking detail, and preserv-
ing, too, a message and a function. It established coopération and soli-
darity by some kind of shared guilt, by traumatic répétition of blood-
shed and killing; it tells and visibly demonstrates that Life is unique,
but not autonomous; it must accept death in order to perpetúate itself.
6. MYTH AND RITUAL
In conclusion, let us come back to the problem of
‘myth and ritual.’ Aftet ail that has been said, it seems clear that they
are close to, but not necessarily dépendent upon, each other. There are
myths— not merely traditional taies, but myths applied, with social
function and relevance1—-which are told and retold without ritual.
The Persistence of Ritual 57
This is true of certain ‘charter myths’; there was not by any necessity a
cuit of Hellen and Ion in Greece, it sufficed to tell myths about an an-
cestor of Hellmes or Innés. There are, on the other hand, qui te a lot of
rituals without a corresponding myth, in Greece as elsewhere.2 Still
there is not only some similarity of function, since both myth and
ritual are means of communication, promoting mutual understanding
and solidarization. (Myth’ means telling a taie with suspended reference,
structured by some basically human action pattern; ritual is stereotyped
action redirected for démonstration] Thus both are dépendent on action
programs, both are detached from pragmatic reality, both serve com­
munication; taie structures seemed to be prefigured in a sériés of impér­
atives,3 and the impérative has also been called the stabilizing form of
ritual.4 Ritual is older, since it occurs even in animais; but this does not
mean that myth necessarily originates in ritual: taies are direct elemen-
tary verbalizations of human actions. The pattern called ‘the girl’s
tragedy’ can be interpreted as reflecting initiation rituals; but these, in
turn, are démonstrative accentuations of biologically programed crises,
menstruation, défloration, pregnancy, and birth.® The evidence for a
ritual counterpart of the dragon fight is tenuous; the dragon is just the
idéal crystallization of a rôle provided by the combat taie.6 The motif of
the ‘magical flight’7 cannot be spotted in ritual, and still is one of the
most widespread motifs of folktales; it may be based directly on a
biological program, too. The roots of the taies go back to verbalized
action, whether ritualized or not.
Nevertheless myth and ritual can form an alliance for mutual bene-
fit, indeed a symbiosis, as lichens are formed by a symbiosis between
algae and fungi: they are propagated separately, but they nearly form a
new species which may give a whole wood its unforgettable character;
they become extinct, though, in polluted air. To speak without alle-
gory: The defect of ritual, in a human society, is the apparent nonsense
inhérent in its redirection of activity, the ‘as-if’ element; here a taie
may supply a plausible context and fill the vacant places. The defect of
the traditional taie is its lack of seriousness and stability; here ritual
may supply a basis; for the serious character of ritual is guaranteed by
the rôle of anxiety controlled by it, and its stability is secured even by
explicit sanctions.
Thus— to take an example— a taie about a girl throwing herself
58 The Persistence of Ritual
into the sea, or being abducted by a god, may be moving, but hardly
more; an age-old sacrifice by immersion may appea'r exacting and non- III.
sensical at the same time. It is their combination, myth restating ritual,
that transforms compulsive répétition into conscious vénération, be it Transformations of
Leucothea8 who jumped into the sea in utmost distress and became a
water-goddess, or Persephone transferred through the Cyane spring to
the Scapegoat
the throne of the nether world,9 or Amymone who was wooed by a
god of waters and dissolved into a spring.10
And it was in this way that the complex of myth and ritual, though 1. ERYTHRA1, HITTITES, AND DEVOTIO
not indissoluble, became a major force in forming ancient cultures, When in a .D. 161 once again a war broke out be-
and, as it were, dug those deep vales of human tradition in which even tween Rome and Parthia, and the Emperor Lucius Verus, adoptive
today the streams of our expérience w ill tend to flow. brother of the more famous Marcus Aurelius, marched east with his
army to fight the enemy, many of the intellectuals of those days who
most appropriately called themselves sophists felt seized by patriotic
fits, and they ofFered their not too modest contributions to paper war-
fare.1 Among them, an otherwise obscure Polyaenus dedicated to the
emperor a collection of strategems in eight books.2 This work probably
did neither good nor harm in a war of which the main effect was to
bring a disastrous plague from the orient to the empire, but it has sur-
vived, whereas so much of more important literature has perished; and
some chapters contain details of ancient history not transmitted any-
where else.
One of these chapters has a story about the foundation of Ionian
Erythrae in Asia Minor, an event to be dated about 1000 B.c.; it is
supposed in this text that there were ‘Cretans’ in the place before the
Ionians, and it is tempting to relate them to the traces of Minoan-
Mycenaean influence in Bronze Age Asia Minor,3 though the name
may just stand for ‘Carians.’ Polyaenus writes: “When the Ionians
came to colonize Asia, Cnopus, from the family of Codrus, made war
on those who held Erythrae”— the ‘Cretans.’ “The god gave him an
oracle that he should get the priestess of Enodia from Thessaly as his
general. And he sent an embassy to Thessaly and informed them about
the oracle; they sent him Chrysame, the priestess of the goddess; she
was an expert in drugs. She took the biggest and finest bull from the
herd, had his horns gilded and his body adorned with fxllets and purple
cloths stitched with gold; and she mixed into his food a drug which
provokes madness, and made him eat it. The drug drove the bull mad,

59
 Transformations of the Scapegoat
60
and would drive mad also whoever ate from him. Now the enemy was
encamped on the opposite side. The priestess set up an altar and imple-
ments for sacrifice in full view of the enemy, and gave order to lead
the bull along. But the bull, driven mad by the drug and filled with
frenzy, madę a sally and fled toward the enemy, bellowing loudly. The
enemy, when they saw a bull with gilded horns, adorned with fillets,
hurrying from the sacrifice of the adversaries toward their own camp,
took this to be a good sign and an omen of good fate; they seized him,
sacrificed him to the gods, and eagerly ate his méat, each of them, as if
partaking of a demonie or divine sacrament. At once the whole army
rose in a State of madness and insanity: they jumped up, ran hither and
thither, began to dance, left their posts. When Chrysame saw this, she
told Cnopus to call his army to arms at once and to lead them against
the enemies, who were unable to defend themselves. And thus Cnopus
killed them and became master of Erythrae, a big and prosperous
city.”4
Neither historians nor philologists seem to hâve wasted much
thought on this apparently silly story; it is not even mentioned in the
Pauly-Wissowa article on Erythrae; nor has Chrysame or even Cnopus
got an entry in this encyclopedia.5 The witch from Thessaly and her
psychedelic drug seem to be incidents of romance taken right out of
Apuleius, the more amusing contemporary of Polyaenus. Not even spe-
cialists in religion hâve dealt with the ritual performed by the priestess
of Enodia. For it is some kind of ritual that is clearly described here: to
select a victim, to adom it, and to drive it toward the enemies to be
killed by them; this ensures the success of one’s own side. But there is
good reason to take this ritual seriously. In fact it appears, in a practi-
cally identical form, in H ittite texts6— which are some centuries earli-
er than the foundation date of Ionian Erythrae— and even in a Sanskrit
text.7 In the case of a pestilence, on the hypothesis that “some enemy
god has caused it ,” the Hittites proceed in the following manner:
“. . . they drive up one ram. They twine together blue wool, red wool,
yellow wool and white wool, make it into a crown and crown the ram
with it. They drive the ram on the road leading to the enemy and while
doing so they speak as follows”— a long prayer follows to appease
“whatever god of the enemy land has caused this plague”; then finally
“they drive the one crowned ram toward the enemy.” 8 The Hittite
Transformations of the Scapegoat 61
text especially draws attention to the elabórate adorning of the bull by
Chrysame: there are fillets, normally of white wool, there are purple
clothes and gold; there is wool of four colors in the Hittite text. In
another Hittite text, a ritual prescribed by another wise man for a
similar occasion of plague, they take one ram for every commander,
adorned in a similar fashion, and for the king, one woman, ornamented
with rings and jewels. They drive them on the road toward the ene­
mies. “Whatever evil has been with the men, cattle, sheep, horses,
mules, or donkeys of this camp, these rams, behold, and the woman
hâve carried it away from the camp; the country which accepts them
shall take this evil plague,” the prayer piously says.9
There are différences between the Hittite rituals and what Chrysame
the Thessalian witch does at Erythrae: a ram, or rams, and a woman, as
against a bull; a plague as against a war. But the plague is evidently
experienced as a hostile force, as it is explicitly traced to the wrath of
some god of the enemy land, and the enemies are to take the evil and
die, just as the adversaries of Cnopus. The war situation occurs also in
the Indian ritual: the priests suggest driving a sheep toward the hostile
army, which, surprisingly enough, should cause ‘anxiety’ and ‘confu­
sion’ there.10 Thus we hâve, in three different though historically con-
nected civilizations, a comparable situation of threat and anxiety, we
hâve the same action pattern of selecting, adoming, and driving away,
and the message communicated by the action pattern is identical:
transference of evil, salvation of one’s own side at the expense of the
enemy’s.
It may be of interest for historians to realize that there is a réminis­
cence of Bronze Age ritual preserved in Polyaenus’ story. No doubt he
was using a good and relatively ancient source, some local historian of
Erythrae. 11 Of course we cannot be sure that such a ritual was in fact
performed at the conquest of Erythrae by Ionians. What matters is the
fact that there existed rituals of this kind which were thought to be
effective and which were preserved in orally transmitted taies. Once on
the track, we may discover immediately another reflection of such a
ritual in a much more famous narrative, in a late Bronze Age setting,
a sacred animal transferring doom to the enemies who accept it: the
Trojan horse. The Trojans take it to be an ágalm a, a beautiful votive
offering for Athéna,12 and they start drinking and feasting well into
62 Transformations of the Scapegoat
the night which is to be the last night of Troy. The epic tradition has
transformed the ‘spear-horse’ (doûrios bippos) into a wooden horse con-
taining real warriors. This is clearly a rationalization which makes the
Trojans even more stupid than the enemies of Cnopus. The drug of
Chrysame is another rationalization devised to explain the effect of the
ritual for a half-educated Greek public. The Hittites relied on prayer.
There is a third Greek parallel, pointing to the same level of the end
of the Bronze Age and concerning the father of Cnopus, King Codrus
of Athens. The story is attested since the fifth Century and was popular
in the fourth;13 it brings out the deeper human dimensions of the
stränge procedure, ^i^hen the Dorians invaded Attica, possibly at the
end of the twelfth Century, King Codrus voluntarily dressed up as a
slave, went out of the city toward the enemies, mingled with the
Dorian troops, and managed to get killed in a brawl. There had been
an oracle predicting that the Dorians could not conquer Athens if they
killed Codrus. Thus, when they learned what had happened, they
abandoned the war, and Attica remained the non-Dorian center of
mainland Greece, in contrast to Dorianized Boeotia and Megara. It is
not important in our perspective to know for certain whether this myth
was much older than Pherecydes of Athens, our oldest witness, and
whether it contains genuine Athenian tradition. It is at any rate a
“myth” according to our définition, a taie structured by a sequence of
actions, applied to facts of common importance: there is a family of
Medontidai, claiming descent from Athenian kings, there is the fact
that Athens, in contrast to Sparta, is not a monarchy, and that, in
contrast to its neighbors, it is free from Dorian admixture; there was
even a sanctuary of Codrus.14 The taie explains the end of monarchy
and the setback of the Dorians by making the last Athenian king a
victim for the sake of community: monarchy transformed into sacrifice;
this could be called a foundation myth of the Greek polis. But the taie
itself is dominated by the same stränge mechanism of reversai we found
in the other legends, and in Hittite ritual.
To sum up: what is common to Codrus’ noble death and to the
machinations of the Thessalian witch, as well as to certain rituals, is a
release situation of anxiety, a sequence of actions, and their effect or, to
put it in terms of communication, the message of anxiety annihilated.
Transformations of the Scapegoat 63
The actions involved are: sélection, investiture, and expulsion of the
victim to be ‘accepted’ and destroyed by some hostile force. The ‘in­
vestiture’ is ambivalent, adornment for the animal or the ‘woman,’
slave’s clothes for the king. Both mark the transformation from a pre-
vious normal’ State among the others to the status of a victim singled
out and left alone. Why its annihilation is so effective remains mysteri-
ous. Greek taies offer different rationalizations, the drug or the Tro-
jan horse, whereas the Codrus story simply introduces an inscrutable
oracle.
If we look at Rome, we find the animal ritual of Cnopus and the
heroic myth of Codrus combined, as it were, in the ritual of devotio. 15
The self-sacrifice of P. Decius Mus in 340 B.c. seems to hâve become a
kind of heroic myth itself, obscuring the normal procedure which Livy
still mentions: the consul or dictator may choose any soldier who is a
citizen and legally drafted; this man must speak the formula of devotio,
unarmed, while stepping on a spear, with veiled head, touching his
chin with his hand. This gesture is evidently the opposite of a normal
soldier s pose— armed, fiercely staring, aggressively stretching forth
the chin, brandishing arms. The ‘devoted’ soldier is then expected to
rush against the enemy, taking up his arms, and to be killed; he may,
though, survive. In this case an effigy of superhuman dimension must
be buried instead, and an animal is slaughtered to purify him.
Livy, in his description of P. Decius Mus, compares him to an “ex-
piatory sacrifice for ail against the wrath of the gods, which transfers
the plague from his own side into the enemy’s”—Livy must indeed
know of rituals quite similar to the Hittite type. Wherever Decius
went, he says, terror spread among the enemy, “as if hit by a star which
brings about plague ; 16 and when he collapsed, the cohorts of the
enemy panicked and fled. This cornes remarkably close to the effect of
Chrysame’s frenzied bull. The divine agents remain in the dark. Ail the
gods are invoked, but both victim and the enemy are handed over to
the ‘Mânes’ and to ‘Earth,’ who are not formally addressed in prayer;
their names stand simply for the victim’s destination, to join the dead
beneath the earth. Details of the ritual prescription can be seen to be
typically Roman religio\ but there is a more general pattern behind it
which would be obscured by calling the procedure ‘simple magic’ and
 Transformations of the Scapegoat
64
assuming it to hâve arisen directly from primitive beliefs primitive
Romans may hâve held in primitive Rome. By the way, it may be typi-
cal that we find the pattern in myths or legends of the Greek, whereas
we encounter the ritual practice in Hittite and Roman sources.
2. SCAPEGOAT AND PH ARM AKÔS
The common pattern emerging from Hittite, Greek,
and Roman ritual and myth is of course a familiar one, that of the
‘scapegoat,’1 a term which has become so familiar that some may not
even remember that it goes back indeed to a ritual, described in the
Old Testament, of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Two goats are
handed ‘from the community’ to the priest as a purification sacrifice.2
The priest throws lots over the goats in the sanctuary, destining one
for Jahve, the other for Azazel. The one for Jahve is sacrificed in the
normal way, though with an elaborate ‘purifying’ blood ceremony; the
one for Azazel is placed alive in front of the temple, the high priest
puts both hands on the goat’s head and confesses the sins of Israël in
order to place the sins on the head of the goat; then the goat is handed
to a man who leads it away into the desert and leaves it there. Accord-
ing to Mishna tradition, a crimson thread was bound around the goat’s
horns; it was torn just before the goat was hurled down a ravine.3 Be-
fore coming back, the man must bathe himself and wash his clothes.
Nobody knows who Azazel is,4 and evidently this is utterly unim-
portant. The goat, to use Livy’s words, transfers the plague from one’s
own side to the other. Azazel stands for this ‘other’ side in opposition
to Jahve and his people, as the desert is the opposite of man’s fertile
fields, érga an th rop o n , as the Greeks say. The evil transferred is sin in
Leviticus, instead of the more concrète dangers of battle or plague in
the other instances. This is a major step of internalization of religion,
‘from shame culture to guilt culture,’5 but it still makes use of an ex-
ternal, ritual pattern which is much more general, and older.
It is well known that the Greek équivalent of the scapegoat is the
p h arm a k ô s .6 Though not as proverbial as the scapegoat, the p b arm akés
complex has attracted the attention of scholars for a long time, espe-
cially since there seems to emerge amid the heights of Greek civiliza-
Transformations of the Scapegoat 65
tion the nightmare of human sacrifice, and this at a festival of Apollo,
the Thargelia, a festival common to, and characteristic of, Ionians and
Athemans.7 The weirdest details are known from sixth-century Colo-
phon through the invectives of Hipponax of Colophon. Other evidence
cornes from Abdera as well as from classical Athens. At Colophon, an
especially répulsive person was chosen as p h arm a k ôs. After being given
a meal, he was whipped with figsprays and squills, and driven out of
town. Tzetzes says he was finally burned, but this may be a misunder-
standing.8 At Abdera they buy some poor devil for the purge; they
feed him well; on the day appointed he is led out of town, ail around
the walls of the city, and then chased across the frontier with stones.9
At Athens two ugly persons were chosen, garlanded with a string of
figs, and expelled as p h a rm a k o i, probably in a similar way.10 At Mar­
seilles a similar ritual was executed not yearly, but on special occasions,
such as the averting of a plague. Some poor man was well fed at the
public expense for one year, then he was adorned with sprigs, clad in
holy garments, led round around the town, and chased away.11 At
some other place, we are told, they pushed a young man down a cliff
and cried “May you become our off-scourings, ’’ peripsem a . 12
The Greeks unequivocally called this procedure ‘purification,’ k â -
th arsis. The individual driven away is called ‘offscourings,’ peripsem a , or
simply k à th a rm a . Thargelia is the festival of first fruits at the begin-
ning of harvest. It appears that the city must be ‘cleaned’ on this day,
as a réceptacle is cleansed to take in and store the new wealth or ‘life,’
htos, which cornes from the crops. At Chaeronea they drive out of doors
a slave who impersonates ‘hunger,’ B o û lim o s. 13 The word p h a rm a k ô s ,
however, though evidently related to p h a rm a k o n , ‘medicine,’ ‘drug,’ is
more mysterious. And the refuse’ expelled and chased away becomes
strangely ambivalent, as soon as we look at the myths which rightly
hâve been connected with the ritual: Codrus, though in slave’s clothes,
is the most noble king; and it is Oedipus of Thebes who has to undergo
the same appalling transformation on occasion of a plague: the brilliant
king is turned into abject refuse and driven out in order to save the
city.14 The p h arm akôs ritual turns out to be équivalent to a king’s
tragedy. The Aenianes in northern Greece used to drive out a bull
across the frontiers with a song telling him that he should never corne
66 Transformations of the Scapegoat
back, while there is a myth that the Aenianes stoned their king to
death on occasion of a disastrous drought.15
Scapegoat rituals, driving out of evil by means of animais or even
human beings, are reported from many parts of the world. The most
gruesome details from the collection in Frazer’s Golden Bougb appropri-
ately corne from Uganda.16 But let us keep to the ancient world. The
multiple dimensions of such a ‘purge’ are brought out in an Old Testa­
ment story which has justly been brought into connection with the
Thargelia, the story of David and the sons of Saul.17 There occurred a
drought for three years, with famine ensuing. David “enquired of the
Lord”: he consulted an oracle, just as Oedipus did at the time of the
plague in Thebes; and the answer in both cases was: there is blood guilt
in the city. The Hebrew oracle, though, was more explicit than the
god of Delphi, and named the ‘house of Saul,’ for Saul had years ago
treacherously murdered the Gibeonites. David was quick to take mea-
sures. He selected seven men of Saul’s progeny and handed them over
to the once hostile Gibeonites, who, as they were supposed to do,
killed them: “they hanged them in the hill before the Lord,” which is
to say, in a sanctuary of theirs; this was done “in the beginning of
barley harvest,” hence exactly at the time of the Thargelia. There fol-
lows a touching story how the mother of two of the killed, Rizpah,
kept watch at the corpses for weeks, until rain fell and they were finally
buried. The drought, as it seems, had corne to an end.
The story may be based on historical fact. Scholars, prone to suspi­
cion, hâve been probing the possibility that this was an abominable
trick of David’s ,18 a more than machiavellistic machination by which
he managed to get rid of seven potential rivais at a stroke. If he did
so, he was nevertheless using a preestablished pattern, a ritual, and the
adversaries, the Gibeonites, agreed to the rules of the game. We hâve
the situation of distress, the sélection of représentatives of the com-
munity who are sent off to perish by the enemy’s hand, with salvation
ensured by the procedure. There is a permutation of rôles as to the
adversary; the threat of famine is replaced by the factual cruelty of
enemies. In a similar way, plague and enemies stand for each other in
the Hittite ritual. In the narrative, the unique occasion of a three
years’ drought seems to overlap with a seasonal pattern of the Thargelia
type: the ghastly purge of the community is performed when barley is
Transformations of the Scapegoat 67
reaped. We find concentrated in this tale what in the Greek evidence
appears distributed to different cases. This underlines the basie unity of
the complex.
3. THE DYNAMICS OF THE PATTERN
There is a clear pattern in this ritual. Though the oc­
casions which set it off differ— hunger, pestilence, or war, or regular
cleansing at yearly or greater intervals— they hâve in common the
situation of anxiety. The sequence of actions is: (1) sélection, on ac-
count of some quite ambivalent distinction: the most répulsive type, or
a king, or a woman who is both an object of desire and less valuable
than a man; or an animal may serve as a substitute; (2) rites of com­
munication, especially offering food, and adornment or investiture;
then (3) rites of contact and séparation to establish the polar opposi­
tion, those active and safe on the one side, the passive victim on the
other. Thus the man is led around the city walls and chased across the
frontiers; or he is beaten and stoned, which is contact and séparation
simultaneously. The unquestioned effect of the procedure is salvation
o f the community from evil and anxiety, which disappears with the
doomed victim.
The process can be brought into a nearly perfect Lévi-Straussian for­
mula, the scapegoat being the mediator who brings about the reversai
from common danger to common salvation: the situation ‘communi­
ty endangered’ versus ‘individual distinguished’ is turned into ‘indi­
vidual doomed’ versus ‘community saved,’ f x (a) : f v (b)-> fx2 <h) :f x-, (a).
Still I do not find such a formulation particularly illuminating; the rela­
tions of the terms do not throw light on the basic mystery, the force
which brings the change, the reversai from anxiety to anxiety dispelled.
In the legend, this appears as an oracular prédiction, or as the wrath of
gods to be appeased, or as a psychedelic drug. Is there an acceptable
explanation of how this mechanism really works?
The common answer is that this procedure is ‘magïcal.’2 This might
mean that it is ‘irrational’ and therefore unexplainable, but usuàlly it is
thought to be quite understandable, though ‘primitive’:3 this is, just
as the Greeks said, cleansing, just like removing dirt with a sponge
or a washrag4 which is then thrown away, dumped, or destroyed.
 Transformations of the Scapegoat
68
Sometimes it is necessary to create dirt in order to be able to clean it.
On a more theoretical level one can set up ‘principles’ of primitive
mentality from which to deduce the practice, a ‘principle of transfer
and a ‘principle of élimination.’5 The Hittites even more clearly speak
of ‘carrying away’ the evil, and may appropriately use a donkey for
the purpose, while others resort to more volatile means of transport.6
What cannot be deduced in this way is why, in the place of a sponge or
washrag, man or animal must suffer in the procedure. There is no deny-
ing that there are forms of ritual cleansing in other contexts with use of
water or sulphur, and adéquate disposai of refuse.7 In the cases consid-
ered, however, we find no sponge or bowl, but food, and figs, and
branches, and stones. None of these details has anything to do with
practical cleansing; and for the use of man or animal, instead of a
‘sponge,’ one would hâve to introduce at least a third ‘principle,’ a
principle about the importance of ‘soûl’ or ‘life,’ a principle of sacrifice;
but this is neither practical nor ‘primitive.’
Other scholars hâve felt that there is more to the ceremony than
good housekeeping. Wilhelm Mannhardt8 put forth the theory that
the scapegoat is ‘originally’ the végétation spirit, who must be whipped
and chased, and even killed, in order to be invigorated, to be born
afresh. This is qui te an impressive myth, but it is myth in the sense
of a taie pattern transferred to furnish an explanation without being
analyzed in itself. Without admitting it, it exploits the mystery of
sacrifice, the Christian idea of death and résurrection. Frazer,9 building
on Mannhardt, advanced the more realistic suggestion that ‘originally’
it was the king with his magical powers to control fertility or, more
specifically, a king installed yearly to impersonate the végétation spirit,
who had to be chased or killed lest his strength should wane. He dwelt
on the Greek évidence for a Babylonian festival, Sakaia, when a sub-
stitute king was enthroned and killed in the end.10 One late source has
the fascinating report about a ‘king ofthe Saturnalia’ equally doomed.11
And there are clear examples of kings being sacrificed to assuage
drought and famine.12
It is more difficult to account for the situation of war and enemies
on the Frazerian model, apart from the problem of how old and wide-
spread the institution of ‘magical kingship’ really was; and in more
than one instance, as surveyed above, there seemed to be a choice as to
Transformations of the Scapegoat 69
who was to be the victim. It was, however, the authentic Babylonian13
and H ittite14 evidence for a ‘substitute king’ that definitely ruined
the Mannhardt-Frazer hypothesis. It is not a seasonal New Year festival
to which this ritual belongs;15 rather it is a spécial procedure, seldom
performed, to save the king from evil portended by omens: the king
retired for a while, and the substitute had to take his fate. It seems
clear that he had to die, though the method employed is not described
in the texts. In one instance of Hittite ritual, a prisoner of war re-
ceived the royal investiture to be sent off to the enemy’s country.16
The Babylonian and Hittite procedures stand in a large context of
substitute sacrifices.17 It is very common to offer an animal, especially
in cases of illness, to the evil and greedy démons. This should turn
their appetite from man, as expressly stated in the invocations; “be-
hold, here are rams . . . extremely well-fed: may human méat be
avoided by you,” the priest addresses the god responsible for the plagia
before sending off the rams and the woman toward the enemies.18 So
we seem to be back to quite primitive, and understandable m agic.19 It
is disturbing, though, to arrive now at two sets of ‘ideas’ underlying
the practice, the transport of evil and the feeding of démons. And why
do the Hittites bow to those rams, as the king does to the woman?
Is this a third level of ideas ? And is the ‘idea’ of carnivorous démons
so obvious that it does not need any explanation?
Some of these difficulties disappear with the radically different ap-
proach of depth psychology, as stated by Erich Neumann.20 The sub­
stitute, the scapegoat, stands for the suppressed parts of one’s own
personality, suppressed by traditional, by dualistic ethics. This is ‘the
shadow,’ as Neumann, following C. G. Jung, has called it, and the
conscious self tries to get rid of it and to hâve it destroyed. This seems
to work nicely to some extern, though it may be a construct made up
for the purpose. It is a very general issue whether we should explain
behavior by psyché or vice versa; no doubt there has been incessant
interaction between psyché and environment in the course of évolution.
Still it is a far cry from unconscious drives, as verbalized by psycho-
analysis, to the concrète details of ritual action. The direct cause of
these is tradition: people do what has previously been done. By the
way, if Neumann advocates self-sacrifice as an alternative ‘new ethic’ to
replace scapegoat psychology, he overlooks the fact that this possibil-
70 Transformations of the Scapegoat
ity, the voluntary assent of the victim, has always been inherent in the
pattern; it refers to an arrangement between individuáis, not to strata
of the psyché.
If we take ritual to be a behavioral pattern redirected to symbolic,
communicative function, the ‘message’ contained in this ritual is clear
and easily understood: ‘This one, singled out and distinguished, is
going to his doom; in contrast to him, ail you together are safe and
clean.’ The problem remains, to find the underlying unritualized be-
havior. There seem to be two possibilities, or two strata, a more active
pattern of communal aggression and another of passive expérience. The
first is traceable in some ritual details, the second comes out more clear-
ly in myth. Hacking at the outsider is a well-known group reflex.21
Quite a small detail may be sufficient to set off aggression, such as red
hair, or a differently shaped nose. It is enough to be different to be dis-
liked, and in situations of crisis and anxiety the irritability grows
rapidly. Thus the ‘répulsive’ compatriot is chased out. There are exam­
ples of how, confronted with the impalpable terror of a plague, masses
may explode into aggression against a ‘scapegoat.’ The saintly Apol­
lonius of Tyana in plague-stricken Ephesus had ail the citizens assemble
in the theater, and then suddenly pointed to some wretched beggar,
claiming that he was the démon of the plague; immediately stoned, the
beggar disappeared under the accumulated rocks.22 And the people felt
better after that. This may be more than a legend, and it is hardly
edifying. Christians, however, must not scorn the pagan ‘saint.’ In a
similar vein, the great plague of 1348 brought about the most terrible
pogroms ail over Europe against the outsiders, the Jews, said to be
responsible for the disaster.23 Even in 1630, in Milan, during an
épidémie disease some persons were put to death in an extraordinarily
cruel way because they were suspected of having artificially spread the
plague.24 It is safe to say that nobody could wage bacteriological war-
fare at the time; henee they were innocent; but the group reflex at the
peak of anxiety found its compulsive outlet.
Of course there may be much more rational motives behind pro­
cedures for getting rid of disturbing individuáis. The ‘great purge’ of
the community was a favorite method of tyrants, from the Thirty Ty-
rants of Athens25 in 403 B .C . down to Hitler and Stalin. Louis Gernet
has pointed out that even the institution of ostrakismós in classical Athens
Transformations of the Scapegoat 71
is in a way a rationalized form of pharmakôs ritual:26 if a disturbing in-
dividual exists within the community, he is chased across the frontiers
with pebbles, though the vote written on sherds has replaced direct
aggression.
But this is not the whole story. In most of the rituals so far consid-
ered, aggression by the group to be saved plays a minimal rôle or no
rôle at ail. More prominent are the rites of communication, of adorn-
ing, of honoring; the victim may be ‘led away’ peacefully; and myths
gladly stress the voluntary decision, as in the case of Codrus, or even
Oedipus. It is this situation of the chosen représentative going volun-
tarily to his doom while the others passively look on with feelings of
awe, admiration, and relief that makes one of the most moving scenes
in legends, in drama, and in religion. Think of the citizens of Calais27
or of Vercingétorix in that brief and momentous passage of Caesar’s.28
Voluntary self-sacrifice nearly becomes routine in the tragédies of Eu-
ripides.29 It reemerges with singular fascination in Christianity: the
lamb voluntarily going to its slaughter— overwhelmingly expressed in
the Passion music of Johann Sébastian Bach.
I can imagine the noncommunicative, unritualized, real situation
from which this emotional pattern ultimately stems as being that of a
group surrounded by predators: men chased by wolves, or apes in the
presence of léopards.30 The utmost danger is met with excitement and
anxiety. Usually there will be but one way of salvation: one member of
the group must fall a prey to the hungry carnivores, then the rest will
be safe for the time being. An outsider, an invalid, or a young animal
will be most liable to become the victim. This situation of pursuit by
predators must hâve played a momentous rôle in the évolution of civili-
zation, while man, as a hunter, became a predator himself. The thrill
of chasing, catching, escaping still dominâtes many a children’s game.
The real situation persisted at the outskirts of civilization, to be used in
thrilling taies, such as the motif of the sleigh pursued by hungry
wolves: Who is to be thrown out, as the horses grow tired?31 An easy
transposition is the situation of a boat in the storm; one must be
thrown out to save the rest. It is possible again to speak of the wrath of
a god in the background, as in the case of Jonah. For the Jews, Jonah
appropriately became the obligatory reading in the afternoon service of
Y°m Kippur.32 Language, however, almost automatically makes the
 Transformations of the Scapegoat
72
‘angry,’ ‘devouring’ sea assume the features of predators. Whatever the
decision be in such a situation of despair, it is somehow immoral, un­
fair, but practicable. At the level of human consciousness, the trou-
bling injustice must be reduced to overcome the trauma. There are two
main possibilities for restoring good conscience to the survivors either
the victim must be termed subhuman, particularly guilty, or even ‘off-
scourings’ to be dumped— Greek legend makes ‘Pharmakos’ a temple-
robber;33 or else he is raised to a superhuman level, to be honored
forever. The extremes may even be seen to meet, deepest abasement
turning into divinity.34
The ‘leading away’ of a victim in situations of anxiety, threatened by
famine, plague, sin, or real enemies, is thus a ritual, a meaningful
action pattern of driving out and abandoning, guided by aboriginal
expérience. The salvation effect is persuasive belief on account of this,
though it remains unexplained. Myth may introduce démons who
must be pacified— such as, perhaps, Azazel; they cannot but assume
the features of predators.
4. POLYCRITE, THE VIRGINS OF
LEUCTRA, AND TARPEIA
It is time to get back to Greek literature, and to pur-
sue the scapegoat pattern through some of its métamorphosés. In the
collection of love stories by Parthenius, there is a taie of Naxos express-
ly connected with the Thargelia festival.1 This Naxian story begins in
a familiar way with the emergency situation of war: the enemy, troops
from Miletus and Erythrae, hâve invaded the island of Naxos and are
devastating the country. The reversai is brought about by one girl,
Polycrite: she is left in a rustic sanctuary of Apollo, a Delion, and there
she falls into the hands of the enemies, the commander of whom
promptly starts a love affair with her. Polycrite, taking advantage of
that, gives information to her compatriots who attack and annihilate
the enemy’s forces during the Thargelia. Polycrite, however, when
triumphantly returning to her home town, is pelted with girdles,
wreaths, and shawls; she expires under the burden outside the city
gâte. Her tomb is honored with a cuit, but at the same time it is called
a ‘tomb of grudge’ or ‘tomb of the evil eye,’ baskânou tâphos. 2
Transformations of the Scapegoat 73
Thus we hâve once more the threatening situation and the sélection
of the one person who bears ‘sélection’ in her name, Polykrite, ‘much
chosen,’ or ‘chosen out of many.’ This Polycrite is abandoned to fall
prey to the enemies; and this is fatal for them. Their complété defeat,
the victory of the Naxians, is brought about by it. The Milesian com­
mander accepts the girl, as the Hittites wish the enemies to accept the
woman together with the rams, as the Erythraeans accept the bull of
Cnopus, or the Trojans the Trojan horse. Afterward Polycrite cannot
return home, in spite of her patriotic merits. The pelting with wreaths
and clothes, as used in the parades of Olympic victors and their like, is
équivalent to the stoning of the pharmakos and has the same effect.
Polycrite must die outside the city.
There is an interesting remark in the text of Parthenius about the
Ionian Thargelia ritual in general:3 “They drink lots of wine, and they
consume whatever is the most precious.” This evidently means not just
revelry but destruction of wealth, in a kind of potlatch, as it were.
This is reminiscent of another prominent Ionian, Polycrates of Samos:
in his anxiety caused by continuous success, he throws the most pre­
cious of his je weis, his ring, into the sea in order to avert the envy of
the gods. Note that he does so in a ritual démonstration, “in the view
of his shipmates,” as Herodotus says.4 One might be inclined to think
of a Samian Thargelia festival. The fact that the ring cornes back indi-
cates that the ritual has not succeeded. ‘May y ou never corne back,’ the
Aenianes sing when driving out their bull.5 The Naxians, Parthenius
says, continue to sacrifice ‘the tithe of everything’ to Polycrite6 at that
tomb of grudge,’ as it seems. Man feels surrounded by danger which
does not allow him to enjoy life to its füll extent, and which can only
be averted by separating oneself from what may seem to be most pre­
cious. Bâskanos is the Greek term for the ‘evil eye’7 which may spoil
ail kinds of life, be it crops, animais, or men. Phthônos, envy, is quite
close to baskania. One has to corne to terms with it, voluntarily offer-
ing the tithe. Genetically, however, the anxiety about a staring eye
surely goes back to the anxious alertness of higher animais toward
eyes, particularly the spying eye of the predator.8 Polycrite, the Naxian
emissary, is the impersonation of giving away one so as to save the
rest.
The pattern has had a certain impact even on the tradition of the
74 Transformations of the Scapegoat
Trojan War. Helen, abducted by Paris, plays much the same role as
Polycrite, bringing final doom to the Trojans who accepted her. In
this perspective, Helen is somehow a kind of Trojan horse herself. It is
in the pattern that she should be active to help the Greek invaders.10
But then, she should not hâve come back; and that she did return with
Menelaus, as no one could doubt as soon as the text of the Odyssey had
become a classic, presented a problem for mythologizing poets and gave
rise to another myth of reversai: Menelaus is resolved to kill Helen,
but he throws away his sword under the spell of the eternal féminine.
But this is beyond the pattern which is of interest here.
How the pattern became productive can be studied in the relatively
clear light of history in relation to a later war. The famous battle
of Leuctra in 371 B .C ., in which Epaminondas of Thebes destroyed
Sparta’s power forever, appears connected with the legend of the vir-
gins of Leuctra,’ Leuktrides parthênoi. It is safe to assume that there was
some tomb near the battlefield in Boeotia, called the tomb of the vir-
gins,’ parthénon mnêma, and that the Thebans under the command of
Epaminondas paid honor to the tomb before the battle,12 as ail Greeks
would turn to their heroes in the crises of war. The taie about these
‘virgins,’ as recorded after the battle, is as follows.13 Two Boeotian
girls, daughters of Skédasos, ‘the disperser,’ were treacherously raped by
two Lacedaemonians, and they killed themselves out of shame. Th us
their undying wrath demanded revenge on the Lacedaemonians right
at their grave. No wonder the Spartan army perished there— disre-
garding the strategie genius of Epaminondas. Girls falling into the
hands of enemies, to be raped and killed, guarantee the victory, the
‘dispersion’ of the hostile army: we are on the familiar track. In a next
step of imaginative élaboration, ritual répétition of the event comes
into the taie: Skédasos himself, it is said, appeared to Epaminondas in
a dream and demanded the sacrifice of a Boeotian virgin before the
battle. Happily a young horse, a filly, offered herself in due time at the
altar.14 Somehow the complex of the Spartan Dioscuri, who were fa­
mous for raping the Leukippides, seems to intrude. We are dealing
with fantastic élaborations— which started right in the fourth century
—but not with free-floating fantasies. Invention keeps to the tradi-
tional patterns of myth and ritual. Histórica! reality, transmitted in
Transformations of the Scapegoat 75
the form of taies, is immediately shaped in accordance with these
patterns.
With a virgin in the place of the scapegoat, a new dynamic enters
the scene, as anxiety and abandonment are superseded by sexual rivalry
and aggression. The other side, instead of being a somewhat misty im-
personation of péril or evil, becomes a greedy oppressor who is to be
overthrown. This is a much used and effective taie type: a tyrant takes
or accepts a woman to satisfy his lechery; and out of this, with a sudden
reversai, cornes violent death. This nearly made its way into the Bible,
with Judith and Holofernes. The râpe of Lucretia15 was the end of the
Tarquins. In the Ugaritic epic of Aqat, the sister of the slain hunter
sets out to take revenge, beautifiilly dressed but carrying sword and
dagger beneath her robes.16 More thrilling still is a taie type which in
fact introduces a conflation of Helen and the Trojan horse: warriors
disguised as girls. Herodotus has a story of how a Persian contingent
was annihilated in Macedonia in 480 when the attractive Macedonian
girls invited to a banquet turned out to be well-armed youths. Again
in Boeotia, at the time of Epaminondas, the overthrowing of the
Spartan occupation force at the citadel of Thebes in 379, eight years
before Leuctra, was at once told in the same fashion. In fact Xenophon
has included the story in his H ellenica , 18 though hinting at the fact
that there were other versions in circulation. But the nicest taie was
how the revolutionaries were smuggled into the fôrtress disguised as
hetaîrai invited for a joyous party by those collaborators of Sparta. In a
mythical setting the taie reappears in Melite in Thessaly:19 a tyrant
with the telling name ‘Tartaros,’ after he had solicited a virgin, who
killed herself for shame, was killed by her brother, using the same
strategem of disguise. A tradition about an Athenian victory over
Megara has been reshaped in a similar fashion: in the disguise of
women reveling at Cape Kolias, youths with daggers were waiting for
the attackers.20 In the Edda, Thor gets back his hammer from the
giants by offering himself as a bride in Freya’s attire; the giants are
rapidly disposed of in the end.21
Somehow related are ail those taies in which a girl is handed over as
a bride to some god or démon, to a bear or a bull, the ‘animal bride-
groom,’ with complex rituals of girl sacrifice in the background.22 We
76 Transformations of the Scapegoat Transformations of the Scapegoat 77
shall not enter into this, nor into the whole problem of expiatory sacri­
assess in the case of Tarpeia; Sabines and Romans had long since
fice. Let us consider instead another transformation of the taie struc­
coalesced into one community when the taie was recorded; but the
ture, which may be called the scapegoat reversed. If the enemy in
ambiguity of honor and expulsion, parentatio at a grave and hurling off
charge is to overcome the doom transferred upon him by an alluring
a cliff, remains indicative of the scapegoat pattern transformed.34
female, he must refuse to accept, he must repudiate the woman of the
Conquest, as wish fulfillment, is a disturbance of balance provoking
other side.23 In this form, the taie tends to become strictly moral,
rétribution; abstention and abandonment can bring rescue, and even
and misogynous, a praise of ascetic behavior unexpected in victorious
success. In the primordial situation, the value of sacrifice for the sake
soldiers, and a cautionary taie for prospective traîtresses: we arrive at
of the community stands against the problematic rescue of the others;
that Strange and famous character of Roman mythology, Tarpeia.24
and still the hope of life rests with those who overcome and survive. No
Tarpeia betrayed the Capitol and was killed by the conqueror. There
wonder there is a deep and disconcerting emotional response to the pat­
were many conflicting versions, variations on a disconcerting theme.
tern, it hints at a basic antinomy of life, which may seem perplexing
Evidently it was not a recent invention. The oldest Greek evidence, even to the rational morality of our time.
with the most deviant versions,25 seems to antedate Fabius Pictor,26
who gave the authoritative account with a setting in the reign of
Romulus and Titus Tatius; the taie, though, may rather be connected
with a Sabine occupation of the Capitol in 460 and the subséquent
‘purification’ of the place.27 There is a clear reference, in the name of
the heroine, to the ‘Tarpeian rock’ at the Capitol from which criminals
were pushed to their death,28 but there was also a ‘tomb of Tarpeia’
up there which received regulär offerings.29 The form of the name must
corne from Sabine tradition, Sabine Tarpeia corresponding to Latin
T arquinia.30 The taie of the traitress punished by the victor occurs
several times in Greek mythology,31 where the erotic element is regu-
larly involved; Fabius Pictor had Tarpeia seduced by the golden brace­
lets of the Sabines; but it is save to say that the sexual tension is
inherent in the very taie stmcture, which confronts male and female.
Conquering a city is like taking the veil from a virgin.32 The conquer­
or, confronted with the résistance of the city, finds the help of an un-
resisting girl, but he répudiâtes the girl while taking the city. This
too could be expressed by a formula of Lévi-Straussian type, f ( a ) : f ( b ) —>
f ( b ) : f ( a ) . Once more, however, the structural formula rather obscures
than expresses the dynamics inherent in the taie. It is in fact not just
a cautionary taie for girls, but a strategy of succeeding through ab­
stention. The close connection of Tarpeia and Polycrite has often been
discussed;33 it exists not only on the literary level. The place of the
Naxians, versus Polycrite, is taken by the Romans, versus Tarpeia, but
doom and victory change sides. The ritual background is difficult to

IV
Heracles and
the Master of Animáis
\ cles myth, according to Wiłamowitz, a message central to the original
1. GREEK ORIGINS?
Heracles1 is the most popular and the most complex
character of Greek mythology, and he was more than that: a most famil-
iar figure of common belief and imagination— whom you would invoke
at any situation of amazement or anguish: Herakleis!— and the récipient
of cuits ail over Greece and well beyond her borders. Everyone knew,
and we all know, what Heracles looked like, manly but usually good-
humored, with a huge muscular body, with his club and lionskin, in­
carnation of the beautiful victory, kalltnikos.
Historians, though, not content with what we see and know, hâve
given themselves the trouble of asking how these beliefs, these cuits and
myths about Heracles arose. This is the question about the ‘origin’ of
Heracles which is both controversial and frustrating. Our evidence,
which begins toward the end of the eighth century, is variegated from
the start: there are exploits with Lion, Hydra, Hind, Birds, and Amazon
among the very earliest pictorial représentations of any myth in Greek
art;2 there are references to the enmity of Hera to Heracles, to Eurystheus
and the labors, but also to the story of Hesione and Troy and to adven-
tures at Pyl os and Cos in Homer’s Ilia d .3 The formula bie Herakleeie evi-
dently cornes from the technique of oral epic,4 where Heracles must
jM- hâve been a major character at least for some générations of singers. But
there is no Greek evidence earlier than this.
Any theory about a Greek origin of Heracles must thus remain spécu­
lative, and it will reflect the scholar’s general approach toward myth. To
the Romantic mind, Heracles appeared to be the idealistic projection of
the Greek people itself, conceived and elaborated on by Greek Creative
poets, of whom, unfortunateły, we know nothing. Thus Wiłamowitz,
78
Heracles and the Master of Animais 79
in his classical commentary on Eurípides’ H eracles ,5 following Karl Ot-
fried Miiller, boldly declared Heracles to be the overwhelming expres­
sion of Dorian personality; and sińce Hera is the goddess of Argos, where
the Dorian invaders broke in at the beginning of the Dark Ages, her
enmity toward Heracles is easy to explain. We hâve, then, a mythical
personality as a projection of a collective ideal, and we hâve the exploits
of this person mirroring historical accidents. The message of the Hera-
Dorians, is that man, by toils and sufferings, may become a god: “born a
man— risen to god; suffered toils— conquered heaven.”6 The reader
may note that even the style betrays that Wiłamowitz is attributing a
pseudo-Christian credo to his presumptive proto-Dorians “when sitting
deep in the mountains of Macedonia”; and with Hera so far away in
Argos, why should the original Heracles hâve had to sufler any toils?
Later on, in his last work, Der Glaube der Hellenen,7 Wiłamowitz lightly
dismissed the Dorian hypothesis, yielding to the argument of Farnell
that Heracles plays no role in Dorian Crete. Thus eighth-century Argos
became the place where Greek Heracles must hâve originated. In a simi-
lar vein, though diverging in details, Paul Friedlaender8 had tried to
reconstruct and localize early archaic poems about Heracles, créations of
Greek poets in spécial circumstances. A belated adherent to the method
has madę his way into one of the last suppléments to Pauly-Wissowa,
where, surprisingly enough, he relates the discovery that Hera was the
elan goddess of the Dorians, whereas Heracles stands for the Achaeans;9
this is why Hera is so dominant; the conflict remains, as Wiłamowitz
saw it, mirroring the historical Dorian conquest.
cunmciing resuits Dring out tne arDitrariness ot presuppositions
and method. It is true that myth may reflect certain historical situations
to which the traditional tale had been applied, but it is wrong to con-
dude that if a myth is used and makes sense in a certain situation, it has
been invented or ‘created’ expressly for this purpose. As to the dark cen­
turies, even that situation is a construct made up in correspondence to
the interprétation of the myth. Another problem is whether a myth has
its nucleus in a ‘character,’ however vivid this may happen to appear, or
■“ her in patterns of action; the findings of Propp and his followers10
reason to opt for this latter alternative.
80 Heracles and the Master of Animáis Heracles and the Master of Animais 81
2. THE ORIENTAL EVIDENCE
If we discard the création myth of myth and take the
concept of ‘traditional taie’ at its face value, we cannot overlook the fact
that striking parallels to the figure of Heracles and his activities appear at
a much earlier date in the Ancient Near East, as has been noted by ar-
chaeologists such as Bernhard Schweitzer;1 most of the evidence is icono­
graphie. Disturbingly enough, the richest evidence cornes from pre-
Sargonic cylinder seals of Mesopotamia, that is, from the middle of the
third millennium, and some intriguing représentations even from the
fourth.2 There is not only a hero overcoming bulls, lions, and snakes,
but also a hero beheading a seven-headed snake, just as Heracles fought
the seven-headed hydra of Lerna; and if this scene is set in a frieze of
scorpions,3 one cannot but remember the mischievous crab of Lerna
which attacked Heracles while he was struggling with the hydra. (See
fïgs. 5 and 6.) On Sumerian seals there appears a hero with lionskin,
club, and bow. In one case he seems to intervene in what has been called
‘the libération of the Sun-God from his Mountain-Grave,’ whom a bird
of prey is about to attack;4 the libération of Prometheus by Heracles sug-
gests itself. The name of the Mesopotamian hero seems to be Ninurta or
Ningirsu; in a hymnjby Gydea, Ningirsu is invoked as the god who has
overcome several bestial adversaries, the dragon, the lion, and multi-
headed monsters.5 Ninurta, incidentally, is the son of Enlil, the Storm-
god, who would correspond to Zeus the father of Heracles.
The gulf separating Early Bronze Age Sumeria from Archaic Greece is
frightfiil; but there was a continuity of texts as of iconography, besides Figure 5
oral tradition which remains elusive.6 The slaying of the seven-headed Heracles and Iolaus Fighting the Seven-H eaded Hydra . Engraved
fibula from Boeotia, c. 700 B.c. (B. Schweitzer, Herakles [Tübingen 19221 fie
snake appears in a text of Ugarit, repeated almost Verbatim in Isaiah, 32.) See IV ln . 2. 6 1
Jahwe, of course, replacing Baal.7 In the Babylonian epic of création,
preserved in seventh-century tablets, Tiamat the dragon of the sea takes with one hand a bull, with the other a lion, while a stag is advancing
as her allies eleven monsters, and ail the twelve are disposed of by valiant toward him and another animal, partly defàced, puts its paw on his
Marduk;8 Heracles has twelve labors to complété. The quest for the knee.10 Is this Babylonian Enkidu, or Heracles taming the animais, or
apples of the Hesperides has been compared with the quest for the plant an intermediare between the two? There are other late H ittite reliefs
of immortality in the Epic of Gilgames,9 that most widely diffused text with what appears to be the same figure, a master of animais, taming
of the Ancient Near East. The Greeks certainly had some contact with two lions; in one case, he has a bird’s beak and animal’s ears.11 He is
the so-called late Hittites in Cilicia. Now there is a late Hittite relief clearly subordínate to the god or king whose statue is erected on the
from Carchemish showing a bearded hero, full-face, kneeling, holding base adomed by these reliefs. Greek iconography in the orientalizing
82 Heracles and the Master of Animáis
Figure 6
A God Fighting a Seven-Headed Snake . Seal from Teil Asmar, c. 2400
B.c. ( O r ie n ta l I n s t it u t e C o m m u n ica tio n s 17: Iraq Excavations 1932-33 [Chicago
1934] 54 f i g . 50; H. Frankfort, S t r a t i fi e d C y l i n d e r S ea ls f r o m th e D iy a la R e g io n
[Chicago 1955] no. 497; Copyright: University of Chicago.) See IV 2 n. 3-
period is heavily dépendent upon oriental prototypes; this has been espe-
cially proved in the case of Prometheus mibound.12 And as to the lion ^
fight, it is an open question whether the Greeks ever had a chance to
meet living lions in Greece. It has been noted that in Homer lions, those
favorite characters of the Homeric simile, never roar: did the Greeks
know the royal animal solely from silent pictures?13 At any rate the first
and clumsy picture of a lion fight, on a late Geometrie tripod stand from
Athens,14 which is about Contemporary with the first document of Greek
writing, is of oriental dérivation, though it may well be meant to repre-
sent Heracles.
To complété the balance sheet, we could add that the birth of Hera­
cles, the story of double Amphitryon and his double servant, which has
proved so productive in Western comedy, seems to be an import from
Egypt, where texts and pictures describe this as Amen’s method of be-
getting a pharaoh;15 that the death of Heracles on the pyre of Mount
Oeta has its counterpart in the yearly burning of Santas, alias Heracles,
in Tarsus in Cilicia;16 and that even for the name of Heracles an oriental
candidate has been proposed, Eragal or Nergal, the Babylonian god
who sends, and may ward off, pestilence, represented with lion, club,
and bow.17 Taking all this evidence together, does it mean that Hera-
Heracles and the Master of Animais 83
des, far from being a Greek création expressing the ideals of the Dorian
soûl, is a Wholesale import from the eighth-century orient?18
But evidently such a method of accumulation of details will not do. It
is possible indeed that individual motifs were taken over, such as the lion
fight or the seven-headed snake. Iconography may easily cross the bor-
ders of language; and there are local myths both at Nemea and at Lerna
totally independent from Heracles. Yet there must be some organizing
force to integrate the details. We hâve started from the hypothesis that
the dynamic, and persistent, structure in mythical tradition is provided
by the taie as a basic sequence of actions. In this perspective, it is clear
that there is not one myth of Heracles, there is not a character to start
from, but a set of different stories involving the same name, some of
them variations upon the same pattern, some of them apparently unre-
lated. An analysis cannot but select one strand in the texture and try to
find out how far interprétation as to structure, function, and history may
proceed. Perhaps this will lead to a better understanding of the whole
complex, too.
3. GERYON
$3
Startling finds of papyri hâve recently drawn attention
to the Geryoneis of Stesichorus.1 Heracles’ adventure with the cattle of
Geryon2 has been less productive in the classical héritage, and it is not
too populär in ancient vase-painting, which is dominated by the lion
fißbt, but its importance is shown by the richness of local traditions con­
nected with it, especially in Italy and Sicily. The details of the taie are
established as early as Hesiod:3 Geryon— the ‘Roarer. ’ soneff Chrysaor.
the son of Gorgo, and the Oceanid Callirhoë— has three heads or.ev.en
three bodlesTÎTe lives on Erytheia, the ‘Red Island,’ïn the far West be-
yond Oceanus; he owns marvelous cattle, watched over by his herdsman
Eurytton and the dog Orthus, who fittingly has two heads. Heracles,
upon command of Eurystheus, gets to the isîand, kills The dog, the
herdsman, and Geryon himself, and brings the cattle, not without trou­
ble, to Tiryns or Argos. Not attested in Hesiod, but hardly invented by
Stesichoms, is the mémorable means of transport which Heracles uses to
get to Erytheia:4 Heracles must force Helios the sun-god to lend him .
84 Heracles and the Master of Animáis
his golden cup in which the sun travels every night along the circle of
Oceanus from W est to East, to rise to the sky again.5
Ir is clear that this is a tale which, to a large S te n t, exactly fits the
pattern of Propp:6 thé hero, by Order, sets out on the quest (functions
9-11), meets a helper, reacts to him, succeeds in getting the object he
needs (12-14); reaches the place of destination (15), begins a fight with
the possessor (16), defeats him (18), gets the cattle (19), returns (20),
even the répétition that the hero loses his prey and must endeavor a sec­
ond time to get and keep it is in Propp’s pattern (8-15?"s), as it is in the
myth of Heracles and his cattle. There are special features which dis-
tinguish the Geryon tale from the g enerärpättem: there is the cosmic
geograohv with the way of the.jsun,Aod the golden a y ^ O c e ^ ^ js jJ r e
place where sky and earth meet; appropr i a i d y . ! ^
color of sunset. And there is the three-headed giant who owns the cattle,
super-human and infra-human at the same time.
It is astonishing to see to how many local traditions this tale has been
applied; it is always the cattle which, getting lost or stolen, cause new
labors for Heracles. Thus he became involved in a war with Pylos, wher-
ever this Pylos may be situated;7 in Epirus a race of Larinoï bôes was said
to descend from these cows, which Heracles had set free to honorZeus of
Dodona;8 likewise wild cattle in Thrace were traced to the herd from
Erytheia.9 But most of the taies are set in the W est:10 The story of how
Heracles was attacked at Marseilles played a part in the Prometheus Un-
bound of Aeschylus.11 He had similar adventures at Rome, Cumae,
Croton,14 though these places were not strictly on his way to Argos, and
he was believed to have even passed through Sicily, notably Motye,15
Eryx,18 Solus,17 Himera,18 Agyrion,19 and Syracuse.20 Most promi­
nent, through the Aeneid of Virgil, became the Roman adventure with
Caeus who stole and hid the cattle in his cave, but was discovered and
properly killed; this is the foundation myth for the Ara Maxima in
Rome.21 All this belonged somehow to pre-Greek tradition; the Greeks
knew they had arrived in Italy and Sicily well after the epoch of Hera­
cles. In the eyes of the colonists, such taies must have given a touch of
familiarity to the unknown countries: our Heracles has been here be-
fore, and if the barbarians were unfriendly, they had to be sorry for it.
But there is more to it.
Italia means ‘land of cattle,’ as the Greeks correctly understood; and
Heracles and the Master of Animais 85
at least from the time of Hellanicus22 they traced the ñame to Heracles’
wanderings with the cattle of Geryon and had sanctuaries and sacrifices
instituted by him. In the historical period, the wandering herdsmen of
Italy, driving their sheep and cattle from mountain pastures to the plain
and back with the change of seasons, had in fact Hercules as their spécial
protective divinity; the cuits of Hercules follow their tracks through
Italy. And in this setting the Geryon myth makes sense.23 It is a major
problem for herdsmen that their animais may get lost or stolen; if an
animal disappears, this is readily ascribed to the action of some demon
who hides them.24 It is Hercules who overcomes these adversarles of the
Cacus type and retrieves the animais. Thus the myth of Heracles and
the cattle, and the Hercules cuit of Italy, gives expression to this situa­
tion of herdsmen, and might be thought to origínate directly from a pas­
toral culture: animais lost, hidden by mischievous adversarles, sought
for, and retrieved by the cunning and force of the hero, or god, whom
the herdsmen venerate to guarantee their own success. This situation is
practically universal in pastoral cultures and may be as well pre-Greek
as Greek, and is emphatically Italian.
4. CACUS, INDRA, AND MELAMPUS
What is not explained by this dérivation is the cosmic
setting of the Geryon island, the path of the sun, the Beyond. These
might be called ‘fantasies,’ but they are rather obtrusive. It is the three
motifemes of going to the Beyond, fighting a monster, and returning
with cattle which constitute a marked tale structure. This can be widely
traced through comparative mythoiogy. Ever since the emergence of
Sanskrit studies it has been seen that the Geryon and especially the Cacus
myth is a likely candidate for Indo-European mythoiogy. There are fre­
quent allusions in the Veda to a myth that Trita or Indra fought and
killed Visvarupa, the demon of ail forms,’ who had three heads, and that
Indra thus delivered the cows hidden in a cave by the adversary.1 To
scholars of the last century it seemed obvious that this was an allegory
about the god of the thunderstorm delivering fertilizing rain from the
clouds— are not the clouds the cows of heaven?— which had been shut
in by the monster of drought;2 but the myth is capable of many other
applications. To the real initiate the cows are spiritual thoughts brought
 /

86 Heracles and the Master of Animais Heracles and the Master of Animais 87
forth by God;3 yet even the real ‘sacred cows’ which are so important
for the priests’ ritual are identified with the cows retrieved by Indra.4
The parallel with Cacus need hąrdly be stressed.5 It has been maintained
that the Cacus myth was hardly known before V irgil.6 But if one Cas-
sius, probably Cassius Hermina, gives (T)recaranus, ‘three-horned,’ as
the ‘true’ name of Hercules who slew Cacus,7 this is definitely old Italian
tradition: a three-horned Heracles appears on the very archaic ‘Daunian’
steles8 (see fig. 7); strange three-headed bronzes are known from pre-
historic Sardinia as well as from Etruria;9 a figure with three bull’s heads
shows up, too;10 there are three-horned bulls in Celtic votive religion,
and one inscription has ‘Tarvos trigaranus. ’ 11 Ail this points to traditions
about a monstrous master of cattle which are independent of Greek
mythology and even go beyond Indo-European connections; Cacus at the
cattle market, forum boarium, fits into the sériés.
The name Višvarupa, of ail forms,’ calls to mind another adversary of
Heracles in Greek mythology, Periclymenus, the ‘very famous’ but rath-
er abnormal king of Pylos,12 the elder and wicked brother of old Nestor. Heracles and Iolaus Fighting Monsters. Daunian stela, seventh Century
As it was extensively described in Hesiod’s Catalogues, Periclymenus had B.c. (?). (Rendiconti dell’ Accademia Nazionale M Lincei VIII 24 [1969] 141.)
See IV 4 n. 8.
the privilège of being able to assume whatever shape he wished; thus
Heracles could not overcome him until Athéna helped him to discover man, the seer Melampus: in order to get the daughter of Neleus, he has
the wizard in the shape of a bee on the yoke of his chariot. Heracles shot to bring the cattle of Iphiclus from Phylake. He tries, but is trapped
the bee and conquered Pylos. And the cause of this fight, of course, and imprisoned at Phylake. When he can make himself useful to the
was the cattle that Neleus had stolen from Heracles. Now this seems a jailer by his mantic powers, he is released, and he comes back with the
strange instance of magic in an otherwise heroic context; but not only do cattle.18 This too seems to be a heroic exploit from our world; but why
the cattle of Neleus dwell in a cave,13 but in the llia d there is a verse was the mantis, the seer, ‘the only one to undertake it ,’ as Homer says?
about Heracles fighting ‘at Pylos amid the dead,’ and wounding Hades, The name Phylake means ‘guard-post’ or ‘prison,’ and Iphiclus the one
lord of the Underworld;14 thus Pylos seems to mean the Gates of the ‘renowned for his strength.’ Side by side with the Periclymenus myth, it
Underworld, p yla i Hadou, and Periclymenus is quite a fitting name for becomes elear that both are variations on the theme of getting cattle
the god who is currently named Clymenus or Euklees, too.15 Hesiod’s from the Beyond.
text contains, transposed to the level of heroic epic, a story of how Hera­ Horses instead of cattle appear in another variant, the ‘Greek’ version
cles penetrated to Hades, wounded and overcame an adversary of ‘ail about the origins of the Scythians according to Herodotus:19 Heracles,
shapes,’ and retrieved cattle from there. It is a geography of the Beyond still with the cows of Geryon, arrived in Scythia, but there he lost the
which differs from Geryon’s abodes, but it is clearly an instance of the horses of his chariot; he found them in the possession of a snake-woman
pattern dealt with. Hades has his herds, and his herdsmen, too, as testi- dwelling in a cave amid the ‘woods,’ Hy laie, and in order to get them
fied by Apollodorus.16 These herds of the Underworld too may corne back he had to make love to her; and thus the ancestors of the Scythians
from Indo-European tradition.17 were begotten. Though the adversary is female in this case and exacts
In the realm of the magician from Pylos, we may recall another magic corresponding behavior, the monster, the cave, the disappearing and re-
88 Heracles and the Master of Animais
turning animais still fit into the récurrent pattern of the ultramundane
quest.
5. SHAM ANS AN D CAVES
Realistic interpreters hâve found this complex of stories
to represent “the Indo-European cattle-raiding m yth,” referring to a
practice which must hâve had prime importance in the context of the
Indo-European conquests, and which possibly could be integrated into
an initiation ritual.1 What remains unexplained in this model is that the
adversary is invariably a monster, three-headed2 or ‘of ail forms,’ and
that he dwells not in the Indus Valley, in Greece or Italy, but in some
mysterious Beyond. The Beyond appears in different variants. It can be
the Underworld of the dead— the herds of Hades, ‘at the gâte amid the
Dead'; or it can be a cave— Cacus and Visvarupa, Pylos and Scythia; or it
can be a distant country only approachable by way of the sun— Geryon.
This is the place where cattle corne from, real, usable, edible cattle; it is
held by some mischievous, superhuman, monstrous master \yho must be
overcome. Is this ‘fantasy’ gone astray, or is there some real, primary
action transformed into the taie?
In fact there are two pièces of evidence linking the quest for animais
with the Beyond: shamanism used as hunting magic, on the one side,
and the cave paintings of the upper Paleolithic on the other. Shamanism3
has attracted the attention of classical scholars as a phenomenon of ec-
stasy, it has been discussed as a possible so u rce fo r the belief in the im-
mortality of the soûl— notably by E. R. Dodds4— and as a possible
source of epic tale. What has not been brought out in these perspectives
is the fact that shamanism is intimately bound up with animais, and is
used in hunting societies in direct relation to hunting, the basie means of
subsistence. The most vivid examples comparable to our taie pattern
corne from the Eskimos of Greenland, who used to live largely on seal
hunting. They believe that the seals belong to a mistress of animais,
Sedna, the Old Woman ‘down there.’ If a tribe fails to find enough seals
and is threatened by famine, it must be due to the wrath of Sedna; and
this is the situation for the shaman to step in and help by appeasing
Sedna. A festival is called, and the shaman, in a trance, sets out to travel
to the deep sea; he meets Sedna and asks why she is angry. It is because of
Heracles and the Master of Animais 89
human sins, especially those of women, who hâve broken certain taboos;
Sedna herself is covered with filth on account of their uncleanliness. The
shaman has to tidy up Sedna, to ask her forgiveness. Of course he suc-
ceeds, finally, and cornes back from his ecstatic travel bringing with him
the animais. The hunters start real hunting immediately, their opti-
mism renewed, and as a resuit w ill prove successful. Rasmussen wit-
nessed such a ceremony in 1920.5
There is a variant, recorded already in the seventeenth century, with
a more active rôle for the shaman:6 A spot in the shaman’s tent is marked
as if it were a breathing hole of seals in the ice. The shaman conjures
Sedna to appear and hits her with his harpoon at the moment she cornes
up. Triumphantly he shows the blood on his harpoon. Thus the mistress
of animais is forced to set free the seals for a successful hunt. Heracles, in
that isolated passage of the llia d , is said to hâve wounded Hades at the
Gâte among the Dead, and even Hera, the mistress of cattle of the Argive
plain.7
The Eskimo evidence is most impressive, but is not isolated; it is
assumed to be derived from Asia.8 Similar shamanistic practices, to se-
cure the success of hunting and to gain power over the animais, are
attested in the whole of the Arctic région, with Tungus and Yukaghirs,9
Samoyedes and Dolgans;10 there is not only a mistress of seals, but a
whole set of supernatural owners of game, such as, for example, a mother
of walruses or a mother of reindeer; there are male owners, even, in cer­
tain Eskimo tribes.11 Shamanism has been observed in many Siberian
tribes who are no longer hunters; there shamanism may be confined to
the functions of healing and of guiding the dead to their rest; but it is
safe to assume that shamanism originated with the oldest, the hunting
societies.
Discussion is going on as to how old exactly shamanism is, and how
widespread, a problem intertwined with the proper définition of sha­
manism. There are attempts to lim it the concept to a well-defined stage
of Siberian or Arctic culture.12 Yet the phenomenon envisaged, the deal-
ings of a powerful helper of man with a supernatural owner of animais,
is definitely not confined to the Arctic Circle. Striking evidence has re-
cently been reported from primitive hunters in the Amazon région.13
They hâve a medicine man or shaman, payé, whose main obligation is to
enter into contact with the masters of animais, the master ofgame in the
90 Heracles and the Master of Animáis
mountains at the edge of the woods, and the master of fïsh in the depth
of the river, to make them send animais for hunting and fishing. The
payé fulfills his rôle both in a trance provoked by certain drugs, and by
actually wandering to those distant cliffs where générations of shamans
hâve left their pictographs. 14 The partner of the payé, though, insists on
a most scrupulous deal: for each animal to be caught and killed he must
receive a human soûl in return, some human being— preferably of
neighboring tribes— is to die instead. This seems to reflect the tragic
awareness of dwindiing resources in the ‘Tristes Tropiques.’
The other piece of evidence has the advantage that its great âge is be-
yond dispute— though exact chronology is difficult. Its interprétation,
however, raises problems which cannot be answered with any certainty.
The cave paintings of western Europe,15 such as those of Akamira or
Lascaux, hâve become world-famous. But what prompted man to this
artistic tour de force remains a mystery. Clearly it was not just art for
art’s sake; some of the caves are terribly difficult of access, and incredible
courage and skill were necessary to get there; they never served for habi­
tation. There are some relies of actions performed there, footprints,
marks of spear-throwing at clay models, a beat’s skull and probably a
bear's skin brought into the cave and spread over a beat figure. The dom-
inating subject, at any rate, is game for hunting, wiid cattle above ail,
and wild horses, besides stags and some other species. Here we hâve, in
splendid art, the animais of the Beyond. Connection with hunting prac­
tice cannot be denied. And if hunting is a fondamental form of the
‘quest,’ then entering such a cave must hâve meant a difficult journey to
another world where one could meet animais. For more detailed inter­
prétation, there are several possibilities of ritual patterns, magic, ini­
tiation, shamanism, which hâve been used to explain these monuments;
they may nearly converge on one pattern of ritualized quest.
The ‘dancing sorcerer,’ the masked figure in the cave of Trois Frères,
has been called a shaman;16 another scene, in the cave of Lascaux, repre-
senting a wounded bison, a man apparently dead, and a bird, has been
interpreted as a shamanistic séance.17 These can hardly be more than
possibilities; and there is the notable différence that a true shaman, in
his spiritual travel, does not need either caves or artistically perfect pic-
tures. Still rock paintings are produced and used by the Amazonian
shamans,18 and even Siberian shamans currently use animal figurines in
Heracles and the Master of Animais 91
their performance.19 The Yakut shaman wears an ‘opening of the earth’
symbol which is called the ‘hole of the spirits’; and perforated stones,
little caves, as it were, are considered the abode of spirits ail over Asia,20
testifying to the provenance of spiritualism from the cave. Above ail,
there is the uninterrupted évolution from hunting customs to sacrificial
ritual which we hâve traced.21 The shaman always is a specialist of sacri­
fice; there is hardly a shamanistic session without an animal appropriate-
ly being killed and, in the end, eaten.22
Thus in terms of action patterns— which underlie even the taies sur-
veyed— we may hypothetically state the following évolution: The basic
program of the ‘quest,’ hunting as a way to ‘get’ food, is, when thwarted
by failure, transformed into a symbolic ‘quest,’ exploring the unexplor-
able, hoping for the unexpectable, overcoming despair by détour. Thus
men penetrated into those dark caves; and as they repeated this symbolic
quest, it became an established ritual: to penétrate, by a daring and
difficult exploit, into these underground chambers in order to reestablish
and bring back the hope of affluence. Elsewhere the quest might just
lead to the mountains at the edge of the habitable world.23 Shamanism
is a transformation of this theme, using the special mediumistic talents
of certain individuáis instead of the outward apparatus of caves and pic-
tures. As Hans Findeisen put it: “The shaman is a Paleolithic hunting
magician turned into a possessed priest. ” 24
Besides such a transformation, there is the continuous role of cave
cuits. They are best known from Bronze Age Crete.25 There is one curi-
ous représentation of what seems to be the mistress of animais in the
cave of Vemópheto, a goddess with the ‘epiphany gesture,’ surrounded by
animais for hunting and fishing;26 there are rock protubérances carved
to resemble monstrous animais in the cave of Skotino near Knossos. Paul
Faure takes this to hâve been the original ‘labyrinth’ where you must
penétrate to get the bull of Minos, the minotaur.27 This, of course, can­
not hâve anything to do with Indo-European tradition. More startling
still is the recent discovery of Neolithic cave paintings in Southern Italy,
at Porto Badisco near Otranto;28 they may be called a missing link be-
tween Altamira and Hercules. The subjects painted there are, of course,
hunting scenes, cattle, stags, and archers. One big stylized human figure
seems to hâve three horns. Is this a direct precursor of the ‘Daunian’
Trecaranus? (See figs. 8 & 9.) Indo-European provenience is again exclud-
 Heracles and the Master of Animáis Heracles and the Master of Animáis 93
92

Figure 9
T hree-Horned Heracles-Trecaranus. Daunian stela; compare fig. 7.
{Rendiconti dell’ Accademia Nationale dei Linceé VIII 24[1969] pl. 2.)

ed in Neolithic Italy; but local tradition is not necessarily bound to the

language. Probably there were several parallel Strands derived from a
most ancient common basis.
Hand in hand with ritual continuity and transformation, taies will
hâve been transmitted, taies of the quest type, structured by this Paleo-
lithic, this basically human action pattern, how ‘lack' is ‘liquidated’ by
some miraculous helper who is able'to penetrate to the Beyond and to ad-
duce the animais wanted; the Greek name of this helper is Heracles.29
The span of time involved in this hypothesis goes well beyond the recon­
struction of any Indo-European myth; but it accounts for all the basie
Figure 8 éléments of the pattern, and even for its stability by the ritual back-
Stylized Man, Three-Horned (?); Stag Below. Neolithic cave paincings, ground provided. As the shaman is a specialist of sacrifice, Heracles is
near Porto Badisco. (Rendiconti dell’ Accademia Nationale det Ltncei VIH ¿b die founder of altars and the lord of feasts held in his honor all over the
[1971] pl. 2,2.) See IV 5 n. 24. Greek world. The cattle of Geryon invariably end up as sacrificial cows,
; in Argos or Rome, Croton or Dodona.
I Among the variants considered, the motif of the route of the sun oc-
94 Heracles and the Master of Animáis
curred only in the Geryon myth. Still, it is widespread both in Near
Eastern and, as it seems, in Indo-European mythology: the sun appears
from and disappears into some mysterious Beyond, or has to transverse
the nether world at night.30 Gilgames travels through a huge tunnel in
a perforated mountain and beyond the sea, ‘along the road of the sun,’31
to a land where immortality may be found. There is an abundance of
animais in these régions: cattle of Usas the Dawn-goddess in Vedic In­
dia,32 flocks of the Sun-god in the H ittite realm,33 flocks of Helios in
Greece, at Taenarum,34 where the famous entrance to the nether world is
situated, or at Apollonia,35 where the route from the Hyperboreans,
Apollo’s people beyond the cosmic mountain, meets the Greek world.
Cattle of the sun are attested for Gortyn in Crete,36 and are introduced
into the twelfth book of the Odyssey. 37 This complex, too, may have its
roots well beyond the emergence and différentiation of Sumerian, or
Indo-European, or Mediterranean languages and civilizations.
6. HUNTER, HERO, SAVIOR
To return to Heracles: Does this whole fantastic détour
contribute anything to understanding the Greek myths about Heracles?
I think it does. It makes us realize that Heracles is, basically, not a heroic
figure in the Homeric sense: he is not a warrior^fight^^warriors, he is
mainly concerned with animais, just as he is a savage clad in a skin; and
his main job is to tame and bring back the animais which are eaten by
man. There is really a System in his adventures: besides the cattle, or the
bull, he gets the horses, the boar, the stag, and even the birds; the goat
seems to be missing, but goats are in ritual a substitute for the much
more impressive stag.1 To the horror of zoologists, the Cerynean hind
chased by Heracles had antiers, it was a kerûssa élaphos. 2 There is just one
well-known species of Cervidae where the female has antiers, the rein-
deer, and Karl Meuli has argued that the taie may really go back to rein-
deer hunting somewhere in Siberia; he adduced impressive parallels from
Finland.3 As to the horses, Diomedes of Thrace, master of the man-
eating mares, is evidently another owner of animais who have to be
tamed by Heracles.4 The motif of eating human flesh could point to edi-
ble animais,5 but the Greeks did not understand it in this way. Diome­
des of Argos is a hero of Homeric style, though immortal, and another
Heracles and the Master of Animais 95
extraordinary master of horses: he is able to combat gods with his chari­
ot, while agoddess is holding the reins.6 Farther northwest, Diomedes
becomes a mere master of animais again: his sanctuary at Timavon near
Venice was renowned for its groves where ail kinds of animais are said to
live peacefully together, a paradise of animais as if from another world;
horses were brought there by wolves.7 Heracles, in ail these exploits,
plays the same rôle: he transfers the mastership of animais to man, ani­
mais difficult to get, dangerous, and cared for by superhuman owners.
This theme constitutes at least half of his labors; add the victories over
the most valiant and the most hatable animal, the lion and the snake
(introduced, as it seems, from the Near East), and we have nine out of the
twelve, leaving heaven and hell (the apples and Cerberus), and the
Amazons.
For the most curious of these labors belongs to the same category: the
cleaning of the stable o£Augeas.3 Augeas in heroic mythology is firmly
established in pre-Dorian Elis. Yet he is a son of Helios, a tradition
stressed by his very name, deriving from au ge, sunshine.9 It is even con-
ceivable that some misunderstanding of dialect forms in epic tradition
should have turned the son of Helios, Halieios, into an Elean, Waleîos—
the Ionian dialect has neither h nor w .10 His cattle, at any rate, are once
more ‘cattle of the Sun.’ Heracles cornes to get one tenth of his herd, and
if the condition is that he cleans the accumulated filth, this is strangely
reminiscent of the Eskimo shaman’s dealings with Sedna.11 The con­
tinuation, that Augeas refuses to pay, and that Heracles cornes back to
conquer Elis, can hardly be interpreted without reference to the Dorian
or, more exactly, Northwest Greek conquest of Elis. It remains a presup-
position that Heracles is the only one who can get the cattle of the sun.
There is still another variant on the theme o f‘cattle of the Sun’ appro-
priated by Heracles, the herd of Alcyoneus.12 Tradition has this giant
live near Corinth. He must be attacked with a stone, or while he is
asleep. Neither method is very chivalrous, but fitting for monsters and
magicians; the important thing is to get the cattle, by force or by trick;
so Heracles did it.
Another favorite theme of archaic Greek art is Heracles fighting the
‘Old Man of the Sea,’ the Hâlios Géron. 13 He is usually depicted as half
man, half fish, but these créatures have the power of assuming many
shapes, witness Proteus and Thetis. Thus they are the fishy équivalents
96 Heracles and the Master of Animáis
of Periclymenus and Visvarupa. The Hâlios Géron, or Thetis, or Proteus,
is a master of animais, master of the fish of the sea— and of seals, in the
case of Proteus. Fishing is the one variety of ‘hunting’ which has re-
mained of major importance for the provision of food supply up to the
present, and Mediterranean Greece was aware of it.
The same background finally appears in a scene well known fröm both
art and literature: Heracles fighting Achelous the river god.14 Doing so
he saves his bride Deianira from the daims of the monstrous antagonist
who is half man, half bull but may also change his appearance; Heracles
wins by breaking one of the bull’s horns, which miraculously turns out
to be a comucopia, an inexhaustible source of food for the whole of
Aetolia. This result, unexplained at the anthropomorphic level of Greek
mythology, is clearly understood in the context of the traditional pat­
tem: it is food that is sought from the lord of waters, be it by sacrificing
a girl or by the forceful intervention of the superhuman helper.
It must be recalled once more that eating is the main feature of Hera­
cles festivals. In myth, correspondingly, it is Heracles, the great beef-
eater, who provides the animais, who sets up the altars, who institutes
sacrifice, who cooks the meat, and who finishes two oxen at one m eal.15
Comedy has made him the glutton par excellence. The Heracles of clas-
sical poetry is different, a paradigm of tragic existence; the populär Hera­
cles tradition is not the invention of poets, and was hardly modified by
them.
This is not to say that Heracles ‘is’ or ‘was originally’ a shaman; nor is
it correct to say that “his origins belong to the folktale,” and that at some
later date he “entered” into myth and cult.16 The name Heracles is no
doubt far later than the story patterns; there was no individual to Start
with, but taies structured by practical and rimai experience: bearing the
marks of shamanistic hunting ritual, these taies accumulated to create
the character whom the Greeks called Heracles.
Some of Heracles’ exploits remain close to shamanism in the narrower
sense: going to the Underwotld to overcome Cerberus,17 getting the
fruit of immprtality,18 and traveling up to the gods of Olympus. The
most uncanny Gerades taie, the fit of murderous madness that broke out
at a sacrifice,19 may recall shamanistic ecstasy on such occasions. On the
other hand, there is one décisive différence which separates Heracles, as
well as Indra or Trita, from the background evoked. The master of ani-
Heracles and the Master of Animais 97
mais may be tricked or even forced by a powerfiil shaman, but he cannot
be killed, or eise the balance of life would collapse. Heracles makes a
deal with Apollo and Artemis, as well as with Augeas, and he uses force
against Hades, Hera, Achelous, and the Old Man of the Sea; but with
Geryon, Cacus, Diomedes, Alcyoneus, he destroys the antagonist once
and for ever, as Indra destroyed Visvarupa. The Indo-European nomads,
it seems, hâve become possessors of animais themselves, they have no
need to plead with some power of the Beyond again and again. The
primordial helper now appears to be the hero who has definitely trans­
ferred the mastership of animais from the Beyond to man; his exploit be-
comes in fact a ‘cattle raid. ’ Heracles ‘civilizes’ the earth by destruction.
In the further development of Greek civilization, the heroic aspect
had to recede in turn. For the anxieties of emerging individualism, the
really important achievement of Heracles was that he could overcome
Old Age and Death; the animal stories turned into ‘survivais,’ an orna­
mental background. It seems that Eleusis took advantage of the Heracles
tradition and his journey to Hades as early as the sixth Century;20 and
Heracles remained the great helper against the horror of death down to
the sarcophagi of the late empire. It has even been suggested that the
last word ofJesus Christ according to the Gospel of St. John, tetélestai, is
taken over from Heracles.21
There remains the problem of how Heracles became the ancestor of the
Dorian kings, and hence of many other dynasties including the Lydi-
ans22 and Macedonians.23 It is elear that the tribal tradition of the Do-
rians led up to Hyllus, the eponymus of the first ph yla, the Hylleîs.
Descendants of Hyllus came to conquer the Peloponnesus, where, they
said, Heracles had rights to the throne. The story pattern of ‘return’ is
in fact a mythical strategem to obtain légitimation for conquest.24 So
probably the invaders adopted as father of Hyllus some figure of Pelopon-
nesian tradition, a ‘master of animais’ of Tiryns— though the Mycenaean
evidence for such a figure is slim .25 The amalgamation of Heracles and
Dorian kings proved to be a success for both sides; as Heracles rose in
status, the kings could add to their charisma the ‘beautiful victories’ of
Heracles. It is characteristic that the lion fight has become, since the very
beginnings of our evidence, the most popular Heracles theme. Monarchy
modeled on Heracles, Heracles as the model of the monarch, this has be­
come a dominant feature of Graeco-Roman tradition, down to the di-
98 Heracles and the Master of Animais
vinization of the Roman emperor on the pyre whence he rises to the
Gods, Herculis ritu.
The Heracles theme in ancient civilization is so rich and full of varia­
tions that it may easily fill a book— or even a scholar’s life work. Some
may feel no obligation to look for possible antécédents in the darkness of
prehistory. Still the fact that the superhuman helper appears wearing the
lionskin, the animal’s head rising above his face, may remind us of the
fact that civilized man, and monarchy, and warfare are not self-sufficient,
as man is not the only représentative of life; if he has managed to achieve
dominance, this is by a violent tour de force, hope transcending the
desperate borders of factuality. Heracles remained a Symbol of such a
hope, a message transmitted by the taie of how to overcome a crisis by
breaking through the frontiers of confined existence to the Beyond.
V
The Great Goddess,
Adonis, and Hippolytus
If tradition is assumed to constitute the basis of both
ritual and myth, opening up the historical perspective of structures
forming and being transformed, it is troubling that this tends to lead to
prehistorical, Paleolithic, or even prehuman levels, far beyond the elear
light of history. Let us try then to concéntrate now on some cases where
transmission can be seen to happen within the historical epoch; this
means, since Greece does not emerge from the Dark Ages before the end
of the eighth Century and most of Greek mythology is established by the
seventh, that we hâve to look for connections with the Near East, where
written documentation antedates Homer by more than two millennia.
And indeed there has been transmission from East to West of both myths
and rituals. But each case is complex. The examples considered here,
Attis, Adonis, and Hippolytus, may stand for three different forms of
cross-cultural tradition.
1. THE DYING GOD ^
The names Attis/Adonis hâve a familiär rirtg^. Every
reader of The Golden Bough will remember the fascinating trinity of
‘Adonis Attis Osiris’ from the title of Part IV of this monumental work;1
and whoever is concerned with ancient religion is supposed to know that
there are these oriental gods of a ‘well-known’ type who made their im­
pact on Greece and Rome, the ‘god of végétation’ who dies to be reborn
in the course of the seasons, the inferior parhedros of a Great Goddess of
végétation who gives birth, loves, and destroys in turn. To quote Fra-
zer:2 “The spectacle of the great changes which annually pass over the
face of the earth has powerfully impressed the minds of men in all ages,
and stirred them to meditate on the causes of transformations so vast
99
00 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
and wonderfiil. . . . They . . . pictured to themselves the growth and
decay of végétation, the birth and death of living créatures, as effects of
the waxing and waning strength of divine beings, of gods and goddesses,
who were born and died. . . . [T]hey . . . thought that by performing
certain magical rites they could aid the god, who was the principie of
life, in his struggle with the opposing principie of death. They imagined
that they could recruit his failing energies and even raiše him from the
dead. . . . Under the ñames of Osiris, Tammuz, Adonis, and Attis, the
peoples of Egypt and Western Asia represented the yearly decay and
revi val of life, especially of vegetable life, which they personified as a god
who annually died and rose again from the dead. In name and detail the
rites varied from place to place: in substance they were the same.”
This is presenting the theory in its clearest, and most vulnerable,
form: there is, first, an ‘impression,’ an experience which causes ‘médita­
tion’; then, as an answer, a ‘picture’ is produced of a god who is born
and dies; lastly, by second thoughts, some ‘magical’ ritual comes in to
aid the god. Myth is produced as an inadequate explanation of nature,
and ritual follows myth. It is hardly necessary to refute such a construc­
tion in detail; the very formulation of “vegetable life personified”3 be-
trays its origin: it is in the allegorical writers of late antiquity that
Adonis is said to represent ‘spring’ or ‘crops,’4 and A ttis,5 Osiris,6 and
Persephone7 are all treated in the same way. Frazer’s ‘god of végétation’
is post-classic allegory transformed into a genetic theory of religion; we
may leave it to rhetoric and poetry from whence it sprang. It is possible,
of course, to restate the theory in a less rationalistic way, as Theodor
Gaster did, or most recently Thorkild Jacobsen;8 or to evoke feelings of
sympathy with the whole of nature, of anxiety at the waning végétation
in the drought of summet,9 feelings we may easily share in imagination.
It is probably this romantic touch, with the bizarre inversion of male and
female roles lingering in the background, in combination with the per-
fectly reasonable objectives of the supposed primitive magic, that has
made this explanation— which Frazer did not invent, but took over from
Mannhardt— so popular; even if destroyed, it will rise again.
Some hard blows, however, have been dealt to the theory in recent
decades. The very facts of myth and ritual do not correspond to the pre-
suppositions. The main objective should be the invigoration of vegetable
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 101
life, or, in mythical terms, ‘aiding the God’ in his résurrection or re-
birth. But the central feature of the cult is invariably death, catastrophe
celebrated with bloodshed and weeping. The evidence for résurrection is
late and tenuous in the case of Adonis,10 and practically nonexistent in
the case of A ttis;11 not even Osiris returns to real life, but instead attains
transcendent life beyond death. And it was an unexpected shock to Fra-
zerism when in 1951 the hitherto missing conclusion of the Sumerian
myth of Inanna and Dumuzi was published.12 Scholars had been sure
that Inanna, or Ishtar, by her Babylonian name, goes down to the nether
world in order to bring the ‘god of végétation’ back to life;13 now quite
the contrary was seen to happen: Inanna comes back from the nether
world to kill Dumuzi, who had been alive and prosperous on his throne
among the living; Inanna hands him over to her demoniac retinue, the
g a llu , to be put to death as a Substitute for herseif. This is anything but
an allegory of végétation.14
At the same time, Frazer’s position seems to disintegrate by the mere
progress of specialization. Sumerology and Egyptology have become
quite separate fields of study, neither of which cares about the syncretis-
tic Magna Mater of Roman imperial times; experts in each field are more
and more averse to sweeping generalizations, and some have claimed
that there was ‘no similarity at all’ between the different gods or mythi-
cal characters of quite distinct civilizations joined together by Frazer’s
theory.15 This may go as far as to deny any external influence in the
évolution of a civilization— which would indeed be very comforting to
many a specialist. The thesis of tradition, presupposing, as it does, the
openness of Systems, and minds prone to hear and to learn, to be im-
pressed and transformed, is disconcerting from this point of view. But
the weakness of some of Frazer’s assertions is not an argument for dis­
carding Wholesale the problems raised by him, questions which remain
interesdng, and even fascinating.
There has been quite another theory as to the ‘Great Goddess’ pro-
posed recently by Wolfgang Helck, in his book Untersuchungen zur Gros­
sen Göttin. 16 He admits the basic unity of the complex in a vast historical
perspective, while dismissing any specific role of Vegetation’ and even of
‘motherhood’ in it. He concentrâtes on the paradox that a goddess, be it
Sumerian Inanna or Phrygian Cybele or Phoenician Aphrodite, adopts a
102 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
young lover who prematurely dies in conséquence. His explanation is
that once there were primitive hordes of Amazons, dominant females
who would catch males, use them for imprégnation, and destroy them
afterward. This is quite a startling story of primordial ‘women’s lib .’
Unfortunately there is no evidence that any real human society has ever
functioned in this way, though Spiders, and some insects, do use the
method effectively. And even if there had been such Amazons at some
river Thermodon, we would still be left with the problem of why and
how male-dominated societies came to perpetúate these unhappy mem-
ories in their myths, and even act them out in rituals, rituals performed
by males in honor of a goddess. Neither tale nor ritual arises immediate-
ly from facts. Helck’s explanation— notwithstanding the masterly sur-
vey of a vast amount of material presented by him— is a typical ‘just-so
story,’ as Evans-Pritchard would put it :17 an impressive tale beyond
any possibility of vérification; in other words: a myth.
2. KUBABA-CYBELE-METER
Let us try a new approach in terms of tradition, begin-
ning in the clear light of history: in the cases of both Attis and Adonis we
are dealing with a cross-cultural transmission of myths and of rituals,
even across the barrier of language. This is proved if, and only if, non-
Greek sources and Greek sources can be seen to coincide in certain details
which cannot be attributed to chance or general similarity of circum-
stances. As to Attis, he appears late in the evidence. There is, first, the
goddess Kubaba, a ñame corresponding exactly to Greek Kybébe. Kubaba
is the ‘Lady of Carcemish’ at the Euphrates, but we see her cult spreading
already in the Bronze Age to Ugarit as well as to the H ittites;1 she ap­
pears with the Late Hittites of Cilicia and makes her way to Sardes of
Croesus, where her name, in Lydian script, is kuvav,2 Kybébe is the lonian
transcription.3 Unfortunately the name is not informative, and there is
hardly anything but the name in the Bronze Age evidence. In Sardes,
Kuvav appears related to lions, to the goldsmiths, and to Dionysiac élé­
ments. Even more important is the fact that in one of the very earliest
Greek testimonies, in Semonides of Amorgos, Kybebos appears as a noun
denoting a follower of Kybébe,4 a typical figure, as it seems, quite dif­
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 103
ferent from normal men: there are Professional worshipers of Kubaba/
Kybébe who have devoted their life to the goddess in the role of itinérant
priests, or m etragwtai, as the Greeks were later to call them. The décisive
impact of the goddess on the Greeks, however, did not come from the
Lydians, but from the Phrygians, who had dominated western Asia
Minor before the Cimmerians and the rise of the Lydian kingdom. There
is no doubt that the Phrygians worshiped a Great Goddess, represented
in those impressive stone façades, sometimes standing between two
lions, and probably connected with metalworking.5 The inscriptions,
though largely still defying interprétation, seem to refer to her as matar,
‘Mother.’6 Another image of the goddess, enthroned, attended by two
male musicians, cornes from a doorway at Bogazköy. Kurt B ittel7 has
traced the route of transmission of the goddess by représentations in a
sériés of stone reliefs, from the Euphrates through central Anatolia to
Bogazköy and the city of Mi das. In one inscription matar kubile is at-
tested, which obviously corresponds to Greek Meter Kybéle. Kubile is
usually, though not unanimously, taken to be a Phrygian modification
of Kubaba. The cult of the Phrygian Mother Goddess was adopted by the
Greeks where they had their first contacts with Phrygians, in the Troad
about 700 b . c . She could be called Aphrodite, as the Homeric hymn
to Aphrodite shows,8 but most commonly she was simply called Meter,
the Mother. The name Kybala seems to appear on a seventh-century
sherd from Locri in South Italy.9 The spreading of the cult is docu-
mented in the sixth Century by a sériés of reliefs, representing the god­
dess frontally enthroned in a naiskos, usually without attributes;10 later
the tympanon and the lion may be added. These are votive documents
of private worship. Votive niches, with similar représentations, were
also carved in rocks outside the city. Large complexes survive at Ephesus,
and at Acrae in Sicily. 11 But Meter had also a public sancfuäry in the
city of Ilium from the time of the archaic period;12 and in Athens, the
archive was transformed into a Metrdon in the fifth Century by consecrat-
ing a statue of Meter.13 We are clearly witnessing the spread of an Ana-
tolian cult to Greece. The Greeks continued to call Meter the ‘Phrygian
Goddess.’ This is not to forget, however, that there was a ‘Mother of the
Gods,’ a mater theia worshiped already in the Mycenaean period.14 At
Knossos the Demeter sanctuary, close to a sub-Minoan shrine, may be
104 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
the successor to such a ‘Mother’ worship.15 The cult of Phrygian Meter
thus could be assimilated to the indigenous Meter tradition, and this
may hâve been one of the reasons for its expansion.
The literary evidence becomes explicit with Pindar.16 He describes
the orgiastic festival of Pótnia K ybêla, with the ecstatic rhythm of tym-
pana and krótala, merging already with Dionysiac bakcheia. But there is
no trace either of Attis or of castrated Galloi thus far. The first ritual
castration of a metragyrtes is attested for Athens in 4 1 5 ;17 the first men­
tion of Attis occurs in a comedy of Theopompus at the beginning of the
fourth Century18 though he hides behind Atys, son of Croesus, killed
by a boar in a well-known novella of Herodotus.19 Agdistis appears in
Menander as in inscriptions about 300,20 Galloi are known to Calli-
machus and Dioscorides.21 It seems that the center of the Attis-Agdistis
cult, Pessinus in Phrygia,22 had stayed outside the horizon of the Greek
world before the fourth Century. Then, about 300, the Eleusinian priest
Timotheus, who was in contact with Ptolemy I, published a stränge and
sta rd in g version of the Pessinuntian m y th .23 The cult of Meter and Attis
rose to prominence at Pergamum with the kings named Attalus. The
real impact of Pessinus came when the Megalesia were transferred to
Rome in 204.24 It was from the new center in the ager Vaticanus that
the cult of Magna Mater pervaded the whole Roman empire; its lan-
guage, though, remained Greek.
It is, of course, the ritual castration óf the Galloi which catches the
imagination, though it was not central, or not even known, in the ar-
chaic Greek Meter cult. It was characteristic of Pessinus, but not con-
fined to the place: it is attested in Hellenistic Cyzicus25 and may have
been much older there; it played a role in Hierapolis in Phrygia;26 it was
practiced in Edessa;27 and it is prominent in the cult of Atargatis in
Bambyce-Hierapolis, the ‘Dea Syria.’28 This is not too far from Carce-
mish, the city of Kubaba; and if Kubaba’s follower is called Kÿbebos in
Greek, the self-castrated youth in the etiological myth of Bambyce, as
transmitted by Lucian, becomes ‘Kombabos.’29 The name Atargatis,
formed by combination o f ‘Aśtart and ‘Anat,30 goddess of love and god­
dess of cruelty, seems to be kind of a Semitic interprétation of this com-
plex divinity. It can hardly be doubted that we are dealing with the
historical diffusion of.a cult from Carcemish to Syria as well as to central
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 105
Anatolia and Cyzicus on the Black Sea. There is evidence of Bronze Age
tradition at Pessinus.31
Bronze Age evidence as to ritual castration is elusive,32 though the use
of flint, instead of a métal knife, for the operation33 unequivocally points
to the Stone Age. Modem explanations of the ritual in terms of ‘belief’
are guesswork.34 It is clear that the act was performed in a State of mind
when the man could not give reasons for what he did; but he followed an
established pattern. Perhaps a functional view is not out of place:
castration puts a man outside archaic society in an absolutely irrevocable
way; being neither man nor woman,35 but ‘nothing,’ he has no place to
go. He has no choice but to adhéré to his goddess; and ‘awe w ill spread’
around him (n. 32). Irrespective of motivations, the mere act makes
apostasy impossible. And simply the eccentric position may acquire
survival value in the ail too frequent catastrophes of war. Conquerors
would usually kili ail adult males, hebedôn, as the Greeks said, and take
the women; but since a eunuch does not fit either category, he may be
spared.36 Thus sanctuaries run by eunuch priests may well have been the
only organizations to survive those really dark centuries in Anatolia
before the Persian mie, or even thepax Romana. This would explain why
we find the Anatolian goddess usually installed in these priests’ statės, in
a ‘Holy C ity,’ Hierapolis, Metropolis, and surrounded by eunuchs.
Such an organization is incommensurable with the Greek city State.
Meter cuit spread to the Greeks in the form of private worship with an
exotic flair; it was propagated by itinérant mendicant priests who would
collect offerings for their goddess, be it Meter or Syrie tbeôs, and live on
them. Traditionalists might despise these ‘beggars,’ but others could
find here expériences and help which the old gods of the city would not
offer.
3. FROM DUMUZI TO ADONIS CULT
As to Adonis,1 his case is the clearest example of a Se-
mitic god adopted by the Greeks in the archaic period, and the Greeks
knew it. Hesiod makes him the son of Phoenix, Panyasis an ‘Assyrian.’2
Adon is a common West Semitic word, meaning ‘Lord,' adoni ‘My Lord. ’3
Still this is not a god’s name, but a general title applicable to every god.
106 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
/
Thus it has been said that there is no evidence at all for Adonis cult in thé
Semitic world; and even a Greek etymology of the name Adonis was
proposed by Kretschmer.4 The décisive link, however, is established by
the ritual: women weeping over a young god, the lover of the goddess of
love, at the be^iqning of Summer. For Sappho and her girls,5 this is
Adonis, the beloVed of Aphrodite; from Babylonia6 to Syria and Pales­
tine, this is Tammuz, the consort of Ishtar/Astarte. In ancient Sumeria
the names were Dumuzi and Inanna. There are additional details which
prove the dependence of the Greek on the Semitic ritual: the prominence
of incense in the ceremonies— in myth, Adonis becomes the son of M yr-
rha, the balm-tree,7 but the name m yrrha, as well as the substance, is a
Semitic import which came to Greece in the seventh Century— and the
peculiarity that Adonic rites were performed on the roofs of the houses;
this is isolated in Greece, but quite common in Canaanite religion.8
It is true that there is just one piece of old evidence from the Semitic
side about as old as Sappho, a well-known passage in Ezekiel, but it is
unequivocal.9 The other Semitic evidence outside Babylonia dates from
imperial times: tesserae of Palmyra inviting for the festival of ‘Tatnuza
and ‘B eiti,’ the ‘Lady,’ and showing the dead god on his bier,10 a votive
statue from Damascus with the same motif,11 Mandaean polemics
against those who mournfully sit in the house of Astarte and Tammuz.12
The lament for Tammuz persisted in Harran/Carrhae well into the Mid­
dle Ages;13 the month of Tammuz is still in the Hebrew as well as the
Turkish calendar.
The name in these Semitic sources is always ‘Tammuz,’ and it is the
same in the myth told in the Syrian text of Pseudo-Melito14 with refer-
ence to the cuit of Byblos. The ‘Adonis’ cuit of Byblos is often men-
tioned in Greek authors, but whereas the ‘Lady’ of Byblos, Baalat Gebai,
is well attested ever since the Bronze Age, there is scant indigenous
evidence as to her consort.15 It seems safe to conclude that the god to be
mourned usually was, and remained, ‘Tammuz’ for Semites,16 adon
being used as a title. The cry of lament may well have been ‘hui Adon,'
‘alas, Lord,’ as at a royal funeral.17 It is not the name which constitutes ■
the identity of worship.
A prominent place of Adonis worship according to Greek tradition,
and a place where Semitic and Greek dehnk e ly m e t and m in g led for
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 107
centuries, is Cyprus.18 But there is no direct evidence for the realities of
cuit from the island, and for complication, quite different names of the
god are attested, Aos19 and Gauas. 20 The two most famous Aphrodite
sanctuaries in Cyprus, Paphos21 and Amathus,22 antedate the Phoeni-
cian advent to Kition in the ninth century. Probably matters were still
more complicated than we suspect.
Side by side with the women’s lament, two other rituals are charac-
teristic of Greek Adonis worship, the sowing of‘gardens’ in sherds which
are finally thrown into water,23 and the laying out of an effigy of the
dead god, also to be carried off and thrown into water.24 A comparable
‘exhibition’ before substitute burial seems to occur in Babylonia;25 and
it survived in many forms of European folklore;26 the ‘gardens’ may be
alluded to in Isaiah;27 survivais especially in Italian folk ca stom s have
long been collected;28 but the most surprising parallels corne from In­
dia.29 The ‘garden’ ri tuai, which is to be understood as play-acting the
failure of planting30 in order to ensure by contrast the success in reality,
has a meaning in itself and is not necessarily correlated to Aphrodite’s
l° v e r - ^ 1*4 Ujf*
There remain enough lacunae and uncertainties in our knowledge.
Still we can feel confident as to the general outline: the yearly festival of
weeping for Tammuz spread from Mesopotamia to Syria and Palestine,
and thence, with the name ‘Adonis,’ to Greece. At Jérusalem, as still in
fifth-century Athens, this is not an established State festival, but an
unofficial ceremony spontaneously performed by women, and viewed
with suspicion by the dominant male. What this festival could mean to
Greek women, with its emotional atmosphère of perfumes, séduction,
wailing and despair in contrast to the old, severe festival of the Thesmo-
phoria, has been well described by Marcel Detienne.31 It is this spécial
situation of Greek women seeking relief from intensive everyday pres­
sures that assured the success of Adonis cuit in Greece, and possibly also
in Palestine before. The foreign ritual is adopted in order to serve a spé­
cial function in a new context; it is the exotic character which proves
attractive. Independence from and Virtual antagonism to the established
State cuits is common to Adonis and Meter worship; the sociological
background, though, is quite different: women performing mock la­
ment on the one side, itinérant priests propagating their goddess on the
108 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
other. In its new setting, neither cuit has much to do with farmers and
their crops. The Romans thought Magna Mater would destroy Hanni­
bal; and she evidently did.
4. THE MYTHS OF DUMUZI,
ADONIS, AND ATTIS
In both cases considered, there is no question about the
factual transmission of ritual. What about the transmission of myths?
Here things become more complicated. If we take the ‘Adonis myth’ to
be the story about his death by the boar,1 when the délicate boy had the
unfortunate idea to set out for hunting, we must face the fact that there
is no evidence whatsoever for this outside the Greek world. Scholars
were so happy to find at Ghineh near Byblos, renowned for its Adonis
cuit, a relief showing a man being attacked by a bear, that they were not
too much troubled by the différence between bear and boar; and the
picture is reproduced in most older studies of Adonis.2 But it was finally
proven to be a funerary monument of Roman times, with a scene from
life which has nothing to do with Adonis or Tammuz. Even in Greek
mythology, on the other hand, the motif of the young hunter killed by a
boar is not at a11 confined to Adonis. There is the death of Ancaeus at the
Calydonian boar hunt, attested much earlier than Adonis’ ill fate,3 there
is the story of Adrastus and Atys in Herodotus,4 there are versions of
the death of Attis by the boar.5 There is not much to be said for making
Ancaeus another member of the Adonis-Attis sériés. It may be signifi-
cant, however, that an accident in boar hunting— more than, say, lion
hunting or bear hunting— is liable to produce wounds somehow equal-
ing castration; then the boar would be just an exchangeable sign for a
deeper meaning.
Now if we turn to Sumerian Dumuzi,6 as underlying Semitic Tam­
muz, we seem to be in a different world. Dumuzi, the ‘true son,’ is a
shepherd outside the city who cares for cattle and sheep, gives milk to
the calf and the lamb; he is the beloved one of Inanna; and the Sumerian
kings of Isin, worshiping Inanna, assumed the role of Dumuzi and cele-
brated their sacred marriage with the goddess.7 Idyl, however, turns
into catastrophe: Dumuzi is killed, and mourned. The yearly ritual la­
ment for Dumuzi in the month named after him remained the main
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 109
feature of Dumuzi worship. The Sumerian lamentation texts are still
obscure in many of their details.8 More telling are the mythical, narra­
tive texts dealing with Dumuzi’s death. The main version is ‘Inanna’s
Descent to the Nether W orld,’ with Inanna delivering Dumuzi finally
to the infernal gailu as her substitute.9 Another impressive text describes
Dumuzi fleeing from the g a ilu . Transformed into a gazelle, he flees from
town to town, but finally he is hunted down: “the God Dumuzi is
dead.” 10 The main text continues with Dumuzi’s sister Geštinanna
searching for Dumuzi and finally giving herself as an altérnate in the
realm of death: “You half a year, your sister half a year.” 11 The poem
concludes with a praise for Ereškigal, the queen of the Underworld.
It is understandable that some scholars hâve asserted: this has nothing
at ail to do with boar-hunting Adonis.12 But there are other versions in
Greek sources, too. Christian authors, beginning with the apology of
Aristides,13 add to the common Adonis story that Aphrodite, afterward,
went down to the nether world and asked Persephone to give Adonis
back. They finally made a deal that Adonis should remain in the upper
world for half of the year, and in the other for the ręst of the time. W ith
this final deal, we are back to the end of the main Sumerian text: In the
version of the Christian Fathers we hâve a Sumerian-Semitic Tammuz
myth transformed into an appendix to the Greek Adonis myth. The ac­
tams’ correspond, Ereškigal—Persephone, Dumuzi—Adonis, though the
roles of Inanna and Geštinanna have become conflated in Aphrodite, as
Adonis’ death is due to the boar, and the ambivalent behavior of Inanna
is replaced by the simple motivation of Aphrodite’s love. In fact it was
this Greek version which set the orientalists on the wrong tracks as to
Ishtar’s Descent.14 Wrong as this may be, modification présupposés the
transmission of myth, from Sumerian via Semitic to Greek; and it adds
to the evidence that myths about Ishtar and Tammuz persisted in Syria
and Palestine down to the Christian Era, seven hundred years beyond the
destruction of Nineveh, and two thousand years heyond the Sumerian
version.
Much earlier, though, is the version of Panyasis,15 the fifth-century
poet, known through Apollodoms’ summary: Adonis, when a child, is
so lovely and beautiful that Aphrodite hides him away; she puts him into
a coffin, lärnax, and hands him over to Persephone; and later on, when
Aphrodite wants him back, Persephone refuses, since she, too, loves the
110 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
beautiful youth. There follows a quarrel, and a deal: by arbitration of
Zeus, Adonis is to belong one third of the year to Aphrodite, one third to
Persephone, and one third to himself—which he adds to Aphrodite’s
share. We have the same persons, Inanna, Ereskigal, and Dumuzi, to
use their Sumerian names; we have the conflict between love and death,
and a stränge ambivalence in Aphrodite’s action: what an idea to hide the
beloved one in a lârnax, a coffin, and send him to the nether world, of
all places! In fact now the myth, taken in its basic structure, as a sé­
quence of actions, is seen to fall into place: there is the great goddess of
love who chooses a young partner, and she loves him; but then, with a
surprising reversai, she hands him over to the goddess of death, to the
‘land of no return’; still this is not the end, a deal between Love and
Death restores an equilibrium of above and below, adding, in the Greek
version, a sphere of ‘self’ in the persisting conflict. This is a meaningful
though ambivalent structure, open to differing interprétations and ap­
plications and not exhausted by any of them, transmitted from Sumer
through Semites to the Greeks, together with the ritual of finding emo­
tional outlet and relief through mourning and lamentation. Incidental-
ly, the Adonis of Panyasis is an ‘Assyrian,’ and a magical text of late
antiquity has even preserved the Sumerian name, invoking, beside
Adonis amid the gods of the nether world, ‘Persephone Ereskigal.’ 16
As to Attis, the myth as propagated by Timotheus17 seems to be both
complex and sophisticated. Its beginning corresponds nearly sentence
for sentence to the beginning of the H ittite Ullikummi myth, the beget-
ting of the monster— this must be genuine Bronze Age tradition pre­
served at Pessinus;18 castration, then, changes the bisexual monster into
a goddess, Agdistis, and produces, through Nana and the tree, the male
partner, Attis; when Attis turns away to marry a princess, Agdistis en-
ters the town, frenzy seizes everyone, and Attis emasculates himself and
dies under the pine tree. This myth has clearly a spéculative structure,
from bisexuality through polarity to the emasculated gâllos, and it is
applied to the existing Galloi and their ecstatic festival of the goddess.
But the one incident of the goddess entering the town in order to destroy
the bridegroom while he is marrying a princess19 is remarkably close to
the advent of Inanna, rising from the nether world with her demoniac
retinue, the g a llu , and entering Dumuzi’s palace to destroy him; the
retinue of Agdistis-Cybele are called galloi', it is tempting indeed to
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 111
identify them with the Mesopotamian ga llu .20 If a connection between
Sumeria and Anatolia in the myth of the goddess destroying her lover is
assumed, the very part of the story which is suppressed or reinterpreted
in the case of Adonis stands out in this instance. Still it would be rash to
make Sumer the ‘origin’ of the whole complex, though the Adonis and
the Attis tradition seem to have their final meeting there. Sumerian
Dumuzi himself is anything but ‘simple’; it may well be that Anatolian
tradition goes still farther back in time and is more original,21 as it is
sūrely more fierce and barbamus. The hope of arriving at clear and simple
‘origins’ within the field of history, of literary documents, is once more
bound to fail.
5. HIPPOLYTUS
It may be a relief to turn one’s back on these overgrown
paths of early history and to face one of the bright figures of Greek myth,
Hippolytus.1 Hippolytus is the main character of one of the finest tragé­
dies of Euripides; together with the Phaedra of Seneca, and the Phèdre of
Racine, this makes up a well-known chapter of our classical héritage. It
is startling, though, to notice that the Christian poet, Racine, felt un-
able to preserve the main characteristic of the ancient Hippolytus: chas-
tity, absolute disdain for sex and women. To a Paris audience, this would
seem ridiculous, and an American audience would probably call for the
psychiatrist. Wilamowitz2 tried to understand it as a projection of fe-
male virginity, the myth arising from the feelings of the brides in Troe-
zen who sacrificed their hair to Hippolytus. This served him to get rid
of the stränge ideal of male chastity amid the nude épheboi of classical
Greece; but can we trust a man speculating about the feelings of brides?
Surely myths do not arise in this way. Myth consists of a sequence of
actions; the main ‘actant’ in this case is the goddess Aphrodite; her repré­
sentative on the human level is Queen Phaedra, the ‘shining,’ who falls
in love, offers herseif, and kills her lover when he despises her. Hippoly­
tus’ character is designed to meet this action program. The action of
Aphrodite/Phaedra, however, is practically identical to what Inanna
does to Dumuzi, or Agdistis/Cybele to Attis, though the motives are
different; doser still is the myth about Astarte pursuing the hunter Es-
mun.3 These interrelations, and many more, were set out in a vast per-
112 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
spective by Wolfgang Fauth; even before, Hippolytus had been termed
just another dying ‘god of végétation.’4 Hippolytus is a god in Troezen,
to be sure, and perhaps the earliest attested résurrection story in Greek
mythology is attached to his name.5
What is different, however, from both Adonis and Attis, is that Hip­
polytus is firmly rooted in Greek ciry cult. We have the word of Pausani-
as that the Hippolyteion was the major sanctuary of Troezen, with a
temple of Aphrodite built within.6 There was a small sanctuairy of
Aphrodite 'epi Hippolyto at Athens, said to be derived from Troezen.7
One may wonder, on the other hand, about the curiously complicated
method Aphrodite uses to take her revenge: she has Phaedra cause The-
seus to pronounce a curse, which movės Poseidon to send a bull from the
sea, who in turn causes Hippolytus’ horses to go wild, which finally
kilis the hero. If I were Aphrodite, I would not trust this assassination
machine to work properly. At any rate Aphrodite could have driven the
horses wild herseif, as she did in the case of Glaukos Potnieus.8 But of
course the chariot horses belong to Poseidon, and Poseidon is the main
god of Troezen, indeed the grandfather of Hippolytus, and the name
Hippolytus ties the hero in with horses. Thus one begins to wonder what
really is Aphrodite’s business in the affair. It does not usually take two
gods to kill one man; and Hippolytus is more directly the victim of
Poseidon.
But the very name Hippolytos is a puzzle, just because it is such lucid
Greek. It cannot mean ‘torn by horses,’ as some Interpreters have sug-
gested,9 because lyein means to dissolve and not to tear apart. There is a
set of proper names ending in -lytos, such as Damolytos, Philolytos, Theo-
lytos, Autolytos, and they are crystal clear: this means ‘ransomed’ or ‘freed’
by the dâmos, by friends, god, or oneself—but this lyein cannot be done
by horses. It has been said that Hippolytos is a simple transposition of
Lys-ippos, 10 he who unharnesses the horses; but its opposite, Zeuxippos,
has no corresponding *Hippôzeuktos. Furthermore, the équivalent of
elâsippos is hippelâtes, ‘driver of horses,’ in contrast to hippélatos, ‘driven
by horses,’ whereas damasippos has hippodarmstes, with the proper names
Hippodâmas and Hippôdamos; but we find no *hippodamastos. Is there
nothing left but the hypothesis of a nonsense compromise of the Pheidip-
pides type?
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 113
The sanctuary in Athens is officially called Aphrodite epi Hippólyto(u), 11
‘Aphrodite at Hippolytos.’ This is stränge again. You could speak of
funerary games for a person as âthla epi Pelta, for example; but nobody
would say *ZeÛs epi Pilopos for Olympia; but you could say ‘Athéna at
the Palladion,’ 12 or a contest ‘at the Lenaion’13 and ‘Dionysus in the
marshes,’ Dionysos en limnais, or ‘Demeter out of town,’ Deméter prb
pôleos. This would suggest a concrète object or place underlying epi
hippolyto, and at once an exact parallel cornes to the mind: bûlytos,14
meaning ‘the time when oxen are unyoked’ in Homer; hippólytos, by
analogy, should mean: the time, place, or occasion of unharnessing
horses. The mythical hero Hippolytus would then have risen out of a
désignation with a more practical significance.
‘Unharnessing horses,’ in a ritual context connected with Poseidon
of Troezen, does indeed make sense. By way of détour, we could men­
tion the famous Equus October sacrifice15 in Rome when, after a chari­
ot race, one of the winning horses was unharnessed and sacrificed in
an elaborate ceremony which has good daims to Indo-European prove­
nance. Ever since Callimachus, Hippolytus has been identified with the
obscure hero Virbius honored with horse sacrifice in Diana’s grove at
Aricia near Rome.16 But we need not travel that far. Horse sacrifice to
Poseidon, Lord of the Watery Deep, must have been quite common in
early Greece, corresponding to the myth about the horse’s birth from
the spring, Hippu krêne\ it is positively attested at Argos,17 not too far
from Troezen; a horse, with bridle, is submerged in the sea. A Geo-
metrical vase-painting from Argos may even represent some kind of
horse sacrifice.18 There was a remarkable horse ritual in Poseidon’s
grove at Onchestos in Boeotia, as described in the Homeric hymn to
Apollo:19 horses were set free to race with a chariot, without charioteer;
may the god guard the chariot! The corresponding myth tells how
King Clymenus perished in a chariot race,20 as did Hippolytus. Ail
this leads to the hypothesis that there was a ceremony eph’ hippolytou,
involving the unharnessing of horses in a sacrificial context in honor of
Poseidon at Troezen,21 a tradition handed down from the Bronze Age
when, as we know, Poseidon was so prominent. Troezen, though
Dorian, has strong ties with the Mycenaean age, and the mythical
connections with Athens bear witness to this fact.
114 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippoiytus
One may tentatively go one step further: if the Argives drown a
horse in the sea for Poseidon, they are expecting some gift in return, a
chartessa amoibé. The Indo-European horse sacrifice, to judge by the
Veda, intends to procure a wealth of food: “the horse brings the cat-
tle.”22 Cattle, and especially the bull, are a symbol of affluence. In
the Hippoiytus myth, the bull comes from the sea as the horses go
wild at the horse sacrifice, as it were. Has the tale inverted cause and
effect?23 The wealth from the sea, sent by Poseidon in exchange for
the horse sacrifice, would be a rieh supply of fish. In Geometrie pot-
tery, especially Argive pottery, we find constantly the horse associated
with the fish.24 Are we sure that this had no special meaning at the
time?
The hair sacrifice of girls, together with lament, could easily go to-
gether with the hypothetical horse sacrifice eph’ hippolytolu).25 But there
is, after all, a temple of Aphrodite in the Hippolyteion— still called by
this name— in Troezen, and the sanctuary at Athens is also hers. If
Aphrodite does not belong to the Mycenaean héritage,26 she must be
an intruder; and there is quite concrete evidence to suggest how she
made her way right into the sphere of horses and charioteers: there are
front preces of horses’ harnesses with elabórate décoration made of
bronze or ivory, fabricated in northern Syria sińce the ninth Century
and exported to Cyprus, Phrygia, and Greece in the eighth and seventh
centuries. Examples known so far come from Miletus and Samos.27
(See figs. 10, 11, 12.) The main figure on the relief décoration is the
well-known nude goddess in frontal pose. For orientais, this would be
Ishtar, who acquired a special status as ‘Lady of the Chariot’ in the
late Bronze A ge.28 Scholars hâve good grounds to be reluctant as to the
question of how much information was transmitted alongside these
représentations introduced by way of commerce; but we may be sure
that the Greeks looked at these pictures, and they must hâve wondered
about the contrast between the manly charioteer and the nude girl on
the forehead plates of his horses. Now, in two of the examples,29 we see
another well-known type, the ‘master of animais’ swinging sphinxes or
stepping on lions, beside nude goddesses; here the contrast between
male and female, heroic exploit and sexual attraction, is still more sug­
gestive. It is Hippoiytus who destroys the ‘wild beasts,’ the 'thtres of
the country.’30 In other examples, Ishtar is seen carrying the sun-disk
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippoiytus 115
Figure 10
Horse Head with Front Piece: Nude G oddess. Stone sculpture from
Zincirli, ninth century B.C. (A rchivfur Orientforschung 10 [1935—36] 331, fig.
7.)SeeV 5 n. 27 (1).
on her head;31 it would be just speaking Greek to call her ‘Phaidra. ’
Thus the éléments of the story seem to be présent right on these orien­
tal imports. If, as it may easily hâve happened, some of these horse
plaques wound up in the Hippolyteion of Troezen as the votive gift of
some successful charioteer, then the Hippolytus myth was in the air;
and it is important to see that a similar myth about the aggressive fe­
male became attached to another mythical horseman, Corinthian Bel-
lerophon:32 he invented the bridle and tamed the horse begotten by
Poséidon, he was pursued by the passion of Stheneboea; he, however,
still had a chance to dispose of the Chimaera before he took his fall
from Pegasus. It is in this story, by the way, that the Semitic déltos, the
twofold writing tablet,33 makes its appearance in Greek mythology.
Farther east there is Phaëthon who, while he is about to marry a god­
dess, perishes in a cosmic chariot crash.34
To avoid misunderstanding: this is not to suggest that the Hippoly­
tus myth arose or was ‘created’ with a glance at two figures on an im-
ported relief. As the Bellerophon parallel shows, somehow the Inanna
myth, in its more human transformation known as the Potiphar mo­
tif,35 must hâve become known to some Greeks, as the Inanna-Dumuzi
myth became known, in a more original form, to Panyasis. The reliefs,
it is suggested, could act as a catalyst, linking the myth about the vie-
116 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 117

Figure 12
Figure 11 Master of A nimals; Two N ude G oddesses. Bronze horse plaque from Teli
Nude G oddess under Sun D isk . Ivory horse plaque from Nimrud. (Vorder­ Tainat. (Journal ofNear Eastem Studies 21 [ 1962] pl. 12. Copyright: University
asiatische Archäologie, Festschrift A. Moortgat [Berlin 1964] pl. 2,1.) See V 5 n. of Chicago) See V 5 n. 27 (3).
27(2).
118 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
tim of Aphrodite or of her human counterpart to Poseidon and the
charioteer. The point of coïncidence was provided by the situation of
sacrifice, appearing in mythology as catastrophe. Thus the double kill-
ing of Hippolytus, by Aphrodite and by Poseidon, is readily under-
stood. And the pictures give us an idea as to the date of this process,
roughly the eighth or the seventh Century, hardly earlier or later.36
The Greek myths as we know them are not necessarily aboriginal, and
many may be post—Bronze Age élaborations; and yet they were not
invented as free créations by the mythopoetic Greek genius, either, but
aróse through the transformations and adaptations of patterns which are
not the property of any specific tribe or civilization. The Hippolytus
myth, then, in its connection with as well as in its contrast to Adonis
and Attis, represents a third type of transmission from orient to Greece:
here we hâve neither propagation not imitation of new ritual experience,
but the adaptation of a tale, assisted by représentations, to a preexisting
and, in this sense, native ritual. This makes Hippolytus appear more
‘Greek’ than Adonis, let alone Attis. The ideal of pure Artemis which
brings the moving, nay, the truly tragic contrast is not due to ritual, it
is crystallization brought about by poetry; this is Eurípides.
6. THE H UN TERS’ LEGACY
We might well end here with aesthetic appréciation,
adding perhaps some more or less profound observations of psycho-
analysis, such as incest, and the castrating mother. W ill you forgive
me for looking instead back into the depths of prehistory once more?
Hippolytus is a hunter, and Adonis perished in hunting. Indeed the
chastity of Hippolytus, the character indelebilis of Artemis, reflects a
primordial hunting taboo: the hunter must be abstinent and ‘pure’; 1
Adonis, rising from Aphrodite’s bed, is bound to fail. This points to a
historical Ievel anteceding even the Sumerian shepherd Dumuzi. But in
fact Dumuzi’s death occurs when the pastoral idyl is overthrown by
predators or démons hunting down the gazelle:2 We are back with
hunting even there. And it is equally to hunting that details of the
best-known ritual in this séries must go back, details of the Magna
Mater ritual.
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 119
Ail worshipers of Meter at the time of the festival, and the gâlloi
throughout their life, are forbidden to eat grain, as well as roots,
fruits such as apples, pomegranates, and dates, certain kinds of fish
and fowl, as well as pigs.3 This is little noticed but fondamental: the
main kind of food ever since the ‘Neolithic révolution’ is taboo in
Meter’s realm; what is left to eat is méat, mainly beef, from sacrifice.
This can hardly be called ascetic and is definitely not a fast; the Roman
satirist points out with relish how these greedy Galli prompt the de-
vout to sacrifice incessantly, in order to hâve their feast.4 Meter ré­
pudiâtes what the Greeks call bémeros tropbé, civilized nutrition; to the
Greeks— and Greek was the language of Meter orgies— these are sav-
ages; and the Galloi themselves know it.- They arrive from the woods
carrying the pine tree.5
The central sacrifice is called taurobôlion.^ The elaborate blood-bap-
tism as known from Prudentius, with the initiate crouching in a pit
covered with beams, while the bull is slaughtered right above his head,
may not be older than about A.D. 100, where the first taurobolium altars
were set up; and the formula ‘in aetemum renatus,' which occurs only
in the fourth century, may even be a counterfeit of Christian baptism.7
But some form of the bull sacrifice must be very old; it is presup-
posed in the use of the tympanon, a kettle covered with ox-hide,
which was the characteristic attribute of Meter.8 The Word taurobôlion,
like the less important—and cheaper— kriobôlion, points to a spécial
kind of slaughter, involving aiming and hitting with a weapon: Pru­
dentius says the bull was pierced with a sacred hunting spear, vena-
bulum. 9 The taurobôlion is a ritual preserving éléments of bull hunting.
Surprising confirmation from the seventh and sixth millennia B.C.
cornes from Çatal H üyük.10 W hile in this Neolithic city normal food
consisted largely of barley and wheat, there was also ritual bull-hunt­
ing, with the horns set up in the ‘sanctuaries’ beneath a figure of the
Great Goddess giving birth. The wall-painting which represents the
bull hunt shows, in addition to normal hunters using spears, figures
dressed as léopards, with the animal’s hind part and tail attached to
their bodies.11 For practical hunting this must be quite an obstacle.
But it is a ritual mark of status: here we hâve a group of powerfol
savages, set apart from civilized life, men who guarantee the success of
120 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
the hunt, who procure the implements for the sanctuaries, who serve
the goddess in some spécial way/There is a well-known statuette from
fata l Hüyük showing the goddess enthroned between two léopards;12
these are the goddess’s satellites. This image is practically identical to
the image of Cybele or Magna Mater six thousand years later, though
since Sumerian Inanna the more royal lion has replaced the léopard.13
The goddess of fatal Hüyük even seems to hâve a youthful lover.14
There must hâve been some continuity there, to be accounted for pri-
marily in terms of social organization: the préservation of a hunter’s
life in a nonfunctional, ritual manner, set apart from but interacting
with the normal, 'civilized’ community; this has become a basic form
of organization, a men’s society, sometimes a secret society under the
guidance of a Great Goddess. Its members are, in the historical period,
the satellites of the goddess: warlike Korybantes or Kyrbantes of Meter,
blacksmiths called Idaean Dactyls, or goldsmiths of Kubaba,15 as well
as the effeminate Galloi of Pessinus and Hierapolis.
This is not to say that the léopard men of fatal Hüyük were eunuchs
— though there is a strange story in Ovid implying that Cybele’s lions
were asexual.16 This is to recognize, however, a set of antinomies and
reversais, experienced and emphasized in ritual, which ultimately
stems from the primordial hunter’s situation, involving killing and
guilt, bloodshed and sexuality, success and failure, superiority and in-
feriority, death and life. Even the ritual castration is to be seen in this
context. What the galloi do corresponds closely to what is done to the
sacrificial victim in Meter cu it: th e genitals of bull or ram are eut off,
carried in a ceremonial way, handed over, and buried,17 just as the
genitals of the galloi are treated in a spécial manner and finally deposit-
ed in Meter’s cave, or buried.18 The hunter equals the victim. There
are comparable hunters’ customs as to the victim’s reproductive or-
gans.19 The main spectacle of Meter cuit, as also of some related Ana-
tolian cuits, was the ‘day of blood,’ when the galloi would flagellate
themselves in public and eut their arms with knives and axes, till
they streamed with blood, without showing any sign of pain;20 after-
ward, both Galloi and priests of Dea Syria would présent themselves
as passive homosexuals.21 This is not a rite of fertility; it is self-
humiliation, following self-destruction triumphantly overeóme. The
ritual carries the message that these men are totally different, both
The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus 121
superior and inferior to average men, inferior in sexual status but
superior as to blood and death; thus awe spreads from the holy beggars.
Less ambivalent and demonstrating clear superiority are the war dances
of the Corybantes, but they in turn are subjugated by holy madness.
The smiths, lame and blackened with soot but masters of mysterious
techniques, are another instance of the inferiority-superiority complex.
Ritual mourning and lamentation, the basic feature of the Tammuz-
Adonis strand in the pattern, seems to be different at first glance. We
think of it as naturally and spontaneously belonging to the expérience
of death, and no doubt this is a most ancient human tradition.22 Taken
as action, mourning consists mainly of demonstrative self-humiliation
and self-aggression, with défilement, tearing of the hair, beating of the
breasts, scratching of the face. This may corne quite close to a dies san­
guinis, and Adonis and Attis cuit could in fact mingle at this level,23
though in the sphere of Adonis there was more beauty left than abase-
ment; but these are just varying Strands in a much more complex
texture of hunting, death, and sacrifice. Humiliation in mourning cor­
responds to the unquestionable superiority of the survivor to the de-
ceased, and hides the fact that the heir is factually profiting from the
dead. Perhaps we should not even speak of mock mourning or mock
lament, when similar ritual appears in other situations of success, suc­
cess in hunting, fishing, or at harvest. Weeping is quite common on
these occasions, and other forms of abasement occur among hunters, as
well as at sacrifice.24 The Tammuz-Adonis lament has long been linked
to such ceremonies.25 This was not made up to invigorate a végétation
god; rather it came from a tradition concerned with counteracting the
guilt of success, and accepting inferiority on behalf of superiority; play-
acting catastrophe to avert it.
Higher civilization and, most of ail, modem life-style tends to
straighten out all ups and downs and to install us on a smooth line
supposed to rise steadily in correspondence to the Gross National Prod­
uct. The ancient ritual was to play out the antinomies of despair and
hope, humiliation and superiority in an attempt to reestablish a balance
in life.
One might still muse on deeper levels of the goddess myth. As the
Adonis sequence can be seen to be an inversion of the Propp sequence
— love and failure as against the successful quest ending with mar-
122 The Great Goddess, Adonis, and Hippolytus
riage, so the female destroying the male seems to be an inversion of
male dominance, which is usually accepred as normal; and yet this VI.
inversion is really a restatement of the most basie biological facts.
There is no question as to the supremacy of the female in the chain of
From Telepinus
life. Not without reason there has already appeared a book on myth
with a cover picture of the insect that eats the male while copulating,
to Thelpusa:
the praying mantis.26
Hippolytus the Greek, against this background, stands out in his
In Search of Demeter
own dignity. He seems to strive neither for success nor for supremacy:
he simply wants to stay what he is, like the untouched meadow of
flowers in his prayer; and this is why he is drawn into the maelstrom. This chapter is another inquiry into a pattern of myth
Hippolytus resembles one of those archaic and classical statues of Greek and ritual which is common to Hittites and Greeks; against an Ana-
êpheboi. They mostly represent a dead man, or a god. tolian background, with deep-rooted antécédents and varying off-
shoots, Greek mythology will be seen to emerge in a form all its own
which is at once stränge and classical.

1. TELEPINUS
Outstanding among the H ittite texts for their general
appeal, narrative élaboration, and ritual connotations are those dealing
with Telepinus,1 the god who disappears and takes the whole of life
with him, who is sought for, brought back, and appeased by ritual.
The text is extant in several copies, though marred by lacunae, and
the beginning has yet to be found: we do not know how the myth
accounted for Telepinus’ désertion. The narration begins by describing
an all-embracing catastrophe: the fire in the houses is quenched, the
altars of the gods are abandoned; “grain and spelt thrive no longer; so
cattle, sheep, and man no longer breed; and even those with young
cannot bring them forth”; trees shrivel, pastures wither, and springs go
dry; man and gods alike perish by hunger. So the gods assemble to
take action: Telepinus is missing, the Weather-god déclarés, and he
has taken ail good things with him. A search is undertaken by the
great gods, and by the lesser gods, without success. The Sun-god sends
out the eagle, but not even he can find Telepinus. The Storm-god,
strongest of ail, cannot achieve anything. Finally the Mother goddess
sends out the bee; and the bee discovers Telepinus lying asleep in a
meadow. The bee, acting quickly, stings Telepinus and thus awakèns
S t
123
 '4 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
him and brings him to his feet, though not, understandably, in a very
friendly mood: Telepinus, funous with rage, diverts the rivers and
shakes the houses, but with flood and earthquake he makes1his presence
felt at last. At this point, ritual must step in, ritual performed by man:
Kamrusepas, the goddess of magic, helps men to ‘purify’ and appease
Telepinus. The rest is prayer, énumération of sacrifices, incantation:
twelve of the Sun-god’s sheep are slaughtered, fire is kindled and
quenched, and finally Telepinus’ “rage, anger, malice and fury” are
solemnly transferred into bronze caldrons down in the dark earth; what
enters there, will not corne out again. Thus the good life is reestab-
lished: fire cornes back to the houses, the altars of the gods are set
right, sheep and cattle breed, mothers tend their children; but most
important of ail “Telepinus cared for the king. A pôle was erected be-
fore Telepinus; and from this pôle the fleece of a sheep was suspended;
in it lay the fat of sheep, grains of corn, wine, in it lay cattle and sheep,
in it lay long life and progeny. ”
Concrète objects and those of symbolic, nay, magical signification
appear in juxtaposition,2 as ritual takes over from the narrative; it is
precisely this application to ritual, together with the reference to the
great gods of the Hittite panthéon, and to an actual expérience of
distress and anxiety, which makes this taie a myth. The narrative
proper is simple, a variation on the basic thèmes of ‘Lack—lack liqui-
dated’ or the ‘quest,’ Propp’s functions 8, 9, 11, 15, 19.3 The motif
that two attempts fail and the third, undertaken by the little and
despised one, succeeds is a ‘crystallization’ well known in folklore. The
narrative and the ritual are set side by side for the most part, with few
interlocking pièces. The main emphasis throughout is on order in
man’s life, as represented by the king, in a world where gods and men
are mutually interdependent.
Telepinus has, of course, been called a ‘god of végétation,’4 his dis-
appearance and retrieval taking the place of death and résurrection in
the seasonal pattern of Frazer. Telepinus’ name, possibly of proto-
Hattian dérivation,5 is noncommittal; it appears also as the proper
name of an early Hittite king. The taie pattern, however, is not pe­
culiar to Telepinus; there are parallel stories, with similar rituals, con-
cerned with the Sun-god,6 or with the Weather-god of Nerik or with
goddesses.7 The sun’s disappearance will indeed be a seasonal pattern;
From Telepinus to Thelpusa 125
still in the Telepinus texts there is nothing to suggest any spécifie
season of the year, and not even a hint that the ritual should be per­
formed annually. The disaster described is much more general than the
“transformations so vast and wonderful”8 of the seasons; here we find
smoke rising from dying fires, and mothers abandoning their chil­
dren. This could well apply to extraordinary situations, unprecedented
drought, plague, social disorder; best to hâve divine instruction in the
case of emergency, be it national or personal: the texts are “handbooks
to be used whenever the occasion arose for the performance of the magic
rites described in them.”9
Taies about a god who hides and must be rediscovered, who is angry
and must be appeased, are neither very unusual nor difficult to under-
stand. It is not surprising that there should be parallels not only from
Egypt10 but also from Japan.11 Concentrating on the Greek parallels,
though, the Hellenist is fortunate to hâve in the Telepinus texts an
example which is both prior in time to the Greek evidence and geo-
graphically close enough, within the realm of established historical
connections. If, in such a situation, there are striking parallels, the
assumption of a common tradition, be it direct or indirect, is more ob-
vious than the agnostic hypothesis of sheer coïncidence.
2. PHIGALIA AND THELPUSA
DEMETER’S WRATH
Pausanias describes the cave sanctuary of ‘Black De-
meter,’ Deméter M élaina, a few miles from Phigalia in Arcadia. He
has much to say about a semihuman cuit image, a horse-headed Deme-
ter who had somehow perished even from the memory of the people
in the place; Pausanias is apparently drawing on some author whom he
has read;1 and he relates the myth attached to this sacred cave: it was
here that Demeter hid herself, filled with wrath, either because she
had been raped by Poséidon, or because her daughter had disappeared.
As a conséquence, everything that grows from the earth was perishing,
and mankind was dying of hunger. But none of the gods knew where
to find Demeter. Finally Pan, the goat-legged Arcadian god,2 espied
Black Demeter in her cave, and told Zeus, who immediately sent out
the Moirai, the goddesses of fate. They succeeded in persuading De-
126 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
meter to lay her anger to rest, and when she returned, she brought
earth’s fruit back with her.
The similarity to the Telepinus myth, even the basie identity of the
two, is evident and has long been noticed.3 There is the same catas­
trophe of famine which threatens men and gods, caused by the dis-
appearance of an angry divinity, there is the search undertaken by the
gods, the discovery by an outsider, and the appeasément. The Greek
myth, though, does not overtly mention ritual; if the Moirai prevail
on Demeter’s wrath, this means that an orderly segmentation of the
world, of space and time, will assure life of perpetuity, which seemed
threatened by extraordinary upheaval. Pausanias even adds the infor­
mation that it was on the occasion of a disastrous famine of the fifth
Century, which threatened civilized life and was to tum the Arcadians
into savages again, that the people ‘renewed’ the cuit of Black Demeter
in that cave. This meant to ‘find out’ the god offended, the cuit
neglected, guided by the Delphic oracle.4 Th us they rediscovered the
cave in a gorge, and the cuit installed in the wilderness brought life
back into the city.
Pausanias goes on to describe the special form of sacrifice prescribed
by Black Demeter:5 on the altar in a grove, in front of the cave, one
has to deposit fruit from various trees, grapes, honey-combs, uncarded
wool, and to pour oil over the whole, along with a prayer, no doubt.
This is done at the yearly festival as well as throughout the year by pri­
vate worshipers, a priestess and a young priest officiating. This is not a
normal Greek thysia, which requires an animal to be slaughtered, and
parts to be burned. Instead of the fire altar, there is a ‘table of offer-
ings’ installed at Phigalia. This is strangely reminiscent of Bronze Age
religious practice, be it Minoan, Mycenaean, or Anatolian: offering
food to the gods on sacred stands or tables, with priests acting as the
gods’ représentatives, seems to prevail in this period as against animal
sacrifice.6 Indeed the Telepinus text ends with such offerings: from the
pole, the ‘eia-tree’ ‘‘in front of Telepinus,” a sheepskin is hanging, con-
taining fat, grapes, and grain, signifying abundance and long life; the
series of offerings requested at Phigalia, with fruit and wine grapes,
‘unworked wool’ corresponding to the fleece, and oil for fat, is re-
markably similar, though the absence of grain is noteworthy—grain is
From Telepinus to Thelpusa 127
the gift expected from the Corn Mother in return for pious offerings.7
Taken together with the similarity of the corresponding myths, it be-
comes highly probable that there is some direct connection between
Hittite and Arcadian tradition, though in view of the fifth-century
reforms we cannot be certain how much of Mycenaean héritage had
been uninterruptedly preserved in Arcadia.
Pausanias expressly States that ‘the same’ tale about the wrath of
Demeter was told in Phigalia as well as in Thelpusa, another Arcadian
city not too far away. There, however, the emphasis is on the beget-
ting of the first horse, called Arion or Erton .8 The claim of Thelpusa is
rivaled by Tilphussa in Boeotia, the name of a spring near Haliartos9
with a sanctuary, and a temple of Apollo nearby; there was a sanctuary
of Apollo, alongside Demeter’s, also at Thelpusa. Poséidon sired this
horse, turning himself into a stallion, when the goddess fled from him
and turned into a mare in order to escape. This type of myth about the
origin of animais recurs in Vedic India.10 Thus the horse was brought
forth by an infuriated, wrathful mother: Thelpusa honored Demeter
Erinys, ‘the angry one.’ In Boeotia, the name was simply Erinÿs,11
without Demeter being involved; the Gorgon mother of Pegasus12 is
evidently just another variant of the same story. The tradition of Thel­
pusa was known to Antimachus in the fifth, and to Callimachus in the
third century, and Thelpusa propagated it by putting ‘Erion’ on her
coins;13 but the Boeotian version seems to occur already in the old
epic poem Thebaid, in the seventh century; Arion is the horse of
Adrastus, mentioned already in the Iliad.14
The name of both the Boeotian spring and the Arcadian city has its
peculiar orthographie variants in our tradition.15 One might think of a
non-Greek name variously adapted to Greek usage; and since Pausanias
links the Thelpusan with the Phigalian myth, one might be encour-
aged to think of Telepinus even here, Erinys Tilphossate— to use Calli­
machus’ expression16— going back ultimately to angry Telepinus,
with the place-name following the cuit. In this case the Anatolian
connection would indeed be threefold, on the level of ritual, myth, and
name. And why not also take Delphi into the bargain? Still this would
be too much. The name of the spring Tilphûssa, from *Tilphôessa,
can be satisfactorily explained in Greek, if tilphe is the name of a kind of
 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
128
insect:17 this is the spring ‘full of water beetles’; whether the same or
another explanation applies to the Arcadian town may be left open. It
is remarkable at any rate that the Thelpusa myth has a strange dupli­
cation of motives, since twin offspring are born from Demeter’s horse
adventure, the horse and a ‘secret’ daughter, related to the Despoina of
Lycosura,18 whereas the characteristic myth of search and retrieval is
connected by Pausanias only with the cave of Phigalia. There seem to
be, after ail, different traditions overlapping, and there is nothing to
connect Telepinus with the horse. Thus ‘Telepinus and Thelpusa’ may
be just a pun: names are the least secure guides in investigating Greek
mythology.
On the other hand, the Telepinus motive clearly recurs, as has been
seen, even in the ‘official’ version of the Demeter m yth,19 the Homeric
hymn to Demeter: enraged by the abduction of Persephone, Demeter
retreats to her temple at Eleusis, and the earth ceases to bring forth
any crops; the whole of mankind would hâve starved, and the gods lost
their privilèges, had not Zeus taken action: he sends Iris, his normal
messenger, to call Demeter back, but in vain; ail the other gods corne
to visit Demeter, one after the other, but she remains inexorable as
long as Persephone is not given back to her. Then Hermes brings Per­
sephone up from the nether world, and finally Rhea, the mother of the
gods, cornes to guide Demeter to Olympus, the abode of ail the gods.
Presently crops grow again in the fields, leaves and flowers sprout, life
is restored.
W ith the attempts of ‘ail the gods’ and the final success of the Moth­
er Goddess, this is still doser to Telepinus than the Arcadian version,
even though the hiding abode has been replaced by the conspicuous
new temple at the ‘outstanding hill’ at Eleusis,20 so that there is no
real need for a search. The temple motive clearly is an innovation—
usually a god does not corne to his temple to hide, but to communicate
with his worshipers; and Persephone dominâtes the scene, in striking
contrast to the obscure motivation for Telepinus’ anger. Still through
these modifications a basic pattern, that of ‘Telepinus,’ can be seen to
persist. Even the fact that Demeter’s priestesses are called métissai,
‘bees,’21 has been thought to be significant. The change of sex from
Telepinus to Demeter cannot be used as an argument for denying any
From Telepinus to Thelpusa
129
close connection. One H ittite text has Inaras the daughter of the Sun-
god, another Hannahannas the Mother Goddess in Telepinus’ role.22
We are dealing with patterns and characteristics which can be applied
to either divine sex.
3. THE PLANK AND THE PECTORAL
Phigalian Demeter’s image had long disappeared by
the time of our informant, Pausanias. But there are other cuit statues
of goddesses, some of them celebrated throughout the ancient world,
which we find involved in a ritual of disappearance and retrieval. W e
are best informed about Hera of Samos. As we happen to know thanks
to one local historian, Menodotus, this Hera was a goddess thought to
hâve disappeared, and she was sought for and brought back in a festi­
val.1 Once the image of the goddess, the legend says, was stolen from
the temple at night by Carian pirates, but they miraculously found
themselves unable to get off shore with the image aboard. So they final­
ly left it on the beach, even depositing food in front of it as if to feed
the goddess. The Samians, at daybreak, were frightened when they
found that the goddess was missing. They ail began a search, and they
found her having breakfast at the seashore. They thought she had run
away, so they brought her back and fastened her to a willow bush,
lygos, pulling the branches all around her lest she should go astray
again. Finally the priestess came, cleansed the image and brought it
back to the temple. This is not a typical quest taie, but evidently por-
trays ritual. There are three phases, getting the image out of the temple
at night, ‘finding’ the image in the moming and bringing it back to
the lygos, and restoring it to the temple in the end. We find three cate­
gories of persons involved in the rites, ‘pirates,’ Samians, and the
priestess. The Samian Heraion is qui te close to the beach, and a stem
of the lygos was found by the excavators at the altar.2 Literary sources
affirm that the Samians held their festival there, wearing the lygos
wreaths of the ‘old Carians,’ reclining on couches, stibâdes, of lygos
branches, and feasting, no doubt, on the animais sacrificed at the great
altar.3 Once the goddess has been retrieved, the festival is performed
around the tree in her presence.
130 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
Now this image of Hera, preserved in the temple, was said to hâve
been originally just an ‘unwrought plank,’ axons sants, until Smîlis,
‘the carver,’ shaped it into a roughly human figure.4 We get an idea of
how it looked from Roman coins: standing, with forearms rigidly held
forward, wearing a high polos; unclear is the spécial kind of pectoral
with which she is adorned and which appears on the coins as three or
four rows of globes. Details, such as the fillets hanging from the hands
and the hornlike ornament of the polos, hâve been brought into con­
nection with oriental iconography.5 Samian Hera can claim one of the
very first temples of Greece, dated to the ninth century by the exca-
vators, while the altar at the lygos still antedates the temple.6 The
legend puts the cuit back even before the advent of the Greeks.
This image of Samian Hera by posture and ornaments clearly be-
longs to a well-known sériés of Greek-Anatolian cuit statues, the most
famous of which is Artémis of Ephesus. The goddess ‘of the many
breasts’ is so dear to psychoanalysts as well as to modem tourists7 that
the simple truth, proved décades ago, can hardly prevail: the fact that
these ‘breasts’ are not a multiplication of female sexuality but a kind of
pectoral worn by the goddess, a detail linking the statue of Ephesus to
other cuit statues of Caria and its surroundings, including Cybele,
Zeus of Labraunda, and even Atargatis of Damascus.8 The cuit of
Ephesus,9 though, was of more than local importance, and there was a
peculiar and complicated organization of different classes of priests and
priestesses. The ‘breasts’ hâve most recently been explained as scrota of
sacrificial bulls consecrated to the goddess,10 an idea perhaps répulsive
to our imagination but understandable on the more general principle
of returning life to its ultimate source, the divinity.11 One may still
wonder whether these crudities were replaced by mere symbols at some
later date, to be misunderstood as ‘breasts’ still later on. Be that as it
may, it is attested that this image, too, was brought out of the temple
on a certain day and offered a breakfast; at a place called daitîs, place of
the meal, it was laid down on celery plants and treated with sait.12
That there were sacrificial feasts for the worshipers in front of the tem­
ple is proved by the mere existence of the big altar right there.13 Thus
the parallel to the Samian ritual of bringing back the goddess for the
feast seems to be perfect. Ephesian Artémis is clearly inrooted in Ana-
tolian tradition; we even know her non-Greek name, U pis.14
From Telepinus to Thelpusa 131
Less conspicuous, though numerous and quite as characteristic, are
votive statuettes from Sicily, from sanctuaries of Demeter and Kore,
notably at Gela and Agrigento:15 a goddess, seated on a throne, is
seen to be basically a flat plank or board, with a human head attached,
but without any attempt at arms or legs. This goddess wears a polos, a
simple garment, and an elaborate pectoral, closely resembling that of
Samian Hera but somehow also reminiscent of Ephesian Artemis: rows
of globes, as it appears on the less carefully molded examples, oil flasks,
corn vessels, animal heads, and masks being added to globes and disks
on the better ones. “One may feel tempted to interpret them as apples,
pomegranates, pears, or almonds”; at any rate “a general intimation of
fecundity is felt spontaneously and unambiguously.” 16 This is a god­
dess bringing abundance, an abundance of food: fruit, oil, grain, and
méat, ail this is bound to arrive when the goddess cornes back, at the
advent of Demeter or the return of Kore. Ploûtos, W ealth, is after ail
the son of Demeter.17 It constitutes, however, a problem of interpréta­
tion, which can hardly be solved, whether these votive terracottas were
meant to represent Demeter or, instead, her daughter Persephone;18
both are goddesses who retreat and corne back. The Homeric hymn, as
well as the legend of Phigalia, makes one think of Demeter; but Dio-
dorus attests a festival of ‘Kore’s advent,’ kores katagogé, early in Sum­
mer at harvest tim e.19 The cuit of the two goddesses was propagated
by the tyrants of Gela and Syracuse, Gelon and Hiero; they claimed
their ancestor had been a hierophant, who had ceremoniously installed
such an ‘advent,’ katagogé, in Gela; and they traced their family further
back to one Telines who had corne from the région of Cnidus in Asia
Minor, not too far away from Samos.20 Thus the Sicilian plank idols
with the garment of abundance are linked to Anatolia, too.
There remains evidence from Miletus, which is situated between
Samos and Ephesus: Neleus, the founder of the city, was told by an
oracle to search in the woods for an oak tree from which ‘ail kinds of
fruit’ were hanging; he had the oak shaped into an effigy and thus in­
stalled a cuit of ‘Artemis Chitone.’21 In this short account, we find
combined ail the éléments of the pattern we are concerned with: the
search in the wilderness, the tree brought in, ‘ail kinds of fruit,’ and
the garment to which the epithet Chitone clearly alludes. The setting
is in Asia Minor, at the very beginning of the Ionian settlement.
132 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
In ail four cases considered, we hâve the wooden statue with the
pectoral of affluence, the transition from aniconic to anthropomorphic
représentation being stressed in at least two cases,22 and we hâve as
well the ritual of the ‘search,’ and the advent bringing in this image,
which represents the advent of wealth and affluence, by means of the
most basic Symbols, the primordial garment and things good to eat. In
ail cases there is an Anatolian tradition, with explicit reference to pre-
Greek levels in at least two instances, at Ephesus and Samos. In fact the
statues of the ‘Ephesta type are concentrated in Caria and its near sur-
roundings.23 The Carian language still défiés decipherment24 and can-
not be traced to any of the Bronze Age languages attested; yet the
tribal name of the Léleges, plural of Léx, sometimes identified with
‘Carians,’ contains a plural prefix which is in fact proto-Hattian.
And Telepinus is thought to be proto-Hattian, too. This is a fragile
link; but the ritual is more outspoken: the plank with the garment
and the pectoral of affluence has a clear affinity to the fieece on the
eia -tree which contains fat, grain, and wine. This similarity, attested
in adjacent régions of Asia Minor, is surely not just coincidence, it is
basically one tradition, with the anthropomorphic image evolving from
the tree, and various Greek names coming in, Artemis, Hera, Aphro­
dite, Demeter, and Kore.
4. DAIDALA
One Greek word for a roughly carved wooden image is
daidalon-, and daidala of this kind give their name to an important cere-
mony in Boeotia, headed by Plataea.1 Plataea and thirteen other cities
of Boeotia each in turn get a daidalon which must be eut from a certain
grove at Alalcomenae. In the sixtieth year— about once in a lifetime
— ail the fourteen daidala are burned together at the top of Mount
Cithaeron, a fire festival at night, lighting the country ail around with
its brilliance. We are not told what the single communities hâve been
doing with their daidala in the meantime, although they definitely
were not left lying in the backyard; they must hâve been set up in the
city: we are dealing with an équivalent to the European maypole2
which, incidentally, was not renewed annually in older times but was
From Telepinus to Thelpusa 133
kept for years in the center of the village until it was finally burned.
For providing a new daidalon, there was an elaborate ceremony de-
scribed by Pausanias:3 The Plataeans perform a sacrifice in front of the
sacred grove, and deposit pièces of méat. Then they wait for a raven to
corne and snatch up a piece, and as the raven takes off, they follow
him and watch to see on which tree he will light; this then will be the
tree they take for the daidalon. Is it too much to compare this with the
eagle trying to find Telepinus? At any rate, this search involves some
attentive patience and waiting. The legends associated with the ritual
tell of a goddess who disappears and must be brought back: this is
Hera, who has left Boeotia and is hiding somewhere in nearby Euboea;4
in Plutarch’s interprétation, this disappearance of the goddess is équiva­
lent to a drought;5 and all agree that it is the bringing in of the
daidalon which causes Hera to come back. We hâve a burlesque aeti-
ological myth to account for this: Hera had once more been quarreling
with Zeus, and had declared herseif for woman’s rights and left her
house and husband. Zeus, turning to Alalcomeneus as marriage ad-
viser, decided to arouse her jealousy in order to bring her back: he
spread the news that he was to marry another wife, P lataia, and, taking
a certain tree, he adorned it as a bride and placed it in his chariot. This
brought Hera to the scene, foaming with rage; but when she tore the
veil off the bride and beheld the plank, she burst out laughing. Yet she
insisted that the tree be finally burned. There are instances in European
maypole customs where the tree is dressed as a girl and called a ‘bride’;
the men bring in the tree from the woods, the women come to meet
them with cheers,6 just as in the legend all the women of Plataea came
with Hera to meet the chariot of Zeus and his ‘bride. ’
The aetiological myth, of course, is no explanation of the ritual;
and it was not even taken seriously by the Greeks. Nonetheless it con­
tains, surprisingly enough, an element of Indo-European tradition in
the name of Plataia as the bride of Zeus: Plataia exactly corresponds to
Vedic prthivï, designating the Earth-goddess, wife of dyaus pita, as ‘the
broad one.’7 The mating of Sky and Earth ensures fertility, just as the
mock marriage in the Boeotian myth ends a period of distress and
drought. Bringing in the tree, however, is not an expression of this
idea in any direct sense. The tree ritual has its place even outside
134 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
possible Indo-European influence, such as in the cuit of Meter and the
‘Syrian Goddess,’ or at Byblos.8 There were links between Anatolia and
Greece already in the Early Bronze Age, and the proto-Hattian con­
nection of Telepinus is especially interesting in this context, since the
name of Lema, the great ‘spring’ near Argos, has also been provided
with a proto-Hattian etymology.9 The wooden altar at the peak of the
mountain where the daidala are burned has counterparts in Minoan
Crete;10 and there was a daidaleîon at Mycenaean Knossos.11 The name
‘Hera,’ on the other hand, and the name ‘Leto’ as brought in by Plu-
tarch12 point to yet another, the common Greek or ‘Homeric’ tradi­
tion, where the jealousy story was a convenient means of dealing with
the multiple wives of Zeus. There seems to be a labyrinth of historical
co n n ectio n s where investigation risks entanglement. Mythical and rit­
ual ‘signs’ of different origins may still merge to bring out a common
message.
5. EIRESIÓNE AN D DAPHNEPHORIA
Keeping to the elear pattern of bringing in the tree
and, with it, prosperity, we notice other, even more elementary forms
connected with Apollo in the Greek evidence: there is the eiresióne,1
the name apparently alluding to ‘wool’; this is an olive branch hung
with wool, fruits of various kinds, cakes, and oil flasks. Children at
Athens and elsewhere would carry it around on certain days singing
“the eiresióne brings figs and fat bread, honey in th e p o t and oil for
anointing, and a good draught of wine,” and collecting gifts in return.
The eiresióne could be finally attached to the door of a private house,
though one in particular is brought to the temple of Apollo Delphini-
os,2 where it stays until it is finally burned. Delphinios of course sug-
gests the dolphin to the Greeks, as early as the Homeric hymn to
Apollo, but in cult Apollo has nothing at all to do with dolphins.
Might there indeed be a chance that Apollo Delphinios is Telepinus?
The coming of the eiresióne signifies the advent of Wealth: ‘Open up,
doors, Ploûtos comes it ,’ the children sing at Samos. The fruits, cakes,
oil flasks, together with wool, attached to the eiresióne branch, corre­
spond closely to the adornment of the garment of affluence on the
just-mentioned goddess statues, but even more directly to the offerings
From Telepinus to Thelpusa 135
on the fleece at Telepinus’ eia tree. The children’s play is much less
formalized and serious than the return of Demeter or Kore, of Artémis
or Hera, but it still comes under divine protection and clearly imitâtes
and perpétuâtes a ritual of the Telepinus type.
Much more stylized and solemn is the festival of the Daphnephoria,
the feast of ‘carrying a laurel branch’; it signifies the advent of Apollo
but does not represent the god in an anthropomorphic effigy. Myth has
Apollo himself carrying the branch, from the Tempe valley in Thessaly
ail the way to Delphi to inaugurate the Pythian games;3 but the cuit of
Apollo daphnephôros is much more widespread. And in the one detailed
description of a daphnephoria procession, deriving from a commentary
on Pindar’s daphnephorikâ, songs composed for Apollo Ismenios of
Thebes,4 the laurel branch seems to be replaced by a kind of maypole
or Christmas tree: it is an olive trunk, we are told, adorned with laurel
sprigs, shining métal globes, and purple fillets. In one Apulian vase-
painting,5 we see Dionysus in possession of such a tree, while he is
riding in what is in fact Apollo’s chariot drawn by stags; there are
golden balls, a bell, and a fillet hanging from the tree in his left hand.
Apollo or Dionysus— for our purpose it matters little: both are gods
who hide far away to corne back later for their festival; and whatever
the name and spécial compétence of the god may be, the important
thing is that his advent brings the promise of the golden moment of
plénitude experienced in the festival, for which the bringing of the
tree remains the well-known symbol.
In one instance the meaning of the ritual appears to change to the
contrary: Erysichthon, for cutting down a tree in Demeter’s grave and
carrying it in procession to town, is punished with insatiable hunger
and ends up as a beggar at the roadside. Already in Hesiod’s Catalogues
this myth is treated as a burlesque;6 but even in this form it may still
stick to a ritual background: ‘begging,’ collecting gifts, appears al-
ways connected with bringing in the tree. Ever-hungry Erysichthon is
a fitting patron for ‘Bettelumzüge.’ As son of Triopas, recalling the
‘Triopion’ promontory at Cnidos, he seems to be quite close to the
Demeter-Telines tradition.7 Erysichthon at Delos, on the other hand,
the mythical ancestor of a clan of Erysichthonidai, is claimed by Atheni-
an tradition to hâve instituted the embassy to Apollo’s island, and thus
is directly linked to a complex of begging processions.8
 136 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
6. THE WOODS, THE TREE,
AND THE SACRIFICE
To sum up: in various forms, the eiresióne or laurel
brandi, the datdalon, the plank with garment and pectoral, and the
H ittite eia tree, we hâve the same ritual activity of bringing in the
tree adorned, which ultimately conveys a single message: the return of
prosperity, the return of the god. The gods may be quite different,
Telepinus or Artemis, Hera, Demeter, Persephone, Apollo, Dionysus,
all different in name, sex, and spheres of influence; but after all, the
gods are ‘givers of good things’ 1 almost by définition.
Is there an explanation of how this activity came to acquire this
meaning? It is simple, all too simple, to speak of ‘magic’; there is noth­
ing in this pattem to substantiate the theory of a tree cuit, a tree
spirit identified with the végétation spirit according to Mannhardt.2
The tree is not usually worshiped, it is eut down and finally destroyed;
it is not in itself divine, but is rather the carrier of all good things,
things not restricted to the fruit of trees.
To a Freudian psychoanalyst, the meaning of setting up a tree will
i
'i be obvious; he w ill have no difficulty deriving all kinds of fertility from
the phallic symbol, and he will hardly be daunted by the fact that
trees, for Greeks as for Romans, are invariably of feminine gender; he
is conversant with phallic goddesses.3 The question once more re­
mains, however, whether the outward, observable details should be
seen as arising directly from the formative powers of the Freudian or
Jungian psyche, of dream-consciousness, or deriving from outward,
functional behavior in the undeniable course of tradition.
There is a structural interprétation close at hand: the tree brought
from the wood to the city, the branch brought from the tree to the
door of house or temple, the transference of goods from outside to in-
side the city, temple, or house, is evidently a ‘médiation’ between
nature and culture. Civilized life, threatened with extinction, as the
Telepinus texts most impressively describe, is invigorated by fresh
input from the surrounding wilderness. Withering civilization yearns
for the ‘wild men’ coming right from the woods, swinging trees or
branches in the age-old imposing display.4 This surely is to the point;
I
From Telepinus to Thelpusa 137
but is ritual the product of structural logic? And why should people
tmst a message expressed in these terms?
In a historical perspective, the opposition indicated by tree versus
city is rather the sequence of hunting and agriculture. In fact the
oracle given to Phigalia5 alludes to this: citizens will become nomads
again, acom eaters in the woods, if they do not retrieve the goddess.
Bringing in the tree is characteristic also of the Great Goddess ritual,
be it Magna Mater in Rome or Atargatis in Hierapolis;6 it is attested
also for one form of Adonis ritual in Cyprus: trees are felled and
‘consecrated’ to Aphrodite.7 No Christmas joy, however, seems to
emerge in these cases: 'arbor intrat' is followed by the ‘dies sanguinis,’
the day of blood in Rome; it is the pine tree under which Attis muti-
lated himself and died; it is said that an image of Attis is suspended
from the tree; at any rate sanguinary sacrifices are performed at the
tree and the tree is burned in the end.8 At Hierapolis, animal victims
are tied to the trees brought into the sanctuary, finally to be burned
together with them.9 This is a sphere of cruelty and bloodshed be-
fitting the frenzy and the lamentation characteristic of the Great God­
dess. But one surprisingly discovers analogies even in the Telepinus
complex: there are animal protomes on the garments of Artémis
Ephesia and the Sicilian goddesses; there are animal figurines on may-
poles and Christmas trees; in Wales and Ireland a wren was hunted,
killed, and carried on a stick by a procession of singing boys who
proceeded to beg for money and food for an evening feast right on
Christmas D ay.10 Notorious tree bearers in Greek iconography are the
centaurs, another set of mediators between nature and culture, as Geof-
frey Kirk has shown;11 not seldom there are small animais suspended
from the centaurs’ trees, prey of successful hunting.12
There were other éléments in the Magna Mater cuit which were seen
to derive ultimately from hunting;13 and it was this situation which
explained the basic ambiguity of success and guilt, joy and lamenta­
tion. We are now induced to look in the same direction again: hunters
going out for a search, and then coming back from the woods with an
abundance of food, when they are greeted with joy, and gifts, by the
women who stayed at home. Ever since the ‘Neolithic révolution,’
this scene no longer stands for a basic life function. Man produces his
138 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
own food; yet famine remains a threat. Caught by distress and anxiety,
man will fall back on an earlier stage of activides— to go out, to
search, to find, and to bring back from the woods that which will
bring relief and joy. The action pattem becomes more and more sym-
bolic. It may turn shamanistic, bringing in the goods from heaven or
nether world with the help of the shaman's tree.14 It may finally leave
the ‘pure’ laurel branch without associations of food, or the image of an
Olympian divinity, or the Christmas tree which today may even con-
sist of plastic. But I have been told that in some pious, old-fashioned
villages of Germany custom definitely required that the Christmas tree
be stolen from the woods. The ritual carries conviction since we are
still attuned to the old tradition; modern and denaturalized as we are,
we feel we need still some green, some luxuriant growth to outweight
an artificial environment of concrète, métal, and glass. Psychological,
structural, and historical interprétation finally converge.
7. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER:
THE CRYSTALLIZATION OF
GREEK MYTHOLOGY
To come back to the myth of Demeter: the tale about
the abduction of Persephone, Demeters g rief, and the final, temporary
reunion of Mother and Daughter has enjoyed tremendous success, and
it looms large in poetry as well as in the history of religion. It was
the one myth Nilsson feit he could not exclude from his handbook,
from which myths are generally banned.1 The myth has been praised
for the deep human feeling it betrays, it has been termed ‘Urerlebnis’
and ‘archetype,’2 and it has at the same time been supposed to be the
most lucid nature allegory about the grain which must fall into the
earth and die in order to rise again. There is, however, considérable
uncertainty in the sources and dissent among scholars as to the pré­
cisé season of the year when Persephone should descend or rise again;
Nilsson contended that Persephone is the grain stored in underground
Containers in Summer to come up for sowing in fall, whereas the
Homeric hymn has Persephone rising in spring,3 in accordance with
general feeling but not with any facts of Mediterranean agriculture or
of cuit. This shows that the tale can be applied in various ways, while
From Telepinus to Thelpusa 139
the details of abduction, search, and return do not dérivé from any
of these applications. I have some doubts even about the human dimen­
sions of the tale. Is the return of the woman to her mother actually a
fitting solution, however uncanny the husband may have been?
An analysis of the tale becomes more puzzling as one notes the
duplication of motifs involved. The unsolved ambiguity of the Sicilian
terra-cotta statuettes4 points to this very fact: both Mother and Daugh­
ter retreat and must be called back. But this duplication is absent
from the ri tuais, from the oriental paralléls, and from the folklore
evidence; it is therefore distinctive of the Greek myth, and only of this.
Indeed Mannhardt and Frazer have collected abundant materials
about taies and beliefs concerning a corn mother or a corn maiden
from ail cuver the world; but, among hundreds of cases, there are just
two dubious instances where both mother and maiden make their ap-
pearance.5 So much for the archétype.6 In the Near East there are two
comparable, and largely parallel, myths, that of H ittite Telepinus, and
the descent of Inanna-Ishtar in Mesopotamia.7 The effect of the dis-
appearance of the divinity is nearly identical in both versions: the life
of ail men, animais, and plants is arrested, a catastrophe which fright-
ens even the gods. There is, however, a spécial kind of awe associated
with the nether world and its sinister queen, so that even Inanna’s
ascent becomes quitp ambiguous, a return of life, yes, but death in
turn for Dumuzi. The details of the descent, the female successively
stripped of her clothing and finally hung from a beam, are suspiciously
evocative of a ritual execution, a girl sacrifice. Set alongside the Greek
evidence, Inanna’s adventures are rather similar to what happens to
Kore, the overtones of girl sacrifice included— Kore descends into the
Cyane spring near Syracuse, where immersion sacrifices long continued
to be practiced;8 and to Inanna’s ghostly return may correspond the
rituals of male ‘bringers of Kore,’ koragoi 9 and certain forms of Hecate
cuit. Demeter’s behavior, on the other hand, is nearly identical to
Telepinus’ . At Phigalia this can be described and acted out without a
reference to Persephone, whereas the ‘Advent of Kore’ in Sicily is, as
Diodorus attests, separate from Demeter’s festival.10 The most wide-
spread form of Demeter cuit is the Thesmophoria,11 performed by
women who retire from their husbands; there are pig sacrifices, with
the corpses being thrown down into caves or pits, and legend com­
140 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
bines this with the descent of Kore; but there seems to be no joyous
reunion, only a sacrifice toward the end, and a feast, heralding a ‘beau-
tiful progeny,’ Kalligéneia.
There remains a curious dass of sculptural evidence, figurines of a
‘double goddess,’ beginning, as it seems, at the threshold of the Neo-
lithic Age.12 They assume various forms of abstraction, especially in
Anatolia and Cyprus of the early Bronze Age. We find such a diversity
as one female set on the head of the other, or Siamese twins, or
simple double-headed slabs. W ith the évolution of Greek art, there are
often two indistinguishable goddesses, standing or enthroned side by
side, whom we may sometimes confidently call Demeter and Per­
sephone, or Leto and Artemis. We hâve no texts for the earlier part of
this tradition, ancfifeTience left tcTspeculâté'bnIhe“döabte'aspeTt'än3"
function of thé female, now as maiden, now as mother, in a polarity of
sexual attraction and giving birth, a différentiation reinforced by the
most rigid and universal taboo of incest; there may even be a connec­
tion between mother cuit and girl sacrifice.13 We simply do not know
about earlier verbalizations of this complex.
Transmission présupposés receptiveness. And there was both. Being
organized in a special way along Greek li nés, the Demeter-Kore myth
is to be seen in its individuality by comparing it with its less compli-
cated Near Eastern parallels. In the Telepinus myth, both taie and
ritual are concerned immediately with the needs of man in relation to
gods; it is man who is brought into the ritual to appease Telepinus, and
it is evidently a situation of human distress to which this is applied:
the whole text has the character of an incantation. Gods and men are
partners in one action pattern, and the end is Telepinus’ care for the
king and the land. The Greek myth, in contrast to this, ends with
Demeter going to Olympus, to ail the other gods; and there she is to
stay. It is by the very fact of duplication, by the double movement of
action— Kore descending, and Demeter retreating— that this taie be-
comes entirely self-contained, completing the circle from séparation to
reunion within a closed system of gods concerned solely with them-
selves; man is left out but for a marginal role, a mere pawn in Deme-
ter’s blackmail of the gods. What happens in the daîdala legend in
Plataea, though more along the lines of burlesque, is quite comparable.
There remains just one hint at a drought which threatens man, only a
From Telepinus to Thelpusa 141
single reference to the women of Plataea in Hera’s retinue; as for the
rest, this is a taie about gods quarreling and outwitting one another,
gods resenting and gods laughing among themselves. Gods and men
are not partners in these myths; the affairs of the gods and the suffer-
ings of men are parallel spheres which do not meet, though the one is
clearly mirroring the other. Precisely because Homer’s gods are so
human, are they also so distant and aloof.
This is, as we know, the conception of the lliad\ but it holds
true for Greek religion in quite a general sense. The Mycenaean and
the sub-Minoan idols appear in what is called the gesture of epiphany,
with both hands raised toward the worshiper:14 this is the typical pose
of a woman or man accepting the cheers of an enthusiastic crowd even
in our own day. This gesture reappears with the beginnings of Greek
plastic art in the eighth century, but is given up in the seventh. The
archaic god w ill still fight monsters and giants; the classical god is
perfect in himself; if he has any partners, these are gods. Often he
stands alone, sacrificing to himself.15 The formai resemblance of
Homeric gods and Platonic ideas has been noticed before.
Thus, as against the more general background of taies and ri tuais,
which were constantly transmitted and superimposed one upon the
other in the common world of the Ancient Near East and the Medi-
terranean, Greek mythology assumes quite an individual form, freez-
ing, as it were, into its own crystallizations. This was mainly due to
the évolution of oral epic poetry into a highly specialized art and the
overriding influence which the llia d of Homer acquired. Mythology of
this kind was more beautiful, and more consistent, than anything before
it, but it was at the same time less immédiate, and less real. Already in
the Archaic âge the criticism was voiced that these were nothing but ‘lies
of poets’ and the arbitrary créations of artists; but through art and poetry
these créations were especially suited for exportation to neighboring
civilizations, as a kind of introduction to higher éducation; and this was
to persist as a major part of the classical héritage for more than twenty-
five hundred years. Nonetheless even such a strong witness to the
formative power of Greece does not prove that the Greek form is
immortal; we seem to expérience this fact in our own time.
This may now be the challenge which Greek mythology poses, that,
rather than seeing it in its own distinctive form, we should venture to
142 From Telepinus to Thelpusa
see it in the greater context of the tradition of humanity, and to per- NOTES
ceive through the Greek form the antécédent, dynamie structures of
expérience which hâve formed human life and molded the human
psyche in the vast realm of the past. In our présent time, mankind
has entered upon a stage of rapid and total change, moving toward
unknown frontiers. I do not know whether it is comforting to notice CHAPTERI
that the most daring pièces of science fiction still invariably cling to the Section 1.1.
most ancient mythical patterns of quest and combat taie. At any rate, 1. A preliminary version of this chaprer, ‘‘Ana
et perspective historique dans l’interprétation des mythes grecs,” was published in
we' hâve to face the fact that the dangers and the hopes of the future
Cahiers internationaux de Symbolisme 35/6(1978) 163—173- — On Greek mythos
are inseparably bound to the continuity of tradition which has defined see I 1 n. 14.
what is ‘human. ’ 2. Cf. esp. Barthes (1957); Eliade(1963) 181—93; earlier, E. Cassirer, The
Myth ofthe State (New Haven 1946) ~ Vom Mythus des Staates (Zurich 1949).
3. See I 6. Among the most influential définitions are those of J . G. Frazer:
“mistaken explanations of phênomena, whether of human life or of external
nature” (Apollodorus, ‘‘The L ib r a r y I [Cambridge, Mass. 1921] XXVII); J. E.
Harrison: “Rimai misunderstood” (Mythology and Monuments o f Ancient Athens
[London 1890] xxxiii); B. Malinowski: “arealitylived . . . apragmatic charter
of primitive faith and moral wisdom” (1926, 100f); M. Eliade: “a sacred his-
tory; it relates an event that took place in primordial Time” (1963, 5); see also
Encyclopaedia Britannica 15 (1973) 1133f. Cf. G. S. Kirk, “On Defining
Myths,” in Exegesis and Argument: Studies in Greek Philosophy Presented to G. Vlas-
tos (Assen 1973) 61—69.
4. Kirk (1970); cf. Kirk (1972); (1974); “Greek Mythology: Some New
Perspectives,” JHS 92 (1972) 74—85; “I lim iti délia ricerca nella mitologia
greca,” RivistastoricaItaliana 84(1972) 565—83.
5. Gruppe (1921); J. de Vries, Forschungsgeschichte der Mythologie (Munich
1961); K. Kerényi, Die Eröffnung des Zugangs zum Mythos (Darmstadt 1967);
Kirk ( 1970); convenient surveys of modem approaches in Sebeok ( 1955), Leach
(1967), Maranda(1972).
6. Kirk (1970) 3 1 -4 1 ; (1974) 2 3 -3 7 ; see I 6.
7. Mannhardt ( 1875) II xf. : “eine der Sprache analoge Schöpfung des unbe­
wusst dichtenden Volksgeistes”; this goes back to romanticism, esp. J . Grimm,
and finally to J . G. Herder. — S. Langer, Philosophy in a New Key (Cambridge,
Mass. 1942, 19512), 201f. contrasts myth with language as “some other for­
mative medium.” Hence P. Wheelwright, The Buming Fountain (Bloomington
1954) 167 has “mythic stories” evolving secondarily “out of the mythic perspec­
tive.” Also Dundes (1964) 43f. denounces the “linguistic fallacy” of treating
myth solely in terms of language and refers to “paintings, music, dance, ges-
ture” as means of relating a myth. These may indeed enter at a deeper level (see I
4); but définition should rather take its start from the most tangible evidence,
the texts.

143
144 Notes to Page 2
8. ‘Volksgeist’ was a favorite construct of the Romantic movement; even
. today formulations about myth abound such as “an aesthetic création of the
human imagination” (R. Chase, Quest for Myth [Baton Rouge 1949] 73) or “a
product of the universal human mind” (Münz [ 197 3] 3). Jung ( 1941) 109: “Die
Mythen sind ursprünglich Offenbarungen der vorbewussten Seele. ”
9. See e.g. S. Fraisse, Le Mythe d’Antigone (Paris 1974).
10. As to the problem of diachronical stability of taies in'öral tradition, there
is, naturally, more theory (e.g. M. Halbwachs, La Memoire collective [Paris
1950] ~ Das kollektive Gedächtnis [Stuttgart 1967]) than experiment (W . An­
derson, Ein volkskundliches Experiment [Helsinki 1951]). One example of a
Yakut myth recorded twice, at an interval of 100 years: Meuli (1975) 1114,
referring to A. Th. v. Middendorff, Reise in den äussersten Norden und Osten
Sibiriens III (St. Petersburg 1851) 86—88 and Friedrich-Buddruss (1955)
289—91; cf. also P. Gaechter, Die Gedächtniskultur in Irland (Innsbruck
1970). More modern opinion tends to stress instability and change (cf. already
Boas [1916] 878): Th. P. van Baaren, “The Flexibility of M yth,” in fix orbe
religionum: Studia G. Widengren II (Leiden 1972), 199—206; B. K. Braswell,
“Mythological Innovation in the Iliad, CQ 21 (1971) 16—26. The arguments
adduced for a ‘megalirhic’ origin of fairy-tale are depressingly slim: C. W . v.
Sydow, Selected Papers on Folklore (Copenhagen 1948) 231—40; O. Huth,
“Märchen und Megalithreligion,” Paideuma 5 (1950) 12-22; A. Nitschke,
Soziale Ordnungen im Spiegel der Märchen I (Stuttgart 1976). The ‘macroscopie’
argument for continuity by correspondence between taies and Undings of
prehistory regards details, not the taies; cf. K. Ranke in Bausinger (1969)
102-16; see I 7 n. 8.
11. This is cotnbining the Sroic dichoromy of sematnonI'semainômenon as re-
vived by F. de Saussure (signifiantIsignifie) with the distinction worked out by
Gottlob Frege, “Ueber Sinn und Bedeutung,” Zeitschrift fü r Philosophie und
philosophische Kritik 100 (1892) 25—50 (repr. in G. Frege, Funktion, Begriff,
Bedeutung [Göttingen 1962], 38—63 ~ "On Sense and Reference” in Philosophi-
cal Writings [Oxford 1952] 56—78; cf. B. Mates, Stoic Logic (Berkeley 1973);
Bunge (1974) I i: "On Sense and Reference”; Palmer (1976) 30—34. This is
already a decision to part with absolute structuralism, which suppresses ‘refer-
ence’: e.g. Greimas (1966) 13, rapidly passing from “le statut privilégié des
langues naturelles” to “la clôture de l’ensemble linguistique" and hence to "la
clôture de l ’univers sémantique”; cf. S. Abraham, F. Kiefer, A Theory o f Struc­
tural Semantics (The Hague 1966); contra, Ricoeur (1975) 2 7 9 -8 8 ; Palmer
(1976) 3 1 -3 4 ; see 13.
12. Cf. D. Demetreacopoulou, C. Du Bois, JAF 45 (1932) 400; Lévi-
Strauss (1958) 210; Dundes (1964) 43. The relation between a taie and vary-
ing texts is not strictly analogous to that between ‘langue’ and ‘parole’ (as
stated in a famous article, R. Jacobson, P. G. Bogatyrev, “Die Folklore als
besondere Form des Schaffens,” Donum natalicium Schrijnen [Nijwegen 1920]
Notes to Pages 2—4 145
900—913 = R. Jacobson, Selected Writings IV [The Hague 1966] 1—15):
‘langue’ stays within the language barrier.
13. The same holds true for literature in general. Cf. T. Todorov, Intro­
duction à la littérature fantastique (Paris 1970) ~ The Fantastic: A Structural
Approach to a Literary Genre (Cleveland 1973) 64; Littérature et signification
(Paris 1967) 102; N. Frye, Anatomy o f Criticism (Princeton 1957) 73—82; but,
there, stability and préservation are guaranteed by poetical form and/or by
writing.
14. Eur. fr. 484; cf. Plat. Symp. 177a, Callim. Hymn. 5,56 and further
parallels TGF a d lo c.‘, on m fihos versus logos (Pind. 01. 1, 28f. ; Plat. G or g.
523a, 527a), E. Hofmann, “Qua ratione épos m fihos aînos logos in antiqua Grae-
corum sermone adhibita sint” (Diss. Göttingen 1922): Stählin, “m fihos,”
KThWb 4 (1942) 769—803; W. Nestle, Vom Mythos zum Logos (Stuttgart
1942z).— On the storyteller’s ‘belief’ see L. Dégh, A. Vazconyi, “Legend and
Belief” in D. Ben-Amos, ed., Folklore Genres (Austin 1976) 93—123.
15. On ancient allegorical interprétations: F. Buffière, Les Mythes d ’Homère et
la pensée grecque (Paris 1956); P. Lévêque, Aurea catena Homeri (Paris 1959); J.
Pépin, Mythe et allégorie (Paris 1958); abundant examples for modem attempts
in RML ; cf. R. M. Dorson, The Eclipse o f Solar M ytbology in Sebeok (1955)
25-63.
16. Diogenes of Apollonia DK 64 A 8; Democritus DK 68 B 30; Aesch. fr.
83 Mette; P. Boyancé, Apollon solaire, in mélanges Carcopino (Paris 1966)
149-170.
17. Ctesias FGrHist 688 F 45e; PW VIII 3 18f.
18. C. Robert Hermes 18 ( 1883) 440; A. G. Gelanopulos Altertum 14 ( 1968)
157-6 1.
19. I. Velikovsky, Oedipus an d Akhnaton (London I960), cf. P. G. Maxwell
Stuart M aia 27 (1975) 37—43. — A. Giesebrecht Germania 2 (1837), 202ff.,
cf. Höfer (1961).
20. H. Schliemann, Mykenae (Leipzig 1878) 384—86; cf. also, on the
Danaïds, Detienne ( 1977) 37—40 against P. Faure REG 82(1969) xxvi—viii.
21. This is neatly stated by Aristotle, Met. 1074b4: the ancient myths tell
us that the heavenly bodies are divine— “the rest is [willful] addition. ”
22. See Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride, which pertinently has been called
proto-Gnostic. In Gnosis, taies were deliberately used to hint at metaphysics
and the fate of the soûl, cf. esp. the ‘Song of the Pearl’ (A. Adam, Die Psalmen
des Thomas und das Perlenlied als Zeugnisse vorchristlicher Gnosis [Berlin 1959] ;
R. Merkeibach, Roman und Mysterium [Munich 1962] 299—320); but this is
one possible application, not the origin or essence of myth. In accordance
with Plotinus (3, 5, 9) and Proclus (cf. in Plat. Remp. I 74f. Kroll), F. Creuzer
(Symbolik und M ythologie der alten Völker [Leipzig 1810, 18192]) developed his
theory that myth should “das Göttliche einer höchsten Idee zur unmittel­
baren Anschauung bringen” (91) or “das Gedachte in ein Geschehnis um­
 Notes to Pages 4—6
146
zusetzen” (99). Hence still J . Schniewind, in H. W . Bartsch, Kerygma und
Mythos (Hamburg 1948, = 19675) 79, defines as ‘mythical’ "eine Vorstel­
lungsweise, in der das Unanschauliche als anschaulich erscheint,” and P.
Wheelwright, in Sebeok (1955) 154, finds a définition of myth should stress
“the transcendent référencé.”
23. See n. 8; I 4 n. 14.
24. The Attis myth, e .g ., could be seen as referring to nature: the reaping
of the crops (Gnostics in Hippol. Ref. 5,8,39; 5,9,8); to ritual: the castration
of the Galloi; to metaphysics: the turning point from the generating progress
toward the Many to the regress toward the One (Julian or. 3 ,175b); to psy-
chology as seen by psychoanalysis: the castrating mother (see V).
Section 1.2.
1. A complété bibliography has become virtually impossi­ 14. PR II 229—33; since 1926 attested for Hesiod, fr. 135.
ble. For surveys see Leach (1967); Ducrot (1968); Piaget (1968); Schiwy
( 1969) and Neue Aspekte des Strukturalismus (Hamburg 1971); Maranda ( 1972);
H. Naumann, ed., Der moderne Strukturbegrtff (Darmstadt 1973); E. Holen­
stein, Linguistik, Semiotik, Hermeneutik: Plädoyers fü r eine strukturale Phänomen­
ologie (Frankfurt 1976); T. Hawkes, Structuralism and Semiotics (Berkeley and
Los Angeles 1976); Dundes (1976; with bibliography); the real beginnings
are with the Russian formalists and linguists R. Jacobson and N. Trubetskoi.
2. Définitions o f ‘structure’ in Lévi-Strauss (1958), 2796; Piaget (1968)
6f.; structuralism as “les sciences du signe, des systèmes de signes” in Ducrot
(1968) 10. This is totally different from the concept as used by K. Kerényi,
“Strukturelles über Mythologie,” Paideuma 5(1952) 151—56, where ‘struc­
ture’ is something indefinabJe, to be grasped by the gifted initiate.
3. Propp (1928); cf. R. Breymayer Linguistica Biblica 15-16 (1972) 36—
77; E. Güttgemanns Linguistica B iblica 23-24 (1973) 10—15; M. Lüthi,
Das europäische Volksmärchen (Bern 1976 5) 115—21; criticism: Nathorst ( 1969)
16—29. Important application to American Indian taies: Dundes (1964); to
classics: T. Mantaro, Amore e Psiche: Struttura d i una fiaba di magia (Genoa
1973).
4. Dundes (1964) 5 0 -5 3 ; Nathorst ( 1969) 22f.
5. Propp (1928) 91: “Eine Sequenz von Funktionen”; Dundes (1964) 75:
“one or more motifemic sequences. " " birth of Areas (Ov. Met. 2,466ff.); Zeus unités with Io before (Hes. fr. 124)
6. Arist. Poet. 6—8, I450a3ff., b21ff. ; cf. P. Madsen, Orbis Litterarum
25 (1970) 287—99; E. Güttgemanns Linguistica B iblica 23-24 (1973) 5f. On
Aristotle’s poetics as a ‘theory of action,’ R. Kannicht, H. Flashar Poetica
8 (1 9 7 6 )3 3 0 -3 8 .
7. “Freja-Formel” (bride commits fault; loses bridegroom; search; re­
union), J. G. Hahn, Griechische und Albanesische Märchen (Leipzig 1864) 43ff.;
“Die Arische Aussetzungs- und Rückkehrformel” in Sagwissenschaftliche Stu­
dien (Jena 1876) 340. Similar schemes, e .g ., in A. H. Gayton, “The Orpheus
Notes to Pages 6—7 147
Myth in North America,” JA P 48 (1935) 263—93; for the combat myth,
Fontenrose (1959).
8. Lévi-Strauss ( 1958) 211: “shortest possible sentences” as “mythèmes. ”
9- Greimas ( 1966) recognizes “la quête” as the theme of Propp’s sequence
(177), but goes on to develop from it “le modèle actantiel mythique” (180)
as such, cf. 213—21, thoiigh as a ‘hypothesis’ (221).
10. Dundes ( 1964).
11. Burkert (1972),.
12. R. Franz, “De Callistus fabula,” Leipz. Stud. zur dass. Philol. 12
(1890) 235-365; W . Sale RhM 105 (1962) 122-41; 108 (1965) 11-35;
Burkert (1972) 101; G. Maggiulli in Mythos: Scripta in honorem Ai. Unter­
steiner (Genoa 1970) 179—85.
13. PR II 1139-44; L. Koenen, ZPE 4 (1969) 7 -1 8 .
15. PR II 253—66; Burkert (1972) 182-89.
16. Homer Od. 11,235-55; Soph. fr. 6 4 8 -6 9 Pearson; PW VII A 1869-
75.
17. H. v. Arnim, Supplementum Euripideum (Bonn 1913) 9 —22; Hygin.
Fab. 186; Apollod. 3[42—4]5,5; U. v. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, SB Berlin
(1 9 2 1 )6 3 -8 0 = K l. Sehr. I (Berlin 1935)440-60.
18. PR II 114-19; Cook 1(1914) 734-39; Burkert (1972) 207-11.
19. This taie type has been treated therefore, ever since Hahn (see n. 7), as
part of the hero pattern: E. S. Hartland, The Legend o f Perseus, I-III (London
1894—96); Rank ( 1909); Raglan ( 1936); but it is a détachable unit in itself,
following the sequence Interdiction—violation—conséquence—(attempted) es-
cape (see n. 10), the taboo of virginity standing for ‘interdiction’ (see I 4 n.
11); an instance from quite another civilization, the Maya Quiche: Popol Vuh,
ed. L. Schultze-Jena (Stuttgart 1944, 19722) 44—55, about Xquic the mother
of Hunahpu and Xbalanque, who could be called the Quiche Dioscuri. See
now J . Dan, “The Innocent Persecuted Heroine: An Attempt at a Model for
the Surface Level of the Narrative Structure of the Female Fairy Tale,” in H.
Jason, D. Segal, eds., Patterns in Oral Literature (The Hague 1977), 13—30.
20. The metamorphosis of Callisto occurs before the intercourse (Eut. Hel.
375—80) or after it (Hes. fr. 163; Apollod. 3[ 101] 8,2,4) or only after the
or before and after the metamorphosis (Aesch. Suppl. 295—301) or only after
her return to human shape (Aesch. Prom. 834f., 848—50.)
21. See 16.
22. First (incomplète) publication in Keilschrifttexte aus Boghazköi 3(1919)
no. 7; first (incomplète) translation by H. Zimmern in E. Lehmann, H.
Haas, Textbuch zur Religionsgeschichte (Leipzig 1922) 339f. ; A. Götze, Kleinasien
(Munich 1933) 13lf- (19572, 139f.); transcription in Friedrich (1967) 51—53;
translations: ANET 125f.; Gaster (1961) 257—65; cf. Gurney (1954) 181f.
 Notes to Pages 8—11
148
23. Apollod. 1[39—44]6,3; W . Porzig, "Illuyankas und Typhon,” Klein-
asiatische Forschungen 1 (1930) 379—86; F. Dornseiff, Die archaische Mythener­
zählung (Berlin 1933) 26; A. Lesky in Anzeiger der Oesterreichischen Akademie
1950, l46f.=Lesky (1966) 362; A. Heubeck Gymnasium 62 (1955) 511f; F.
Vian in Elements (I960) 17—37.
24. The following text is taken from ANET, abridged, and without indicat-
ing restorations, but with a few explanations added in brackets.
25. Cf. U. Eco, “James Bond: une combinatoire narrative,” Communications
8 (1 9 6 6 )7 7 -9 3 -
26. Cf. Burkert (1972) 10, 78; s e e lll 3.
27. V. Haas, “Jasons Raub des Goldenen Vliesses im Lichte hethitischer
Quellen,” Ugarit-Forschungen 1 (1975) 227—33-
28. On ‘fleeces of the sun’ see IV 5 n. 29; VI 1. On ‘A ia,’ cf. Mimnermus
11,2 West; Lesky ( 1966) 26—62.
29. WM I 39; Laroche (1947) 119.
30. Meuli (1921) 1-25.
31. Cf. PR II 7 58-875; Wilamowitz (1924) II 2 2 8 -4 8 ; O. Roux, Le
Probleme des Argonauts (Paris 1949).
Section L3.
1. Nathorst (1969) 24—28. Detienne (1977) 33: “Les 8. Lévi-Strauss ( 1964) 313; Dundes ( 1976) 83 retorted: “Lévi-Strauss is not
mythèmes restent introuvables”; but we are still at the level o f‘narremes.’
2. A. I. Goldman, A Theory o f Human Action (Englewood Cliffs 1970) 35f.,
45f.; H. J . Heringer, Praktische Semantik (Stuttgart 1974) 43—50.
3. Cf. Dundes (1964) 24f. on “functional équivalence”; O’Flaherty (1973)
17 : “The very délimitations of the épisodes and symbols can only be identified
by the comparison of several versions.”
4. P. Madsen Orbis Litterarum 26(1971) 194. This is not, as sometimes stat-
ed, a ptogress ftom syntax to semantics, because the Propp sequence and its
dérivâtes are already sense structures, i.e. semantic; it is rather a question of
what a scholar is willing to find really 'meaningful’; cf. Dundes ( 1964) 47 (quot-
ing J . Lotz): “structure cannot be expressed in terms of sequence in time”— a
Statement of unmistakably Platonic ring.
5. Dundes (1964), seè I 2 n. 10; Greimas (1966) 172—221, the ‘modèle
actantiel’; “Eléments d’une grammaire narrative,” L’Homme 9, 3 (1969) 71—92
~ Du sens (Paris 1970) 157—83; “Un Problème de sémiotique narrative: Les
Objets de valeur,” Langages 31 (1973) 13—35; C. Bremond, Logique du récit
(Paris 1973).
6. His basic publications on myth are: “The Structural Study of M yth,”
JA F 78 (1955) 428—44=Sebeok (1955) 81—106, revised as “La Structure des
mythes” in Anthropologie structurale (Paris 1958) 227—55 —Structural Anthropolo-
gy (New York 1963) 206—31 ~ “Die Struktur des Mythos” in Schiwy (1969)
134—43 ~ Strukturale Anthropologie (Frankfurt 1967) 226—54. — “La Geste
Notes to Pages 11—12
149
d’Asdival” in Annuaire de l’Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes, Sciences religieuses,
1958-59 (1958) 3-43; Us Temps modernes 179 (1961) 1 0 S 0 123=Anthro­
pologie structurale deux (Paris 1973) 175—233 ~ “The Story ofAsdival,” inLeach
(1967) 1—47. — Mythologiques (Paris 1964—71): I, U Cru et le cuit; II, Du
Miel aux cendres; III, L’Origine des maniérés de table; IV, L’Homme nu ~ The Rata
and the Cooked (New York 1969) and From Honey to Ashes ( 1973) ~ Mythologica
I—IV (Frankfurt 1971—75). — Ftom the abundant litetatute on Lévi-Strauss, a
few specimens must suffice here: Dundes (1964) 42—47 and (1976) (bibliogra-
phy); Nathorst (1969) 37—59; Kirk (1970) 42—83; E. R. Leach, Claude Lévi-
Strauss (New York 1970); Makarius (1973). — Some applications of Lévi-
Strauss's methods in classics: Kirk (1970) 132—71; Detienne (1972) and
( 1977), cf. Detienne, ed., Il mito, guida storica e critica (Bari 1975), esp. 3—21;
P. Pucci, “Lévi-Strauss and Classical Culture,” Arethusa 4 (1971) 103—17;
C. P. Segal, “The Raw and the Cooked in Gteek Literature: Structure, Values,
Metaphor,” CJ 69 (1974) 289—308; “The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: A
Structuralist Approach,” CW Cl (1974) 205—12; C. Bérard, Anodoi: Essai sur
l ’imagerie des passages chthoniens (Bern 1974), cf. AK 19 (1976) 1 13f. ; Brisson
(1976); P. Scarpi, Utture sulla religione classica: L’Inno Omerico a Demeter (Flor­
ence 1976).
7. H. Glassie, Semiotica 7 (1973) 315.
analyzing the structure of myth narrative . . . but rather analyzing the struc­
ture of the world described in myths.”
9. Nathorst ( 1969) 51.
10. Cf. Nathorst ( 1969) 56; Makarius (1973) 98—101, 277—86.
11. Lévi-Strauss (1958) 18—25, 281f., following F. Boas, Handbook o f
American Indian Languages (Washington 1911) 70f., and N. Ttubetskoi, La
Phonologie actuelle (Paris 1933); Lévi-Strauss (1964) 20; cf. Dundes (1976) 78f.
12. Cf. TLS 3,572 (August 14, 1970) 899-91 on Kirk (1970), and De-
tienne (1977) 18—21 on Kirk and Leach.
13. Lévi-Strauss (1958) 229: “the purpose of myth is to provide a logical
model capable of overcoming a contradiction” ; cf. Dundes (1964) 45f.; Kirk
(1970)44,48.
14. Lévi-Strauss (1958) 228; the ‘opposite’ of a should evidently be a~i=
TT, but it usually becomes a —1, as in Sebeok (1955) 104; Structural Anthro-
pology (1963) 228; Midivest Folklore 12 (1962) 137f.
15. E. K. Köngäs, P. Maranda, “Structural Models in Folklore,” Midivest
Folklore 12(1962) 133-92.
16. Nathorst (1969) 31: “one and the same material can be structurally
analyzed . . . in an infinite number of different ways. ”
17. E. R. Leach, Transactions oftheNewYork Academy o f Sciences 1123(1961)
395. Lévi-Strauss daims to find “une réalité . . . indépendante de tout sujet”
(1964: 19): “Les mythes se pensent entre eux” (20).
150 Notes to Pages 13—17
18. Lévi-Strauss (1958) 2 16f.; cf. Kirk 50. This is called an “absurdity” by
Dundes (1964) 46; cf. Münz (1973) 25.
19. F. W. Householder International Jou rn a l o f American Linguistics 18
(1952) 260; Dundes (1964) 57, (1976) 78 advocates “man-made approxima­
tions of God’s truth.”
20. M. Casalis Semiotica 17 (1976) 35f.
21. Lévi-Strauss ( 1958) 213 —16; his excursion into classics'is not considered
a success even by the adepts; cf. Detienne ( 1977) 19f.
22. Lévi-Strauss (1958) 20-22, 31-54.
23. Seel ln. 11.
24. Lévi-Strauss (1964) 43—45 (also in Matranga [ 1972] 251—54). Cf. also
Makarius (1973) 141-83.
Section 1.4.
1. Cf. Ricoeur (1975) 288: ‘suspended référencé.’
2. For a survey of modern semantic theories see Palmer (1976); Fodot
(1977); I 1 n. 11. C. Morris, Writings on the General Theory ofSigns (The Hague
1971) 95 décidés not to use the term ‘meaning’ at all, because of its lack of
précision.
3. To define meaning by ‘use’ of a word goes back to L. Wittgenstein, Phi­
losophische UntersuchungeniPhilosophical Investigations (Oxford 1953).
4. Bunge (1974) 8 -15.
5. See 1 3 n. 5.
6. Cf. Calame ( 1977) 70, postulating a ‘logique d’action’ “sur un plan beau­
coup plus concret. ”
7. A daring attempt to apply ethology to fairy-tales has been published by
A. Nitschke, Soziale Ordnungen im Spiegel der M ärchen, I-II (Stuttgart—Bad
Cannstatt 1977); from another basis, G. Durand, Les Structures anthropologiques
de l ’imaginaire (Paris I960, 19632), tried to dérivé ‘archétypes’ from three re-
flexes, ‘postural,’ ‘digestive,’ ‘copulative.’ This is oversimplifying, in view of
the complexity of living organisms.
8. A. Aarne, Die magische Flucht (Helsinki 1930).
9. On the special status of the imperative cf. Palmer (1976) 141; also E.
Schwyzer, A. Debrunner, Griechische Grammatik II (Munich 1950) 339. At-
tempts to derive imperative from assertive phrases (Fodor [ 1977] 49—55) dis-
regard the facts of language.
10. “Allgemein biotisch” : M. Lüthi, Deutsche Zeitschrift fü r Volkskunde 2
(1973) 292.
11. S. L. La Fontaine, "Ricualization of Women’s Life Crises in Bugisu,”
in La Fontaine (1972) 159—86; cf. GB XIII 448—50: “The Séclusion of Girls
at Puberty”; W. Burkert, “Kekropidensage und Arrhephoria,” Hermes 94
(1966) 1-25.
12. Boas (1916) 874.
13- Plat. Leg, 752a; cf. Gorg. 505d, Phdr. 264c, Tim. 69ab, Phil. 66d.
Notes to Pages 17—20
151
14. For convenient surveys see J . Glenn, “Psychoanalytic W ritings on Clas-
sical Mythology and Religion,” CW 70 (1976—77) 225—47; E. Nase, J.
Scharfenberg, eds., Psychoanalyse und Religion (Darmstadt 1977); D. Anzieu,
“Freud et la mythologie,” Nouvelle Revue de Psychanalyse 1(1970) 114—45; basic
studies are Rank (1909) and K. Abraham, Traum und Mythus (W ien 1909) ~
Dreams and Myths (New York 1913); cf. also A. Dundes, Analytic Essays in
Folklore (The Hague 1975).
15. C. G. Jung, “Ueber den Archetypus,” Zentralblatt fü r Psychotherapie 9
(1936) 259ff.; Eranos-Jährbuch 6(1938) 403—43; Jung (1941), where he called
myth “Offenbarungen der vorbewussten Seele”; his final theory in Man and His
Symbols (London 1964); cf. J. Jacobi, Komplex, Archetypus, Symbol in der Psycholo­
gie C. G. Jungs (Zürich 1957); Kirk (1970) 275-80. Amongjungian studies in
mythology see E. Neumann, Die grosse Mutter (Zürich 1956) ~ The Great Mother
(New York 1955); S. Sas, Der Hinkende als Symbol (Zürich 1964); K. Kerényi
remained for some time very close to Jung, esp. in Jung (1941), but later set
himself apart: Eleusis, Archétypal Image o f Mother and Daughter (New York 1967)
xxiv—xxxiii.
16. A resolute attempt to link mythical Symbols to the ‘innate releasing
mechanisms’ of biology is found in Campbell ( 1959) 30—49.
17. See the beginning of I 2.
Section 1.5.
1. See also M. Lüthi, Das Volksmärchen als
logne 1975). On the multiple déterminants of any taie, cf. H. Jason, “A M ulti­
dimensional Approach to Oral Literature,” Current Anthropology 10 ( 1969) 413—
20 .
2. The most substantial monograph is Fontenrose ( 1959).
3. See I 2 nn. 22, 23.
4. Lévi-Strauss ( 1958) 208; fantasy (“künstlerische Phantasie”) has been in-
voked as the creator of myth since K. Ph. Moritz, G'otterlehre oder Mythologische
Dichtungen der Alten (Vienna and Prague 1791, 17952) 7f. ; cf. K. Schefold,
Griechische Kunst als religiöses Phänomen (Hamburg 1959) 135. On the lim its of
‘imagination’ in myths, Boas (1916) 874, 880.
5. Kinder- und Hausmärchen der Brüder Grimm, no. 15. The ‘witch’ does not
use any magic in this tale, and is disposed of in a very realistic way; only at the
end there is a dim reflex of the ‘magical flight’ (see I 4 n. 8). In general, see
L. Röhrich, Märchen und Wirklichkeit (Wiesbaden 1965, 19743).
6. A historical case of a man inadvertently marrying his own mother: H. F.
Helmolt, ed., Briefe der Herzogin Elisabeth Charlotte von Orleans I (Leipzig 1908)
230f. (December 23, 1701).
7. Cf. Propp ( 1946) 343-46; Merkelbach RAC IV ( 1959) 2 26-50; cf. Boas
(1916) 880 on “materialization of the objects of fear.” Other monsters from
oriental iconography wete not easily adopted by the Greeks as mythical char-
acters; it is only in the relatively late Arimaspea of Aristeas (J . D. Bolton,
152 Notes to Pages 20—22
Aristeas o f Proconnesus [Oxford 1962]) that the griffin enters the role of the ad-
versary.
8. Cf. R. and D. Morris, Mm andSnakes (London 1968).
9. An interesting attempt to apply the logic of three truth values, (true/in-
determinate/false): D. E. Cooper, “Alternative Logic in 'Primitive Thought,’ ”
Man 10 (1975) 238—56; cf. E. Hornung, Der Eine und die Vielen (Darmstadt
19732) 233—40. Against the concept of 'prelogicality’ in myth, Frankfort
(1946) 19-36.
10. H. G. Güterbock, Kumarbi, Mythen vom churritischm Kronos (Zürich
1946);H . Otten, Mythen vom Gott Kumarbi (B erlin 195 l)\ANET 121f.;Güter-
bock in M ythologies (1961) 155—61; G. Steiner, "Der Sukzessionsmythos in
Hesiods ‘Théogonie’ und ihren orientalischen Parallelen” (Diss. Hamburg
1958); cf. A. Lesky, “Hethitische Texte und griechischer Mythos,” Anzeigerder
Oesterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 1950, 137—60 = Lesky (1966)
356—71; F. Dirlmeier, "Homerisches Epos und Vorderer Orient,” RhM 98
(1955) 18—3 7 = Ausgewählte Schriften (Heidelberg 1970) 55—67; A. Heubeck,
“Mythologische Vorstellungen des Alten Orients im archaischen Griechen­
tum ,” Gymnasium 62 (1955) 508—25; P. Walcot, Hesiod and the Near East
(Cardiff 1966); Kirk (1970) 213-20.
11. Kirk (1970) 219.
12. Ibid.; he would allow “that the Greek versionmay be ultimately derived
from a pre-Hurrian koiné account. ”
13- Ibid. 217.
14. Song ofU llikummi III C, ANET 125.
15. Cf. the findings of J . L. Fischer, in A. F. C. Wallace, ed., Men and
Cultures (Philadelphia I960) 442—46, on how ‘cognate’ taies develop different
structures in different societies.
Section 1.6.
1. Boas (1916) 880; Propp (1946) 43; Dundes (1964) 110:ning (London 1957); U. Hölscher, Anfängliches Fragen (Göttingen 1968).
“morphologically speaking, myths and folktales are one and the same.”
2. Kirk (1970) 9 -1 2 ; see I 1 n. 3. Fontenrose (1966) 54f. defines myth as
“traditional taies of the deeds of daimones,” and adds legend as taies "of the
deeds of heroes,” but the définition is somewhat circular, since there are heroes
who acquired their heroic status just because they were characters of myth, e.g.
Agamemnon (J . M. Cook, Geras A. Keramopoullou [Athens 1954], 112—18;
J. N. Coldstream, JHS 96 [1976] 8—17), and the borderline between gods and
heroes is permeable at least in cases such as Erechtheus and Heracles.
3. W . R. Bascom JA F 78 (1965) 4: “myths are prose narratives . . . con-
sidered to be truthful accounts of what happened in the remotepast,” following,
tosomeextent, R. Pettazzoni, SMSR 21 (1947-8)104—16~ P « îî^« wî? 4 (1950)
1—10 ~ Essays on the History o f Religions (Leiden 1954) 11—21, and M. Eliade,
Cosmos a n d History: The M yth o f the Etemal Return (New York 1959); cf. Eliade
Notes to Pages 22—24 153
(1963) 5: “Myth narrâtes a sacred history . . . that took place in primordial
Time . . . ”; Baumann (1959) 3: "anschaulich erzählter Bericht vom Beginn der
Dinge”; Fontenrose ( 1966) 54.
4. Boas (1916) 565; Malinowski (1926) 101—6; Baumann (1959) 15f. ;
Eliade (1963) 8 -1 0 ; Kirk (1970) 20.
5. Barthes ( 1957) called myth a “système sémiologique second”; cf. J . Rud-
hardt Studia Philosophica 26 (1966) 208—37, on myth as a signifié ! signifiant',
already Boas (1916) 881 on “the problem of mythology”: “to associate single
taies with phenomena of nature and to give them an interprétative meaning.”
On collective relevance as a distinctive trait of myth see Dundes (1964) 111;
Lüthi ( 1976) 13f., following E. Meletinsky. — The définition of myth in Her-
skovits (1958) 81: “a narrative which gives symbolic expression to a System of
relationships between man and the universe” is compatible, though doser to the
metaphysical aspirations often imputed to myth, regarded as “démonstrations
of the inner meaning of the universe and of human life” (A. W . W atts, Myth
an d R itual in Christianity [London 1953] 7; P. Wheelwright in Sebeok [1955]
154); see I 1 n. 22.
6. On fable, K. Meuli, Herkunft und Wesen der Fabel (Basel 1954)=Meuli
(1975) 7 31 -5 6 ; Lüthi (1976) 14.
7. Malinowski (1926) 101; “beglaubigende Aussage,” Baumann (1959) 1;
“a rationale for institutions and customs,” Fontenrose (1955) 58; cf. Kirk
(1972)97-101.
8. On myth and ritual, see II.
9- See n. 3; hence collections such as Damascius De principiis 123—25, I
318—24 Ruelle; S. Sauneron et a l., eds., La Naissance du monde (Paris 1959) ~
Quellen des Alten Orients, I: Die Schöpfungsmythen (Einsiedeln 1964); A. W .
W atts, ed., Patterns ofMyth, I: C. H. Long, Alpha: The Myths o f Creation (New
York 1963)- On création myths and philosophical cosmogony see F. M. Com-
ford, Principium Sapientiae (Cambridge 1952); W . K. C. Guthrie, ln the Begin-
10. J. S. M ill, A System o f Logic, II sec. 5, in Collected Works VII (Toronto
1973) 33; Fodor( 1977) 15.
11. Polyphemus evidently owes his name to the famé of the story, L. Rader-
macher, Weinen und Lachen (Vienna 1947) 12. Od. 1,70 polyphemon can be both
proper name and adjective: ‘the cyclops, godlike Polyphemus,’ or ‘the Cyclops,
godlike, much renowned.’
12. As in the hymn to Apollo; cf. Fontenrose ( 1959).
13- Odysseus’ cave at Ithaca: J . N. Coldstream, JH S 96 (1976) 16f. ; offer-
ings for his offspring: Arist. fr. 507.
14. On Antiope see I 2 n. 18; the hipparchoi, Plut. Gen. Socr. 578b; Burkert
(1972) 210; Amphion’s tomb, Paus. 9,17,4; AAA 5 0 9 7 2 ) 16-22.
15. There is no agreement as to the distinction between myth, saga, legend,
and fairy-tale, esp. since the use of these terms differs in modern'European lan-
154 Notes to Pages 2 4 -2 7
guages; cf. Kirk (1970) 31-41; (1974) 30-37; Lüthi (1976) 7-17 and Volks­
märchen u n d Volkssage (Bern 19753) makes a good point for the criterion of
style.
16. Kirk ( 1970) 280f. is justly cautious, though he ventures to allot a truly
“ ‘mythical’ stage” to the Neolithic Age (240).
17. J . Piaget, La Formation du symbole chez l ’enfant (Neuchâtel 1959) ~
Nachahmung: Spiel u n d Traum (Stuttgart 1975) (Ges. Werke V) pt. 2.
18. As Lévi-Strauss daims, introducing the term “bricolage” (La Pensée
sauvage [Paris 1962] 26—33 ~ The Savage M ind [Chicago 1966] 16—22).
19- On this Socratic question see R. Robinson, Plato’s Earlier D ialectic
(Oxford 19532) 49-60.
20. Hes. fr. 9.
21. E. Risch, “Die Gliederung der griechischen Dialekte in neuer Sicht,”
MH 12(1955)61-76, esp. 70.
22. Frederick the Great was saved in a hopeless situation of war by the death
of the Russian tsarina Elizabeth in 1762; Hitler thought the death of Franklin
D. Roosevelt on April 12, 1945, would hâve a similar effect, and went on
fighting: the true historical incident had assumed the function of myth, termed
“a major tool for self-deception” by M. Freilich (Current Anthropology 16 [ 1975]
210).
23. Cf. A. AlfÖldi, Die troianischen Urahnen der Römer (Basel 1957); G. K.
Galinsky, Aeneas, Sicily, and Rome (Princeton 1969).
24. Hdt. 9,33-36.
25. Themistocles’ Decree, R. Meiggs, D. Lewis, A Sélection ofGreek Histori­
ca l Inscriptions (Oxford 1969), no. 23. The question of authenticity is hardly im­
portant in our context.
26. W. Burkert, “Caesar und Romulus-Quirinus,” Historia 11 (1962)
356-76.
27. See E. Hornung, Geschichte als Fest: Zwei Vorträge zum G eschichtsbild der
frühen Menschheit (Darmstadt 1966).
28. Cf. the well-balanced account in Lüthi (1975) 170—76; Batthes (1957)
257: “le mythe est à droite. ”
29. Thuc. 1,22,4; Plat. Prot. 320c; Isocr. 3,48; 4,158; 12,1.
30. Frankfort ( 1946) 15: the imagery of myth “represents the form in which
the expérience has become conscious”; Maranda (1972) 12f. : “Myths display
the structured, predominantly culture-specific, and shared, semantic Systems
which enable the members of a culture area to understand each other and to cope
with the unknown. ”
Section 1.7.
1. Cf. Kirk (1970) 280-82.
2. Hecataeus FGrHist 1 F 15; Paus. 10,38,1; Kerényi (1976) 74—77.
3. A. H. Krappe JAF 59 (1956) 501; contra, Dundes (1964) 112: "the
new s c ie n ce o f folklore” must include “synchronic/structural” analysis. It is
Notes to Pages 27—29 155
characteristic that the second book of Propp (1949), on the ‘historical roots of
fairy-tale,’ has not been translated into English or German. Cf. E. E. Evans-
Pritchard, Anthropology and History (Manchester 1961); J . M. Lewis, e d ., His-
tory and Social Anthropology (London 1968); W . Müller-Seidel, ed., Historizität
in Sprach- und Literaturwissenschaft (Munich 1974). Lévi-Strauss (1958) 1—27
aims at a synthesis of history and structuralism: “the same journey on the same
road in the same direction” (24).
4. “Myths are no more than extreme cases of metaphor” Munz (1973) 54.
Also S. J . Reno, “Myth in Profile,” Temenos 9 (1973) 38—54 speaks of “the
metaphor of the story” (39), but prefers the analogy of “caricature” (49f.).
5. Modem studies of metaphor try to overeóme the ancient définition as
‘comparison abridged’ (Cic. or. 94; Quint, inst. 9,2,46; M. McCall, Ancient
Rhetorical Theories o f Simile and Comparison [Cambridge, Mass. 1969]); see now
the comprehensive account of Ricoeur (1975); he takes metaphor at sentence
level, as a heuristic model for redescription of reality, following M. Black,
Models andMetaphors (Ithaca 1962) 25—47, 41; “metaphor organizes the view”;
on actualization and suppression of ‘semes,’ G. Lüdi, Die Metapher als Funktion
der Aktualisierung (Bern 1973); cf. W . A. Shibks, Metaphor,'An AtlWJtatedBlk-
liography (Whitewater 1971).
6. ln another way, Munz (1973) tries to establish a “historical seriality of
myths” (ix) by Steps of more and more sublime symbolization from a ‘bottom’ of
nature toward metaphysical concept; this is more spéculative than historical.
7. Meuli (1946) 237-39; Burkert (1972) 21f., 63 f-; myth of Dionysus,
ib id ., 140, 257; of Pelops, ib id ., 114-17; in fairy-tale, the Brothers Grimm,
Kinder- und Hausmärchen no. 47.
8. On ‘Requisitverschiebung’ and ‘Requisiterstarrung,’ H. Bausinger Wir­
kendes Wort 10 (I960) 279—86; Schmidt (1963) 52f.; L. Röhrich, in Bausinger
(1969) 121; Lüthi (1976) 8 3 -8 6 ; see I 8 n. 21.
9. The name ‘Schyngys’ in a tale from Kazakhstan recorded by Radloff re­
fere to Genghis Khan, I. Trencsényi Waldapfel, Untersuchungen zur Religionsge­
schichte (Amsterdam 1966) 202—7; the name was dropped in Frazer’s account,
GB X 74. — The name ‘Siegfried’ or ‘Sigurd’ may refer to the man called
Arminius by the Romans: Höfler ( 1961).
10. M. C. Astour, in his fascinating book Hellenosemitica (Leiden 1965), re­
lies far too much on ‘étymologies’ of proper ñames.
Section 1.8.
1. Brisson (1976); on the motif, in gene
(1955); M. Delcourt, Hermaphrodite (Paris 1958).
2. W . Wickler in Morris (1967) 108—10; I. Eibl-Eibesfeldt, Grundriss der
vergleichenden Verhaltensforschung (Munich 19723= 19744) 493f.; Fehling
(1974) 18-27; see II 2 nn. 7, 8.
3. Ephorus FGrHist 70 F 149; H. Jeanmaire, Couroi et Couretes (Paris 1939)
4 5 0 -5 5 ; Burkert (1977) 391f- ; cf. Baumann (1955) 57f.
 Notes to Pages 2 9 -3 4
156
4. Nicander in Anton. Lib. 17; cf. ‘Iphis’ Ov. Met. 9,666—797.
5. IC I ix 1 C 99 (Dreros); I xix 1,18 (Mallia).
6. Acusilaus FGrHist 2 F 22; Schefold (1964) pl. 27c; K. Schauenburg AA
1962, 745-65; Brommer (1973) 499-501.
7. Paus. 1,19,1; ‘lifting the bull,’ IG II-III2 1006,9, etc., Burkert (1977)
394f.
8. PR II 1106-10.
9. SeeV2n. 32; V 6 n. 21; in general, Baumann (1955) 14—44.
10. Hes. Fr. 275; Apollod. 3[71]6,7; I. Löffler, DieMelampodie (Meisenheim
1963) 18f., 43f. ; all the evidence is collected and discussed in Brisson (1976).
11. H. Frankfort Iraq 1(1934) 10—13; E. D. van Buren, “Entwined Ser­
pents,” AfO 10 ( 1935—36) 53—65, and Symbols o f the Gods in Mesopotamian Art
(Rome 1945) 40ff. For the oriental type in Greek art see fig. 2.
12. On Cilician Mopsus and oriental hepatoscopy: Burkert (1977) 183, 185.
13- Od. 9, 106—555; Aarne-Thompson (1964) no. 1137; most comprehen-
sive collection of parallels: O. Flackman, Die Polyphemsage in der Volksüberlie­
ferung (Helsingfors 1904); in addition, J. G. Frazer, Apollodorus, “The Library,”
II (London 1921) 404-55; Meuli (1921) 65-80; Cook II (1924) 988-1003;
Germain (1954) 55—78; Page(1955) 3—16; L. Röhrich Fabula 5(1962) 48—71
and (1967) 213-50 , 447-60; P. Faure BAGB (1967) 348-407, (1970) 119—
32; Glenn (1971); L. Vajda Ethnologische Z eitschrift Zürich 1 (1975) 245—57;
Calame (1977); Fehling (1977) 89-100.
14. Kirk(1970) 162—71; quotations from 162, 168.
15. Seel 6 n. 11.
16. Calame ( 1977) 64f., 67f.
17. See I 6 n. 13.
18. Paus. 2,2,1 (Corinth); cf. caves at Nauplia, Strab. 8, p. 369; a Kyklopei-
on near Miletus, M ilet I (Berlin 1906) no. 150= 57(7 633,82.
19. Cf. I 5 n. 3.
20. Germain (1954) 74f.; Page (1955) 13; Röhrich (1967) 454f.; Glenn
(1971) 167-69; Burkert (1972) I48f.
21. See IV 5 n. 11. A one-eyed master of animais is recorded from the Cau-
casus and Karakorum, K. Jettmar Tribus 9 (I960) 126.
22. Müller-Karpe (1966) l47f.; K. P. Oakley in C. Singer et al., eds., A
History o f Technology I (Oxford 1954) 30; Burkert, Technikgeschichte 34 (1967)
282—85. — One version of the dragon fight recorded in Switzerland has the
champion fashioning a dry fir tree into his weapon, R. Cysat, Collectanea Chroni­
ca un d Denkwürdige Sachen pro Chronica Lucemensi et H elvetiae, I, ed. J. Schmid
(Lucerne 1969) 566f.
23. Od. 9,391—94. The Cyclopes are blacksmiths in Hesiod, Theog. 139—
46. In many parallels to the Cyclops taie, the ogre is blinded with a red-hot
spit, Glenn (1971) 164—66; Page (1955) lOf. finds traces of such a version in
Homer’s text, and thinks it is the ‘original. ’ Why the wooden spear ever came in
Notes to Page 34 157
becomes difficult to explain under this assumption: just a “rare alternative”
(Glenn 166).
24. Schol. Horn. //. 13,564; Hdt. 7,71,74; Scylax 112; Strab. 17, p. 822;
Diod. 3,25,2; Vetg. Aen. 7 ,5 2 4 ;Tac. Ann. 2,14,3, 4 ,5 1 ,1 ; Curt. 3,2,16.
25. Liv. 1,32,12; hastam ferratam aut sanguineam praeustam, transposed to
ferratam aut praeustam sanguineam by Madwig; cf. Wissowa (1913) 554; contra,
J . Bayet MEFR 52 (1935) 29—76= Croyances et rites dans la Rome antique (Paris
1971) 9—43, cf. Latte ( 1959) 122. — ‘Angebrannter Stock’ to summon troops
in Celtic and Nordic custom: J. Grimm, Deutsche Rechtsaltertümer, I (Leipzig
1899“) 226-28.
26. Mannhardt (1875) 518—21; H.v. Wlislocki, Aus dem Volksleben der
Magyaren (Munich 1893) 64; on Cyclops and fire-drilling, Cook, 1(1914) 309—
28; GB II 207-26.
27. A unique document is a Sumerian clay fablet from Khafaje, c. 2000
B.c., showing a female sun-demon with one eye in the forehead, stabbed by a
god: H. Frankfort Archiv für Orientforschung 11 (1934—36) 265, 12 (1937—39)
128—35; The Art and Architecture o f the Ancient Orient (Harmondsworth 1954)
57, pl. 58; S. Lloyd, The Art o f the Ancient Near East (New York 1961) 139;
EAA I 953. Nothing eise about this ‘Polyphema’ is known; K. Oberhuber,
“Der Kyklop Polyphem in altorientalischer Sicht,” in Antiquitates Indoger-
manicae (Innsbruck 1974) 147—53, with an etymology to make ‘Polyphemos’
coïncide with Gilgames, is fantastic.
28. Ogre myths hâve been traced to puberty initiations since P. Saintyves,
Les Contes de Perrault et les récits parallèles (Paris 1923); cf. Propp (1949) 362;
Germain ( 1954) 78—86.
29. On Odysseus and Kabiroi, Burkert ( 1972) 148—50; on ‘Schmiedekönig­
tum ,’ cf. the material collected by Alföldi ( 1974) 181—219.
30. The name ‘Kyklops’ should be revealing, but is open to different inter­
prétations. The ancient etymology ‘wheel-eye’ (since Hes. Theog. 145) is not
too attractive; R. Schmitt ( Dichtung and Dichtersprache in indogermanischer Zeit
[Wiesbaden 1967] 168, cf. E. Risch Gnomon 41 [1969] 323) suggested ‘wheel-
thief,’ *kyklo-klops, H. Thieme ZVS 69(1951) 177f., g-u-klops, “cattle-thief;
this would go well with the 'master of animais’ pattern; see IV 3- — Spear and
blinding allow, of course, a sexual interprétation (cf. G. Devereux, ‘‘The Self-
Blinding of Oidipous, ’’JHS 93 [1973] 36—4 9 ,4 4 ; “castration and blinding are
équivalent”), but this is hardly more than another ‘m yth,’ a pattern applicable
to varying phenomena. The Cyclops has been connected with the evil eye
(Eitrem PW XI 2345) — against which the phallus is effective (Herter PW XIX
1734f.); in fact the anxiety aroused by a spying eye has a biological, prehuman
basis; see III 4 n. 8.
31. The cutse of Polyphemus is hardly just an epic expédient to link the
episode to the rest of Odysseus’ adventures (Calame [ 1977] 67, 29), since Odys­
seus is much more intimately linked to Poseidon, the sea, and the horse, cf.
158 Notes to Pages 34—36
B u rk e«(1972) 148—52; seealso C. S. Brown, “Odysseus and Polyphemus: The
Name and the Curse,” Comparative Literaturę 18(1966) 193—202; Glenn (1971)
174-77.
CHAPTER II
Section ILI.
1. W . Robertson Smith (1846—1894), Lectures on the Reli­
gion o f the Semites (London 1889, 1894a) ~ Die Religion der Semiten (Tübingen
1899); cf. S. Freud, Totem und Tabu (Vienna 1913) = Gesammelte Werke, IX
(London 19735)~ Standard Edition XIII (London 1955); E. Durkheim, Les
Formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse (Paris 1912) ~ The Elementary Forms o f Religions
Life (London and New York 1915). See now T. O. Beidelman, W. Robertson
Smith and the Sociological Study o f Religion (Chicago 1974); Sharpe(1975) 77—82.
2. J. E. Harrison (1850—1928), M ythology and Monuments o f Ancient Athens
(London 1890); her real success came with Prolegomena to the Study o f Greek Reli­
gion (Cambridge 1903, 19082, 19223), which influenced Nilsson and Deubner
too; Themis (Cambridge 1912, 19272), though theoretically much more ad-
vanced, and justly considered by the author to be her “central work” (Arion 4
[ 1965] 399), remained in the background; Nilsson disliked it: (1950) 548—50,
(1955) 11, 64. — Cf. J . E. Harrison, “Réminiscences of a Student’s life,”
Arion 4 (1965) 312—46; R. Ackermann, “Jane Ellen Harrison: The Early
W ork,” GRBS 13 (1972) 209 -3 0 .
3. J . G. Fraz er (1854—1941), The Golden Bough: A Study in Comparative Re­
ligion I-II (London 1890; 3d ed. with the subtitle "A Study in Magic and Reli­
gion,” 1911—36); The New Golden Bough: A New Abridgement, ed. Th. H. Gas-
ter (New York 1959). Cf. J . B. Vickery, The Literary Impact ofth e Golden Bough
(Princeton 1973); E. R. Leach Encounter 25 (November 1965) 24—36; Evans-
Pritchard (1965) 27-29; Sharpe (1975) 8 7 -9 4 .
4. Most famous, and controversial, became his theory of the ritual origin of
tragedy, in Harrison (1927) 341—63; cf. Eurípides and His Age (New York 1913;
Oxford 1946a; paperback 1965) 28—32; Aeschylus, The Creator o f Tragedy (Ox­
ford 1940) 145—60; detailed criticism by A. W . Pickard-Cambridge, Dithy-
ramb, Tragedy, and Comedy (Oxford 1927) 185—206; restatement of Murray’s
theory by T. B. L. Webster in the 2d édition of Pickard-Cambridge (1962)
126-29, and BICS 5 (1958) 4 3 -4 8 .
5. He discovered the ritual background of cosmogony: From Religion to Phi-
losophy (New York 1912); Principium Sapientiae (Cambridge 1952).
6. W . Mannhardt (1831—1880), R oggenwolf und Roggenhund (Danzig 1865,
1866a); DieKomdämonen (Berlin 1868); esp. Mannhardt(1875)and(1884). Cf.
Frazer, in his préfacé to The Golden Bough, I xii: “I have made great use of the
works of the late W . Mannhardt, without which, indeed, my book could scarce-
ly have been written.”
7. H. Usener (1834—1905) has been called “der héros ktistes der modernen
Notes to Page 36 159
Religionswissenschaft,’ ARW 8 (1905) x; see Usener (1913), esp. 93—143:
"Italische Mythen” ( = RhM 30 [ 1875] 182—229), with the concept of “Jahres­
go tt,” and 422—67: “Heilige Handlung” ( = ARW 7 [1904] 281—339); cf. the
obituary in Dieterich (1911) 354—62 = ARW 8(1905) i—xi.
8. A. Dieterich (1866—1908) is closest to Mannhardt in: “Sommertag,”
ARW 8 Beiheft (1905) 82-117 = (1911) 324-52; Mutter Erde (Leipzig 1905,
19253); in 1904 he became editor of Archiv fü r Religionswissenschaft-, with a
programmatic préfacé, ARW 1 (1904) 1—5.
9. Cf. Nilsson (1955) 10 on Dieterich: “Der Umschwung war vollendet:
statt der Mythen waren die Riten in den Vordergrund getreten. . . . Seitdem
ist keine durchgreifende oder grundsätzliche Aenderung der Methode und der
Richtung der Forschung eingetreten. ” — On L. Deubner see K. Latte Philologus
97(1948) 4 0 3 -5 .
10. S. H. Hooke, Myth and R itual (Oxford 1933); Myth, Ritual, an d K ing­
ship (Oxford 1958).
11. Raglan (1936);^cf. Sebeok (1955) 122—35; S. E. Hyman in Sebeok,
136—53; Gaster (1961). A well-balanced assessment was given by C. Kluck­
hohn, “Myths and Rituals: A General Theory,” HTbR 35 (1942) 45—79, repr.
in j . B. Vickery, ed., Myth an d Literature (Lincoln 1969) 33—44.
12. Fontenrose (1966); Kirk (1970) 8—31; also H. J . Rose Mnemosyne, n.s.
3 (1950) 281—87; M. P. Nilsson, Cuits, Myths, Oracles, an d Politics in An­
cient Greece (New York 1951) 10—12; W . R. Bascom JA F 70(1957) 103—14;
A. N. Marlow Bull, o f the J . Rylands Library 43 (1960—61) 373—402. But
E. R. Leach wrote still in 1972 that “myth is a charter for ritual performance”
(La Fontaine [ 1972]240). See also Burkert (1972) 39—45.
13. Not discussed in Fontenrose ( 1966) or Kirk (1970). J . Goody, “Religion
and Ritual: The Definitional Problem,” British Journal o f Sociology 12 (1961)
143—64, defines ritual as “a category of standardized behaviour (custom) in
which the relationship between the means and the end is not ‘intrinsic’ i.e. is
either irrational or non-rational”; this Starts from the unwarranted assumption
that behaviorshould have a clear and rational ‘relation between means and ends,’
and overlooks the communicative function. — Important recent studies on
ritual are: M. Douglas, N atural Symbols (New York 1970) ~ Ritual: Tabu und
Körpersymbolik (Frankfurt 1974); V. Turner, The Ritual Process (Chicago 1969).
Cazeneuve (1971) contains, in spite of his title, mainly psychological spécula­
tion in the wake of L. Lévi-Bruhl and considers neither the social nor the
communicative function. See also E. R. Leach in International Encyclopaedia o f
the Social Sciences XIII ( 1968) 520—26; La Fontaine ( 1972); J . D. Shaughnessy,
ed., The Roots o f R itual (Grand Rapids 1973).
14. Plut. Is. 352c; 378 a/b; q.Gr. 293 d; Solon 9, l;fr. 157,1; Paus. 2,14,1;
2,37,6; 3,22,2; 5,10,1; 9,27,2; 9,30,12; 10,31,11; Harrison ( 1922) 567-70;
(1927) 30—49; N. M. H. van der Burg, “Aporreta—Dromena—Orgia” (Diss.
Amsterdam 1939); H. Schreckenberg, Drama (Würzburg I960) 122—27.
15. See II 3 n. 4.
160 Notes to Pages 36—39
16. H. Hubert, M. Mauss, “Essai sur la nature et la fonction du sacrifice,”
Année sociologique 2 ( 1897/98) 29—138 ~ Sacrifice, Its Nature and Function (Chi­
cago 1964); A. vanGennep, Les Rites depassage (Paris 1909) ~ The Rites ofPassage
(London I960)— rightly called “structuralist” by Dundes (1976) 85.
17. Julian Huxley Proc. Zool, Soc. , 1914, 5 11—15; A. Portmann, “Riten der
Tiere,” Eranos-J'ahrbuch 19 (1950) 357—401; Lorenz (1963) esp. 72f. ; “A Dis­
cussion on Ritualization of Behaviour in Animais and Man,” Philos. Trans, of
theRoy. Soc. London, 251 (1966) 247-526; Weidkuhn (1965); W. Wickler,
Stammesgeschichte und Ritualisierung (Munich 1970); Eibl-Eibesfeldt (1970);
Burkert( 1972) 31-38.
18. Lorenz ( 1963) 72.
19. Lorenz ( 1963) English édition 55—German édition 90.
20. Cf. R. A. Hinde, Biological Bases o f Human Social Behavior (New York
1974) 73—75; 138 about religious ritual: “concerned with abstractions and
metaphysical ideas.”
21. Against K. Lorenz: M. F. Ashley Montagu, ed., Man and Aggression
(New York 1968); A. Plack, Die Gesellschaft und das Böse (Munich 19694);
J. Rattner, Aggression und menschliche Natur (Olten-Freiburg i.Br. 1970); G.
Roth, ed., Kritik der Verhaltensforschung: Konrad Lorenz und seine Schule (Munich
1974).
22. “Entstehung und Sinn der Trauersitten,” SAVk 43 (1946) 91—109 =
Meuli (1975) 333—51, originally written in 1933, cf. F. Jung in Meuli (1975)
1192. Meuli himself saw the coincidence with ‘Verhaltensforschung,’ Meuli
(1975) 1097f.
23. See Eibl-Eibesfeldt ( 1970) 22-24; Lorenz (1963) 17 lf, 284f.
24. Lawick-Goodall ( 1971) figs. 68-70; Eibl-Eibesfeldt (1973) 184-89.
25. H. Bergsson, Les Deux Sources de la morale et de la religion (Paris 1930,
19325-9) 127: “La religion est donc une réaction défensive de la nature contre
le pouvoir dissolvant de l’intelligence,” cf. 128—35 on ‘customs’ and ‘taboo.’
26. See Hinde, n. 20.
27. Seneca fr. 43 Hase = Aug. civ. 6,11.
28. Cf. Evans-Pritchard (1965) 12—33, HO; C. Lévi-Strauss, LeTotémisme
aujourd’ hui (Paris 1962) ~ Totemism (Harmondsworth 1969) ~ Das Ende des
Totemismus (Frankfurt 1965).
29. Herskovits (1958) 107; cf. Nilsson (1906) v about “Kultbräuche” : “in
ihnen hat sich die religiöse Denkweise der Vorzeit niedergeschlagen”; (1955) 2
about “Glaubenssätze,” from which “entspriessen freilich die religiösen Hand­
lungen. ”
30. E. E. Evans-Pritchard, Theories o f Primitive Religion (Oxford 1965) 43,
47. Still the method has undeniable heuristic value.
31. M. Del Ninno, Un rito e i suoi segni: La corsa dei ceri a Gubhio (Urbino
1976) 17.
32. This can be said, and has been said, even about Hubert-Mauss and van
Gennep (see n. 16); it is all the more apparent in Del Ninno (see n. 31): the
Notes to Pages 39—40 161
procession turns out to be a ‘médiation’ between arrivai and departure.
33. Lorenz (1963) 82 cf. 10.
34. It is a social rule to ascribe motives to persons, not a necessary truth
that these are antécédent causes; see A. Blum, P. McHugh, “The Social Ascrip-
tion of Motives,” American Sociological Review 36 (1971) 98—109; E. Veron,
Communications 20 (1973) 272—75; see n. 31.
Section 11.2.
1. L. Curtius, “Die antike Herme” (Diss. M
Eitrem PW VIII 696—709; R- Lullies, Die Typen der griechischen Herme (K ö n igs­
b erg 1931); H. Goldman AJA 46 (1942) 58-68; Metzger (1965) 7 7 -9 1 ; H.
Herter RhM 119 (1976) 193-208. P. Devambez RA 1968, 139-54 thinks
Stele, phallus as ‘porte-bonheur,’ and Hermes head have been artificially linked;
but the whole is aglaos Hermès in the extant inscription (n. 5).
2. Hdt. 2,51; Callim. fr. 199; cf. Cic. n.d. 3,56; the Gnostic in Hippol.
Ref. 5,8,10.
3. The neologism ‘apotropaic’—‘apotropäisch’ seems to have been coined in
the school of A. Dieterich; not used in Rohde (1898) 273,1 nor in Harrison
( 1922) 8—10 who, while presenting the ancient evidence for apotropé/apotrôpaioi
theoi, translated by ‘aversion.’ — On ‘apotropaic’ phalloi, Herter PW XIX
1683, 1723—48; on Babylonian Kudurrus, E. X. Steinmetzer, Die babylonischen
Kudurru (Paderborn 1922). — Meuli wrote in 1961: “auch ‘apotropäisch’ ge­
hört zu diesen erfolgreichen Schlag Worten, bei denen alles so schön einfach und
verständlich wird” (Meuli [ 1975] 1036).
4. Apollodorus FGrHist 244 F 129 speaks about bedposts in the forms of
herms; he interprets them primarily as keeping off frightful dreams; the im ­
portance of this testimony is reduced by the fact that the starting point is a mis-
taken explanation of hermtn(a) Od. 23,198.
5. Plat. Hipparch. 228d—229c; Philochorus FGrHist 328 F 22; one extant
example: J. Kirchner, S. Dow MDAI (Athen) 62 (1937) 1—3 correcting IG
I2837. — Herms at frontiers: Paus. 2,38,7; 8,34,6; Polyaen. 6,24; Anth.
Pal. 9,316.
6. Plut, q.conv. 682a; geloia Pollux 7,108; cf. Aristoph. Nub. 539; Plat.
Leg. 8 16d, 935bd. Laughter, though, is somehow linked to aggression, Lorenz
(1963) 17 lf.
7. W . W ickler, “Ursprung und biologische Bedeutung des Genitalpräsen-
tierens männlicher Primaten,” Zeitschrift fü r Tierpsychologie 23 ( 1966) 422—37,
and in D. Morris, ed., Primate Ethology (London 1967) 69—147; I. Eibl-Eibes­
feldt, W . W ickler, “Die ethologische Deutung einiger Wächterfiguren auf
B ali,” Zeitschrift fü r Tierpsychologie 25 (1968) 719—26; “Männliche und weib­
liche Schutzamulette im modernen Japan,” Homo 21 (1970) 175—88; Eibl-
Eibesfeldt (1970) 4 0 -4 4 ; (1973) 245-70; Burkert (1972) 70; Fehling ( 1974)
7-1 8.
8. But cf. Fehling ( 1974) 18—25 on ‘Strafvergewaltigung,’ and, on the level
162 Notes to Pages 40—42
of verbal aggression and imposing display, A. Dundes, J . W . Leach, B. Oez-
kök, “The Strategy ofTurkish Boys’ Verbal Dueling R h y m e s JAF 83 (1970)
325-49.
9- Plut. Cimon 7; fragment of a red-figured pelike, Paris, Louvre fr. 312,
J. de la Genière REA 62 (1960) 249-53; ARV2 555,92; E. B. Harrison, The
Athenian Agora XI (Princeton 1965) 110f. pl. 40; 65a; Simon (1969) fig. 295.
10. K. O. Müller, Handbuch der Archäologie der Kunst (Breslau 1848,
[18783]) sec. 379, 1; PR I 385,5; Nilsson (1955) 503f.; Burkert (1977) 243f.;
H. Herter, “Hermes,” RhM 119(1976) 193-241, esp. 197.
11. Anticlides FGrHist 140 F 19; Anth. Pal. 6,253,6; Cornut. 16 p. 24
Lang; E. Zwierlein-Diehl, Die antiken Gemmen des Kunsthistorischen Museums in
W ien, I (Munich 1973) no. 126 pl. 23.
12. Xen. Anab. 4,7,25f. ; cf. K. Löffel, “Beiträge zur Geschichte von mont-
joie” (Diss. Tübingen 1934); see also GB IX 9—17, 21.
13. There seems to be no modern, comprehensive study; J . v. Fritze, “De
libatione veterum Graecorum” (Diss. Berlin 1893); Hanell Art. ‘Trankopfer'
PW VI A 2131-37; cf. Burkert (1977) 121-25. Oldest représentations of
libation in a religious context on Sumerian votive plaques, J. Boese, Altmesopo-
tamische Weihplatten (Berlin 1971) pl. 18 (N 8-9), pl. 21 (U 4), pl. 31 (T 10).
14. C. Watkins in Antiquitates Indogermanicae (Innsbruck 1974) 102,5; at
any rate the connection of Greek chéein, choat with the Indo-Iranian priest-title
Hotar/zaotar indicates the importance of libation in Indo-European.
15. ‘Trankopfer,’ see n. 13.
16. Relief from Malatya, in Akurgal, Hirmer (1961) pl. 104c, where the
libation is poured on the soil in the presence of the god, whereas in pis. 10Aab
and 105a the libation is poured into a vessel in front of the god.
17. E. Simon, Opfernde Götter (Berlin 1953); A. Peschlow-Bindokat J d l 87
(19 7 2 )8 9 -9 2 .
18. ANET 359; E. Neu, Ein althethitisches G ewitterritual (Wiesbaden 1970)
17, 19, 21, 25, 35.
19. C. Mayer, Das Oel im Kultus der Griechen (Würzburg 1917); Ziehen PW
XVI 2484f. ; cf. LSS 2 B 4, 10 A 2, 124,10.
20. Od. 3,406—11; Theophr. Char. 16,5 cf. Luc. Alex. 30; Deor. Conc. 12;
Arnob. 1,39; fat on a holy stone, Plut, quaest. Gr. 294bc; libation jugs and a
cairn of stones on a Mycenaean glass plate, JH S 21 ( 1901) 117, Nilsson ( 1955)
pl. 22,5; Artemis pouring libations on Apollo’s omphalos, relief from Sparta,
MDAl(Athen) 12 (1887) pl. 12, Lippold (1960) 198,11, W . H. Roscher,
Omphalos (Leipzig 1913) pl. 7,4 cf. pl. 7,1.
21. Cf. Nilsson (1950) 130 on Swedish folk custom.
22. Gen. 28:10—22; 35:14; V. Maag, “Zum Hieros Logos von Beth-El,”
Asiatische Studien 5 (1951) 122—33.
23. W . Deonna, “La Soif des morts,” RUR 119 (1939) 53-77.
24. Soph. El. 84; 434; Clidemus FGrHist 323 F 14; P. Wolters J d l 14
(1899) 125—35; Kurtz, Boardman (1971) 149—61. Fetching water was— be-
Notes to Pages 43—44 163
fore the invention of effective water pipes— a most elementary, and important,
form of‘service.’
25. Babrius48; cf. Nilsson (1955) 505.
26. I have been told that in a rural district of Austria (Niederösterreich), at
the setting up of a new boundary stone the owner is expected to urinate at it.
— Russians Crossing the German border in 1945: L. Kopelew, Außewahren fü r
alle Zeit (Hamburg 1976) 89: “Wir hatten vorher verabredet, auf welche Weise
wir das Ueberschreiten der deutschen Grenze gebührend ‘dokumentieren’
wollten . . .” Cf. Fehling (1974) 32.
27. D. Kleiman, “Scent Marking in the Canidae,” Symp. Zool. Soc. 18
(1966) 167—77. As to primates, Wickler in Morris (1967) 113—16; I. Eibl-
Eibesfeldt Zeitschrift fü r Tierpsychologie 25 ( 1968) 725.
28. Hsch. bäkchos; Schol. Aristoph. Eq. 408; Serv. Am. 6,136; H. G.
Pringsheim, Archäologische Beiträge zur Geschichte des Eleusinischen Kultes (Mu­
nich 1905) 16—19, J. D. BeazleyNum. Chron. VI 1(1941) 1—7.
29. On its form and development, cf. EAA IV 1002—13-
30. Called thallös, Dionysius Thrax in Clem. Strom. 5,45, 4—6; cf. Eur.
Ion 422f.; Polyaen. 1,27,2; thallophôroi at Panathenaea, Philochorus FGrHist
328 F 9; olive branches at libation for Eumenids, Soph. Oed. Col. 483f. ;
branches carried by virgins accompanying the Daphnephoria, Phot. Bibl. 321b
30, see VI 5 n. 4. A chance sélection from monuments: black-figured pelike
Naples H.3358, ABV 338,3, with inscription ‘Mysta,’ Harrison (1922) 157,
Metzger (1965) pl. IX 3, ci. pis. Vif.; black-figured amphora Berlin F 1686,
ABV 296,4; god pouring a libation, holding a branch in his left hand, on
Sicilian coins, Franke-Hirmer (1972) pi. 9, no. 27; pi. 66, no. 186; pl. 67,
nos. 187—88; pl. 68 no. 190; pl. 71, no. 202; votive relief, C. Vermeule,
N. Neuerburg, Catalogue ofthe Ancient Art in the J . Paul Getty Museum (Malibu
1973) no. 26, inv. no. 71 AA 439; ‘Cameo Morgan,’ EAA VI 389; cf. also
H. Seyrig BCH 5 1 (1927) 202—10. — The Jews carried branches at the ‘feast
of tabernacles,’ Lev. 23:40, called 'thyrsoï in Greek, 2 Macc. 10:6,7; Joseph.
ant. 13,372; Plut. q. conv. 61 1 e; Mannhardt ( 1875) 282f. In Christian tradi­
tion, carrying o f‘palm-leaves’ persisted, justified by Matt. 21:8, Mannhardt
(1875) 281-93.
31. Votive relief from Daskyleion, fifth Century, Th. Macvidy BCH 37
(1913) 348-52, pl. VIII; Cumont (1931) pl. V, 5; Nilsson (1961) pl. 15,2;
Strab. 15 p. 733.
32. H. Zimmern, Beiträge zur Kenntnis der Babylonischen Religion (Leipzig
1901) 89, 101, 117ff. (herinu ). — Later the magician wields a myrtle
branch, Papyri Graecae Magicae no. 1,72, 280f. ; 336f.
33. Festus 64 M. ‘commoetacula■’
34. Lawick-Goodall ( 1971) 29, 48f., 99f. ,217 .
35. Plut. Thes. 18; cf. Aesch. Cho. 1035; Soph. Oed. Tyr. 3, 143; Eur.
Heracl. 124; Suppl. 36, 258f.; LSCG 123,6; a stränge taboo. Andoc. 1 ,1 1 3 —
6. Cf. the vase-painting referring to Euripides, Heraclidae, A. D. Trendall,
164 Notes to Pages 44 -49
T. B. L. Webster, Illustrations o f Greek Drama (London 1971) III 3,20; coin of
P. Cornelius Sulla: Bocchus kneeling before Sulla, holding a branch, Kent,
Overbeck, Stylow (1973) pl. 17 no. 68; cf. pl. 114 no. 506: Gallia kneeling
before the emperor. — Parallels from Australia: Weidkuhn ( 1965)24. In Chris­
tian tradition, the olive branch carried by the dove as a Symbol of peace is de-
rived from Gen. 8:11.
36. Serv. Aen. 8,128, from Varro.
37. Eibl-Eibesfeldt( 1970) 126-29.
38. C. Boetticher, Der Baumkultus der Hellenen (Berlin 1856) 329—37; F.
Poland PW III A 2482—84; J. M. Verpoorten, “La Stibas ou l’image de la
brousse dans la société grecque,” RHR 162 (1962) 147—60. Thesmophoria:
Steph. Byz. Miletos; Ael. nat. an. 9,26; Galen XI 808 Kühn; Plin. n.h. 24,59;
Hyacinthia: Ath. 138f.; Samos: Nicaenetus in Ath. 673c; Dionysia: Philostr.
vit. soph. 2,3 p- 236, cf. LSCG 51 (Iobacchi) 48f. etc.; Thalysia, Theocr. 7,
67f., 131-34.
39- On baresman, G. Widengren, Die Religionen Irans (Stuttgart 1965) 29.
P. ThiemeZDMG 107 (1957) 71-75.
40. On barhis, Gonda (I960) 141. It is compàred to a ‘nest’ in Rig-Veda
6,15,16 (I owe this référencé to F. Staal).
41. Soph. Oed. Col. 466—92. Cf. Paus.5,15,10: The Eleans, after burning
offerings, deposit olive branches on the altars.
42. Gounázesthai and similar expressions are easily misunderstood as ‘kneel­
ing down in Submission’; this may go with it, but the main thing is to touch the
hollow of the knee of the partner: “I reach to your knees” (II. 18,457; Od.
7 , 147), “he came against his knees” (II. 20,463); correctly LSJ s.v. gin y and
gounázesthai. The gesture is strikingly similar in the gern from the Blakas col­
lection no. 444, (Brit. Mus.), G. M. A. Richter, The Engraved Gems o f the
Greeks, Etruscans and Romans II (London 1971) no. 298 (cf. 299), and in the
photo in Time magazine, Jan. 3, 1972, p. 33 left, from Bangladesh: “two other
prisoners plead for mercy; moments later they were killed” (see figs. 3,4).
Section II. 3.
1. See II 5 n. 3.
2. C. Caíame, “Essai d’analyse sémantique de rituels grecs,” EL III 6(1973)
53—82 tries to break down the ritual into ‘ritèmes’ and ‘traits-rituel’ in analogy
to ‘sémèmes’ and ‘sèmes’ in Greimas ( 1966).
3. F. Staal, “Ritual Syntax,” in Studies D. H. H. Ingalls (forthcoming).
4. Gruppe (1921) 243, with référencé to E. Durkheim, J. E. Harrison,
F. M. Cornford.
5. Dawkins (1977).
6. “Imitation, in the broad sense” is the only method of transmission Daw­
kins (1977) 208—10 is considering.
7. Durkheim ( 1912) 610: “entretenir et raifirmer, à intervalles réguliers, les
sentiments collectifs et les idées collectives qui font son unité et sa personnalité”
Notes to Pages 49—51 165
(sc. de la société). A biological analogy would in a sense be ‘epideictic behavior,’
a term coined by V. C. Wynne-Edwards, Animal Dispersion in Relation to Social
Behaviour (Edinburgh 1962); Dawkins (1977) 123.
8. On these concepts see Dawkins (1977) 74—93, referring to J . Maynard
Smith, The Theory o f Evolution (Harmondsworth 19753); "Evolution and the
Theory of Games, ” American Scientist 64 ( 1976) 41—5 5.
9- S. Freud, “Zwangshandlungen und Religionsübungen,” Zeitschrift fü r
Religionspsychologie 1 ( 1907) 4 = Ges. Werke VII 127 ~ “Obsessive Acts and Rit­
ual Practices,” Standard Edition IX 115.
10. Cf. Lorenz ( 1963) 66f. on a duck.
11. S. Freud, “Jenseits des Lustprinzips,” Ges. Werke 13, 1—69 ~ “Beyond
the Pleasure Principle,” Standard Edition 18 (1955). — Cazeneuve (1971)
124f.
12. Frisk II (1970) 686f., cf. Aesch. Pers. 694.
13. Cf. W . F. Otto, ARW 12 (1909) 533-54; 14 (1911) 4 0 6 -2 2 = Auf­
sätze zur Komischen Religionsgeschichte (Meisenheim 1975) 92—107; 114—29;
W . Warde Fowler, Transactions o f the 3rd International Congress for the History o f
Religion, II (Oxford 1908) 169ff-
14. R. R. Marett, The Threshold o f Religion (London 1909, 19142) 13.
15. Cf. A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, Structure and Function in Primitive Society
(London 1952) 148-52.
16. B. Gladigow wrote: “dass ‘die Religion’ die Aengste typisiert und lo­
kalisiert und von Fall zu Fall die Verhaltensmuster zu ihrer Ueberwindung
liefert,” in Religion und Moral (Düsseldorf 1976) 116.
17. An Eskimo shaman told Knut Rasmussen (Rasmussen [ 1926] 245): “we
are afraid of what we see around ourselves, we are afraid of what we hear from
the taies and myths of our forefathers: this is why we have our customs, and
follow our taboos. ”
18. “a real or apparent enemy,” Lorenz (1963) 176.
19. Paus. 8,15,3; Stiglitz (1967) 134—43.
20. Encyclopédie de l’Islam III ( 1965) 37f.
21. Theophr. Char. 16,3.
22. Chr. de Molina in C. R. Markham, ed ., Narratives o f the Rites and Lauts
ofthe Yncas (London 1873) 20—24.
23. Mannhardt (1875) 540-48; Usenet (1913) 109f- ; F. de Cesco, K.
Kitamura, Schweizer Feste und Bräuche (Bern 1977) 10—17, 38f.
24. The ancient etymology of luperci (Serv. Aen. 8,343; cf. Ov. fast. 2,278)
has often been called into question by scholars who thought the luperci should be
‘wolves’ themselves— though they are naked, but for a goatskin; cf. J. Gruber
Giotta 39 (1961) 273—76 (lupos sequi); E. Gjerstad, Legends and Facts o f Early
Rome (Lund 1962) 9 -1 1 , even déniés any connection with lupus. For further
literaturę see G. Binder, Die Aussetzung des Königskindes (Meisenheim 1964)
96—115; Alföldi ( 1974) 86—106; A. W . J. Holleman, Pope Gelasius 1 and the
Lupercalia (Amsterdam 1974). Wissowa (1912) 209, Latte (1959) 86 vote for
166 Notes to Pages 51—53
lupos arcere; Latte’s formulation (86) “eine Zeit, in der es Sinn hatte, den Palatin
gegen Wölfe zu schützen, wirkliche Wölfe, nicht irgendwelche symbolischen”
seems to Start from the assumption that Roman ritual must have developed ex
ovo on the spot, at the Palatine. — lyköorgos should have the same meaning
(though using a different Indo-European root); the mythical Lycurgus chases
maenads who may behave like predators; in Sparta there were Lykurgides hemérai,
Plut. Lyc. 31, which m igh t be compared with the ametdes hemerai in Argos
when dogs entering the market place were killed (Ael. nat.an. 12,34; Ath. 99e;
Burkert [ 1972] 124). We cannot enter the question of the divine or historical
status of Spartan Lycurgus here; cf. Laqueur PW s.v.
25. Cf. the children’s book Schellen-Ursli, by S. Chönz (Zürich 1962) ~ A
Bellfor Ursli (Oxford 1962).
26. Lorenz (1963) 259—61.
Section II.4.
1. ‘sacrificing is giving to the gods,’ Plat. Eutbyphr. 14c;Naturvölker
Babylonian evidence, Meissner (1925) II 81—83.
2. On sacrifice in general see W. R. Smith ERE XI (1920) 1—39; E. O.
James, Sacrifice and Sacrament (London 1962); A. Loisy, Essai historique sur le
sacrifice (Paris 1920); F. Heiler, Erscheinungsformen und Wesen der Religion (Stutt­
gart 1961) 204—25; in ancient cultures, Ziehen PW XVIII 579—627; Nilsson
(1955) 132-57; Meuli (1946); Burkert (1972); (1977) 101-29; “Opfertypen
und antike Gesellschaftsstruktur,” in G. Stephenson, ed., Der Religionswandel
unserer Zeit im Spiegel der Religionswissenschaft (Darmstadt 1976) 168—87.
3. Theophrastus in Porph. Abst. 2,5;20;27 cf. Plat. Leg. 782c; Arist. EN
1160 a 25-7 and already Eumaeus in Od. 14,414—53.
4. P. W. Schmidt, Der Ursprung der Gottesidee I—XII (Munich 1908—55);
A. Vorbichler, Das Opfer a u f den uns heute noch erreichbaren ältesten Stufen der
Menschheitsgeschichte (Mödling 1956).
5. J. Maringer, Vorgeschichtliche Religion (Einsiedeln 1956) 138—42; Mül-
ler-Karpe 1 (1966) 224f. ; A. Closs, “Das Versenkungsopfer,” Wiener Beiträge
zur Kulturgeschichte und Linguistik 9(1952) 66—107. J. Driehaus, “Urgeschicht-
liche Opferfunde aus dem Mittelund Niederrhein,” in H. Jankuhn, ed.,
Vorgeschichtliche Heiligtümer und Opferplätze (Göttingen 1970) 40—54; H. Zim­
mermann, “Urgeschichtliche Opferfunde aus Flüssen, Mooren, Quellen und
Brunnen Süddeutschlands,” Neue Ausgrabungen und Forschungen in Niedersachsen
6(1970).
6. See II 2 n. 6.
7. P. J. Wilson, “The Promising Primate,” Man n.s. 10 ( 1975) 5—20; this
seems to belong to “protohominid behavior in primates,” i.e. chimpanzees, as
studied by A. Kortlandt, M. Kooij Proc. Zool. Soc. London 10 (1963) 61—88.
8. M. Mauss, “Essai sur le don,” Année sociologique II 1 (1923—24) 30—186
= Sociologie et anthropologie (Paris 19663) 143—279.
Notes to Pages 53—55 167
9. Dawkins (1977) 199-201.
10. See I 4 nn. 7, 8.
11. In Vedic sacrifice, the constant formula is: “This is for Agni [the lire],
not for me.”
12. Arrian Anab. 6,26; 2 Sam. 23:16f. ; it seems in fact to be an established
practice with bédouins to act in this way, W. Baumgartner SA Vk 41 ( 1944) 3f.
13. According to Cato agr. 143, only the paterfamilias is allowed to sacrifice.
14. G. van der Leeuw, "Die do-ut-des-Formel in der Opfertheorie,” ARW
20 ( 1921-22) 241-53; Burkert ( 1977) 126-29.
15. Dawkins(1977) 197-202.
Section 11.5.
1. Meuli ( 1946), the basic study; Meuli in turn
on U. Harva, Die religiösen Vorstellungen der altaischen Volker (Helsinki 1938)
418—48; cf. Burkert (1972); H. Straube, Die Tierverkleidungen der afrikanischen
on (Wiesbaden 1955) 200—204; other theories ofsacrifice have difficul-
ty explaining why the animal must be killed at all, cf. Cazeneuve ( 1971) 298; a
‘first-fruit-offering of life’ (Salustios 16,1) is a strained metaphor: life is not
‘given’ but destroyed.
2. D. Morris, The Naked Ape (New York 1967); R. Ardrey, The Hunting
Hypothesis (New York 1976).
3. The findings of E. Bächler, Das alpine Paläolithicum der Schweiz (Basel
1940), on which Meuli (1946) 237f. relied, have been questioned radically, F.
E. Koby LAnthropologie 55 (1951) 304—8; H. G. Bandi in Helvetia antiqua,
Festschrift E. Vogt (Zürich 1966) 1—8; the evidence of middle and later Paleo-
lithic is more telling; cf. Müller-Karpe I (1966) 226; J. Maringer, “Die Opfer
der paläolithischen Menschen,” in Anthropica: Gedenkschrift P. W. Schmidt (St.
Augustin 1968) 249-71; Eliade (1976) 23-27.
4. Meuli (1946) 249f.; 259f-', the taie about régénération from bones, e.g.
in the Pelops myth, or in the Edda (G. Neckel, F. Niedner, Die jüngere Edda
(Jena 1925 [=1966] 91f.), or in fairy-tales, Grimm no. 47, cf. Schmidt
(1963) 113 —55; Ch. Uhsadel-Gülke, Knochen und Kessel (Meisenheim 1972);
see I 7 n. 7.
5. The clay figure of a bear in the cave of Montespan, over which a bearskin
with skull had been spread, Meuli (1946) 241; Leroi-Gourhan (1965) 313,
figs. 646—47; Müller-Karpe I (1966) 205, pl. 107,1. The Greek example
cornes from the Athenian Bouphonia, Porph. Abst. 2,29f-; Meuli (1946) 276;
Burkert (1972) 159; parallels from hunters and nomads: Meuli (1946) 229,
24 lf.
6. Mellaart ( 1967) 140-55; 200-208. SeeV6n. 11.
7. Mellaart (1967) 234, pis. 67-68; IX; see V 6 n. 12.
8. The thesis that the origin and purpose of the domestication of animais,
especially cattle, was to provide sacrificial animais (E. Hahn, Die Entstehung der
 Notes to Pages 55—59
168
Pflugkultur [Heidelberg 1909]; E. Isaac, “On the Domestication of Cattle,”
Science 137 [1962] 195—204) is exaggerated, but takes account of the para-
mount importance of animal sacrifice in early agricultural communities.
9- The evidence: Burkert (1972) 23f.
10. The evidence: Burkert GRBS 1 ( 1966) 107,143; cf. Aesch. Ag. 1297.
11. ‘Breaking bread’ as an act of sacrifice is most common in Hittite ritual,
e.g. ANET 347—51, 360f. ; the sequence o f‘taking-praying-breaking’ in 1
Cor. 11:24 corresponds to animal sacrifice, with slaughter instead of ‘breaking’;
cf. Burkert (1972) 55f. ; on Dionysus’ ‘sufFerings’ and wine, Timotheus PMG
780, Diod. 3,62,7 etc., Burkert (1972) 249; R- Eisler, Orphisch-dionysische
Mysteriengedanken (Leipzig 1925).
Section II. 6.
1. See I 6 n. 6.
2. Greek apotropaic rimai seems to hâve done nearly without myth (see II 2) ;
for ancient Egypt see E. Otto, “Das Verhältnis von Rite und Mythus im Aegyp-
tischen,” SB Heidelberg (1958) 1, esp. 9 on ‘mythenfreie Ritualtexte.’
3. See 14 n. 9.
4. A. Gehlen, Urmensch und Spätkultur (Frankfurt 1956, 19753) 158—62.
5. See 14 n. 10.
6. Seel 5 n. 7.
7. See I 4 n. 8.
8. The myth of Ino-Leucothea, Apollod. 3,28; Eur. Med. 1284—89; Schol.
Pind. IIIp. 192,8; 194,22 Drachmann; immersion ofbarley cakes in a 'pond of
Ino’ in Epidaums Limera, Laconia, Paus. 3,23,8; cf. the myth of the Lacus
Curtius in Rome, Varro /./. 5,148, Livy 7,6, and the annual stipes, Suet. Aug.
57,1; cf. Poucet (1967) 241-56.
9. The myth of Persephone descending through the Cyane spring near Syra­
cuse, Diod. 5,4,; Cic. Verr. 4,107;Ov. Met. 5,414—24; immersion sacrifice of
bulls, Diod. 5,4,2. See VI 7 n. 8.
10. The myth o f Poseidon-Amymone, Aesch. fr. 128—33 Mette; Metzger
(1951) 301—6; K. Schauenburg A&A 10 (1961) 77—79; the spring Amymone
at Lerna, Strab. 8 p. 371; Paus. 2,37,1; 5,17,11; immersion sacrifice at Lerna,
Plut .Is. 364f= Sokrates FGrHist 310 F 2.
CHAPTERIII
Section III. 1.
1. Caustically described in Lucian, Hist, conscr. 2; 14—26.
2. F. Lammert PW XXI 1432—36; F. Schindler, “Die Ueberlieferung der
Strategemate des Polyainos,” SB Vienna 284 (1973).
3. F. Cassola, La lonia nel mondo Micenco (Naples 1957); M. Sakellariou, La
migration grecque en Ionie (Athens 1958); G. L. Huxley, The Early lonians (Lon­
Notes to Pages 59—62 169
don 1966); Snodgrass( 1971) 301f., 373—77; J. M. Cook in CAH 11 2 (1975)
773-804.
4. Polyaen. 8,43. On Enodia in Thessaly, cf. IG IX 2, 358, 421, 575, 576,
578, 1286; L. Robert Hellenika 11—12 (I960) 588—95; K. Kilian, Fibeln in
Thessalien (Munich 1974) (sanctuary of Pherai); S. G. Miller, California Studies
in Classical Antiquity 1 (1975) 251. — The name Chrysame sounds uncommon-
ly stränge; is it a misspelling of Chrysalle, cf. chrysallis ?
5. Equally réticent are B. Schmid, "Studien zu griechischen Ktisissagen’’
(Diss. Freiburg 1947); L. Gierth, “Griechische Gründungsgeschichten als
Zeugnisse historischen Denkens vor dem Einsetzen der Geschichtsschreibung"
(Diss. Freiburg 1971). Cnopus of Erythrae is mentioned by Hippias of Erythrae
FGrHist 421 F 1, Strabo 14 p. 633, and Steph. Byz. s.v. Erythrai. Another
Cnopus, son of Apollo and eponym of a river and a town in Boeotia, Schol.
Nicandr. Ther. 889, PW XI 921.
6. J. Friedrich, “Aus dem hethitischen Schrifttum,” Der alte Orient 25,2
(Leipzig 1925) 10-13; hence V. Gebhard ARW 29 (1931) 243; M. Vieyra,
“Rites de purification hittites,” RHR 119 (1939) 121-53, esp. 122f., l45f.;
ANET 347; H. M. Kümmel ZAW 80 (1968) 310f. See now O. R. Gurney,
Some Aspects o f Hittite Religion (Oxford 1977) 47—52, for a new and comprehen-
sive study of all the pertinent texts, without advancing the interprétation be-
yond Frazer (see III 3 n. 2).
7. Kausika Sutra l4,22f.; W. Caland, “Altindisches Zauberritual,” Verh.
Ak.v.Wet. Amsterdam II 3, 2 (1901) 29; H. Oldenberg, Die Religion des Veda
(Stuttgart-Berlin 19233-4) 496f.; GB IX 192f.
8. ANET 347 ~ Friedrich (see n. 6) 10.
9. Friedrich (see n. 6) 12.
10. See n. 7. Caland found the procedure so stränge that he tried to take
‘sheep’ as a metaphor for ‘arrow.’ — Aeneas Tacticus 27,14 suggests driving
cows with bells, and other animais, ‘drunken with wine,’ into the enemy’s
camp at night to Start a panic; this seems to be a mixture of ritual and strategem;
cf. also Polyb. 3,93 •—Livy 2,16.
11. Possibly Hippias of Erythrae, still read by Athenaeus, who told about
Cnopus, FGrHist 421 F 1; cf. Jacoby, Kommentar n. 11. The basic study on
Polyaenus’ sources, J. Melber NJb Supp. 14 (1885) 417—685, does not treat
8,43.
12. Stesichorus SLG 88 col. 2,10; on the Trojan horse, cf. Burkert (1972)
178—80; J. N. Bremmer Museum Africum 1 (1972) 4—7. It is remarkable that
one Greek tradition maintained that the fall of Troy should have occurred at the
Thargelia (see III 3): Damastes FGrHist 5 F 7; Hellanicus FGrHist 4 F 152 ä;
PR II 1289. — The oldest représentation of the wooden horse, with wheels:
Schefold (1964) pl. 6a, about 700 B.c.
13- J. Toepffer, Attische Genealogie (Berlin 1889) 228-40; Scherling PW XI
984—94. Paus. 10,10,1 mentions a statue set up after Marathon; a vase paint-
170 Notes to Pages 62-65
ing, about 470—60, shows Codrus as a warrior, Bologna PU 273 ~ARV2
1268,1; the taie is attested by Pherecydes FGrHist 3 F 154; Hellanicus 323a F
23; Lycurg. Leocr. 84f.; hence it is impossible that Aristotle should not hâve
known the story, as Toepffer 230 maintained; he ignores it, Polit. 1310 b 37;
cf. PW XI 985, as does Strab. 9 p. 393a (Toepffer 230; PW 988-89). The
Athenoion Politeia makes Athenian monarchy end with the son of Codrus (3,3),
whereas Marmor Parium makes it continue to the beginning of the archon list
in 683 (FGrHist 239 A 32). On the Medontidai, Toepffer 232f.; PW XI 987f.
14. IG I294 = SIG 93 = LSCG 14, 418-17 b .c.; cf. IG II—III2 4258.
15. Wissowa (1913) 384f. and PW V 277—80; L. Deubner ARW 8 Beiheft
( 1905) 66—81; Latte ( I960) 125f., 204; H. S. Versnel, “Two Types of Roman
Devotio," Mnemosyne 29 (1976) 365—410, concentrâtes on the different ritual
Macrob. Sat. 3,9,9—13; still another procedure in Livy 5,41,3 (Wissowa
[1913] 402,8). The main account is Livy 8,9f-; cf. 10,28f. (295 B.c.); Ennius
fr. 208—10 Vahlen2; Plin. n.h. 28,12; it is unclear whether Duris mentioned
the devotio of 295 B.C., cf. Jacoby on FGrHist 76 F 56.
16. Livy 8,9,12 (with afaint echo of Homer, U. 22,25—32).
Section III.2.
1. The most general and influential treatment is in Frazer,18. H. Gressmann, Die Schriften des Alten Testaments II 1: Die älteste Ge­
GB IX, with additions GB XIII 433—39; cf. J. B. Vickery, The Scapegoat:
Ritual and Literaturę (Boston 1972).
2. Lev. 16, cf. 23,26—32; Gaster(1953) 135—86, esp. 137—50; J. Schur,
Versöhnungstag und Sündenbock (Helsinki 1934); E. Kutsch RGG3 VI 506f.;
H. M. Kümmel, “Ersatzkönig und Sündenbock,” ZAW 80 (1968) 289—318;
D. Davies ZAW 89 (1977) 394f.
3. Gaster (1953) l46f. The Septuagint has 'apopompaios’ for Azazel, hence
(caper) emissarius in the Vulgate, (e)scapegoat.
4. The Book of Enoch (ed. M. Black, Leiden 1970) made him a prince of the
fallen angels, imprisoned in the desert, 8,1,9,6; 10,4—6.
5. On these terms see Dodds (1951) 28.
6. Mannhardt (1884) 124-38; Farneil (1896-1909) IV 270-84; Harrison
(1922) 95-111; G. Murray, The Rise of the Greek Epie (Oxford [ 1907] 1934“)
317-21; Nilsson (1906) 105-13; (1955) 107-10; Deubner (1932) 179-88;
V. Gebhard, Die Pharmakoi in Ionien und die Sybakchoi in Athen (Diss. Munich
1926); PW VA 1290-1304.
7. Month-name Thargelion, see Samuel ( 1972) Index s.v. ; J. Sarkady, “Die
ionischen Feste und die ionische Urgeschichte,” Acta Classica Universitatis
Scientiarum Debrecinensis 1 (1965) 11—20; Sittig (1911) 57.
8. Hipponax fr. 5—10 West; ‘burning,’ fr. 5 = Tzetz. Chil. 5,737; accept-
ed by Rohde ( 1898) II 78; Nilsson ( 1906) 108; Harrison ( 1922) 103f. ; rejected
by Murray, Gebhardt, Deubner (1932) 183f.
9. Callim. fr. 90, first published in 1934, hence unknown to the authors
Notes to Pages 65—68 171
quoted in n. 6. In Ovid’s language, the emissary becom es a ‘devotus, ’ Ibis 465f. ;
see III ln . 15.
10. Deubner (1932) 179-88.
11. Serv. Aen. 3,57= Petron. fr. 1 et sicproiciebatur-, Schol. Stat. Theb. 10,
793 saxis occidebatur is hardly crédible.
12. Phot. peripsema\ cf. KThWb VI 83—92 (1959); to the same category be-
longs the ‘jumping from the Leucadian cliff ’ as described by Strab. 10 p. 452;
Nilsson (1955) 109f. ; the ritual attributed to Terracina in Acta S. Caesarii
(Acta Sanctorum Nop. I [Paris 1887] 106f. = WSt 74 [1961] 126f.) is fantasy,
Weinstock ( 1964).
13. Plut. q. conv. 693f.
14. The connection of Oedipus the King with scapegoat ritual was seen by
Harrison (1921) xli; cf. J. P. Vernant, Mythe et tragédie en gr'ece ancienne (Paris
1972) 114-31.
15. Plut. q.Gr. 297 bc, 294 a.
16. GB 1X42, 194f. ; cf. India IX 43; 196; Siam IX 212; Sumatra IX 213;
China IX 196.
17. 2 Sam. 21; R. Kittel, Geschichte des Volkes Israel II (Stuttgart 19225)
166—68.
schichtsschreibung {Göttingers 19212) 143; E. Meyer, Geschichte des Altertums II
2 (Stuttgart 19312) 258; cf. A. S. Kapelrud in Interpretationes ad Vêtus Testa-
mentumpertinentes S. Motvinckel missae (Oslo 1955) 113—22.
Section III. 3.
1. See I 3 nn. 14, 15.
2. Harrison (1922) 108: “a purely magical ceremony based on ignorance
and fear,” cf. GB IX 2 on “the cunning and selfish savage” and his “very obvi-
ous confusion between the physical and the mental” (1).
3. "Das ist ganz primitiv und verständlich,” Nilsson (1906) 112; “der
Gedanke ist durchaus primitiv und einfach,” Deubner ( 1932) 193.
4. Deubner (1932) 180: “um allen vorhandenen Unheilstoff an sich zu
saugen,” cf. 193.
5. Cazeneuve (1971) 113: "principe du tränsfert” and "principe de l’élimi­
nation.”
6. Gurney(1954) 162 ~ ZAW 80(1968) 311; a dove for carrying away lep-
rosy: Lev. 14:4—9, 53; Greeks tried to send the ‘sacred disease’ away to wild
goats, Callim. fr. 75,13; pigs proved suitable, too, Mark 5: 11—14; cf. GB IX
36, 193, etc.; boats, rafts, etc.: GB IX 189-90, 198f. ; ANET 346 (Hittite).
7. II. 1,314; Hippocr. Morb.sacr. 1,VI 362 Littré; Hsch. pharmaké'. ‘a pot
which they provided for those who cleansed the cities.’
8. Mannhardt (1884) 124-38; GB IX 255-57, 272f.; contra, Deubner
(1932) 194-98.
172 Notes to Pages 68—69
9. GB IV 113-18, IX 306-411.
10. The main text is Dion or. 4,66—8; Strab. 11 p. 5 12; the tradition cornes
from Ctesias, FGrHist 688 F 4, and Berossos, FGrHist 680 F 2. Cf. GB IX
354-407; S. LangdonJRAS (1924) 65-72;Nilsson ARW 19(1916-19), 85-
88 = Nilsson (1951) 248-51.
11. Acta S. Dasii, referring to Durostorum in Bulgaria: F. Cumont, Analec-
ta Bollandiana 16 (1897) 5—16; H. Musurillo, ed., The Acts o f the Christian
Martyrs (Oxford 1972) 274—79; cf. Weinstock (1964); Ph. Bourboulis, Ancient
Festivals o f Satumalia Type (Thessalonica 1964). P. Wendland suggested that
Jesus was subjected to a similar ritual, Mark 15:16—20: Hermes 33 ( 1898) 175—
79; Reinach ( 1908) 332-41.
12. Letter of Clement I 55, 1: “many kings and dynasts, at the time of a
plague, delivered themselves to death, as told by an oracle . . .”; see III 2 n. 15.
13. W. v. Soden ZA 43 (1936) 255-57; cf. E. Dhorme RHR 113 (1936)
136f. ; R. Labat, “Le Sort des substituts royaux en Assyrie au temps des Sar-
gonides,” Revue d’Assyriologie 40(1945—46) 123—42; W. v. Soden, “Beiträge
zum Verständnis der neuassyrischen Briefe über die Ersatzkönigsriten,” in Vor­
derasiatische Studien, Festschrift V. Christian (Vienna 1956) 100—107; W. G.
Lambert, “A Part of the Ritual for the Substitute King,” AfO 18 (1957—58)
109—12; 19 (1959—60) 119; Kümmel (1967) 169—87; H. Montgomery,
“Thronbesteigung und Klagen,” Opuscula Atheniensia 9 ( 1969) 12f. ; at least the
bulk of the evidence concerns one incident, 671 B . C . , in the reign of Esarhad-
don. The ritual seems to be presupposed in the story about the usurpation of the
Old Babylonian king Ellilbani, preserved in late sources (also in Greek, Bion
FGrHist 89 F 1 = Alexander Polyhistor FGrHist 273 F 81), H. Frankfort, King­
ship and the Gods (Chicago 1948) 262—65; Kümmel (1967) 181—83.
14. After M. VieyraRHR 119(1939) 121—53; ANET 355f.; esp. Kümmel
(1967).
15. Still upheld by Gaster (1961) 62 (but cf. 69 n. 4. and 218n.); S. H.
Hooke, Babylonian and Assyrian Religion (Oxford 1962, paperback 1975) 52,
54. Another seasonal context is assumed by L. Rost, “Weidewechsel and alttes-
tamentlicher Festkalender,” ZDPV 66 (1943) 212—16 = Das kleine Credo und
andere Schriften zum Alten Testament (Heidelberg 1965) 101—11, esp. 107—9.
16. M. Vieyra RHR 119(1939) 129; ANET 355; Kümmel (1967) 7-37.
17. For Babylonia, W. v. Soden ZA 45 (1939) 42—61; G. Furlani, Riti
babilonesi edassiri (Udine 1940) 285—305; examples from Hittite: ANET 346;
350, 355; cf. Kümmel (1967) 5; ZAW 80 (1968) 294f.; from North Africa,
‘anima pro anima, vitapro vita’: M. Leglay, Saturne Africain (Paris 1966) 332—
50.
18. See III 1 n. 9.
19- Kümmel (1967) 19lf-
20. E. Neumann, TiefenpsychologieundNeueEthik (Zürich 1949)~Depth Psy-
chology and a New Ethic (London 1969).
Notes to Pages 70—72 173
21. Eibl-Eibesfeldt (1970) lllf .; Lorenz (1963) 155-58. The Uganda
scapegoats are chosen on account of “some mark or bodily defect,” GB IX 195.
22. Philostr. Vit. Apoll. 4,10; later, when the pile was dismantled, the car-
cass of a dog was found. Did Apollonius manage to bring in a substitute?
23. R. Hoeniger, Der schwarze Tod in Deutschland (Berlin 1882) 6—11, 39—
46, 100-107.
24. Processo originale degli untori nellapesta del MDCXXX (Milan 1839).
25. Lys. 12,5: they pronounced it was necessary “to clean the city from the
unjust people.”
26. Vernant (see 3 n. 14), 124.
27. A.D. 1347: J. Froissart, Chroniques I sec. 311—12, ed. S. Luce IV 53—
62 (Paris 1873); H. Bünemann, Auguste Rodin: Die Bürger von Calais (Stuttgart
19573).
28. Caes. bell. Gail. 7,89.
29. J. Schmitt, Freiwilliger Opfertod bei Euripides (Giessen 1921), who speaks
of‘Devotionsszenen’; esp. Heraclidae, Erechtheus, Phoenician Women, Iphigenia in
Aulis.
30. Léopards were more dangerous than lions, since they can climb trees.
The special danger and anxiety was transformed by ritual: there are leopard­
men (see V 6 n. '11) and werewolves (cf. Burkert [ 1972] 98—104).
31. Cf. also Saxo Grammaticus VIII p. 287 ed. A. Holder ( 1886): ships are
attacked by giants who demand one man from each ship; the commander “ut
universorum incolumitatem paucorum discrimine tueretur, très sorte donatos
exhibuit.”
32. Gaster (1953) 170—77. For the Jonah motif in folktale see L. Röhrich,
“Die Volksballade von ‘Herrn Peters Seefahrt’ und die Menschenopfer-Sagen,”
in Märchen, Mythos, Dichtung: Festschrift F. von der Leyen (Munich 1963) 177—
212 .
33. Istros FGrHist 334 F 50= Harpocr. s.vpharmakâs-, A. Wiechers, Aesop
in Delphi (Meisenheim 1959) 31—36.
34. The Christian interprétation of Isaiah 53, Acts 8:31—35. In Gnostic
sects, the ambivalence was reduced to one dimension by cursing Jesus the cru-
cified: I Cor. 12:1—3; Ophites in Orig. Cels. 6,28. See also n. 11.
Section HI. 4.
1. Parthenius 9 = Andriscus FGrHist 500 F
phrastus (cf. PW Supp. VII 1518); Plut. Mul.virt. 254b-f = FGrHist 501 F 2;
Arist. fr. 559= Plut. l.c. and Gell. 3,15,1. In Aristotle’s version, there was no
mention of Thargelia; Polycrite, through her love affair, obtained the Delion as
a gift and restored it to her fellow citizens; this still makes her in a way the
founder of the sanctuary and its ritual. — Polyaen. 8,36 is an excerpt from
Plutarch. See Radke PW XXI 1753-59; A. H. Krappe RhM 78 (1929) 253f.;
Hetzner ( 1963) 62—64; his explanation as “Strafe der Verräterin im Kultspiel”
174 Notes to Pages 72—75
seems to look at the action from the wrong side; but he has good explanations
of details.
2. Plut. 254e.
3. Parth. 9,5.
4. Hdt. 3,40—43- On the relation of the Polycrates story to substitution
sacrifice andpharmakôs cf. H. S. Versnel, StudiStorico-Religiosi 1 ( 1977) 17—46.
5. See III 2 n. 15.
6. Parth. 9,8; pânta hekatôn is clearly corrupt; pânta eniauton Legrand,
Heyne, Radke, Hetzner; pântaprôbata Rohde, Jacoby. pantin dékaton is a mini­
mal change (IIANT ' AEKATON / FIANTAEKATON), cf. the tithe at the
AraMaxima, Latte(1959) 215, oratBeth-el, Gen. 28:22.
7. Plut, quaest. conv. 5,7; O. Jahn, “Ueber den Aberglauben des bösen
Blicks bei den Alten,” Ben. Leipzig 7 (1855) 28—110; F. T. Elworthy, The
Evil Eye (London 1895); S. Seligmann, Der böse Blick (Berlin 1910); see I 8 n.
29. The assertions that baikanos at Naxos “entspricht Pharmakos” (PW XXI
1758) or that the name “soll Unheil abwenden” (Hetzner [ 1963] 63) are gratui-
tous.
8. J. Myres, “The Evil Eye and the Camera,” Man 6 (1905) 12 no. 6.
9. Cf. Aesch. Ag. 737-49.
10. Virg. Aen. 6,511; Hyg. fab. 240, 249-
11. Attested in figurative art as early as the Mykonos amphora, Schefold
(1964) pl. 35b; Ilias Mikra fr. 17 Allen; Aristoph. Lys. 155f. ; L. Ghali-Kahil,
Les Enlèvements et le retour d’Hélène (Paris 1955).
12. Xen. Hell. 6,4,7.
13. Briefly, Xen. Hell. 6,4,7; more fully Diod. 15,54,1—3, from Ephorus;
Paus. 9,13,5f., probably from Plutarch’s lost Epaminondas, ultimately from
Callisthenes; Plut. Pelop. 20—22; Malign. Herod. 856f. ; Ps.-Plut. Amat. narr.
3,773b-774d; Ael. fr. 77; Apostol. 15,53, Paroemiographi Graeci II 642; Pfister
PW IIIA 465-68.
14. Plut. Pelop. 21f.
15. Livy 1,58-60; cf. J. P. Small AJA 80(1976) 349-60.
16. CTA 19 IV 190ff.; ANET 155.
17. Hdt. 5,18-20.
18. Xen. Hell. 5,4,4—6; cf. Plut. Gen.Socr. 596d.; Pelop. 11; Burkert
(1972) 180f. ; D. K. Borthwick JHS 96 (1976) 148-51 suggests that the re­
présentation on the amphora of Panagjurischte (JHS 94 [1974] pis. 4f.) refers
to this incident; contra, M. Daumas AK 21 (1978) 23f.
19- Anton. Liberal. 13, from Nicander, aition of an expiatory sacrifice.
20. Plut. Sol. 8,4—6 (hence Polyaen. 1,20,2); a different story in the older
sources, Aen. Tact. 4,8—11; Justin, 2,8,1—4; Frontin. Strat. 2,9,9.
21. Thrymsqvidha, G. Neckel, ed., Edda I4 (Heidelberg 1962) 111—15,
German translation in F. Genzmer, Thule IL- Edda (Düsseldorf 1920; repr.
1963) 11 - 16 .
Notes to Pages 75—76 175
22. Cf. Burkert (1972) 76—80; the animal bridegroom,’ Aarne-Thompson
(1964) no. 425; J. Ö. Swahn, The Tale o f Cupid and Psyche (Lund 1955).
23. M. Nagler drew my attention to a curious instance in the Popol Vuh of
the Maya Quiche (ed. L. Schultze-Jena [Stuttgart 1944, 19722] 130—35): to
overcome oppressive gods or heroes, three girls are sent out with pertinent in­
structions; but the gods abstain and send the girls back, untouched, with gifts
that bring disaster.
24. The main texts are Livy 1,11; Dion.Hal. ant. 2,38—40; Plut. Rom. 17;
Propertius 4,4; H. Sanders, The Myth about Tarpeia (New York 1904); A. H.
Krappe RhM 78 (1929) 249-67; Mielentz PW IV A 2332-42 (1932); G.
Dumézil, Tarpeia (Paris 1947); A. La PennaSCO 6(1957) 112—33; G. Devoto
Stud. Etr. 26(1958) 17-25; Hetzner ( 1963) 64-67; Radke(1965) 296-98 and
Der Kleine Pauly V 522f.; Poucet (1967) 113—21; J. Beaujeu, “L’Enigme de
Tarpeia,” L’Information littéraire 21 ( 1969) 163—7 1.
25. Antigonus FGrHist 816 F 2 = Plut. Rom. 17,5 (sometimes identified
with Antigonus of Carystus, PW IV A 2333,53; Radke [ 1965] 297; this is not
accepted by Schwartz PW I 2421 or Jacoby); he made Tarpeia a daughter of
Titus Tatius. — Thepoet Simylos, known exclusively through Plut. Rom. 17,6
= FGrHist 840 F 28, is usually termed ‘Hellenistic’; cf. PW III A 217; K.
Müller MH 20 (1963) 114—18; he connected Tarpeia with the Gallic invasion
of 387 b . c .
26. Fr. 8, HRR I 19—21 = FGrHist 809 F 6; L. Cincius Alimentus fr. 5,
HRR 141= FGrHist 810 F 3. The rôle of Fabius Pictor is stressed by A. Al-
földi, Early Rome and the Latins (Ann Arbor 1965), 151f.
27. Poucet ( 1967) 106-13, 120f.;Liv. 3,15-18; Dion. Hal .ant. 10,14-
16. Livy 3,18,10: “Capitolium purgatum atque lustratum.”
28. Leges XII tabularum 8,23 (K. G. Bruns, Fontes iuris Romani antiqui [Tü­
bingen 19097] 33 = Gell. 20,1,53); Th. Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht (Leip­
zig 1899)931.
29. L. Calpurnius Piso fr. 5, HRR I 122 = Dion. Hal. ant. 2,40,3; Th.
Mommsen, CIL I2 p. 309; Wissowa(1913) 233; sceptical: Latte(1959) 111,2.
30. G. Devoto, Storia délia lingua die Roma (Bologna 1940) 75; Radke (1965)
297; Poucet (1967) 89—93, 120. He is probably right to hold that the place
name is prior to the heroine’s name.
31. Peisidike of Lesbos, Lésbou ktisis Parthen. 21; ‘Kleitophon’ FGrHist
293,1, on Demonike of Ephesus, is a ‘Schwindelautor.’ The pattern changes if
the traitress becomes active to kill the defender, her father: Scylla of Megara
(Aesch. Cho. 613—21; Apollod. 3,211), Comaetho of Taphos (Apollod 2,60):
this brings in the pattern of ‘women’s revoit’ and reestablishment of order, cf.
Burkert (1972) 189-207; 212-18.
32. II. 16,100; Od. 13,388; M. Nagler, Spontaneity andTradition (Berkeley
and Los Angeles 1974) 53f. Thus the conquest of Jericho is parallel to Rahab
receiving the Israélites, Josh. 2; ‘Lampsake’ accepts the Greeks at Lampsacus,
176 Notes to Pages 76-78
Charon FGrHist 262 F 7; cf. Leucophrye at Magnesia, Parth. 5,6; the amazon
Antiope at Themiskyra, Hegias FGrHist 606 F 1; the girl of Monenia-Pedasos,
Hes. fr. 214; of Sparta, Paus. 3,13,3; of Corinth, Schol. Pind. Nem. 155a;
Nanisof Sardes, Parthen, 22; ‘Arne Sithonis,’ Ov. Met. 7,465—68. In the back-
ground is the fact that victors used to take over the women of the defeated,
Hetzner ( 1963) 9f.
33. PW IV A 2338; Radke PW XXI 1754f., 1758; Hetzner ( 1963) 62-67;
P. Pinotti Gtómale Italiana di Filología 26 (1974) 18—32.
34. Radke (1965) 328—35 interprets even the institution of the vestal vir-
gins as a ready supply for public scapegoats; Tarpeia is sometimes considered a
vestal (first in Varro l.l. 5,41; PW IV A 2334). The motif of throwing bracelets
or shields at the girl may reflect cuit practice at a ‘tomb of grudge’ (cf. also
Reinach[ 1908] 223-53).
CHAPTERIV
Section IV.1.
1. A preliminary version of this chapter was presented at 3. W. Kullmann, Das Wirken der Götter in der Ilias (Berlin 1956) 25-35;
Urbino in 1973: Il mito greco: Atti del Convegna Internazionale, Urbino, 7—12
rnaggio 1973 (Rome 1977) 273—83. On Heracles, see A. Furtwängler RML I
2135-2252; Wilamowitz (1895) 1-107; PR II 422-675; O. Gruppe, PW
Supp. III 910-1121 (1918); Farnell (1921) 95-174; Schweitzer (1922); R. Fla-
celière, P. Devambez, Héraclès: Images et récits (Paris 1966); Brommer (1972);
Galinsky (1972); F. Prinz, PW Supp. XIV 137-96 (1974); Burkert (1977)
319-24.
2. Lion: late Geometrie tripod stand, Athens, Kerameikos inv. 407, J. Car­
ter BSA 67 (1972) 43; Schefold ( 1964) pl. 5a; Brommer (1972) pl. 4a. — Hy­
dra: Boeotian fibulae, Schweitzer (1922) figs. 32,34; Schefold (1964) pl. 6a;
Brommer (1972) 13, pl. 8. — Hind: Boeotian fibula, R. Hampe, Frühe griech­
ische Sagenbilder in Boeotien (Athens 1936) 41—44, pl. 8; H. V. Herrmann BJb
173 (1973) 528f. ; Meuli (1976) 798; see IV 6 nn. 2—3. — Birds: Boeotian
fibula, Brommer (1972) pl. 3, cf. pl. 18 ~ Schefold pl. 5b (contra, Fittschen
[1969] 64f.). — Amazon: clay shield from Tiryns, Schefold (1965) pl. 7b;
Brommer (1972) pl. 23a. — A special case are the ‘Molione,’ as indicated by
the very frequency of early représentations: Hampe (1936) 45—49; Fittschen
( 1969) 68—7 5; R. Hampe, Katalog der Sammlung antiker Kleinkunst des Archäolo­
gischen Instituts der Universität Heidelberg, II, Neuerwerbungen 1957/70 (Mainz
1971) 91—99, nos. 123, 124, 128; Geometrie pitcher, Agora, Schefbld (1964)
pl. 7a; Geometrie cráter, New York, Metr. Mus. 14.130.15, JHS 86 (1966)
pis. 1—3; Geometrie stand, Munich, Gymnasium 81 (1974) 178, pl. lb. As it
seems, these are not just ‘Sagenbilder’—they disappear in the seventh Century
—but dépendent on a unique iconographie and possibly ritual background; cf.
two-headed ‘centaurs’ in Late Bronze Age Enkomi, Buchholz, Kafageorghis
Notes to Pages 78—80
177
( 1971) no. 1731; AA 1974 (370); see VI 7 n. 12; on tricephals see IV 5 n. 2;
E. Walter-Karydi Gymnasium 81 (1974) 177—81 interprets the figure as ‘one
spirit’ of cooperating brothers, which would introduce one-dimensional alle-
gory instead of mythical multivalence.
The ‘classical’ type of Heracles, with club and lionskin, the lion’s head over
his own, emerges in the second half of the seventh Century; oldest evidence:
Corinthian aryballus, Florence, Museo Etrusco, AJA 60 (1956) pl. 69,9—10;
Fittschen ( 1969) 118; cf. Kunze ( 1950) 93-126. Furtwängler RML I 2143-48
saw an influence of Egyptian Bes statuettes. Some ancients traced this Heracles
type to the poem of Pisander, Strabo 15 p. 688, Sudap 1465, which we cannot
check; the attribution of the ‘invention’ to Stesichorus (Megakleides in Ath. 512
ef = PMG 229) is contradicted by the archaeological evidence. When exactly
the cycle of ‘Twelve Labors’ was established remains controversial; Brommer
(1972) 53—63, 83, following Robert, would put the date as late as the third
Century b . c. ; the ancients refer to ‘Pisander, ’ whom Wilamowitz ( 1895), while
denying his importance (66), placed in the sixth Century (59); cf. G. L. Huxley,
Greek Epie Poetryfrom Eumelus to Panyassis (London 1969) 100—105.
Galinsky ( 1972) 9—17; O. M. Davidson, “Herakles in the Iliad" (Diss. Boston
University 1975).
4. To be used conveniently in nominative, genitive, dative, and accusative;
cf. MH 29 (1972) 81.
5. Wilamowitz (1895) 19, 38, 40f.; K. O. Müller, Geschichte Hellenischer
Stämme und Städte, II—III, Die Dorier (Breslau 1824, 18442) 415—61; contra,
Farnell (1921) 103-45.
6. Wilamowitz (1895) 38: “Mensch gewesen, Gott geworden; Mühen er­
duldet, Himmel erworben.”
7. Wilamowitz (1931-32) II 20.
8. P. Friedländer, Herakles (Berlin 1907); RhM 69 ( 1914) 335—41 ~ Studien
zur antiken Literatur und Kunst (Berlin 1969) 48—53.
9. F. Prinz PW Supp. XIV 162.
10. See 12.
Section IV.2.
1. Schweitzer (1922) 133-41; cf. Brommer (1
— Herodotus 2,44 equates Heracles the god with Phoenician Melqart of Tyre;
this is usually considered secondary spéculation; but D. van Berchem, “Sanc­
tuaires d’Hercule-Melqart,” Syria 44 (1967) 73—109, 307—38 traces the sanc-
tuary of Thasos (cf. M. Launey, Le San ctuaire et le culte d ’Herakles à Thasos [Paris
1944]; B. Bergquist, Herakles on Thasos [Lund 1973]) and the Ara Maxima of
Rome (see IV 3 n. 18) to the Phoenician expansion; few will follow him.
2. Cylinder seals: H. Frankfort Iraq 1 (1934) 2—29; G. R. Levy JHS 54
(1934) 40-53; Frankfort (1939) 115f., 12lf, 198; W. Baumgartner SAVk
 Notes to Pages 80—82
178
41 (1944) 25; Frankfort (1955) 37, 42. On the problem of assigning names to
the iconographie types, cf. V. K. Afanasyeva, “Gilgames and Enkidu in Glyp-
tic Art and in the Epie,” Klio 53 (1970) 59—75. — Two heroes or gods han-
dling two bulls, and two birds, on an early Sumerian relief goblet, Brit. Mus.
118465, Strommenger( 1962)pis. 24f.;Tacchi Venturi 11(1971)7, thirdquar-
ter of fourth millennium. — Hero or god standing on two léopards, and throt-
tling two snakes, on another relief goblet, Brit. Mus. 128887, Strommenger
pis. 38f., end of fourth millennium.
3. Seal of Tell Asmar ,JHS 54 ( 1934) 40; Frankfort ( 1955) no. 497; another
seal from the same site, JHS 54 pl. 2, 1; Frankfort (1939) pi- xiii j; (1955) no.
478; F. Dirlmeier, Der Mythos vom König Ödipus (Mainz 19642) 65f. ; ANEP
691 cf. 671. — Heracles and the crab: the fibula Schefold ( 1964) pl. 6a (see IV
ln . 2andfig. 5);Apollod. 2[79]5,2,4.
4. Frankfort (1939) 105—8, pl. xix a, cylinder seal Brit. Mus. 89115, JHS
54 (1934) 46, ANEP 685; his interprétation is open to doubts. — God with
lionskin, bow, and club: JHS 54 (1934) pl. 2,2; Frankfort (1939) pl. xx e;
Kramer ( 1961) pl. 12,3.
5. Falkenstein, v. Soden ( 1953) no. 32, pp. I62f. ; cf. Th. JacobsenJNES 5
(1946) 146E; West (1971) 42; WMI 115.
6. Cf. Alster (1972) 15-27.
7. CTA 5 I 1,28, ANET 138; Isa. 27:1, cf. Rev. 12:3.
8. Enuma Elis I 132ff. ~ II 19ff. ~ III 22ff., ANET 62f. ; West ( 1971) 42;
cf. IV ln . 2.
9- Schweitzer (1922) 135—41; L. Curtius, Interpretationen von sechs griech­
ischen Bildwerken (Bern 1947) 58f. ; J. Dörig, O. Gigon, Der Kampf der Götter
und Titanen (Lausanne 1961) 61.
10. Moortgat (1949) 118f. (“Tammuz-Tradition”); Akurgal, Hirmer (1961)
pl. 113; JNES 21 (1962) 107. Curiously analogous is a relief from Mohenjo
Daro, J. Marshall, Mohenjo-Daro and the Indus Civilization I (London 1931) pl.
12 no. 17; Kirfel (1948) pl. 8 fig. 17; Gonda (I960) 7f.; O’Flaherty (1973),
fig. 1: an ithyphallic yogi, three-faced, horned, surrounded by animais.
11. Relief from Carchemish, C. J. Woolley, Carchemish III (London 1952)
pl. B 25; Akurgal, Hirmer (1961) pl. 109- — Relief from Zincirli, Akurgal-
Hirmer( 1961) pis. 126f. ; a young god between lions on an ivory carving, R. D.
Barnett, The NimrudIvories (London 1957) pl. XLIII, cf. Moortgat (1949) 9—
14; H. J. KantorJNES 21 ( 1962) 101—8; in Gudea’s hymn (see n. 5) Ningirsu
appears ‘big, with wings, a lion on either side.’
12. Chr. Kardara AAA 2 (1969) 216—18; cf. the seal in n. 4 and Schefold
(1964) pis. lia , 57a. For an analogy to ‘Heracles and the birds’ see Frankfort
(1939) 198, pl. 34c.
13. The word l'eön, ‘lion,’ is probably Egyptian (J. C. Billigmeier Talanta
6 [1975] 1—6), the Homeric alternative 7m’ is Semitic (Masson [1967] 86f.).
On the transmission of lion iconography from the orient to Greece, J. Carter
Notes to Pages 82—83 179
BSA 67 (1972)43; J. N. Coldstream Gnomon 46(1974) 278. G. MylonasAAA
3 ( 1970) 912—25 is in the favor of real lions in Greece; cf. Hdt. 7,125 (Mace­
donia); Paus. 6,5,4 (Thrace).
14. See IV 1 n. 2.
15. E. Brunner-Traut, Altägyptische Märchen (Düsseldorf-Cologne 1963)
76—87; H. Brunner, Die Geburt des Gottkönigs (Wiesbaden 1964); Burkert MH
22 (1965) l68f. ; R. Merkelbach, Die Quellen des griechischen Alexanderromans
(Munich 19772) 77-83.
16. Dion or. 33,47; Berossus FGrHist 680 F 12; coins of Tarsus: JHS 54
(1934) 52; Franke (1968) no. 376; H. Goldman Hesperia Supp. 8 (1949) 164—
74; T. J. Dunbabin, The Greeks and Their Eastem Neighbours (London 1957) 53.
17. M. K. Schretter, Alter Orient und Hellas (Innsbruck 1974) 170f. ; coins
of Tarsus with ‘NRGL’: L. Mildenberg AK Beiheft 9 (1972) 78—80; cf. WM I
110. — Doubcs on the Greek interprétation of the name Heracles as ‘Hera’s
glory’ hâve been cast ever since H. Usener, Die Sintflutsagen (Bonn 1899) 58;
E. Kalinka Klio 22 (1928) 259; P. Kretschmer Giotta 8 (1917) 121-29;
Schwyzer (1939) 62; the traditional etymology is defended by W. Pötscher
Emerita 39 (1971) 169—84, with the hypothesis of a ‘development,’ a radical
change in the Hera-Heracles relationship.
18. Frankfort (1939) 12 lf. assumed a migration of the myth in the third
millennium; possibilities of early Iron Age diffusion, from Tyre to the Lydians,
are explored in B. C. Brundage, “Heracles the Levantine,” JNES TJ (1958)
225-36.
Section IV. 3-
1. Pap. Oxy. 2617; D. L. Page, Lyrica Graec
ford 1968) 263-68; SLG 7-87; JHS 93 (1973) 138-54; on the interrelation
with vase-paintings, M. Robertson CQ 19 (1969) 207—21.
2. PR II465—83; Gruppe PW Supp. III 1061—67; J. H. Croon, The Herds-
man o f the Dead (Utrecht 1952); C. Gallini, “Animali e al di là,” SMSR 20
(1959) 65—81; on the monuments, Brommer (1971) 49—52, (1972) 39—42,
(1973) 58—63. Theearliest vase-painting, aproto-Corinthianpyxis, Brit. Mus.
A487, Brommer (1973) 63 C 3, JHS 5 (1884) 176-84, Brommer (1972) pl.
25; a représentation on the larnax of Kypselos, Paus. 5,19,1. Geryon has often
been called a ‘chthonian’ character, L. Radermacher, Das Jenseits im Mythos der
Hellenen (Bonn 1903) 42; Gruppe PW Supp. III 1065, who, in conséquence,
thinks the ‘cows’ are soûls, Gruppe (1906) 459, 1326f. ; Weicker PW VII
1289f. ; GERUN appears besides Hades in the ‘Tomba dell’ Orco’ at Corneto,
Schweitzer ( 1922) 87f. ; cf. Virg. Aen. 6,289; an oracle of‘Geryoneus’ at Patavi-
um, Suet. Tib. 14.
3. Hes. Theog. 287—94, 327, 979—83; Pherecydes FGrHist 3 F 18; Apol-
lod. 2 [106-12] 5,10.
4. Stesichorus PMG 185,1; Titanomachia fr. 7 Allen; Pisander Ath. 469d.
180 Notes to Pages 84-85
5. Vase-paintings: Brommer (1973) 193.
6. SeeI2.
7. Isocr. 6,19; Agias FGrHist 305 F 1; see IV 4 n. 12.
8. Lycus of Rhegium FGrHist 570 F 1; Proxenus FGrHist 703 F 8 in Phot.
s.v. Larinot bées, Suda / 121; alluded to in Pind. Nem. 4,52, cf. Schol. 4,84;
Schol. Aristoph. Av. 465; Schol. Theocr. 4,20; Nicander in Ant. Lib. 4;
presupposed by Hecataeus FGrHist 1 F 26, Scylax 26, Scymnus 152—6 =
Ephorus FGrHist 70 F 129b.
9- Apollod. 2[112]5,10,11 (cf. Hdt. 7,126); Erytheia in the country of the
Aenianes: (Arist.) mir. 133,843b27-844a5.
10. Normally Erytheia is localized at Gades, Stesichorus PMG 184; Phere-
cydes FGrHist 3 F 18b; Hdt. 4,8,2; Ephorus FGrHist 70 F 129; Apollod.
2[ 106] 5,10,1; Hecataeus disagreed, FGrHist 1 F 26.
11. Aesch. fr. 326 Mette ~ 199 Nauck; Apollod. 2[ 109] 5,10,8; PR II
473,5.
12. See n. 21; he sired Latinus on the occasion, Justin. 43,1,9, and took
‘Albani’ with him to the Caucasus, Justin 42,3,4.
13. Diod. 4,21,5—7; Strab. 5 p. 245. An engraving on an archaic bronze
cauldron from Capua(Annali dell’ Institute di corr. arch. 23 [1851] 36—59, pl. A;
RML I 2275f. ; S. Haynes, Etruscan Bronze Utensils [London 1965] 15—18) may
refer to a local version of the Cacus story.
14. Here the cattle thief is ‘Lakinios,’ i.e. the reference is to the sanctuary of
HeraLakinia, Diod. 4,24,7; Iambl. V. Fyth. 50; cf. Conon FGrHist 26 F 1,3,
who has ‘Lokros’ instead of‘Kroton.’
15. Hecataeus FGrHist 1 F 76.
16. Used as légitimation for conquest by Dorieus, at the end of the sixth
Century, Hdt. 5,43; cf. Diod. 4, 23, 2f.; Apollod. 2[ 111]5,10, 9f.; Paus.
3, l6,4f.; 4,36,4.
17. Hecataeus FGrHist 1 F 77.
18. Hence the therms of Termini Imerese, Diod. 4,23,1.
19. Diod. 4,24.
20. The ritual at the Cyane spring was instituted by Heracles, Diod. 4,23,4;
5,4,2; Zuntz( 197 l)72f.
21. R. Peter RML I 2270—90; J. Bayet, Les Origines de l’Hercule Romain
(Paris 1921) 203—33; F. Altheim, Griechische Götter im alten Rom (Stuttgart
1930) 177-79; Livy 1,7; Virg. Aen. 8,188-272; Prop. 4,9; Dion. Hai. ant.
1,39; see IV 4 n. 6.
22. FGrHist 4 F 111; F. Klingner, “Italien. Name, Begriff und Idee im Al­
tertum,” Antike 17 (1941) 89—104 = Komische Geisteswelt (Munich 19614)
11-33.
23. F. van Wonterghem, “Le Culte d’Hercule chez les Paeligni,” AC 42
(1973) 36-48.
24. A. V. Rantasalo, Der Weidegang im Volksaberglauben der Finnen (Helsinki
1953) 100-216.
Notes to Pages 85—86 181
Section IV. 4.
1. Hillebrandt I (1927) 519f., II (1929)
307—11; Gonda (1960) 57f. ; A. Venkantasubbiah, “On Indra’s Winning of
Cows and Waters,” ZDMG 115 (1965) 120-33; O'Flaherty (1975) 70f.;
Lincoln: see IV 5 n. 1. Parallel is the Iranian myth about Thraetaona killing the
three-headed Azi Dahaka, in the Avesta, Yasna, 9,7f.; Yait 5,33f.; 15,23f.,
though there are no cows involved, but two women.
2. R. Peter RML I 2279.
3. J. Herbert, L’objet et la méthode des études mythologiques (Lyon 1955).
4. Gonda ( I960) 57f.
5. It was noted by F. Rosen, Rigveda-Samhita (London 1838) xx f.; M.
Bréal, Mélanges de mythologie et de linguistique (Paris 1882) 1—161; Peter RML I
2279; L. v. Schroeder, “Herakles und Indra,” Denkschriften der Ak. Wien 58
(1914) 3,57f.; Venkantasubbiah: see n. 1; Lincoln: see IV 5 n. 1. Wilamowitz
protested (1895) x—xii.
6. F. Münzer, Cacus der Rinderdieb, Rektoratsprogramm (Basel 1911), follow-
ing Wissowa PW III 1165-69, cf. Wissowa (1913) 282f.; PR II 474; Latte
(1960) 221,2; D. F. Sutton CQ 27 (1977) 391-93. In fact Diod. 4,21,1 (from
Timaeus) and Cn. Gellius fr. 7, HRR I l49f. have quite other stories about
‘Kaikios’ or Cacus. Tales and names are dissociable in the course of tradition (see
I 7 n. 9); but it is wrong to assume, with Wissowa, that names are stable and
taies are easily ‘invented.’
7. ‘Recaranus’ Cassius ap. Ps.-Aur. Victor origo 6 (on this book, A. Momi-
gliano JRS 48 [1958] 56—73 = Secondo contributo alla storia degli studi classici
[Rome 1960] 145—76; on sec. 6, 69 = 170); ‘Garanus’ Verrius Flaccus ap.
Serv. auct. Aen. 8,203; ‘Trecaranus’ R. Puccioni in Mythos: Scritti in honorem
M. Untersteiner (Genoa 1970)235—39.
8. S. Ferri RAL VIII (24) 1969, 133—53; the three-horned figure is identi-
fied as Heracles by his adversary, the seven-headed snake. See IV 5 n. 24.
9. Weicker PW VII 1295; Kirfel (1948) 123, pl. 40 figs. 112-13; pl. 41
fig. 116.
10. Etruscan scarab, Kirfel 127, pl. 40 fig. 114.
11. CIL XIII 3062b, from Paris; understood, it is true, as ‘bull with three
crânes’ (gêranoi); cf. Heichelheim PW IV A 2453—57; Reinach ( 1908) 160—85;
G. Charrière RHR 161 (1966) 155—92; on three-horned bulls W. Deonna AC
23 (1954) 403—20; A. Colombet Rev. arch. de l’Est et du Centre-Est 4 (1953)
108—35; S. Boucher, Recherches sur les bronzes figurés de Gaulle pré-romaine et
romaine (Paris 1976) 170—73;cf. P. Lambrechts, Contribution a l’étude des divini­
tés celtiques (Bruges 1942) 33—44. According to Timagenes FGrHist 88 F 2;14
= Amm. Marc. 15,9,6; 10,9 Heracles fought ‘Tauriskos’ instead of Geryon in
Gaul.
12. Hes. fr. 33; Apollod. 1 [93]9,9; 2[142]7,3,1. See IV 3 n. 7.
13. Paus. 4,36,2.
14. II. 5,597; cf. G. Nagy HSCP 77 (1973) 139f.
182 Notes to Pages 86—89
15. Hsch. s.v. Periklymenos: ho Ploutorr, Klymenos Lasos PMG 702; Callim.
fr. 285 etc., RML II 1228f.; Euklees in the Gold Plates of Thurioi, Zuntz
(1971) 301-5, 310.
16. Apollod. 2[ 108]5,10,6; 2[ 125]5,12,7. Theparallel toGeryonhasoften
been noted; see IV 3 n. 2.
17. P. Thieme Ber. Leipzig 98,5 (1952) 46—50 = R. Schmitt, ed., Indo­
germanische Dichtersprache (Darmstadt 1968) 144—48. See IV 5 n. 32.
18. Od. 11,287-97; 17,225-38; Hes. fr. 37; 27lf.; I. Löffler, Die Melam-
podie (Meisenheim 1963) 33—37.
19- Hdt. 4,8f. ; note the parallels to Odysseus’ adventure with Circe in Od.
10. In Hesiod, Echidna ‘the she-snake’ is mother and consort of Orthus, the
dog of Geryon, Theog. 295-327; cf. Palaephatus 24.
Section IV. 5.
1.
B. Lincoln, “The Indo-European Cattle-Raiding Myth,”
HR 16 (1976) 42—65; Hes. Theog. 291 is misinterpreted to make Geryon a
thief too (55f.). — A similar explanation had been proposed by H. J. Rose,
"Chthonian Cattle,” Humen 1 (1954) 213—27.
. 2. This motif (cf. IV 2 n. 10; IV 4 nn. 1, 8—10) is comprehensively studied
by Kirfel ( 1948), who ends up with the suggestion that it refers to the phases of
the moon (185—94). A ritual background was suggested by G. Dumézil, “Le
Combat contre l’adversaire triple,” in Horace et les Curiaces (Paris 1942) 126—34.
Three as "superlatifabsolu”: W. Deonna AC 23 ( 1954) 403-28; see IV4 n. 11.
3. A basie account was given by Radloff (1885) II 1—67; U. Harva, Die
religiösen Vorstellungen der altaischen Völker (Helsinki 1938); Eliade (1951);
Findeisen (1957); Michael ( 1963); Edsman ( 1967); L. Honko, “Role-Taking of
the Shaman,” Temenos 4 (1969) 26—55; M. Hermanns, Schamanen-Pseudoscha-
manen: Erlöser und Heilbringer (Weisbaden 1970); A. Hultkrantz, “A Definition
of Shamanism,” Temenos 9 (1973) 25-37.
4. Dodds (1951) 135—78: “The Greek Shamans and the Origin of Puritan-
ism,” following K. Meuli, “Scythica,” Hermes 70 (1935) 121—76 = Meuli
(1975) 817—79. Already Meuli found the Geryon adventure “dem Typus der
Schamanenreise aufs nächste verwandt” (871).
5. Rasmussen (1926) 69—74; cf. E. M. Weyer, The Eskimos (New Haven
1932) 349ff.; Paulson, Hultkrantz, Jettmar (1962) 393—97; E. Holtved in
Edsman (1967) 23-31.
6. W. Thalbitzer ARW 26 ( 1928) 394—404; cf. F. Boas Bulletin o f the Amer­
ican Museum o f Natural History 15 (1907) 139; GB IX 125f. ; Eliade (1951)
266.
7. II. 5,392-4, with scholia.
8. E. Holtved in Edsman (1967) 25.
9. Lot-Falck (1953) 75f., 123-26; Paulson (1961) 17ff.; 86-88; Paulson,
Hultkrantz, Jettmar (1962) 135f. — W. Jochelson, The Yukaghir and the Yuka-
ghirizedTungus (New York 1910) 205ff. ; Paulson ( 1961) 56—59, and ZRGG 16
Notes to Pages 89—91 183
(1964) 134f. ; A. Hultkrantz in H. Hvarfner, ed., Hunting and Fishing (Lulea
1962) 312.
10. Paulson (1961) 94f., 99.
11. E. Holtved in Edsman (1967) 23f- ; in general, O. Zerries, Wild- und
Buschgeister in Südamerika (Wiesbaden 1954); Paulson (1961) and Paideuma 8
(1962) 70-84; HR 3 (1964) 202-19; A. Hultkrantz, ed., The Supematural
Owners o f Nature (Uppsala 1961); L. Röhrich, “Europäische Wildmeistersagen,”
in Sage und Märchen (Freiburg 1976) 142—95, 3 13—21. That Geryon belongs
to the master of animais type was seen by C. Gallini, “Animali e al di là,”
SMSR 20 (1959) 65-81.
12. L. Vajda, Zur phaseologischen Stellung des Schamanismus, Ural-
Altais cheJahrbücher 310959)456-85 = C.A. Schmitz, ed., Religionsethnologie
(Darmstadt 1964) 265—95. The transvestite musicians, kurgarru otassinnu (see
V 2 n. 32), who bring back Inanna-Ishtar from the nether world (ANET 56;
108) are clearly shamans; this should bring back shamanism at least to the third
millennium B.c.
13. Reichel-Dolmatoff (1973) 39, 104-11, 154-65.
14. Ibid., 107f.
15. P. Graziosi, Die Kunst der Altsteinzeit (Stuttgart 1956) ~ Paleolithic Art
(London I960); Leroi-Gourhan (1965); P. J. Ucko, A. Rosenfeld, Paleolithic
Cave Art (New York 1967); for a survey of interprétations see Eliade (1976)
27-30, 394-96.
16. W. La Barre, The Ghost Dance (New York 1970) 161, 388; cf. 387—
432 on Paleolithic civilization and shamanism.
17. H. Kirchner, “Ein archäologischer Beitrag zur Urgeschichte des Scha­
manismus,” Anthropos 47 (1952) 244-86; cf. K. Narr, “Bärenzeremoniell und
Schamanismus in der älteren Steinzeit Europas,” Saeculum 10 (1959) 233—72;
Eliade (1976) 29, 396.
18. Reichel-Dolmatoff (1973) 107f., pl. 14.
19. Lot-Falck (1953) 122; Paulson ( 1961) 31, 81, 103, ZRGG 16(1964)
125f.; Paulson, Hultkrantz, Jettmar (1962) 67, 78f., 135; rock-paintings in
Siberia, Lot-Falck 125f.
20. Eliade ( 1951) 213, cf. 185; cf. E. H. Schäfer, Tu Wan’s Stone Catalogue
o f Cloudy Forest (Berkeley and Los Angeles 1961) (I owe this reference to Frits
Staal).
21. See II 5. A well-known instance of continuity from Paleolithic to Near
Eastern and Mediterranean high culture is presented by the female figurines
known as ‘Venus statuettes’; but their use and signification is highly contro-
versial, and the naive interprétation that they ail represent a ‘Mother Goddess’
(E. O. James, The Cuit ofthe Mother Goddess [New York 1959] 13—46) certainly
needs qualification; cf. Paulson, Hultkrantz, Jettmar ( 1962) 309f- ; P- J. Ucko,
Anthropomorphic Figurines of Predynastic Egypt and Neolithic Crete with Comparative
Material from the Prehistoric Near East and Mainland Greece (London 1968);
Helck(1971) 13-70; Eliade(1976) 30-33, 396f.
184 Notes to Pages 91—94
22. Cf. the classical description of the Altai horse sacrifice in Radloff II
(1893) 20—50; A. F. Anismimov in Michael (1963) 100—105; H. Siiger in
Edsman (1967) 69-81 (see IV 6 n. 19).
23. Reichel-Dolmatoff(1973) 107f.; see nn. 13, 14.
24. Findeisen (1957) 8: “Der Schamane ist also ein zum Bessesenheitspriest-
er gewordener jungpaläolithischer Magier,” cf. 18—33, 198f.; A. Lommel,
Die Welt der frühen Jäger (Munich 1965); see n. 14.
25. Nilsson (1950) 53-68; Faure (1964) and BCH 96 (1972) 402-15;
B. Rutkowski, Cult-Places in the Aegean World (Wroclaw 1972) 121—5 1; Bur-
kert (1977) 55-58.
26. P. Faure BCH 93 (1969) 195-99.
27. Faure (1964) 162—73 and Kretikä Chronikä 17 (1963) 315—26.
28. P. Graziosi RAL VIII 26, 1/2 (1971) 63-70, esp. pl. 2 fig. 2.
29. Hermes, in the Homeric hymn (cf. Hes. fr. 256, Alcaeus 308 Lobel-
Page), plays an analogous role: a shamanic trickster who ‘steals’ the cows and
brings them to Pylos, invents fire and sacrifice, and pertinently sings about
cosmogony; but then his role turns, he hides the cows ä la Cacus and waits
for Apollo to find them. In the first part the ritual background is evident; in the
second the tale pattem is used in a different way, in view of the arrangement
with Apollo. — Note that Mithras is ‘cattle thief’ and savior, worshiped Under­
ground.
30. A Sumerian text: S. N. Kramer Iraq 22 (I960) 62f.; in Egypt: A.
Wiedemann, Die Religion der alten Aegypter (Münster 1890)45—59; S. Morenz,
Aegyptische Religion (Stuttgart I960) 218; in general, A. Dieterich, Nekyia
(Leipzig 1915 2) 19-34.
31. Gilgames IX iv 46, ANET 88f.; cf. Burkert Phronesis 14 (1969) 18f.
32. F. B. J. Kuiper, “The Bliss of ASa,” Indo-Iranian Journal 8 (1964) 96—
129; see IV 4 n. 17.
33. Their herdsman is called Hapantalli in the Telepinus texts, V. Haas,
G. Wilhelm, Hurritische und luwische Riten aus Kizzuwatna (Kevelaer 1974)
23, 25; R. Stefanini Paideia 29 (1974) 261. See VI 1; cf. also the ‘Bull of
Heaven’ in Gilgames VI, ANET 84f.
34. Horn. hymn. Apoll. 411-13; cf. PR 1432.
35. Hdt. 9.93; Scylax 26; the Hyperborean way, Hdt. 4,33.
36. Serv. ecl. 6,60.
37. Cf. D. L. Page, Folktales in Homer1s “Odyssey” (Cambridge, Mass. 1973)
79-83.
Section IV-6.
1. Apollo and Artemis are usually represented with stag or pl. 54); ‘Nereus’ ABV 25, 18, Schefold (1964) pl. 55a; ‘Triton’ on several black-
doe, but for real sacrifice the goat is used, cf., e.g., the hom deposit of Dreros,
BCH 60 (1936) 224f., 241—44, or the altar of Delos, Callim. hymn. 2,58—64.
2. Pisander fr. 3 Kinkel, Theseis p. 217 Kinkel, Pherecydes FGrHist 3 F 71,
Notes to Pages 94—95 185
in Schol. 50b on Pind. 01. 3,29; Eur. Here. 375; Callim. hymn. 3,102. Apollo
and Artemis as ‘owners’: Apollod. 2[82]5,3; amphora fragment of Oltos, Oejh
28(1933)41-46 = ARV2 54,3.
3. SAVk 56(1960) 125-39 = Meuli (1975) 797-813.
4. Pind. fr. 169; PR II 458—62; D. C. Kurtz, “The Man-Eating Horses of
Diomedes in Poetry and Painting,”JHS 95 (1975) 171f.
5. See I 8 n. 20.
6. //. 5; on the background in Argive ritual (Callim. hymn. 5) Burkert
ZRGG 22 (1970) 36 lf.; immortality of Diomedes, in contrast to his father's
cannibalism: Thebaid Schol. Genav. II. 5,126; Pherecydes FGrHist 3 F 97.
7. Strab. 5 p. 2l4f. The wolf may be considered a ‘master of animals’ him-
self, as is the bear (Findeisen [1957] 22; Paulson [1961] 67; Paulson, Hult-
krantz, Jettmar [1962] 192; Meuli [1975] 810): Is this the reason why wolf
and bear do not appear in Heracles mythology? They would be identical with
Heracles. — A shaman bringing back lost horses by means of a wolf figurine:
Friedrich-Buddruss (1955) 191.
8. Pind. 01. 10,26—30; Pherecydes FGrHist 3 F 79; Apollod. 2,88; PR II
453-6.
9. *Auga-as, Augeas, Augeias is parallel to *Herma-as (Mycenaean
e-ma-a2), Hermeias, Hermis-, if this is accepted, the Mycenaean name a-u-ke-wa
PY An 192; Jo 438; Ta 711 (Glotta 49 [1971] 159) has nothing to do with
Augeas; Augeiädes (II. 2,623f.), though, could suggest *Augewas.
10. For Halieios cf. the Rhodian festival Halieia, S1G 1067; Ionian Elteios
would be nearly indistinguishable from Eletos-, Aeolian, though, would lead to
*Au>elieios, hence Ionian *Felteios. — Apoll. Rhod. l,172f. plays on the asso-
nance, and Paus. 5,1,9 has a rationalistic explanation the other way round:
the ‘Eleian’ was misunderstood as ‘Helios’ son.’
11. See IV 5 n. 5. According to Schirmer RML I 733,13 the manure is
‘winter,’ whereas for PR II 455f. it is simply ‘invented.’
12. PR II 512f., 564f.; B. Andreae J d l 77 (1962) 130-210; Brommer
(1973) 5-7; esp. the cup of Phintias Munich 2590 = ARV2 24,12. — ‘Cattle
of the Sun’ Apollod. 1[35]6,1 at Corinth, Schol. Pind. Nem. 4,43; his bones
at Naples, Philostr. Heroic. l,3,p. 140 ed. Teubn.; an Alkyonia llmne at Lema,
Paus. 2,37,5.
13. E. Buschor, “Meermänner,” SB Munich (1941); K. Shepard, ThePish-
Tailed Monster (New York 1940); monuments: Brommer (1971) 119f., (1973)
143—51; PR II 506f.; Herter PW VII A 257—61; the adversary is inscribed
'Halios Geron on a bronze relief of Olympia (A. Furtwängler, Die Bronzen von
Olympia [Berlin 1890] 102,2; pls. 39,699a; RML V 1184; Kunze [1950] 109
figure vases, e.g. Brit. Mus. B 223 = ABV 224,7 = CV pl. 55 (Great Britain
200), 2; Cambridge G 54 = CV pl. 16 (Great Britain 254),2. Heracles forced
‘Nereus’ to lead the way to the Hesperides: Pherecydes FGrHist 3 F 16a, Apol-
186 Notes to Pages 96-97
lod. 2[115]5,11,4, following Stesichorus, Paradox. Vat. 33 (ed. O. Keller,
Naturaltum Rerum Scriptores Graeci [Leipzig 1877] 110; Wilamowitz [1895]
23,45; not in PMG).
14. Archilochus fr. 286—7 West; Soph. Trach. 6 —26; 503—30; PR II
570—73; H. P. Isler, Acheloos (Bern 1970). Achelous’ horn as cornucopia:
Diod. 4,35,4; Strab. 10 p. 458; Dion or. 46,7; Ov. met. 9,87f.; exchanged for
Amalthea’s hom, Pind. fr. 249a, Apollod. 2[l48]7,5. The équivalence to the
Triton fight was stressed by Wilamowitz (1895) 23. On girl sacrifice see
Burkert (1972) 76-79.
15. In Dryopia and at Lindos, Callim. frs. 22—25, H. Pfeiffer, Kallimachos-
studien (Munich 1922) 78-102; Burkert ZRGG 22 (1970) 364f.; altar of Zeus
at Cape Kenaion, Soph. Trach. 752—54; Dodona, see IV 3 n. 8; Hera Lakinia,
see IV 3 n. 14; 'parasitai' of Heracles at Athens, lex sacra in Ath. 234e. Heracles
Boagidas, ‘he who leads the cattle along,’ Lycophron 652 with schob — For
Heracles in comedy see Aristoph. Av. 1583ff., Ran. 62f.; Galinsky (1972)
81-100.
16. Galinsky (1972) 2.
17. Already in lliad, 8,368; cf. Hes. Theog. 310—12; Apollod. 2 [ 122—26]
5,12.
18. This is the current interprétation of the ‘apples of the Hesperides,’
Wilamowitz ( 1895) 56; see IV 2 n. 9.
19- Eur. Here. 922ff. ; there are shamanistic performances intimately linked
to sacrifice, cf. A. F. Anisimov in Michael (1963) 100—105; especially among
the Kafirs in the Hindu-kush, who belong to Indo-European tradition: H.
Siiger in Edsman (1967) 69—81; K. Jettmar, Die Religionen des Hindukusch
(Stuttgart 1975) 122f.
20. Pind. fr. 346b; H. Lloyd-Jones, “Heracles at Eleusis,” Mata 19 (1967)
206-29; Graf (1974) 142-46; J. Boardman./Hi 95 (1975) 1-12.
21. C. Schneider, Geistesgeschichte des antiken Christentums (Munich 1954)
I 142; John 19:30 — peractum est Sen. Here. Oet. 1472; cf. J. Bayet,
“Hercule funéraire.” MEFR 39 (1921-22) 219-66; 40 (1923) 19-102. C.
Schneider, “Herakles der Todüberwinder,” Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Uni­
versität Leipzig 7 ( 1957—58) 661—66; F. Pfister, “Herakles und Christus,” ARW
34 (1937) 42—60; J. Fink, “Herakles, Held und Heiland,” A&A 9 (I960)
73-87.
22. Hdt. 1,7; the myth of Heracles and Omphale, PR II 589—94; con­
nected with the tradition of Labraunda in Plut. q.Gr. 30lf; cf. H. Herter,
Kleine Schriften (Munich 1975) 544f. _ lebens, das im Sommer dahinstirbt, um im Frühjahr wieder zu erstehen”; E. O.
23. Hdt. 8,137f.; the Heracles coins of Alexander the Great; W. Derichs,
“Herakles, Vorbild des Herrschers” (Diss. Cologne 1950).
24. Theodoric’s conquest of Italy has become a ‘return’ of Dietrich of Bern in
the saga; cf. the ‘Aryan expulsion-and-return formula’: see I 2 n. 7. — It is
difficult to account on this hypothesis for the tradition of Dorian Rhodes which
Notes to Pages 97—100 187
leads, via Tlepolemus, directly back to Heracles (II. 2,653-70; 5,628—69); it
is often treated as evidence for Mycenaean Dorians. Direct evidence for Hylleîs at
Rhodes (PW Supp. V 740—42) is lacking; for Tymnos, see LSS 85,38 against
AsAtene 4—5 (1922) 483,37; IG XIV 952,5 from late Hellenistic Akragas
proves nothing as to Rhodes. Still the Tlepolemus tradition may be later than
the mainland tradition, elaborated in the conflict with Lycians (Tlepolemus
the son of Heracles is killed by Sarpedon the son of Zeus, PW Supp. V 741),
i.e. toward the end of the eighth Century.
25. There are no mythological représentations in Mycenaean art—apart, as
it sèems, from late Bronze Age Cyprus; cf. V. Karageorghis, “Myth and Epic
in Mycenaean Vase-Painting,” AJA 62 (1958) 383—87; A. Sacconi, “II mito
nel monde Miceneo,” PP 15 (1960) 161—87; B. C. Dietrich, Origins o f Greek
Religion (Berlin 1974) 310—14. But there is a ‘master of animais,’ also as lion
tamer, in Minoan-Mycenaean iconography, Nilsson(1950) 357, 367f.; (1955)
294f.,pls. 20,4; 21,4.
CHAPTER V
Section V. 1■
1. On Frazer and ‘anthropology’ see II 1; the
tation of Dumuzi—Adonis—Attis as végétation démon is due to Mannhardt
(1877) II 273—95; the Mother Goddess with inferiorparhedros gained promi-
nence especially through the Minoan evidence as interpreted by A. Evans JHS
21 ( 1901) 166—68, together with the prehistoric ‘Venus statuettes’ (see IV 5 n.
18); then psychoanalysis stepped in, and Bachofen-renaissance. Cf. J. Leipoldt,
Sterbende und auferstehende Götter (Leipzig 1923); L. Franz, “Die Muttergöttin im
Vorderen Orient und in Europa,” Der alte Orient 35,3 (Leipzig 1937); Eranos-
Jahrbuch 6 (1938): “Gestalt und Kult der ‘Grossen Mutter’ ”; J. Przy-
luski, La grande déesse (Paris 1950); E. O. James, The Cult o f the Mother
Goddess (New York 1959); E. Neumann, Die grosse Mutter (Zürich 1956) ~ The
Great Mother (Princeton 1955); C. J. Bleeker, De moedergodin in de oudheid (The
Hague I960); Helck (1971); Vermaseren (1977).
2. GS V 3-6.
3. Cf. GB V 39: "a great Mother Goddess, the personification of all the
reproductive energies of nature”; Moortgat (1949) 30: “der sumerische Proto­
typ aller vorderasiatischen Vegetationsgötter, die Personifikation des Natur­
James, The Ancient Gods (London I960) 46: “the life-producing mother being
the personification of fertility”; 78: “Tammuz . . . who incarnated the Creative
powers of spring. ” For Vermaseren ( 1977) 9—11, the Great Goddess is, without
question, the earth.
4. Adonis, Attis, Osiris (in this sequence) Macrob. Sat. 1,21; Osiris,
188 Notes to Pages 100—101
Adonis: Comutus 28, Saluscios 4; Attis, Adonis: Porphyryperi agalmáton fr. 7
Bidez = Euseb. Praep. Ev. 3,13,14; Adonis = spring, Lydus De mens. 4,64,
p. 116,4; = fruit p. 116,7; cf. Schol. Theocr. 3,48d; Origen PG 13,800;
Clem. Hom. 6,9,5; Euseb. Praep. Ev. 3,11,9; Amm.Marc. 19,1,11; 22,9,15;
Mannhardt (1877)11 281; Baudissin ( 1911) 166—69.
5. = Ear of com: Gnostics in Hippol. Ref. 5,8,39; 5,9,8; = sun: Macrob.
Sat. 1,21,7-10.
6. See n. 4.
7. Cleanthes SVF I no. 547 = Plut. Is. 377d, cf. 367c.
8. Gaster (1961) Starts from the “functional purpose” of “seasonal rituals,”
“to revive the topocosm” (17, 23); Jacobsen (1976), in his chapter “Dying
Gods of Fertility” (23—73), has “numinous experience” “connected with basic
life-sustaining activities.”
9. Cf. Cumont (1931) 46f. : “Die Phryger beklagten verzweiflungsvoll das
langsame Hinsiechen und den Tod der Vegetation . . .”
10. Stressed by P. Lambrechts, “La Résurrection d’Adonis,” in Mélanges I.
Lévy (Paris 1953) 207—40; Origen PG 13,800 “They wail . . . as if he were
dead . . . they rejoice . . . as ifhe were resurrected,” henee Jetome PL 25,82;
Cyril of Alexandria PG 70,44lf.; Luc. Syr.Dea 6, see V 3 n. 15; Baudissin
(1911) 133—37; Atallah (1966) 259—302. — There is Greek evidence for a
‘résurrection’of Melqart-Heracles,Eudoxus fr. 284 Lasserre; FGrHist 783 F l.
11. The only evidence is Firm. err. 22, Hepding (1903) 197, where Cu­
mont (1931) 228,46 and Vermaseren (1977) 116 rather think of Osiris. It is
true there was a ‘joyous’ day at the end of the festival, Hilaria (Val. Flacc.
Arg, 8,239—42; Macr. Sat. 1,21,10) interpreted as ‘salvation’ from Hades
(Damascius Vit. Is. 131);P. Lambrechts Meded. Kon. Nederl. Ak. v. Wetenschap-
pen, Afd. Letterk. 30,9(1967); Vermaseren (1977) 119—22.
12. S. N. KramerJCS 5 (1951) 1—17; cf. L. Vanden Berghe Nouvelle Clio 6
(1954) 298-321; O. R. Gurney JSS 7 (1962) 147-60; A. Falkenstein Fest­
schrift W. Caskel(Leiden 1968) 96—110; Jacobsen(1976) 55—63, who still finds
this text présents "a curiously deviant attitude” (55).
13. S. Langdon, Tammuz and Ishtar (Oxford 1914); A. Jeremias RML V
5 lf. ; Preisendanz PW IV A 2141, 2146. The Babylonian text had become
known in 1896; P. Jensen, “Istar’s Höllenfahrt,” in Assyrisch-Babylonische
Mythen (Berlin 1900) 80-91; A. Jeremias RML III 257-63; AOT 206-10;
ANET 106-9.
14. A new dying god turned up with Ugaritic Baal, ANET 129—42. The
fragments of the Baal poems can be arranged to fit a seasonal pattem: J. C.
Moor, The Seasonal Pattem in theUgariticM ythofBae lu (Kevelaer 1971). Inview
of the desperately fragmentary texts this must remain hypothetical; at any rate
there is a mention of “seven years” CTA 6 v 8f., ANET 141.
15. H. Frankfort, The Problem o f Similarity in Ancient Near Eastem Religions
(Oxford 1951); Kingship and the Gods (Chicago 1948) 286—94; “The Dying
Notes to Pages 101—103 189
God,” Journal o f the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 21 (1958) 141—51; cf.
C. Colpe in Man mitfurti, Festschrift W. v. Soden (Kevelaer 1969) 23—44.
16. Helck (1971) esp. 76, 285f.;cf. W. Fauth Gnomon 46(1974) 683f.
17. Evans-Pritchard ( 1965) 25, 42.
Section V.2.
1. The basic study is E. Laroche in Elémen
28; a new Aramaic inscription: A Dupont-Sommer CRAl (1961) 19—23, A.
Dupont-Sommer, L. Robert, La Déesse de Hierapolis Castabala (Paris 1964) 7ff. ;
Helck ( 1971) 244-46; Gusmani ( 1971) 307-24.
2. Vase inscription in the context of the lion altar, in the goldsmiths’ quarter
of Sardes, R. Gusmani Kadmos 8 (1969) 158—61; Neue epichorische Schriftzeug­
nisse aus Sardis (Cambridge, Mass. 1975) 28—30, no. A II 5; cf. A. Ramage
BASOR 199 (1970) 22; Hanfmann (1975) 6; fig. 3 2 .— Anothet monument of
Lydian Sardes, a naiskos with Dionysiac reliefs, probably belongs to Kubaba,
G. M. A. Hanfmann, VIIIe Congrès international dArchéologie classique (Paris
1965) 494-96; AJA 68 (1964) 164, pl. 52, 18; Hanfmann (1975) 12, pis.
23 - 26 .
3. Hdt. 5,102,1; on ë instead of â, R. Gusmani in Studies in Greek, Italian
and Indoeuropean Linguistics (Innsbruck 1976) 77—82, against E. Laroche Mé­
langes P. Chantraine (Paris 1972) 83—91.
4. Fr. 36 West (does fr. 10a belong in such a context?); Cratinus fr. 82,
CAF I 38; cf. Hipponax fr. 127; 156 West; agersikybelis Cratinus fr. 62, CAF I
31.
5. Comprehensive account in Haspels (1971); cf. R. D. Barnett CAH II 2,
435—38. Two lions: monument of Arslankaya, Haspels (1971) 87—89, fig.
187. E. Akurgal, Phrygische Kunst (Ankara 1955) 99 spoke of‘Monotheism,’ as
A. Evans had done with relation to Minoan Crete (see V 1 n. 1).
6. Matar Kubile, JHS 3 (1882—83) 41; Haspels (1971) 91, 293 no. 13;
fig. 138; Materan Areiastin (sic, cf. M. Lejeune SMEA 10 (1969) 30—38)
Haspels 79, 292 no. 11; pis. 83f.; Matera at the ‘Tomb ofMidas,’ Haspels 76,
290 nos. 4 -5 ; cf. G. L. Huxley GRBS 2 (1959) 93- The ‘City ofMidas,’ Yazili-
kaya, was Metropolis,’ Meter’s City, for the Greeks, Bull, epigr. (1972) 463.
Gusmani ( 1971) 314 thinks ’Kubile’ developed from kubaba under the influence
of a Phrygian word for ‘mountain,’ kybela (Diod. 3,58,1—2. Strab. 12 p. 567).
7. K. Bittel, “Phrygisches Kultbild aus Bogazköy,” Antike Plastik II 1(Ber­
lin 1963); cf. G. Neumann, “Die Begleiter der phrygischen Muttergöttin von
Bogazköy,” NGG 1959, 6.
8. Charon FGrHist 262 F 5 gives Kybébe as ‘Phrygian and Lydian’ name of
Aphrodite.
9. M. Guarducci Klio 52(1970) 133—38; Vermaseren (1977) 23.
10. U. v. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Paul Jacobsthal, Nordionische Steine,
Abh. Berlin (1909) 9 (who doubted the reference to Meter); H. Möbius MDAI
190 Notes to Pages 103—104
{Athen) 41 (1916) 166,2; E. Will in Eléments (I960) 98f.; E. Langlotz, Die
kulturelle und künstlerische Hellenisierung der Küsten deş Mittelmeers durch die Stadt
Phokaia (Cologne 1966) 30.
11. Ephesus, Panayır dağ: B. Keil ÖJ h 18 (1915) 66-72; 23 (1926) Beiblatt
256—61; Will in Elements (I960) 106f. — Acrae: G. Sfameni Gasparo, l culti
orientait in Sicilia (Leiden 1973) 126—49, 267—76.
12. D. B. Thompson, Troy Supp. III: The Terracotta Figurines of the Helle-
nistic Period (Princeton 1963) 58—60.
13. Travlos (1971) 352-56; Vermaseren (1977) 32-34.
14. PY Frl202 ma-te-re te-i-ja (dative), cf. M. Gérard-Rousseau, Les Men­
tions religieuses dans les tablettes mycéniennes (Rome 1968) 138.
15. J. N. Coldstream, Knossos, The Sanctuary of Demeter (London 1973); on
the ring inscription, 13If-, pi- 83,14, see H. v. Effenterre JHS 96 (1976) 154:
Dâmatri, not Matri.
16. Dithyramb 2; frs. 80, 95; Pyth. 3,77f.; A. Henrichs HSCP 80 (1976)
253-86.
17. Plut. Nie. 13,4.
18. Fr. 27, CAF I 740; attes in the ritual cry of Sabazios mysteries,
Demosth. 18,260. Cf. Hepding (1903) 5—97. P. Lambrechts, "Attis, van
herdersknaap tot god,” Verh. Koninkl. Vlaamse Acad. v. Wet. 46 (1962); Ver­
maseren (1966); (1977) 88-95.
19. Hdt. 1,34f.; note that Adrastus, whose name recalls Adrasteia of
Cyzicus (Strab. 13 p. 588; Meter âdrastos BCH11 [ 1887] 349 no. 5), has killed
his brother, as Meter’s Corybantes did (Clem. Protr. 19,1), that he is a hunter,
and that he stabs himself in the end (see V 6 n. 20),
20. Menander, Theophorumene p. 146 ed. F. H. Sandbach (Oxford 1972),
E. W. Handley BICS 16 (1969) 96; relief from Athens, Nilsson (1961) pl.
10,2 = /G II—III24671, Vermaseren (1966) pl. IL ; in Alexandria, P. M.
Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria (Oxford 1972) I 277; II 433. Cf. R. Gusmani PP
14(1959)202-11.
21. Callim. fr. 761 (dubium) cf. fr. 193,35; 194,105; Dioscorides AP
6,220; Rhianus AP 6,173; cf. AP 6,217-19; 234; 7,709; G. M. Sanders RAC
VIII 984—1034 ‘Gallos’ (1972); U. v. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Hellenistische
Dichtung II (Berlin 1924) 291—93 on a possible Hellenistic model for Catullus
63.
22. Theopompus FGrHist 115 F 260; Polyb. 21,37,5; Strab. 12 p. 567;
Livy 29,14; Diöd. 3,59; Alexander Polyhistor FGrHist 273 F 74; W. Ruge
PW XIX 1104-13.
23. Paus. 7 ,1 7 ,1 0 - 2 - Arnob. 5,5-7 cf. 5,9; 5,13;Alex. Polyhist. l.c.;
Hepding (1903) 37—41. Timotheus is also credited with the foundation of the
Serapis cuit, Tac. Hist. 4,83; PW VI A 134If.; see V 4 n. 17. Neanthes of
Cyzicus (see n. 25) also wrote on Attis in the third Century, FGrHist 84 F 37; no
details of his account are known.
Notes to Pages 104-105 191
24. Varro /./. 6,15; Livy 29,14; Wissowa (1912) 63f-, 317-27; Latte
( 1960) 258—62; G. Showerman, The Great Mother o f the Gods (Madison 1901);
H. Graillot, Le Culte de Cybele (Paris 1912); E. Ohlemutz, Die Kulte und Heilig­
tümer der Götter in Pergamon (Würzburg 1940) 174—91.
25. Nicander Alex. 7f., Schol. 8; on Meter cult in Cyzicus, Hdt. 4, 76;
the gatment with ‘suspended figurines,’ Hdt. 4,76,4, corresponds to Pessinus,
Polyb, 21,37,5. Neanthes see n. 23.
26. Strab. 13, p. 630; an ‘épidémie’ of ritual castration in Chalcedon: Arrian
FGrHist 156 F 80.
27. Bardesanes, Th. Noeldeke ARW 10 (1907) 150-52; Euseb. Praep.Ev.
6,10,44.
28. Luc. Syr.D. 50—54; P. L. van Berg, Corpus Cultus Deae Syriae I 1-2
(Leiden 1972).
29. Luc. Syr.D. 17—27. Note that the Sumerian flood myth, with Ziusudra,
remained known at Bambyce, with Sisutheus, Luc. Syr.D. 12.
30. Helck (1971) 270; WM I 244f.; P. Perdrizet, Mélanges Cumont, 1936,
885—91; P. Lambrechts, P. Noyen Nouvelle Clio 6 (1954) 258—77.
31. On Ullikummi and Agdistis see V 4 n. 17; a local version of the flood
myth, under ‘Nannakos the king of Pessinus,’ Prov. Bodl. 140, cf. FGrHist
795 F 2 n.; 800 F 3; Timotheus (Amoi. 5,5) combines Deucalion-and Agdistis-
myth.
32. The assinnu, kurgarru, kulu’u who perform games, dances, music in
Ishtar cuit are assumed to have been eunuchs and/or male prostitutes: Meissner
( 1925) II 67; Akkadisches Handwörterbuch s. v. ; Helck ( 1971) 254; but there is
no incontrovertible evidence, cf. Chicago Assyrian Dictionary ( 1956ff.) K 558b—
559a; a curse by Ishtar “who makes eunuchs” at Alalakh, D. J. Wiseman, The
Alalakh Tablets (London 1953) no. 1, Helck 153; assinnu and kurgarru “whose
manhood Istar transformed to womanhood, in order to spread awe among men”
intheeposofErra4,56, seeL. Cagni, L’epopea di Erra {Rome 1969) and Mythol-
ogies (1961) 131; SAL-ZIKRUM ‘woman-man,’ and a relief with a man in
woman’s clothes, Iraq 6 (1939) 66—70. See V 6 n. 21.
33. Plut. Nie. 13,4; Catullus 63,5; cf. Ov. Fast. 4,237; Plin. n.h. 35, 165;
Juv. sat. 6,514; Mart. 3,81,3; cf. the use of stone in circumcision, Ex. 4:25;
in Islam down to the present time.
34. Suggested motives are: assimilation to the ‘Mother,’ Farnell (1896—
1909) III 300f., cf. B. Bettelheim, Symbolic Wounds: Puberty Rites and the Envious
Male (Glencoe 1954); La Fontaine (1972) 180f. — asceticism, A. D. Nock
ARW 23 (1925) 25—33 = Nock (1972) 7—15. — Fecundation of Mother
Earth, Cook (1914) 394f., H. Herter Gnomon 17 (1941) 322f.; cf. donum deae
Prud. Peristeph. 10,1068; Clem. Protr. 15,2.
35. Lact. inst. 1,21,16; Hdt. 8,106,3; Catullus 63,50—73; Val.Max.
7,7,6.
36. Orestes, in Eur. Or. 1527f. spares the eunuch for this very reason.
 Notes to Pages 105—106
192
Section V. 3.
1. The most comprehensive treatment is Baudissin ( 1911), TMWZ\
cf. Atallah (1966), Eissfeldt (1970). Detienne ( 197 2) is an essay in structural-
ism; critique, G. PiccalugaMata 26 ( 1974) 33-51; counter-critique, Detienne
(1977) 64-77; on Soyez (1977) see n. 15.
2. Hes. fr. 139; the Philodemus passage quoted there, De piet. p. 12
Gomperz, has in fact ‘Epimenides,’ not ‘Hesiod,’ A. Henrichs GRBS 13 (1972)
92. — On Panyassis see V. 4 n. 15.
3. Baudissin (1911) 68-71; Atallah (1966) 303; Eissfeldt (1970); R. Du
Mesnil du Buisson, Nouvelles études sur les dieux et les mythes de Canaan (Leiden
1973) 160—65. In Ugaritic, adon appears as a title of Jam, Baal CTA 1 iv 17;
2 i 17; 34; in West Semitic inscriptions, it is a title of various gods such as
Baal (KAI 99), Baal Hammon (KAI 63), Baal Samem (KAI 64), Resep (KAI
32;41), Melqart (KAI 47), Esmun (KAI 66), Sadrapa (KAI 77). R. Dussaud
pleaded for Adonis = Adon Esmun, Journal des Savants n.s. 5 (1907) 36—47;
Syria 25 ( 1946—48) 216. There occurs a personal name Adon-la-râm in eighth-
century Syria, H. Ingholt, Rapport préliminaire sur sept campagnes de fouilles à
Hama en Syrie (Copenhagen 1940) 117, pl. 39.1; on Byblos see n. 15. — Eiss­
feldt (1970) 17 found in Hsch. Adonis . . . kai bôlou ônoma a reference to Baal;
but the word means ‘a throw of dice.’
4. P. Kretschmer Glotta 1 (1915) 29-39 (hadôn ‘he who pleased’); cf. G.
Zuntz MH 8 (1951) 34 (an Asianic, pre-Semitic name).
5. Sapphofr. 140; 168 Lobel-Page.
6. The main literary evidence is Gilgames VI 46; ANET 84: For Tam-
muz, the lover of thy youth, thou (Istar) hast ordained wailing year after year.”
On the month, see F. K. Ginzel, Handbuch der mathematischen und technischen
Chronologie (Berlin 1906-14) I 113f.; 117, II 37; III 33. A Jeremias, "Der
Schleier von Sumer bis heute,” Der Alte Orient 31,1—2 (Leipzig 1931) 29—30,
suggested that Joseph’s sufferings in Gen. 37:31—36 mirror Tammuz; the Book
of Jubilees 34,18 (E. Kautzsch, Die Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten
Testaments [Tübingen 1921] II 98) has a general weeping on the tenth day of the
seventh month.
7. Panyassis in Apollod. 3,[183/5]l4,4; Clitarchus FGrHist 137 F 3,
Anton. Lib. 34; Ov. met. 10,311-518; Detienne (1972) 19-68, 117-38; on
smyme—myrrha Masson (1967) 54—56.
8. M. Vieyra RHR 119 (1939) 139f. ; cf. Jer. 32:29; already at Ugant, CTA
14 ii-iii, ANET l43f-; Hittites, Vieyra l.c. — Adonia: Aristoph. Lys. 389;
395; Men. Sam. 45; vase pictures, see n. 23.
9. Ezek. 8:14; hence Tammuz remained well known in Jewish and Christian
tradition. The lament for Hadad Rimmon at Megiddo, Zech. 12:11, has often
been compared. Incense sacrifice for the ‘Queen of Heaven —Aphrodite Urania is
mentioned Jer. 44:17 —19.
10. H. Ingholt, H. Seyrig, J. Starcky, Recueil des tess'eres de Palmyre (Paris
Notes to Page 106 ^3
1955) nos. 218, 219, 342; cf. Eissfeldt (1970) pis. 9-10; inscriptions: BLTY,
11. H. Seyrig Syria 27 (1950) 229-36 (a.d. 213-14).
12. M. Lidzbarski, Ginza (Leipzig 1925) 447,8.
13. D. Chwolson, Die Ssabier und der Ssabismus (St. Petersburg 1856) II 27;
GB V 230; Baudissin ( 1911) 111. Allusion to a myth about Tammuz and 'Bal­
tin' who ‘burned Harran' in the Syrian ‘Treasure Book,’ C. Bezold, Die Schatz­
hohle I (Leipzig 1883) 37. Other survivais, Smith (1894) 317; Baudissin 119.
14. Corpus Apologetarum IX ( 1872) 426; Baudissin (1911) 74: 'Balti,' queen
of Cyprus, eloped with 'Tammuz to Byblos; her husband, Hephaestus, pursued
them and killed Tammuz in the Lebanon; hence the tomb at Aphaca. In Theo­
dor Bar Konai Tammuz is the son of Kutar, ~ Ugaritic ktr~ Hephaestus, Baudis­
sin 74f.
15. On Byblian Adonis, Baudissin (1911) 71-81; H. Gressmann, “Re­
liquien der kuhköpfigen Göttin in Byblos,” in Festschrift E. Hahn (Stuttgart
1917) 250-68; Gese (1970) 45f., 185-88; Helck (1971) 182-87; Soyez
(1977); Greek sources: Clitarchus FGrHist 137 F 3; Lycophr. 828-33; Strab.
16 p. 755; above all Luc. Syr.D. 6-8. Soyez 23-28 argues that the great
temple (2d Cent. a.d. , covering the ancient Rehp precinct) is the remple visited
by Lucian. Not treated by Soyez, but most intriguing are two indigenous in­
scriptions linking a ‘Lord,’ adon, to the Baalat: (1) P. Bodreuil, Semitica 27
(1977) 23—27, late lOth Cent. B.c. (I owe this reference to Prof. W. Röllig):
somebody’s dedication ‘to his Lord,’ 1‘dnw (lacuna following), (and) ¡fit gbl;
(2) KAI 12 = R. Dussaud, Syria 6 (1925) 269-73, Gese 185,34, Ist Cent.’
a. d., an incense altar ‘from the temple district,’ dedicated to ‘our Lord,’ °dnn,
and smlWl ‘the image of Baal’; this is clearly the Baalat, cf. the goddess Pha-
nebalos face of Baal’ at Ashkelon, Gese 214; it recalls the etymology of Salambo,
tlmbc l ‘image of Baal’ (with a different verbal root), O. Blau ZDMG 14
(1860) 651; PW I A 1823f. ; Salambo is ‘Aphrodite mourning for Adonis ’
Hsch. s.v. cf. Et.M. 707,48; Script.Hist.Aug. Heliog. 7; Salambo procession
at Hispahs / Seville, ASS Iulii IV 585f., F. Cumont, Syria 8 (1927) 330-41;
zdmbc l CIS 132 = KAI 62 is controversial. Dussaud arbitrarily assumed adon in
KAI 12 to refer to emperor worship (he had linked ‘Adonis’ with Eämun, see n.
3). In both inscriptions the possessive suffixes prove that adon is appellative, not
a name; in prayer it would be adonî my Lord.’ In (1) a name may have been
written in the lacuna; in (2) the ‘Lord’ is anonymous. In fact Lucian’s
Statement that ‘some’ daim the god of the ‘orgies’ to be Osiris, not Adonis
(sec. 7) implies that neither name, and possibly no name at all, was used in the
rites, but the title adon may well have been current. It is the connection of
adon with the Great Goddess, and the role of incense (see n. 7), which makes it
at least plausible that both inscriptions refer to what the Greeks called Adonis
cult. — As the Baalat was fused with Isis-Hathor, Adonis cult seems to merge
with Osiris cult at Byblos, cf. Helck 184; Soyez 39-41, 53-75. There is
194 Notes to Pages 106—107
connection with Egypt also in the ritual of watching a papyrus ‘head,’ or a jar
containing a papyrus letter, drifting ashore, Luc. sec. 7 with Schol. p. 187
Rabe, Cyril. Alex. PG 70,441; Schol. Greg. Naz. AC 45 (1976) 184f. ~ S.
Brock, The Syriac Version o f the Pseudo-Nonnos Mythilogical Scholia (Cambridge
1971) 152f.; Baudissin 134, 189f.; Gressmann 225—29; Soyez 67—69. —
Most controversial is Lucian’s Statement that “on the next day, they teil the
tale that he is alive, and send him into the air” (6), cf. Baudissin 136; K.
Kerényi, Griechische Miniaturen (Zürich 1957) 59—68; Atallah (1966) 262f.;
G. Roux RPh 41 (1967) 262—64; Eissfeldt (1970) 10; H. Seyrig, Syria 49
(1972) 97—100; V. v. Graeve J d l 87 (1972) 345; Soyez 38f.; possibly it refers
to a fire ritual contrasting with the chthonic sacrifices before, cf. exaeroßn ‘turn
into air,’ of burning, Luc. Peregr. 30; Eudoxus fr. 284, see V 1 n. 10. — On
the sanctuary of Aphaca, destroyed by Constantine, Melito, see n. 14; Euseb.
V. Const. 3,55; Sozomenos 2,5,5; Et.M. 175,7; Baudissin 74f.; GB V 28f.;
Helck 183; Soyez 5-7, 30f., 41-43.
16. Baudissin (1911) 368 (but cf. 70, 382f.) thought there was a god
‘Adonis’ different from Tammuz, Eissfeldt (1970) 21 has Phoenician Adonis
change his name secondarily to Assyrian Tammuz. This was befote the dis-
coveries at Ebla proved Mesopotamian influence in Syria as early as the third
millennium. — The équation Tammuz-Adonis was established for Christian
commentators by Origen (in Ezek. PG 13, 797 cf. Cyril. Alex. PG 70,441;
71,136; Theodoret PG 81,885 etc.); Jerome, however, refers to ‘Hebraeus et
Syrus sermo’ (which heknew), ep. 58,3, PL 22,581 cf. PL 25,82, and thus is an
independent witness. Amm. Marc. 22,9,15 mentions the festival Adonia at
Antioch in 362; the Syrian chronicle of Isaac Antiochenus (II 210 ed. G. Bickell
[Giessen 1877]; Baudissin 86) has ‘Tammuz’ instead. Possibly lamerit for ‘Tam­
muz’ spread even farther west; this is concluded from the name Thamüs in Plu-
tarch’s famous narrative about the ‘death of the Great Pan,’ Reinach (1908)
1—15; S. A. Gerhard SB Heidelberg (1915) 6; P. Merivale, Pan the Goat God
(Cambridge 1969) 15. Thamûs as an ‘Egyptian king’ Plat. Phdr. 274 d. — A
temple complex at Dura-Europos has Greek dedications to Adonis and Atar-
gatis, with référencé to ‘rites of Adonis,’ ta Ad6nidos\ it is therefore called the
‘Adonis temple’; no Semitic dedications werefound. Cf. M. I. Rostovtzeff, F. E.
Brown, C. B. Welles, The Excavations at Dura-Europos, 7th and 8th Seasons (New
Haven 1939); Bull. Epigr. ( 1939) no. 489; Gese ( 1970) 187f. — On the Roman
temple of the Syrian gods and the stränge buried image (Adonis?) found there
(Cumont [ 1931] pi. IV 2) cf. V. v. GraeveJ d l 87 ( 1972) 314-47.
17. Jer. 22:18, 34:5.
18. Adonis is son o f Cinyras, king of Paphos, in Apollod. 3[182] l4,3cf.
Anton. Lib. 34; Plato com. fr. 3, GAE I 601; on Cinyras, cf. Alcman PMG
3,71; Pind. Pyth. 2,13—7; TGF p. 838. Cinyras’ name is usually connected
with the musical instrument kinnor, Greek kinyra, GB V 52, RML II 1191,
Atallah (1966) 312f., but S. Kirst Forschungen und Fortschritte 30 (1956) 185 —
89 refers to Elkunirsa the ‘creator of the earth. ’ — Golgos the eponym of Golgoi
Notes to Page 107 195
is a son of Adonis and Aphrodite, Schol. Theocr. 15,100; Steph. Byz. Golgoi.
19- Et.M. 117,33 = FGrHist 758 F 7; aoia dendra, ‘trees felled and conse-
crated to Aphrodite,’ Hsch. s.v. = FGrHist 758 F 9; Abobas in Perge, Hsch.
s.v.; the name is, of course, associated with aüos, eos ‘dawn,’ Boedeker (1974)
66 f.
20. Lycophr. 831 with schol.; Democlides FGrHist 794 F 8 = Ath. 174f
gives Gingras as a ‘Phoenician’ name of Adonis, from gingros, a kind of flute; cf.
Paus. Att. g 1 Erbse.
21. F. G. Maier AA 1975, 436-46; 1977, 275-85; 1978, 309-16.
22. Amathus belongs to the ‘Eteocyprian’ region, cf. ICS 190—96; Adonis-
cult, Paus. 9,41,2; Steph. Byz. Adonosiris. On the advent of the Phoenicians,
V. Karageorghis, “Kition, Mycenaean and Phoenician,” Proc. Brit. Ac. 59
(1973) 259—81; J. TeixidorinN. D. Robertson, The Archaeology ofCyprus (Park
Ridge 1975) 121-28.
23. Plat. Phdr. 276b.; Theophr. c. plant. 1,12,2; Men. Sam. 45; Schol.
Theocr. 15,112-13; 133; Zenob, Ath. 2,90, p. 367 Miller = Zenob. 1,49;
Eust. p. 1701, 45—50; vasepaintings, Atallah(1966) 217—26; Metzger(1951)
92-99, pl. 7; see GB V 236-59; Atallah (1966) 211-28; Detienne (1972)
187—226. — Permanent ‘gardens of Adonis’ in later evidence: Cumont (1931)
257f.
24. Main text Theocr. 15.
25. taklimtu ‘exhibition’ W. v. Soden ZA 43 (1936) 256; 45 (1939) 42—61.
But cf. E. Dhorme Rev. d’Assyr. 38 (1941) 57—66.
26. German and Slavic folk customs of ‘Todaustragen,’ Jarilo etc.: Mann­
hardt (1875) I 155f., 410—21; attempt at a history of diffusion since A.D. 1366,
F. Sieber in Bausinger (1969) 134—42; cf. Gaster (1961) 277 (Romania); K. J.
Kakouris, Proistoria toü thedtrou (Athens 1974) 148—50, 228f. (Modern
Greece).
27. Isa. 17:10 ‘gardens of loveliness,’ K. Galling ZA W Beiheft 77 (1958)
59f.; in Arabic, the anemone is called ‘blood of the lovely one,’ with the same
word rfmn (which is also well attested in Ugaritic), whereas in Greek myth the
‘anemone’ sprang from the blood ofAdonis, Nicandros in Schol. Theocr. 5,92e,
Ov. Met. 10,735, Serv. auct. Aen. 5,72; R. Smith English Historical Review 2
(1887) 307; GB 226; Ringgren (1973) 136.
28. GB V 239—45; Baudissin (1911) 129—3 1; R. Wünsch, Das Frühlings­
fest der Insel Malta (Leipzig 1902). Z. Kadär, Die kleinasiatisch-syrischen Kulte
zur Römerzeit in Ungarn (Leiden 1962) 5; W. Baumgartner, “Das Nachleben der
Adonisgärten auf Sardinien und im übrigen Mittelmeergebiet,” SAVk 43
(1946) 122-48.
29. GB V 24lf ., XIII 350-52; W. Köppers, “Zentralindische Fruchtbar­
keitsriten,” Geographica Helvetica 1 (1946) 165 —77: wheat is sown and grown in
ahut for nine days, then carried to the river in procession, and thrown into it, in
the context of a cult of Mata, the ‘Mother.’
30. It is usually called a fertility charm, GB V 236f.; the Greeks, however,
 Notes to Pages 107—109
196
stress that these plants do not bear fruit, Plat. Phdr. 276b, Theophr. c. plant.
1,12,2, Plut. Seran.v. 560c, Zenob. 1,49 = Zenob. Ath. 2,90 p. 367 Miller,
Jul. conv. 329 cd. Cf. immersion sacrifices, Burkert (1972) 76f.
31. Detienne (1972) esp. 141—84.
Section V-4.
1. First allusion: Eur. Hipp. 1420—22; Dionysius thetyrant 13- Aristid. Apol. 3, p. 16 Geffcken (the name in the Syrian Text is Tam­
Ath. 40lf.; vase-paintings since c. 400 B . C . , Atallah (1966) 195—98; E. Si­
mon AK 15 (1972) 20—26; cf. Ch. Segal, “Adonis and Aphrodite,” AC 38
(1969) 82—88; G. Piccaluga, “Adonis: I cacciatori fallid e l’awento dell’agri-
coltura,” in Minutai. Saggi di storia delle religioni (Rome 1974) 77—98 = "Il
mito Greco,” Attidel convegno intemazionale (Rome 1977) 33—48.
2. E. Renan, Mission de Phénicie (Paris 1864) pl. 38; Baudissin (1911) pis.
1,2; GB V 29f.; AOB 209; Leipoldt ( 1926) no. 94. Contra, H. Seyrig Syria 21
(1940) 113-22; Atallah (1966) 75-77; Soyez (1977) 3 lf.
3- François vase, Schefold (1964) pis. 46,47; Apollod. 1[70]8,2,6; Paus.
8,45,7; Ancaeus of Samos, Ąrist. fr. 571; PW I 2218f.; Ancaeus besides
Adonis, Grattius Cyn. 1,24—30.
4. See V 2 n. 19.
5. Hermesianax fr. 8 Powell = Paus. 7,17,9; Theocr. 20,40; Plut. Sert. 1,
Schol. Nic. Alex. 8. In spite of the evidence, the Adonis version is usually
credited with priority, Baudissin (1911) 157—59; Helck (1971) 255. The pig
taboo is attested for Pessinus (Paus. 7,17,10; cf. Jul. or. 177bc), at Hierapolis
(Luc. Syr. D. 54), Komana (Strab. 12 p. 575) and also for Adonis (Sophronius
Hierosolymitanus PG 87,3,3624).
6. Basic new evidence was published in 1951, see V 1 n. 12; the most im­
portant earlier work is H. Zimmern, “Sumerisch-Babylonische Tammuzlied­
er,” Ber .Leipzig phil .-hist .Kl. 59 (1907) 201—52; cf. Zimmern (1909); Helck
(1971) 71—89; Moortgat (1949) concentrâtes on iconography. The Sumerian
texts are now conveniently presented by Jacobsen (1976) 25—73; ‘Dumuzi and
the gailu in Alster (1972).
7. Falkenstein—v. Soden ( 1953) nos. 18,21, 24, 28; ANET Supp. 637—44;
S. N. Kramer, The SacredMarriage Rite (Bloomington 1969). The king as con-
sort of the goddess reappears in historical Cyprus, Pind. Pyth. 2,17 on Cinyras,
cf. ICS 6, 7, 10, 16—17, 90, 91; GB V 49; it may be inferred from Mother
cult and Midas legend for Phrygia (see V 2 n. 6) and from the Candaules-
Gyges legend for Lydia, W. Fauth RhM 113 (1970) 1—42; Aphrodite Parakyp-
tousa, Abh. Mainz ( 1966) 6.
8. Esp. Falkenstein—v. Soden (1953) no. 35.
9. ANET 52-57-, see V 1 n. 19; Mythologies ( 1961) 107-9; Jacobsen ( 1976)
55-63.
10. Mythologies (1961) 109—15; now Alster (1972). Still another myth is
‘Dumuzi and Bilulu,’ T. Jacobsen JNES 12 (1953) 160—87 = Towards the
Notes to Pages 109-110 197
Image o f Tammuz (Cambridge, Mass. 1970) 52—71; Kirk (1970) 112f. ; Alster
(1972) 10-12.
11. Jacobsen ( 1976) 61. This should refer to two symmetrical festivals in the
year’s calendar; one text, of Arsacid times, in Zimmern (1909) 734, mentions
the god Nergal ‘descending’ and ‘ascending,’ but the distance is not exactly six
months. Cf. the Phrygians, Plut. Is. 378f.
12. SeeV ln . 14.
muz); Cyril Alex. PG 70,441; Procop. Gaz. PG 87,2137—40; Schol. Greg.
Naz. AC 45 (1976) 184f.; Baudissin (1911) 353f; not mentioned in Atallah
(1966).
14. SeeV ln . 13.
15. Apollod. 3[ 183-85] 14,4; Atallah (1966) 53-55; cf. V. J. Matthew,
Panyassis of Halikamassos (Leiden 1974) 120—25; the kind of quotation leaves
some doubt how far the whole story was told by Panyassis; H. Lloyd-Jones
Gnomon 48 (1976) 505. Adonis in the ehest, between Aphrodite and Per­
sephone, appears on an Apulian vase, Naples, Santangelo 687 H ., PR I 360,3,
andonaLatin mirror(3d cent. B . C . ) , Louvre, Baudissin( 1911)pl. 4, Leipoldt
(1926) no. 96,JHS 69(1949) 11;£AA 168. — A child in a kiste before a god­
dess appears on Locrian pinaces, Ausonia 3 ( 1908) 192—96; H. Prückner, Die
Lokrischen Tonreliefs (Mainz 1968) 31—36; F. Studniczka J d l 26 (1911) l42f.
(cf. Leipoldt no. 95) thought of Adonis and Persephone; contra, Prückner loc.
cit., Zuntz ( 1971) 167, C. Sourvinou-InwoodJHi' 98 (1978) 114-17.— The
central scene on the ‘Boston Throne,’ too, has been thought to refer to the ar-
bitration, Studniczka 141—45, Leipoldt no. 97; contra, e.g., E. Simon, Die
Geburt der Aphrodite (Berlin 1959) 56—92; C. Sourvinou InwoodJHS 94(1974)
126—37. — The arbitration is also in Hygin. astr. 2,7, p. 44 Bunte, with bi-
section of the year, as Schol. Theocr. 3,48; 15,103a; Luc. dial. deor. 11,1;
Cornutus 28, p. 54 Lang; cf. Justin Apol. 1,25; Orph. hymn. 56,8—11;
Auson. Cup. cruc. 56—58; see n. 11.
16. Papyri Graecae Magicae no. 4,339 (Stuttgart 19732,1 82).
17. See V 2 n. 23; a homosexual variant Serv. auct. Aen. 9,115; cf. Tzetz.
Lycophr. 355.
18. See V 2 n. 31. ANET 121-25 Arnob. 5,5f. (cf. Paus. 7,17,10f.):
(cf. Mythologies [1961] 164—72):
In the . . . a great rock lies . . . inauditae vastitatis petra . . .
He (Kumarbi) slept with the rock . . . (Juppiter) voluptatem in lapidem fu-
dit . . .
she gave birth . . . the Rock . . . Petra concepit, nascitur . . . Agdis-
Kumarbi’s son . . . tis
“Let him ascend to heaven for king­ huic robur invictum et ferocitas animi
ship! . . . Let him attack the Storm- . . . nec praeter se quiequam poten-
198 Notes to Pages 110—112
god and tear him to pièces . . . Let tius credere . . .
him shoot down ail the gods from the
sky . .
(The Sun-god, The Storm-god, Tas- cuius cum audacia quibusnam modis
posset . . . comprimí saepenumero
miâu, Ktar, Ea, Enlil meet and de-
liberate) esset deorum in deliberatione quaesi-
tum,
Ea began to speak . . . “Let them (Liber inebriates Agdistis, the mon­
bring forth the olden copper knife ster is laid in fetters), se . . . eo quo
with which they severed heaven from vir erat privat sexu
earth, Let them eut through the feet of
Ullikummis.”
As is well known, in the other Hittite myth the séparation of heaven and earth
occurs by castration, ANET 120.
19. Paus. 7,17,12~ Arnob 5,7; cf. Lact. inst. 1,17,7; epit. 8,6.
20. F. Cornelius, Geistesgeschichte der Frühzeit, Il 1 (Leiden 1962) 47; 196
(without distinguishing gala and gallu). Gallu (plural galle) is translated
‘Teufel’ by K. Tallquist, Akkadische Götterepitheta (Helsinki 1938) 310; ‘dé­
mon’ by Kramer ANET 56f., Alster (1972); ‘deputies’ by Jacobsen (1976). By
coïncidence, there is a dass of Babylonian priests called kalu, Sumerian gala,
concerned especially with the temple tympanon and bull sacrifice (J. Krecher,
Sumerische Kultly rik [Wiesbaden 1966] 35f.; J. Renger ZA 59 [1969] 187—
95; ANET 334—38) whom it is tempting to connect with Meter cult, too
(Burkert [1972] 291). Timotheus in Paus. 7,17,9 gives Kâlaos as the name of
Attis’ father. Gallos is also the name of the river at Pessinus, M. J. C. Waelkens
Byzantion 41 (1971) 349—73. — Helck (1971) 119 points out that Inanna is
not a ‘mother’; but Agdistis, in the myth, is not a mother either.
21. The antiquity of the Asia Minor tradition has been stressed by E. Meyer,
Geschichte des Altertums I 2® (Stuttgart-Berlin 1913) 735f.; Baudissin (1911)
369f-, long before the discoveries of fatal Hüyük (see V 6 n. 10).
Section V,5.
1. Eitrem PW VIII 1865—72; C. Zintzen, Analytisches Hy-
pomnema zuSenecasPhaedra (Meisenheim I960); Barrett ( 1964); H. J. Tschiedel,
“Phaedra und Hippolytus” (Diss.Erlangen 1969); Herter (1975) 119—56, and
PW Supp. XIII 1183-97.
2. Griechische Tragödien 110 (Berlin 1926) 100—104.
3. Damasc. Vit. Is. 348, p. 283 Zintzen; Baudissin( 1911) 339—43.
4. Fauth (1958—9); cf. Serv. Am. 7, 761; S. Wide, De sacris Troezeniorum
HermionensiumEpidauriorum (Uppsala 1888)86f.; PR I 373; GB I 25f.; G. Mur­
ray in Harrison ( 1927) 341 -46; PW Supp. XIII 1187f.
Notes to Pages 112—113 199
5. ‘Naupaktiaka in Philod. Depiet. p. 52 Gomperz, Cronache Ercolanesi 5
( 1975) 8f. ~ Apollod. 3[121] 10,3,10.
6. Paus. 2,32,1-3; BCH 21 (1897) 543-51; 29 (1905) 287-302; IG IV
754; PW VIIA 629-31.
7. Eur. Hipp. 30, with schol.; Asclepiades FGrHist 12 F 28; Diod. 4, 62,2;
Paus. 1,22,1; IG I2 324,69; 310,280; Barrett (1964) 3-10. Cf. IG I2 190 =
LSCG 11,5.
8. Aesch. fr. 439 Mette = Serv. Georg. 3,268.
9. Reinach (1908) 54f.; GB I 27; cf. Fauth (1959) 429-32.
10. Eitrem PW VIII 1865; Fauth ( 1959) 430. It is true that in proper names
the two components are exchangeable (Schwyzer I [ 1939] 635); in the Sicyonian
king list a Hippolytos is successor of Zeuxippos, Paus. 2,6,7; but the suffix
-tos was usually understood in the passive sense.
11. The inscriptions are lacunose: en hippol [ . . . IG I2 324,69; e[pi hip]
polytff IG I2 3 10,280f.; eph’ Hippolytöi Schol. Eur. Hipp. 30 cf. Eur. Hipp. 32.
12. IG I2 324,78; 95; also hier]eüs . . epi Palladtou IG II—III2 3177; en
Palladtoi IG II—III2 5055. Ath]enaias epi Palladioi IG I2 324,78;95.
13. IG II—III2 1496,74; 105; Aristoph. Ach. 504; Law in Demosth. 21,
10; Arist. Ath. Pol. 57,1.
14. 11. 16,119; Od. 9,58; on the word formation Risch (1974) 25f.
15. Wissowa (1912) l44f.; Latte (I960) 119—21; U. Scholz, Studien zum
altitalischen und altrömischen Marskult und Marsymthos (Heidelberg 1970) 81 —
167; Burkert (1972) 179f-; W. Köppers, “Pferdeopfer und Pferdekult der Indo­
germanen,” Wiener Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte und Linguistik 4 (1936) 279—
411.
16. Callim. fr. 190 cf. G. Radke PW IX A 178—82; the ritual, Ambros,
virg. 3,5.
17. Paus. 8,7.2; F. Schachermeyr, Poseidon und die Entstehung des griechischen
Götterglaubms (Salzburg 1950) 22.
18. P. Courbin, La céramique géométrique de l’Argolide (Paris 1966) 492, pl.
40; Snodgrass ( 1971) 414.
19. Hymn. Apoll. 229—38; F. Sokolowski TAPA 91 (I960) 376—80; G.
Roux REG 11 (1964) 1—22 thinks it is a test for young horses; A. Schächter
BICS 23 (1976) 102—14 tries a nonritual interprétation, overlooking the fact
that chariots wete not used for ordinary traveling and that a broken chariot
(v.235) cannot be “set to rights” by turning it (v.236); more correctly Nilsson
(1906) 70: the chariot is left to the god. On catastrophe played in ritual see
V 3 n. 30.
20. Epimenides, Hellanicus, Pindar Paean 8,100—11 in Pap. Ox. 2442 fr.
29,1—8; Paus. 9,37,1. Cf. also the death of Oenomaus through the machina­
tions of Myrtilus.
21. On Poseidon at Troezen, Strab. 8 p. 373; Plut. Thes. 6,1; Paus. 2,30,6;
PW VII A 650; trident on Troezenian coins, Head (1911) 443f. It is surpris-
200 Notes to Pages 114—115
ing that Pausanias does not mention a temple of Poseidon; was his altar patt
of the Hippolyteion?
22. Rig-Veda 1,162,22; Gonda(I960) 172.
23. Cf. the myth of Epopeus the fisher, Ath. 283b, Burkert (1972) 233;
in the aetiological myth of Brauron, the girls must be given to Artemis be-
cause a bear has been killed (W. Sale RhM 118 [1975] 265—84), whereas in
hunters’ practice the sacrifice is performed in order to get the animal; there is
a stag involved both before and after Iphigenia’s sacrifice; cf. also Burkert ( 1977)
237.
24. This begins in the Late Bronze Age: vase of Enkomi, big fish behind
charioteer: AJA 72 (1968) pl. 68,20; Rhodes, ibid. pl. 65,8; fish and bull,
Larnaka, CV British Museum I, II Cb7 (Gr.Br. 19) pl. 12. See, in general,
B. Schweitzer, Die geometrische Kunst Griechenlands (Cologne 1969) 64f.; J. L.
Benson, Horse, Bird, and Man (Amherst 1970); Burkert (1972) 227—35; Cour­
bin, see n. 18. — In a legend from Corfú,.Paus. 10,9,3f-, it is a bull bellow-
ing at the seashore that indicates the advent of tuna fish; the bull is sacrificed
to Poseidon before the catch.
25. Cf. the girls’ mourning for Achilles the son of the Sea-goddess, Paus.
6,23,3; mourning in the cult of Leucothea, Xenophanes DK 21 A 13-
26. Boedeker (1974) tried to make a case for an Indo-European ‘origin’ of
Aphrodite; that the name is a transformation of Astart, * Aätorit was restated
recentlybyj. E. Dugand, “Aphrodite-Astarté,” in Hommages à P. Fargues (Paris
19741/73-98.
27? H. J. KantorJNES 21(1962) 93 —117; R. D. Barnett in Vorderasiatische
Archäologie: Festschrift A. Moortgat (Berlin 1964) 21—26; Helck (1971) 226.
(1) Stone sculpture, head of a horse, from Zincirli, 9th cent.: H. Th. Bossert,
Altanatolien (Berlin 1942) 234 no. 906; AfO 10 (1935-36) 331; JNES 21
(1962) 94; (2) ivory plaque from Nimrud, R. D. Barnett, The Nimrud Ivories
(London 1957) 10lf ., pl. 63; Barnetc ( 1964) pl. 2,1; (3) bronze plaque from
Tell Tainat, JNES 21 (1962) pl. 11-5; Helck (1971) 228 fig. 198; (4) ivory
plaque from Phrygian Gordion, AJA 66(1962) 166f.,pl. 46; (5) bronze plaque
from Samos, Neue deutsche Ausgrabungen im Mittelmeergebiet (Berlin 1959) 208;
JNES 21 (1962) 108 fig. 13a. (6) bronze plaque from Miletus, ibid. fig. 13b;
Barnett (1964) pl. 1,2; (7) an exemplar in a private collection in England, ibid.
23, pl. 2,2; (8) three bronze plaques and a bronze pendant from tomb 79 at
Salamis, Cyprus: Excavations in the Necrópolis of Salamis III (Nicosia 1973—74)
pis. 82, 84, 89, 270—72; V. Karageorghis, Salamis (New York 1969) fig- 23
and pl. 49-
28. J. Leclant, ‘‘Astarté à cheval,” Syria 57 (I960) 1—67 cf. BCH 100
(1976) 462 fig. 2; Helck (1971)226.
29. Nos. (3), (7) in n. 27.
30. Eur. Hipp. 18.
31. Nos. (2), (8), in n. 27.
32. First mentioned II. 6,152—205; taming of the horse, Hes. fr. 43a 81—
Notes to Pages 115-118 201
87, Pind. 01. 13,63—86; PR II 179—85; R. Peppermüller, Die Bellerophontes-
sage (Diss. Tübingen 1961), lVSt 75 (1962) 5—21; S. Hiller, “Bellerophon,”
A&A 19 (1973) 83f.
33- The ‘folded tablet’ II. 6,169 is a déltos, not a clay tablet; on déltos K.
Galling in Near Eastem Studies in Honor o f W. F. Albright (Baltimore 1971)
207—23. Proitos’ letter is attributed to the fourteenth Century and said to hâve
been written in Hittite hieroglyphs by V. L. Aravantinos SMEA 17 (1976)
117-25, following F. J. Tritsch in Atti e memorie del 1 ° Congresso intemazionale
di Micenologia, Roma 1968, 223—30;ptyktSi then has to disappear from Homer’s
text, Aravantinos 124.
34. On Phaethon, J. Diggle, Euripides Phaethon (Cambridge 1970). The
identity of the ‘Goddess’ (fr. 781,28 = 241 Diggle) is still uncertain; A. Lesky,
Die Tragische Dichtung der Flellenen (Göttingen 19723) 506, with Wilamowitz,
décidés for Aphrodite, against Diggle 155—60. The ritual counterpart are the
hippokathésia at Rhodes, a horse chariot plunged into the sea, LSS 94, Festus
181 M. Cf. the death of Myrtilus the charioteer (PR II 2l4f.; with Potiphar
motif, Schol. Eur. Or. 990, Schol. AD II. 2,104) and the horse-slaughter and
death ofEuenus, Schol. BD//. 9,557.
35. It is prominent in the Kombabos story of Bambyce (see V 2 n. 29); it
appears in the context of initiation by hunting in the Peleus story, Hes. fr.
208f., Pind. Nem. 4,53—65; 5,27—36; Aristoph. nub. 1063 with schol.,
Apollod. 3[164—7] 13,3; PR II 71—73; that the seducing female, the wife of
Acastus, has the name Hippolyte (Pind. Nem. 4,57; 5,26), is hardly a coïnci­
dence.
36. If the above hypothesis is correct, the spreading of the name Hippolytos
(cf. nn. 10, 35) présents a terminus ante quem; a rider is inscribed Hippolytos on
a Corinthian vase, c. 600 B.c., Schefold ( 1964) pl. 70a. The amazon Hippolyte
may hâve received her name from her son; cf. PW VIII 1863—65.
Section V.6.
1. GB III 191-200; Meuli (1946) 226f.; B
72f.; Enkidu loses his power over the animais after meeting the prostitute,
Gilgames I iii-iv, ANET 75; similarly the hunter Kessi, in a Hurrite myth,
fails because he is too much attached to his wife, J. Friedrich ZA 49 (1949—50)
235-42. Cf. esp. Reichel-Dolmatoff( 1973) 253-56.
2. See V 4 nn. 9—10.
3. Jul. or. 5,173c, 174ab, 175b—177d; Jerome ep. 107,8; Hepding (1903)
155-57.
4. Juv. 2,111-6.
5. See VI 6 n. 6.
6. Prud. Peristeph. 10,1006—50; cf. carmen contra paganos 57—66, Poetae
Latini Minores ed. Baehrens III 289; Hepding (1903) 61; Oppermann PW V A
16—21; J. B. Rutter, ‘‘The Three Phases of the Taurobolium,” Phoenix 22
(1968) 225—49; R- Duthoy, The Taurobolium (Leiden 1969) cf. T. B. Bames
202 Notes to Pages 118—120
Gnomon 43 (1971) 522f.; Vermaseren (1977) 101—7. The first document is
Inschriften von Pergamon II (Berlin 1895) 554; the first in Italy, CIL X 1596,
A . D . 134, for Venus Caelestis (~ Atargatis?); ‘the first’ taurobolium in Athens,
toward the end of the fourth Century, is recorded IG II-III2 4841.
7. CIL VI 510, a.d. 376; cf. A. D. Nock, Conversion (Oxford 1933) 70f.;
Nock (1972) 103.
8. Cf. Eur. Hel. 1346—52; Bacch. 123—9; Epidaurian hymn IG IV l 2 131
= PMG 935; Burkert (1972) 291; see V 4 n. 19.; the symbolon, password,
Clem. Protr. 2,15,3; Firm. err. 18,1; Hepding(1903) 184f.
9- Prud. Peristeph. 10,1027; cf. F. Cumont Revue de l ’histoire et de littérature
religieuses 6 (1901) 97—110. Kriohôlion as a sport (meta paidiâs) in Pergamon,
137—33 B . C . , OGl 764,25, which does not exclude ritual connotations (pace
Oppermann PW V A 19). Athéna is called taurohôlos at Andros, with a legend
of how a bull jumped out and had, in conséquence, to be caught again, Suda t
165 = Phot. tauropôlon, Apollodorus FGrHist 244 F 111. There is not much
evidence about the Artemis festival elaphebôlia which gave its name to the
month Elapheboliôn, Deubner (1932) 209f., nor about Dionysus aigobôlos (Paus.
9 , 8 , 2).
10. Mellaart ( 1967); seeII 5 nn. 6—7.
11. AS 12 (1962) pis. 12, 14-18; l6(1966)pls. 52-55, 57-61; Mellaart
(1967) pis. 54-55, 61-63.
12. AS 13 ( 1963) 96f., pl. 24; Mellaart ( 1967) pl. IX; 67—68; cf. Mellaart
(1970) II 504, fig. 229; Vermaseren( 1977) I4f., pl. 5.
13. Cf. the statue of Inanna from Susa (Louvre), Tacchi Venturi ( 1971) II
27, and the inscription Helck ( 1971) 83f. : two lions for Inanna.
14. Especially one clay figurine, AS 11 (1961) 59, from Hacilar: Helck
(1971) 27f. cf. 90—92; though it has been pointed out that the figures are not
naked, Mellaart ( 1970) I 170; pl. VI; II fig. 227; cf. figs. 218-20.
15. On‘Schmiedekönigtum,’ cf. Alföldi (1974) 181—217; see V 2 nn. 5—6.
16. The myth of Hippomenes and Atalanta, Ov. Met. 10,686—704; Plin.
n.h. 35,17; the lion as Symbol ofpudicitia, Firm. err. 9,2; in contrast to this,
there is the tradition of the seducing scent emanating from the léopard, Arist.
hist. an. 6 l2 a l3 ;probl. 907b 35 etc., Detienne (1977) 93 —117; this seems to
corne from oriental perfume trade (Plin. n.h. 13,6 pardalium), but the very
polarity to the ‘asexual’ carnivore may hâve been significant; cf. in general
O’Flaherty ( 1973).
17. ViresexcepitettrastulitC/LXIII 1751cf. 522; Hepding(1903) 190—93;
PW V A 17; the aetiological myth Clem. Protr. 15,2; Vermaseren ( 1977) 105f.
18. Arnob. 5,14: veste velare, lavare, balsamis unguere, terrae mandare\ em-
balmed and deposited in a ehest, Kombabos-myth Luc. Syr.D. 20; Schol.
Nicandr. Alex. 8 on Cyzicus (see V 2 n. 25); Hsch. thalâmav, the Corybantes,
Clem. Protr. 19,4.
19. Cf. Meuli (1946) 247f., 256; pygmies, R. P. Trilles, Les pygmées de la
Notes to Pages 120—124 203
forêt équatoriale (Paris 1933) 460; Burkert (1972) 80f.; comparable is the treat-
ment of the bladders of seals in Eskimo ritual, Paulson-Hultkrantz-Jettmar
(1962) 386, of the kidneys in Israel, of the heart in the orient (Gilgames VI
151, ANET 85; cf. ANET 336) as in Greece (Burkert [ 1972] 13).
20. Galloi: Plaut. Truc. 602 (Latte [i960] 259); AP 6,51; 6,234; Prop.
2,22,15f.; Sen. fr. 34 = Aug. civ. 6,10; Stat. Theb. 10,170—75; Luc. Dial,
deor. 12,1; Tert. Apol. 25,5; Nonnus Schol. in Greg. Naz. PG 36,989; 1016;
Syria Dea: Luc. Syr.D. 50; [Luc.] Asin. 37 ~ Apul. Met. 8,27f. ; Ma Bellona:
Tib. 1,6,43—50; Juv. 6,511—6; priests of Baal, OT 1 Kings 18:28; cf. also
Baudissin ( 1911) 13 lf. ; U. v. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Erinnerungen (Berlin
1928)271.
21. Galloi: Schol. Greg. Naz. PG 36,989; Syria Dea: [Luc.] Asin. 38 ~
Apul. Met. 8,29; Firm. err. 4,1—2; ‘dogs’ (klbm) of Astarte in Kition, CIS I
86 = KAI 37, O. Masson, M. Sznycer, Recherches sur les Phéniciens d Chypre
(Geneva 1972), 65—67. Cf. Sabakai Salmaktdes Philodem. AP 7,222 and the
‘effeminating’ spring Salmacis at Halicarnassus, Ov. Met. 4,285f. ; ‘effeminate’
priests at Ashkelon, Hdt. 1,105, cf. Hippocr. Aer. 22; at Aphaca, Euseb. Vit.
Const. 3,55; in the cuit of the Nile, Aristaenetus FGrHist 623 F 1, Euseb.
Vit. Const. 4,25,2; ‘venerable’ eunuchs of Hecate ofLagina, BCH 44 (1920)
78 no. 11; 84 no. 16; cf. also Tac. Germ. 43,3; in general, Baumann (1955)
14-44; see V 2 n. 32.
22. K. Meuli, “Entstehung und Sinn der Trauersitten,” SAVk 43 (1946)
91-109= Meuli(1975) 333-51.
23. Cf. Diod. 3,59 on Attis, Luc. Syr.D. 6 on Adonis.
24. Smith (1894) 329-31; GB V 43-48 cf. VIII 204-73; Meuli (1946)
230f. ; Ishtar’s wailing at the ‘bull of heaven’ while getting a thigh (from the
sacrificial meat), Gilgames VI 156—67, ANET 85; see V 5 n. 25; in Egypt,
Hdt. 2,39f.; 42.
25. Smith ( 1894) 3 l6f. ; GB V 23 lf. The Linus song at harvest, 11. 16,570;
Diod. 1,14,2.
26. R. Caillois, Le Mythe et l'homme (Paris 1972; orig. ed. 1937).
CHAPTER VI
Section VI.1.
1. ANET 126-28; H. G. Güterbock in My
143—50; transcription in Friedrich (1967) II 53—55; cf. H. Otten, Die Ueber-
lieferungen des Telipinu-Mythos (Leipzig 1942); A. Götze, Kleinasien (Munich
19572) l43f-; H. G. Güterbock, “Gedanken über das Wesen des Gottes Teli-
pinu,” in Festschrift Johannes Friedrich (Heidelberg 1959) 207—11; Gaster
(1961) 295-315.
2. Goetze’s translation (ANET 128) “it signifies,” in the last sentence, in-
stead of “in it lay”—cf. Gaster (1961) 315—is in fact interprétation.
204 Notes to Pages 124—126
3. See 12.
4. Friedrich (1967) II 53; Gusmani (1971) 321; U7AI I 201; compared to
Dumuzi, Attis, Adonis WM I 202.
5. Güterbock in Mythologies (1961) 144, 1496; Gaster (1961) 301; WM I
201. Luwian éléments in the ritual are brought out by V. Haas, G. Wilhelm,
Hunitische undluwische Riten aus Kizzuwatna (Kevelaer 1974) 8—33.
6. The ‘Yuzgat tablet,’ Gurney (1954) 187f.; Gastet (1961) 270—94;
Güterbock in Mythologies (1961) 148; WM I 2l4f.
7. Haas (1970) 141—74, cf. Güterbock in Mythologies (1961) 144—48.
Withdrawal of Inaras, daughter of the Sun-god, and of Hannahanna: Güterbock
148.
8. GB V 3 (see V ln . 2).
9. Güterbock in Mythologies (1961) 148, cf. 144; Gaster (1961) 299—301
by circumstantial reasoning tries to establish an ‘original’ connection with the
New Year festival (Puruli), where the eia tree, and the fleece, recur, cf. 36f.,
99, 313. On the eia tree, cf. Haas ( 1970) 66f. ; Helck ( 1971) 257; set up at the
gâte of a house, it means ‘freedom’ from service, Hittite Laws sec. 50, ANET
191.
10. The Sun-god in Pap. Chester Beatty IV ANET 15; I. Lévi Mélanges F.
Cumont (Brussels 1936) 819- — Myth of Tefnut, S. West JE A 55 (1969)
161-83.
11. Lévi op. cit. 822—24; cf. G. Säflund, Aphrodite Kallipygos (Stockholm
1963) 77. Comparable also is the ‘flight of Agni,’ the ‘hiding’ of Agni in water
orwood, in the Veda, Hillebrandt I ( 1927) 144—55.
Section VI.2.
1. Paus. 8,42; his source may be Harmodius of Lepreon 16. Callim. fr. 652.
FGrHist 319; cf. Wilamowitz (1931—32) I 402—3; B. C. Dietrich, Death,
Fate and the Gods (London 1965) 118—38; Stiglitz (1967) 122—34; a dim re-
flex seems to hâve survived in a local taie, A. Conze Annali delT Instituto di
Con. Arch. 33(1861)58-60.
2. He is usually present at the ánodos of a goddess, cf. C. Bérard, Anodoi:
Essai sur Vimagerie des passages chthoniens (Basel 1974).
3. M. L. Lord, “Withdrawal and Return,” CJ 62 ( 1967) 241-48; Richard­
son ( 1974) 258f. — The elopements and returns of Helen—who is closely asso-
ciated with trees—can be taken to be further variants of the pattern. The Indo-
European background (cf. M. L. West, Immortal Fielen [London 1975]) makes
things more complicated in this case.
4. Paus. 8,42,5—7; H. W. Parke, D. E. Wormell, The Delphic Oracle (Ox­
ford 1956) no. 493; Stiglitz (1967) 126,543 thinks this is a Hellenistic inven­
tion; but even if the oracle text is fabricated, the incident, and the cuit re-
newal, may well be historical.
5. Paus. 8,42,11.
6. Cf. Burkert, “Opfertypen und antike Gesellschaftsstruktur,” in Der Re­
Notes to Pages 127—129 205
ligionswandel unserer Zeit im Spiegel der Religionswissenschaft (Darmstadt 1976)
168-87.
7. Stiglitz ( 1967) 129, cf. PW XIX 2068, thinks the absence ofgrain is due
to the mountainous locality—opting for chance instead of signification.
8. Paus. 8,25,4—10, cf. 8,42,1; Antimachus fr. 32, 35 Wyss; Callim fr.
652; Apollod. 3[77]6,8,5; Schol. Lyc. 153; Hsch. Arion; Stiglitz (1967) 110—
22.
9. Schol. //. 23,346 with reference to ‘kyklikoi,’ i.e. the old 'Thebaid'; PR I
590f. On the localization of spring and sanctuaries, J. Fontenrose TAPA 100
(1969) 119-31; AAA 6(1973) 381-85; Bull, épigr. (1973) 212.
10. O’Flaherty (1975) 29, 34f.
11. e-ri-nu ‘Erinys’ is attested at Knossos, KN Fp 1,8.
12. Apollod. 2[32] 3,2,1; the Medusa shaped as a centaur: Boeotian am-
phora in the Louvre, Schefold ( 1964) pl. 15b; the Corfu pediment, Schefold 49,
cf. pl. II.
13. F. Imhoof-Blumer, P. GardinerJHS 6 ( 1886) 102; Head (1911) 456.
14. II. 23,346f.;seen. 9.
15. Cf. PW V A 1618; in Arcadia, the coins (see n. 13) have Thelpousion,
inscriptions Thelphousa (IG V 2 41 lf ., cf. p. 101), once Thelphoisios (SEG 11
[195Ö] 1254a, JefFery [1961] 215 no. 16); Androtion FGrHist 324 F 7 wrote
Delphousia, Polybius and Steph. Byz. Telphousa, Pausanias Thelpousa. As to
Boeotia, the Homeric hymn to Apollo writes Delphousa, probably with référencé
to Delphi (cf. Wilamowitz [1931] I 400,5; Telphousa seems to be an old vari­
ant), Pindar Tilphossa (ft. 198b), as Herodian postulâtes (Steph. Byz. Tel­
phousa), cf. Ephorus FGrHist 70 F 153, Dem. 19,141; Paus. 9,33,1 has 777-
phousa.
17. The normal form was stlphe, but the Atticists prescribed tilphe, Phry-
nichus p. 300 Lobeck, hence Luc. Adv.ind. 17; tiphe Aristoph. Ach. 920, 925
etc.
18. OnLycosura, Paus. 8,37f.; Stiglitz (1967) 30—46; Burkert (1977) 418.
19. Hymn. Dem. 303—30, 441—84; cf. Eur. Hel. 1301—52; Richardson
(1974) 258f. ; see n. 3.
20. Hymn. Dem. 270—72, 297f. ; Burkert Gnomon 49 ( 1977) 442f.
21. Apollodoros FGrHist 244 F 89; Potph. antr. 18; Schol. Theoct. 15,94;
cf. Pind. Pyth. 4 ,106a m.Schol.
22. See VI 1 n. 7.
Section VI. 3-
1. Ath. 67 le—674a, quoting Menodotus FG
and Nicaenetus ( = A. S. F. Gow, D. L. Page, Hellenistic Epigrams [Cambridge
1965] 2703—10). The sanctuary, Gruben (1976) 324—40; H. Walter, Das
Heraion von Samos (Munich-Zürich 1976); R. A. Tomlinson, Greek Sanctuaries
(London 1976) 124—27; as to the ritual, Merkelbaçh-Meuli (1975) 1059—64;
206 Notes to Pages 129—131
Burkert (1977) 213. G. Kipp, “Zum Hera-Kult auf Samos,” Innsbrucker
Beiträge zur Kulturwissenschaft 18 (1974) 157—209, tries to find a sacred mar-
riage with the tree, though trees are usually female. The idea of connecting
Hera of Samos with Telepinus is due to Karl Meuli; see now R. Merkelbach
in Meuli (1975) 1035-81, esp. 1074-76 (shorter in Antaios 12 [ 1971] 549-
65); the evidence for ‘fetters,’ though, seems to be overrated, and the eia-ttee is
not mentioned.
2. AA 1964, 222f.
3. Nicaenetus, see n. 1; stibâs, see II 2 n. 38.
4. Callim. fr. 100-101; R. Pfeiffer SB Munich (1934) 10,17-19; K. Mras
RhM 87 (1938) 277-84; WSt 56 (1938) 45-54; N. Valmin AA 70 (1955)
33-40; Chr. Kardara AJA 64 (I960) 343-58; C. Gallavotti RFIC 40 (1962)
294-96; Zuntz (1971) 131-35; G. Dunst MDAI (Athen) 87 (1972) I43f.;
Merkelbach-Meuli (1975) 1059f-,pl- 59 nos. 28—31.
5. Kardara, see n. 4. As to the fillets, cf. Ishtar “who upholds the great
skipping-ropes,” Descent o f Ishtar 27, Chicago Assyrian Dictionary (1956ff.) s.v.
keppû.
6. E. Buschor MDAI (Athen) 55 (1930) 1-99; Gruben (1976) 324-40;
B. Bergquist, The Archaic Greek Temenos (Lund 1967)43-47.
7. S. Freud, "Gross ist die Dianader Ephesier,” Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse
und Psychotherapie 2 (1911) 158f. = Standard Edition XII (London 1958) 342-
44. Cf. A. Galvano, Artemis Ephesia: IIsignificato delpoliteismo greco (Milan 1967)
and the review article of M. Ghidini Tortorelli, Nuova Rivista storica 56 ( 1972)
440-52. On touristic Ephesus see the remarks of O. F. A. Meinardus WSt 1
(1973)244.
8. Comprehensive survey of the archaeological evidence in Fleischer ( 1973);
for interprétation see esp. Zuntz ( 1971) 114—41 (cf. Burkert Gnomon 46 [ 1974]
322f.). The Ephesian image: M. Meurer Komische Mitteilungen 29 (1914) 200-
219; H. Thiersch, Artemis Ephesia I (Berlin 1935); Ependytes und Ephod (Stutt­
gart 1936); Ch. Seltman, “The Wardrobe of Artemis,” Numism. Chron. VI 12
(1952) 33-51; Zuntz (1971) 127f. ; Fleischer (1973) 74-88; Merkelbach in
Meuli (1975) 1051-55.
9. Ch. Picard, Epheseet Claros (Paris 1922). See also Hanfmann (1975) 10-
12.
10. G. Seiterle in Antike Welt 10, 3 (1979) 3—16.
11. See V 6 n. 17-19.
12. Et. Gen. =Et. Ai. 252,11; Nilsson (1906) 245f. ; Merkelbach-Meuli
(1975) 1054, cf. 1071.
13. Gruben (1976) 348-59-
14. Callim. Hymn. 3,204; 240; 4,292; W. Fauth, Beiträge zur Namens­
forschung 4 ( 1969) 148—71.
15. Extensively treated by Zuntz (1971) 114—41; the pectoral, 139—41;
“the most primitive form of clothing,” 127.
16. Zuntz ( 1971) I40f.
Notes to Pages 131—134 207
17. Hes. Theog. 969.
18. Zuntz (1971) 123-26.
19. Diod. 5,4,6; Nilsson ( 1906) 356f.
20. Hdt. 7,153; Zuntz (1971) 136-39; Burkert Gnomon 46 (1974) 322.
21. Schol. Call. Hymn. 1,77b, cf. Callim. fr. 80, 17f., Hymn. 3,225-27.
A new inscription from Sardes informs about chitones for Artemis, sent from
Ephesus to Sardes, Anzeiger der Ak. Wien 99(1962) 50-52; Oejh 46(1961-63)
175—82; F. Sokołowski HTM 58(1965)427-31.
22. The nonanthropomorphic plank or trunk is especially obvious in the
Artemis of Perge, Fleischer (1973) pis. 96—106a, who even in a goddess’s
garment hardly resembles a human being. — There are Strange ‘plank’ figurines
in Early Bronze Age Cyprus, Buchholz, Karageorghis (1971) nos. 1713-16,
Fasti archaeologici 22 ( 1967) pis. 4,10, CAH pi. 64c; see VI 7 n. 12.
23. It goes south as far as Atargatis of Damascus, Fleischer ( 1973) 263-69.
24. Cf. V. V. Sevoroskin Kadmos 1 (1968) 150-73; Klio 50 (1968) 53-69-
O. Masson BSL 68 (1973) 187-213; Kadmos 13 (1974) 124-32- M Meier
Kadmos 17 (1978) 76-84.
25. A. Kammenhuber, Das Hattische,” in Handbuch der Orientalistik I
2,1/2,2 (Leiden 1969) 463—67, who, however, by reasons of geography, is
skeptical (441) against the ‘Léleges’ thesis, for which see W. Brandenstein, PW
Supp. VI (1935) I69f. The evidence on Leleges and Carians is conveniently
summarized in W. W. How, J. Wells, A Commentary on Hesiod I (Oxford
19282) 130-32.
Section VI.4.
1. Plut. fr. 157 Sandbach = Euseb. Praep.
9,3,1-8; Nilsson (1906) 50-56; K. Kerényi, Zeus und Hera (Leiden 1972)
ll4 f. The fourteen communities,’ Paus. 9,3,6, présupposé the intégration
of Plataea into the Boeotian league at its restoration by Cassander, PW III 657f
2. Mannhardt (1875)1 155-90.
3. Paus. 9,3,4. — A ceremony of‘felling the tree,’ dendrokópion, for Hera is
attested at Cos, R. Herzog, Koische Forschungen und Funde (Leipzig 1899) 133
4. Plut. fr. 157; Paus. 9,3, lf.
5. Plut. fr. 157,7.
6. Mannhardt ( 1875) I 157f.
7. Risch (1974) 74; G. Nagy in Studies in Greek, Italic, and Indoeuropean
Linguistics Offered to L. R. Palmer (Innsbruck 1976) 220.
8. In the sanctuary of Isis at Byblos, there was the shaft of an ereike tree
wrapped in a linen cloth, as an object of vénération, Plut. Is. 357c- see V 3
n. 15; VI 6.
9. Hittite ar(i)na ‘spring’ + 1-prefix (see VI 3 n. 25), E. Forrer Giotta 26
(1938) 195f. (hesitatingly).
10. I. A. Sakellarakis AE 1972, 245—58 has reconstructed a scene of Mino-
an iconography: a priestess carrying a sacrificial animal toward a wooden altar.
208 Notes to Pages 134-135
11. KN Fp 1,3. On idols called Daidâleia, Aristoph. fr. 194, see Meuli
(1975) 1038f.
12. Plut. fr. 157, 3-5.
Section VI.5.
1. Crates FGrHist 362 F 1; Plut. Thés. 22,7 = Carmina
popularía 2 Diehl; Schol. Aristoph. Eq. 729, Plut. 1054; Lex.Patm. eiresiéne =
FGrHist 401 cF 1. Samos: Vit. Hom. Herodot. 33 = Carminapopularía 1 Diehl;
Rhodes: Ath. 360bd = Theognis FGrHist 526 F 1 = PMG 848. Cf. Dieterich
(1911) 324-52; Deubner ( 1932) 199-201; Meuli (1975) 33-68 = SAVk 28
(1927-28) 1-38.
2. The Delphinion is mentioned Plut. Thés. 18,1 cf. 22,6; cf. the Theseus
story, Paus. 1,19,1; Apollo Delphinios (v.l.Delpheios) hymn. Apoll. 495, with
the dolphin story. On Delphinios, F. Graf MH 36( 1979)2—22; association with
Telepinus: R. D. Barnett, The Aegaean and the Near East (Locust Valley 1956)
219-
3. Callim. fr. 89; Ael. var. hist. 3,1; cf. Callim. fr. 194,34—36; Plut.#.
Graec. 293c.; Def. Orac. 4l8ab; Burkert (1972) I46f.
4. Proclus, Chrestomathy, in Phot. Bibl. 32la 35—b32 = Schol. Clem. Protr.
p. 299, 4 —19 Stählin, cf. Pindarfr. 52r. Nilsson ( 1906) 164f.; Burkert ( 1977)
l65f. — An eighth-century temple of peculiar shape for Apollo Daphnephoros
at Eretria, suggesting a ‘laurel hut’ to the excavators: AK 17 ( 1974) 60—68. At
Sicyon, children tried to call back Artemis and Apollo, who had ‘fled away,’
Paus. 2,7,7f.
5. Madrid, Museo Arqueológico 11050 = A. Cambitoglou, A. D. Tren­
dall, Apulian Red-Figured Vase Painters o f the Plain Style ( 1961) 48 no.21; Gym­
nasium 64 (1957) pl. 8 fig. 14 (sic; the provenience ‘Leningrad’ belongs to fig.
13). — A “search for Dionysus, as if he had run away” in the context of the
Agrionia festival, Plut, q.conv. 717a; Burkert (1972) 197. — A ‘tree of
affluence,’ albero délia cuccagna, in Tirol: Mannhardt (1875) I 169, 172 n.; on
the Christmas tree, Mannhardt 238—5 1.
6. Hes. fr. 43; Hellanicus FGrHist 4 F 7; Palaephatus 23; Callim. Hymn.
6; Ov. Met. 8,728 -878; O. Crusius RML I 1373-84; PR I 776f.; Kern PW
VI 571—73; Wilamowitz (1924) II 34—44; K. J. McKay, Erysichthon (Leiden
1962); D. Fehling, “Erysichthon oder das Märchen von der mündlichen Ueber-
lieferung,” RhM 115 (1972) 173—96 thinks Callimachus invented the tree
story—though Callimachus professed to sing ‘nothing not attested,’ fr. 612.
— Since ‘Aithon’ is given as another name of Erysichthon, chis ñame is probably
connected with the root eryth-, ‘red earth.’
7. Call. Hymn. 6,24; Diod. 5,57,6. See VI 3 n. 18.
8. Erysichthonídai: Inscr. Délos 2517—18; cf. Jacoby on Phanodemus FGrHist
325 F 2; Plut. fr. 158; Paus. 1,18,5; 1,31,2, mentioning Hyperboreans and
Eileithyia, cf. Hdt. 4,35 on the connection with begging songs.
Notes to Pages 136—138 209
Section VI. 6.
1. dotêres eâon: 0d. 8,325 cf. 335, an Indo-European formu­
la, R. Schmitt, Dichtung und Dichtersprache in indogermanischer Zeit (Wiesbaden
1967) lOf.
2. Mannhardt ( 1875) I 155—25 1; he tries to explain the burning of the tree
by allegory: “dass die Vegetation durch das Sonnenlicht und die Sonnen­
wärme des Sommers zur Entfaltung und zur Reife gebracht wird,” 186.
3. G. Roheim, “Aphrodite or the Woman with a Penis,” Psychoanalytic
Quarterly 14(1945) 350-90.
4. See II 2 nn. 28—34; cf. the ‘holy men’ of Apollo Hylatas at Magnesia
at the Lethaios, Paus. 10,32,6, Franke (1968) no. 118: they tear out trees and
jump down the mountain slopes. Strab. 10 p. 468 considère ‘carrying trees,’
dendrophoriai, as characteristic of ecstatic cuits, esp. Demeter and Dionysus.
5. See VI 2 n. 4.
6. 'arbor intrat’: calendar of Philocalus, March 22; Jul. or. 5,168c; Lydos
Mens. 4,59, p. 113 Wuensch; Vermaseren (1977) 115, pl. 73; Mannhardt
(1877) II 291—95; Hepding ( 1903) 150f.; Hierapolis: Luc. Syr.D. 49; Mann­
hardt II 259—63. Firm. Err. 27,2 mentions a festival of ‘Proserpina’: caesa
arbor in efßgiem virginis formamque componitur, et cum intra civitatem fuerit inlata,
quadraginta noctibus plangitur, quadragesima vero nocte comburitur.
7. Hsch. Aota, see V 3 n. 19-
8. Firm. Err. 27,1; 4.
9. Luc. Syr.D. 49.
10. GB VIII 317—21. He who has killed a wolf will go around ‘collecting
gifts’ for the wolf’s funeral: Schol. Apoll.Rh. 2,123.
11. Kirk (1970) 152-62.
12. Amphora Berlin A 9, CV Berlin 1 pl. 5 (Deutschland 51), J. D. Beaz-
ley, The Development ofAttic Black-Figure (Berkeley 1951) pl. 4, Schefold ( 1964)
pl. 29a. — Modern hunters are taught to break a pine branch to mark the slain
stag, and to adorn themselves with another twig, W. Frevert, Das jagdliche
Brauchtum (Hamburg 19691#) 67—70.
13. See V 6.
14. On the shaman’s tree, Findeisen (1957) 112—20, esp. 116; bold spécu­
lations in E. A. S. Butterworth, The Tree at the Navel o f the Earth (Berlin 1970).
Section VI. 7.
1. Nilsson (1955) 469: “In die Demeterreligion greift der
Mythos ungewöhnlich tief ein.” On the variants of the myth, cf. R. Förster,
Der Raub und die Rückkehr der Persephone in ihrer Bedeutung fü r die Mythologie,
Litteratur- und Kunstgeschichte (Stuttgart 1874); L. Bloch RML II 1284—1379;
Richardson (1974) esp. 74-86; Graf(1974) 151-81.
2. Helck ( 1971) 92f. : "Urerlebnis”; K. Kerényi, Eleusis: Archétypal Image o f
Mother and Daughter (New York 1967).
210 Notes to Pages 138—141
3. Hymn. Dem. 401-3; Nilsson ARW 32 (1933) 106-14 = (1952) 577-
88, cf. (1955) 472—74, following F. M. Cornford, Essays andStudies presented
to W■Ridgeway (Cambridge 1913) 153—66; contra, K. Kourouniotis Deltion
15 (1933—35) 6—15. See now A. B. Chandor, “The Attic Festivals of De­
meter and their Relation to the Agricultural Year” (Diss. University of Penn­
sylvania 1976).
4. See VI 3 n. 15.
5. GB VII 131—213, following Mannhardt (1884) 296—350; ‘old wife’
and ‘maiden’ GB VII 164—68, cf. 197—99, 209; the influence of the ancient
myth is never to be excluded in Europe, cf. ‘Ceres’ GB VII 135.
6. A Cherokee myth ( J. Mooney, Mytbs ofthe Cherokee, 19th Annual Report
of the Bureau of American Ethnography [Washington 1897—98] 252—54; C.
Lévi-Strauss, Mythologiques III [Paris 1968] 229) has the daughter of Mother
Sun killed by a rattlesnake; six men try to bring her back, but fail; the insti­
tution of dances makes Sun smile again. This is structurally identical with the
Meter/Demeter myth, but without reference to grain.
7. See VI l ; V 4 n . 9.
8. Diod. 4,23,4; 5,4,2; Cic. Verr. 4,107; Ov. Met. 5,412—24, see IV 3 n.
20; II 6 n. 9; Burkert (1972) 287.
9- Koragot at Mantineia, IG V 2,265; 266; cf. Hsch. koragem ‘to bring up
Kore’; An.Ox. I 255 s.v. Korybantes.
10. See VI 3 n. 19.
11. Nilsson (1906) 313-25; Farnell (1896-1909) III 75-112; Deubner
(1932) 50—60; Nilsson (1955) 463—66; J. Prytz Johansen, “The Thesmo-
phoria as a Women’s Festival,” Temenos 11 (1975) 78—87; Burkert (1977)
365-70.
12. Helck (1971) 28f.; Natufien: J. Mellaart, Earliest Civilizations (London
1965) 29 fig. 11; fatal Hüyük, ib. fig 76 = Mellart ( 1967) pis. 70-71, Helck
47 fig. 122; in Neolithic Romania and Yugoslavia: M. Gimbutas, The Gods and
Goddesses ofOld Europe (London 1974) pis. 86, 100; at Teil Brak, fourth millen­
nium, Helck fig. 126; third millennium, Alaça Höyük: Akurgal-Hirmer
(1961) fig. 21; Helck fig. 123; Kültepe: Helck fig. 124, U. Badahir Alkim,
Anatolien I (Geneva 1968) fig. 70; second millennium, Cyprus: Helck fig.
125, Buchholz, Karageorghis (1971) nos. 1714-16, see VI 3 n. 22; IV 1 n.
2. Groups of two goddesses: T. Hadzisteliou Price, “Double and Multiple
Représentations in Greek Art and Religious Thought,” JHS 91 (1971)
48-69.
13- Steph.Byz. Lemnos . . . ‘the Great Goddess, whom they call Lemnos:
to her they say, virgins are sacrificed. ’
14. S. Alexiou, "He minoike theä meth’ hypsoménon cheirSn." Kretikd Chronikä
12 (1958) 179—299; E. Brandt, Gruss und Gebet: Eine Studie zu Gebärden in der
minois ch-mykenischen und frühgriechischen Kunst (Waldsassen 1965); the earliest
Zeus statuettes from Olympia, E. Kunze Ä<S-A 2 (1946) 98—101.
15. See II 2 n. 17.
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Adrasteia, 190 ( 19) Arcadia, 125-127
Aenianes, 65f., 73 archetypus, 17, 138f., 150(7)
Agdistis, 104, llOf. See Magna Mater Argonauts, 10, 15
Agrigento, 131 Argos, 79, 113f.
Agrionia, 208 (5) Aricia, 113
Aia, 10 Arion, 127
Alcyoneus, 95, 97 Ansteides (Apologist), 109
Alexander, 53 Aristotle, 6, 24, 26, 145 (21)
allegory, 4, 85, lOOf. C
Artem ïsN ll8, 140, 200 (23), 202 (9),
Amathus, 107, 195 (22) ... 207X21); Chitone, 131; Ephesia,
Amazon Indians, 89f. 130f., 135—137; mistress of animais,
amazons, 19, 78, 102 97, 184 (1), (2); Pergaia, 207 (22)
Amphion, 24 a ssin n u , 183 (12), 191 (32)
Amphitryon, 82 Astarte, 106, 111, 200 (26), 203 (21).
Amymone, 58 See Istar
Anatolian tradition, 30, 130—132, 134, Astour, M. C ., 155 (10)
140, 198 (21) Atalanta, 202 (16)
Ancaeus, 108 Atargatis, 104f., 130, 134, 137, 194
anemone, 195 (27) (16), 207 (23)
animal bridegroom, 75; metamorphosis, Athena, 202 (9)
7 Athens: history, 62, 70, 75; rituals, 65,
animais: rôle of, 19, 28, 5 4 -5 6 , 88—91, 103, 112f., 134, 202 (6)
94f. ; behaviour, 15, 49, 53; ritual, Attis, 99-10 2 , 104, 1 lOf., 118, 121,
36f., 40, 43, 45 137, 146(24)
Antimachus, 127 Atys, 104, 108
Antiope, 6 f., 24 Auge, 6f.
a p a r fh a i , 52—54 Augeas, 95, 97
Aphaca, 193 (14), 194 (15) Avesta, 181 (1)
Aphrodite, 101-103, 106f., 109-118, Azazel, 64
137, 192 (9)
Apollo, 4, 23, 94, 127, 134f.; Baal, 188 (14), 193 (3), 203 (20)
Daphnephoros, 135f.; Delphinios, 30, Baalat, 106, 193 (15)
134; Hylatas, 209 (4); Ismenios, 135; Babylonian mythology, 80; ritual, 68f.,
master of animais, 97, 184 (29), (1), 107. See Istar, Tammuz
(2); Thargelia, 65, 72 bask anos, 72f.

219
220 Index Index 221
bath, 42 Cornford, F. M ., 35 Durand, G ., 150 (7) Findeisen, H ., 91
Baudissin, W . W ., 194(16) cornucopia, 96 Durkheim, E., 35, 49 fire, use of, 24, 34, 54, 184 (29); fire
bee, 123, 128 Corybantes, 120f., 190 (19), 202 (18) Dussaud, R ., 192 (3), 193 (15) ritual, 132f., 194(15)
Bellerophon, 115 Cos, 78, 207 (3)
fla m en D ia lis, 43
Bergson, H ., 38 cosmogony, 23 Earth-goddess, 133, 187 (3), 191 (34) flood myth, 191 (29), (31)
Bes, 177 (2) Crete, 29, 79, 134. See Knossos Edda, 75 folktale and myth, l f ., 6, 33
biology, 15f., 3 7-39 , 45, 51, 122 Cybele, 101-103, 111, 120, 130, 189 effeminate priests, 30, 183 (12), 191 Fontenrose, J ., 36, 152 (2)
Bittel, K ., 103 (6). See Magna Mater (32), 203 (21) Frazer, J . G., 35, 68f., 99-10 1 , 124,
Beth-El, 42, 174 (6) Cyclops, 23, 31-34 Egypt, 82, 9 9-10 1 , 125, 193 (15) 139, 170(1), 171.(2)
Boas, F., 17, 149 (11), 151 (4), (7), 153 Cyprus, 106f., 137, 140, 196 (7) eiresión e, 134f. Freud, S., 13f., 17, 35f., 136
(5) Cyzicus, 104f., 190 (19), 202 (18) Eissfeldt, O ., 192 (3), 194 ( 16) Friedländer, P ., 79
Boston Throne, 197 (15) E k dysia , 29
b oü lim os , 65 Dactyls, 120 Eleusis, 43, 97, 104, 128 g d llo i , 104, 110, 119f.
b ou p h on ia , 167 (5) d a id a la , 432 -1 3 4, 136, 140 Elis, 95 g a ilu , 101, 109-111, 198 (20)
rbrancfces, 4 3 -4 5 Danae, 6f. Enkidu, 201 (1) Gaster, Th. H ., 36, 100, 204 (9)
vfjrauron) 200 (23) Danaids, 145 (20) Enodia, 59f. Gela, 131
bread, breaking of, 168 (11) Daphnephoria, 135 Ephesus, 103, 130-132, 137 Genghis Khan, 155 (9)
Bremond, C ., 11 Darwin, Ch., 48 Epimenides, 192 (2) Gennep, A. van, 36
Brommer, F., 177 (2) Daunian steles, 8 6f., 91, 93 epiphany gesture, 141 Gernet, L ., 70f.
Byblos, 106, 108, 134, 193 (14), (15), David, 53, 66 Equus October, 113 Geryon, 8 3 -8 5 , 88, 93, 97, 183 (11)
207 (8) Dawkins, R ., 4 8 f., 165 (8), 167 (9), (15) Ereskigal, 109f. Geštinanna, 109
dead, cult of, 42 Eretria, 208 (4) Gilgameš, 80, 94, 178 (2), 184 (33), 192
Cacus, 84—86, 88, 97 Delos, 135, 184 (1) Erinys, 127 (6), 203 (24)
Caeneus, 29f. Delphi, 23, 42, 126f., 135 Erysichthon, 135 Gladigow, B ., 185 (16)
Caesar, 25, 71 Demeter, 103, 131, 13 5f., 138—140; Erythrai, 5 9 -6 1 , 72f. Glaukos Potnieus, 112
Callimachus, 40, 104, 113, 127, 208 M éla in a , Phigalia, 51, 125—128 Eryx, 84 Gnosis, 145 (22)
( 6) Détienne, M ., 107, 192 (1) Eskimos, 88f., 95, 165 (17), 202 (19) Goetze, A ., 203 (2)
cannibalism, 32f., 94 Deubner, L., 36, 171 (3) Eśmun, 111, 192 (3), 193 (15) gorgon, 127
Carians, 129, 132 d e v o tio , 63f., 173 (29) ethology, 36, 39f., 4 3 -4 5 , 49 gou n a z esth a i , 45—47
castration, 104f., 108, 110, 120, 191 Dieterich, A ., 36 Etruscans, 86 Great Goddess, fata l Hüyük, 55, 119f.
(26), (33), (34), 198 (18) Diodorus, 131, 139 Eumenids, 44 See Magna Mater
Qatal Hüyük, 55, 119f. Diomedes, 94f., 97 eunuch priests,*105, 120, 191 (32), 203 Greimas, A ., 11, 14, 144 (11), 147 (9)
Catullus, 190(21) Dionysus, 4 3 f , 135f., 168(11), 202 (9), ( 21 ) griffin, 151(7)
caves, 8 4 -8 8 , 9 0 -9 3 , 120, 125f. 208 (5); and Cybele, 102, 104 Eurípides, 111, 118 Gyges, 196 (7)
Celtic religion, 86 Dioscuri, 74 eusébeia, 50
Centaurs, 30, 137, 176 (2) Dodona, 84, 93 Evans, A ., 187 (1) Haas, V ., 9f.
Cerberus, 95f. Dodds, E. R ., 88 Evans-Pritchard, E. E., 38, 102 Hades, 86, 88f., 97
Chaeronea, 65 Dolon, 46 evil eye, 40, 73, 157 (30) Hahn, J . G. v ., 6, 147 (19)
charter myth, 23 Dorians, 25, 62, 79, 83, 95, 97, 113, Ezekiel, 106 H ä lio f'G ero n , 95—97
Chimaera, 4, 115 186 (24)
Harrison, J . E., 35f., 38, 171 (2)
Cinyras, 194 (18), 196 (7) double goddess, 140 Fabius Pictor, 76 Hecate, 139, 203 (21)
circumcision, 191 (33) dragon fight, 4, 7-1 0, 20, 23, 57, 80, fable, 23 Helck, W ., 10 lf.
Cnidus, 131, 135 156 (22) Farneil, L. R ., 79 Helen, 24, 74f., 204 (3)
Cnopus, 59f., 73 Dumuzi, 101, 106, 108—111, 115, 118, Faure, P ., 91 Helios, 8 3f., 94f. See Sun-god
Codrus, 59, 62f., 65, 71 139, 196(10) Fauth, W ., 112, 196 (7) Hellanicus, 85
Colophon, 65 Dundės, A ., 5 f , 11, 16, 143 (7) Fehling, D ., 208 (6) Hellen, 25f., 57
combat tale, 8 f., 16, 18—21, 146 (7) DurarEuropos, 194 (16) fe t ia le s , 34 Hera, 30; and Heracles, 78f., 89, 97;
222 Index Index 223
Labraunda, 130, 186 (22) Medea, 9f.
Plataea, 133f., 141; Samos, 44, 129f., Illuyankas, 7 -1 0, 19
Langer, S., 2 Melampus, 25, 30, 86f.
135f. Inanna, 101, 106, 108-111, 115, 139,
Leleges, 132, 207 (25) Melanippe, 6f.
Heracles, 7, 7 8 -9 8 183 (12)
Inaras, 8, 129, 204 (7) léopards, 55, 71, 120, 202 (16); léopard Melite, 75
Hermes, 3 9 -4 1 , 128, 184 (29)
men, 119 Melqart, 177 (1), 188 (10)
herms, 39—41 India: rituals, 44, 60, 107; Mohenjo
Lerna, 134 Menodotus, 129f-
Herodotus, 40, 73, 75, 104 Dato, 178 (10). See Vedic
Indo-European mythology, 8 5f., 88, 91, Leto, 29, 134, 140 Merkelbach, R ., 206 (1)
heroes, 74, 152 (2)
93f., 97, 133, 200 (26), 204 (3), 209 Leucadian cliff, 171(12) metamorphosis, 7, 29
Herskovits, M. J . and F. S., 153 (5)
Leucippus, 29 metaphor, 27f.
Hesiod: Theogony, 20—22, 83; (1); titual, 114
Leucothea, 58, 200 (25) Meter. See Magna Mater
Catalogues, 1, 30, 86f., 105, 135 Indra, 85 f ., 96f.
Leuctra, 74f. m e tra g yrta i, 103
Hesione, 78 initiation ritual, 16, 29f., 34, 57, 201
L euk trides, 74 Metropolis, 105, 189(6)
Hetzner, U ., 173 (U (36)
Hieropolis-Bambyke, 104f., 120, 134, Io, 6f. Lévi-Strauss, C , 5f., 10-14, 18, 31, 67, Meuli, K ., 10, 37, 54, 94, 161 (3), 182
76, 151 (4) (4), 206 (1)
137, 196 (5), 201 (35); in Phrygia, Ionians, 25, 59—61, 131
Iphigeneia, 200 (23) libation, 41—44, 52, 141 Midas: legend, 196(7); ‘tomb,’ 103, 189
104f.
lion, 102f., 120; lion fight, 78, 82 95 ( 6)
h ik eteria , 44 Isaiah, 80, 107
97 Miletus, 131
Hipparchus (tyrant), 40 Istar, 106, 109, 114, 139, 191 (32), 203
Livy, 63f. Minotaur, 91
Hippolytus, 99, 111-116, 122 (24), 206 (5). See Inanna
Locrian pinaces, 197 (15) mistress of animais, 88f., 91- See master
Hipponax, 65 Italy, 8 3 -8 5 , 91-93
logic, and myth, 20, 14, 152 (9) of animais
history: and humanities, 27, 154 (3)
lo go s, 3, 145 (14) Mithras, 184 (29)
Hittite: rituals, 8, 4 l f ., 94, 102, 124, Jacobsen, T h ., 100
Jacobson, R ., 144 (12), 146 (1) Lorenz, K ., 36f., 51 Molione, 176 (2)
192 (8); scapegoats, 60f., 66, 68f., 73;
Lucian, 104, 194 (15) Mother Goddess, 101, 103f., 123, 128f.,
mythology, see Illuyankas, Kumarbi, Jerome, 194 (16)
Lucretia, 75 183 (21), 204 (7). See Magna Mater
Telepinus, Ullikummi Jonah, 71
lu p erci, 51 Müller, K. O., 78f.
Hittites, Late, 8 0f., 102 Joseph, 192 (6)
Luwians, 204 (5) Münz, P ., 155 (6)
Homer: Iliad, 25, 78, 86, 94f., 141; Judith, 75
Jung, C. G ., 4, 17, 69, 136, 144 (8) Lycians, 25, 187 (24) Murray, G ., 35
Odyssey, 31—34, 74, 94; hymn to
Lycosura, 128 Mycenae shaft graves, 4
Apollo, 113, 134; to Aphrodite, 103;
Lydians, 97, 102 Mycenaean tradition, 41, 59, 103, 113f.,
to Demeter, 128, 131, 138; to Kallisto, 6f.
lyg o s tree, 129f. 126f., 141, 187 (25)
Hermes, 184 (29) Kerenyi, K ., 146 (2)
homosexuality, 29, 120, 191 (32), 197 king, magic, 68f. Myrrha, 106
Kipp, G ., 206(1) Ma Bellona, 203 (20) M yrtilus, 200 (20), 201 (34)
(17)
Kirk, G., 1, 21f., 31, 36, 137, 154 Macedonians, 75, 97 myth: définition, lf ., 22f., 124, 143 (3);
Hooke, S. H ., 36
magi, 43f. and history, 27; and nature, 4, 100f.;
horse sacrifice, 113, 184 (22), 201 (34) (16)
magic, 19, 6 7 -6 9 , 136, 163 (32) and ritual, 23, 36, 56—58; mythical
Hubert, H ., 36 Kirke, 182 (19)
magical flight, 15, 57, 151 (5) age, 24
human sacrifice: scapegoats, 65f ., 68; Kluckhohn, C., 159 (11)
Knossos, 103, 134 Magna Mater, 101, 103-105, 107L, m fth o s, 3, 17, 145 (14)
girls, 57f., 7 4f., 139f-
118-120, 134, 137
hunting, 17, 53f-, 71, 8 8 -9 3 , 108, Köngäs, E. K ., 12
Kombabos, 104, 201 (35), 202 (18) Malinowski, B ., 23 names and myth, 23, 28f., 127f.
118-121, 137, 190(19), 201 (35),
k ora goi, 139
Mannhardt, W ., 2, 3 6 -3 8 , 51, 68f., Nannakos, 191(31)
209 (12)
Kore. See Persephone 100, 136, 139, 158 (6), 209 (2) Nathorst, B ., 11
Hurrite mythology, 201 (1)
Maranda, P ., 12 Neleus, 86, 131
Huxley, J . , 36 k riob olion , 119, 202 (9)
Marseilles, 65, 84 Neolithic: révolution, 55f., 137f. ; cave
Hyakinthia, 44 Kronos, 20—22, 29
master of animais, 33, 81, 88—91, painting, 91-93
Hydra, 80—82. See snake Kubaba, 102-104, 120
Kumarbi, 2 0 -2 2 , 29, 197 (18) 9 4 -9 7 , 114, 187 (25) Nergal, 82, 197 (11)
Hyllos, 97
Mauss, M ., 36 Nestor, 42, 86
Hyman, S. E ., 36 k u rg a rru , 183 (12), 191 (32)
Kybebe, 102f. See Cybele, Magna Mater maypole, 132f., 135 Neumann, E., 69f.
Hyperboreans, 94, 208 (8)
224 Index Index 225
Nilsson, M. P ., 36, 138, 171 (3) Plataea, 132-134, l40f. first fruits, 52—54, 126; by immer­ 76, 136, 144 (11), 192 (1). See Lévi-
Ninurta, 80 Plutarch, 4, 36, 40, 133f., 194(16) sion, 58; paleolithic origins, 45; vol- Strauss, Propp
Nitschke, A ., 150 (7) Polyaenus, 59—61 untary, 9; and Prometheus, 24; Sumerian mythology. See Dumuzi, Eres-
Polycrates, 73 Hermes, 184 (29). See human sacrifice, kigal, g a llu , Inanna, Ninurta
Oceanus, 83f. Polycrite, 72f., 76f. libation Sun-god, 4, 10, 83f., 93f., 123L, 128,
Odysseus, 15, 23f., 31-34 , 182 (19) Polyphema, 157 (27) saga, 24 204 (10), 210 (6)
Oedipus, 4, 13, 19, 22, 65f., 71, 157 Popol Vuh, 147 (19), 175 (23) Sakaia, 68 symbols, 18, 51
(30) Poseidon, 7, 112-115, 125, 127 Salambo, 193 (15) Syracuse, 131; Cyane spring, 58, 139
Oineus, 26 Porto Badisco, caves of, 9 lf- Samos, 73, 129f-, 132, 134 Syria dea. See Atargatis, Hieropolis-
Omphale, 186 (22) Potiphar motif, 115, 201 (34) Samothrace, 40 Bambyke
omphalos, 42 Prometheus, 24, 80, 82, 84 Santas, 82
Orchestos, 113 Propp, V ., 5f., 10f., 15f., 20f., 32, 79, Sappho, 106 Tammuz, 100, 106-109, 121, 192 (6),
oral tradition: problem of continuity, 2, 84, 121, 124, 155 (3) Sardes, 102, 207 (21) (9), 193 (13), (14), 194 (16). See
20, 144 (10); Greek epic, 78 Proserpina, 209 (6) Saturnalia king, 68f. Dumuzi
Orestes, 19 Proteus, 95f. scapegoat, 59—72; Old Testament, 64; Tarpeia, 76f.
Orestheus, 26 Proto-Hattian, 124, 132, 134 psycholofy, 69 Tarsus, 82
origin, concept of, 27 Prudentius, 119 Schächter, A ., 199 (19) ta u rob ólion , 119
Osiris, 9 9-10 1 , 188 (11), 193 (15) psychoanalysis, 17f., 49, 69, 130, 136. Schmidt, W ., 52 Telepinus, 123-125, 133-137, 139f.,
ostrakism os, 70f. See Freud, Jung Schweitzer, B ., 80 184 (33), 204 (1)
Ovid, 24 purification, 65, 67f. Scythians, 87f. Telines, 131, 135
Puruli festival, 8, 204 (9) Sedna, 88f., 95 Thargelia, 6 5f., 72f.
Palaeolithic tradition, 34, 45, 52, 55, Pylos, 42, 78, 84, 86, 88, 184 (29) semantics, 14, 144 (11), 148 (4), 150 Thebes, 74f.
88, 93, 99 ! (3), (4) Thelpusa, 127f.
Palmyra, 106 Racine, 111 Semitic, 105f., 109f. See Adonis Theseus, 25, 30, 208 (2)
Pan, 125, 194(16) Raglan, Lord, 36 Semonides, 102 Thesmophoria, 44, 139
Pan painter, 41 Rasmussen, K ., 89 Seneca, 38, 111 Thessaly, 59—61
Panyasis, 105, 109f., 115 religion, and ritual, 37f., 4 5f., 50f. See Servius, 44 Thetis, 95f.
Parthenius, 72f. sacrifice sex: and combat tale, 20, 75; and status, Three-headed monster, 83—85, 88, 182
Pausanias, 36, 112, 125—129 Rhodes, 186 (24), 201 (34) 40, 120f. ; change of, 29f. See castra­ (2)
Peleus, 201 (35) Ricoeur, P ., 155 (5) tion, phallus, sacred marriage Tilphussa, 127f.
Pergamum, 104, 202 (6), (9) ritual, 35—58; définition of, 36f.; and shamanism, 19, 88—90, 95—97, 138, Timavon, 95
Perge, 195 (19), 207 (22) ‘ideas,’ 38, 50; and myth, 23, 36, 165 (17), 183 (12) Timotheus, 104, 110, 198 (20)
Periclymenus, 86f., 96 5 6 -5 8 ; ritual of appeasement, 43—45, Siberian tribes, 89—91 Tiresias, 30
p e r ip s m a , 65 124; expulsion, 6 0 f., 65f., 70f.; fertil­ Sicily, 84f., 131, 137, 139 transvestites. See effeminate priests
Persephone, 19, 58, 100, 109f., 128, ity, lOOf. ; hunting, 53—56, 119f., Sicyon, 208 (4) Trecaranus, 86f.
131, 136, 138-140 137f. ; search, 129—133; weeping, Siegfried, 4, 155 (9) Troezen, 111-115
Pessinus, 104f., 110, 120, 191(31), 196 106f., 121, 209 (6). See sacrifice, Skatin ó , cave of, 91 Trojan horse, 6 l f ., 73—75
(5), 198 (20) scapegoat Smith, W . R ., 35, 38 Trojan W ar, 24f., 33, 74
Phaedra, 111—116 rock-paintings, 89—91 snake, 20, 3 0 -3 2 , 8 0 -8 2 , 95 Tylor, E. B ., 51
Phaethon, 4, 115 Roman myths, 76f., 84; rituals, 63f., Socrates, 24 Typhon, 7—9
phallus, 3 9 -4 1 , 45, 136, 157 (30) 113; Magna Mater, 104, 108, 137 Sophocles, 44 Tyro, 6f.
p b a rm a k os, 6 4 f., 72 Sparta, 74 Tzetzes, 65
Pherecydes of Athens, 62 Sabazios, 190 (18) Staal, F., 183 (20)
Phigalia, 51, 125-128, 131, 137, 139 Sabines, 76 Stesichorus, 83, 177 (2) Ugarit, 75, 80, 102, 188 (14), 192 (3),
Phoenicians, 107, 195 (20) sacred marriage, 108, 196 (7) s t ib a s, 44 (8), 195 (27)
Phrygians, 103f. sacrifice: of animais, 33, 54—56, 91, 93, Stiglitz, R ., 205 (7) Ullikummi, 110, 197 (18)
P ia g e t,J .,2 4 96, 124, 133, 137, 139;ofbulls, 60f., stones, piles of, 4 lf. ; throwing of, 51 Upis, 130
Pindar, 24, 104, 135 119-121, 130, 198 (20), 200 (24); structuralism, 5 —14, 21, 27f., 39, 67, Usener, H ., 36, 38
226 Index
Vedic mythology, 85f., 94, 127, 133, Visvarupa, 8 5f., 88, 96f.
204 (11); ritual, 44, 114, 167 (11)
végétation, spirit of, 68f., 99—101, 112, Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U .v., 78f.,
121, 124, 136 111
‘Venus statuettes,’ 183 (21), 187 (1) wolf, 71, 209 (10)
Vermaseren, M. J ., 187 (3)
V em ôpheto , cave of, 91 Xenophon, 41, 75
Vestal virgins, 176 (34)
Virbius, 113 Zeus, 4, 7, 30, 110, 125, 128, 133f.
virgin, in combat taie, 20, 75. See human Ziusudra, 191 (29)
sacrifice
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