Restless Dead: Encounters between the Living and the Dead in Ancient Greece 9780520922310

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Restless Dead Encounters Between the Living and the Dead in Ancient Greece SARAH ILES JOHNSTON

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS Berkeley

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Los Angeles

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London

University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California University of California Press, Ltd. London, England © 1999 by the Regents of the University of California

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Johnston, Sarah lies, 1957Restless dead : encounters between the living and the dead in ancient Greece / Sarah lies Johnston. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-520-21707-2 (alk. paper) i. Ghosts—Greece—History. 2. Greece— Religion. I. Title. BFI472.08764 1999 133.1/0938—dc2i 98-44365 CIP

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The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of ANSI/NISO 739.48-1992 (R 1997) (Permanence of Paper}. ©

For Carole E. Newlands, in friendship and admiration

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Contents

Prologue

vii

Acknowledgments

xv

Frequently Used Terms

xvii

Abbreviations

xxi

PART I. A SHORT HISTORY OF THE DEAD IN ANCIENT GREECE

1. Elpenor and Others: Narrative Descriptions of the Dead 2. To Honor and Avert: Rituals Addressed to the Dead 3. Magical Solutions to Deadly Problems: The Origin and Roles of the Goes

3 36 82

PART II. RESTLESS DEAD

4. The Unavenged: Dealing with Those Who Die Violently

127

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Contents

5. Childless Mothers and Blighted Virgins: Female Ghosts and Their Victims

161

PART III. DIVINITIES AND THE DEAD

6. Hecate and the Dying Maiden: How the Mistress of Ghosts Earned Her Title 7. Purging the Polis: Erinyes, Eumenides, and Semnai Theai

203 250

Bibliography

289

General Index

309

Index Locorum Texts

315

Inscriptions

3 29

Prologue The Corinthian tyrant Periander sent his henchmen to the oracle of the dead to ask where he had lost something. The ghost of Periander's dead wife, Melissa, was conjured up but she refused to tell them where the object was because she was cold and naked—she said that the clothes buried with her were useless because they had not been burnt properly. To prove who she was, she told the men to tell Periander that he had put his bread into a cold oven. This convinced Periander, who knew that he had made love to Melissa's corpse after she died. Periander immediately ordered every woman in Corinth to assemble at the temple of Hera. They all came wearing their best clothes, assuming there was going to be a festival. Periander then told his guards to strip the women naked and burn their clothes in a pit while he prayed to Melissa. Then Melissa's ghost told him where the missing object was.

So goes one of our oldest ghost stories.1 The Greek historian Herodotus tells it to illustrate the moral flaws of a tyrant: to serve his own purposes, Periander was willing to rob and humiliate all the women in Corinth, to say nothing of indulging in necrophilia. But at the same time, Herodotus provides a textbook example of how relations between the living and the dead were supposed to work. We learn from the story that the dead demand proper funerals, which ought to include gifts that they can use in the afterlife. This afterlife must be similar to life itself, considering that clothing is de rigeur. The living, for their part, can expect the dead's cooperation, so long as they keep the dead happy. Transactions between the living and the dead can take place on home territory (Periander burns the clothing in Corinth), but special deals may be negotiated at a place such as the oracle of the dead, under the guidance of experts. Even then, i. Hdt. 5.92,7], slightly adapted. vn

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Prologue

one can't be too careful: to be sure that the ghost who appears is really the right ghost, one ought to have some sort of proof. Melissa's proof not only reveals Periander's personal proclivities but shows that she knows what has been happening in the upper world since she died, as does her knowledge of where Periander's lost object can be found. Finally, the story shows that dealing with the dead may become a civic concern even if their anger is caused by the act of a single citizen. It was Periander's failure to send Melissa to Hades with the proper wardrobe that made her mad, but it requires contributions from the whole female population to bring her around. We find each of these ideas in other ancient Greek sources as well, but it is their assemblage that makes Herodotus's story fascinating, for it presents a paradox: it acknowledges that a person who once ate and drank and laughed with the rest of us is gone, but it also reflects the vigor with which she continues to inhabit the world of those who knew her. Because the dead remain part of our mental and emotional lives long after they cease to dwell beside us physically, it is easy to assume that they are simply carrying on their existence elsewhere and might occasionally come back to visit us. From this assumption arise a variety of hopes and fears. Hopes that the dead may aid the living, by revealing hidden information, by bringing illness to enemies, and by a variety of other favors—even by simply visiting those whom they have left behind: "by wandering into my dreams you may bring me joy," Admetus says to his wife, Alcestis, as she lies dying, expressing hope that their love will survive death.2 Fears that the dead may somehow punish the living for the injuries or neglect they suffered, by bringing illness, by causing nightmares, or simply by refusing to cooperate when needed, as Melissa did. The dead are very much like us, driven by the same desires, fears, and angers, seeking the same sorts of rewards and requiring the same sort of care that we do. For this reason, the world of the dead is not only a source of both possible danger and possible help, but a mirror that reflects our own. The reflection is frequently a distorted one, to be sure: the dead are often credited with remarkable powers, and thus manifest their desires, fears, and angers in ways that go beyond any available to us. But the distortion is not random: through their excesses, the dead reveal, like fingerprint powder shaken over a table, where desires, fears, and angers are most acute among the living. 2. E.Alc. 354-55-

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Every detail in which a culture cloaks its ideas about the dead has the potential to reveal something about the living. The types of misfortune that a culture traces to the anger of the dead often reveal what that culture fears losing—and correspondingly values—the most, for blaming the dead can be a way of avoiding other explanations that would challenge the culture's social coherence or theodicy. If one were to blame the death of one's child on the witchcraft of one's neighbor, for instance, the relationship between one's own family and the family of the neighbor might be irreparably damaged. If one were to blame it on divine wrath, one would be forced to acknowledge either that one deserved to lose the child or that divinity was morally fickle. Tracing the child's death to the angry dead avoids all of these problems: the dead serve as convenient scapegoats, shouldering burdens of blame too heavy for other agents to carry. To take another example, many cultures believe that death under certain circumstances or before certain milestones of life have been passed will condemn the soul to become a restless ghost. Studying the conditions that produce these ghosts offers insight into what the culture considers, conversely, to constitute a full life and a good death. The models that I have just sketched will be familiar to many readers because they are taken from well-known studies published earlier in this century. Anthropologists who did fieldwork with tribal cultures at that time recognized the contribution that analysis of mortuary rituals and eschatological beliefs could make toward constructing a picture of the way that those cultures worked; scholars of other cultures eventually began to apply these models to their own materials as well.3 There have been few attempts to apply them to materials from ancient Greece, however. This is all the more unfortunate because Greek literature abounds with incidents in which the living and the dead interact. Already in the Iliad and the Odyssey, ghosts appear to complain of poor treatment and demand that the living help them; tragedy, that most Greek of literary genres, frequently focuses on the dead, their problems, and the obligations that the living bear toward them. Students of Greek culture and literature have much to learn from the dead and yet have virtually ignored them. I suspect that this neglect is due to a deep-rooted reluctance to accept the idea that the Greeks believed in the possibility of anything so "irra3. For a review of some of the most prominent works, see Metcalf and Huntington, esp. the introduction and ch. i.

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tional" as interaction between the living and the dead. This reluctance may seem remarkable, given that substantial advances have been made toward acknowledging and understanding other manifestations of supposed irrationality among the Greeks: the study of Greek magic, most notably, has attracted considerable interest in recent years. But, if one so chooses, magic can be presented as a technology, as something approaching our own concept of an "applied science," pace James Frazer. After all, it works by certain rules that our ancient sources claim have been "tested" and can be passed from teacher to student. Indeed, the very fact that there are teachers and students lends magic the look of a serious discipline. Moreover, magic is intensely concerned with power: the power of the magician over those whom he enchants and his power to persuade or compel deities and daimones to work his spells. And power in all of its incarnations and from all angles—who wields it, who submits to it, and why—is a topic that has always found a respectable place in classical studies. The possibility that the Greeks believed that the dead and the living might interact, in contrast, has seldom even been entertained. A. D. Nock, an eminent historian of Greek religion of the generation previous to our own, confidently declared that "The Greeks were not dominated by any fear of ghosts" and described their religion as one of "joyous festivals."4 Similarly, although Martin P. Nilsson—probably the single most influential scholar of Greek religion ever—conceded that the Greeks believed in such things as the return of the dead, he did so only with regret: The general opinion is that the Greeks of the classical age were happily free from superstition. I am sorry that I am obliged to refute this opinion. There was a great deal of superstition in Greece, even when Greek culture was at its height and even in the center of that culture, Athens. Superstition is very seldom mentioned in the literature of the period simply because great writers found such base things not worth mentioning.5

We note how carefully Nilsson has distanced such beliefs from great (one suspects he really means "intelligent") minds.

4. From A. D. Nock, "The Cult of Heroes. II," originally published in HThR 37 (1944); rpt. in Nock, 575-601; quotation from p. 582.. Nock does concede, in a footnote to the portion quoted, that the Greeks were not completely free of the fear of ghosts, either, but the dominant tone of the discussion is that of the "joyous festival." 5. Nilsson 1940, in.

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One wonders whether Nock's dismissal and Nilsson's regret in part reflect the fact that to most European and American ears, the word "ghost" smacks of childish fears at bedtime and the kind of gullibility on which spiritualists prey. E. R. Dodds, another scholar of their generation, had his heart in the right place when he undertook to study ancient ideas about ghosts and related phenomena, but he may have hurt his cause as much as he helped it when he compared ancient testimonies for them to contemporary reports of the same (1936; revised in 1971). By using what happens at modern seances to clarify what happened during attempts to raise ghosts in antiquity, Dodds implicitly cast upon any Greeks who participated in such activities the same taint of blind credulity that many of us cast upon modern participants.6 Scholars of our own generation, apparently sharing either Nock's reluctance or Nilsson's regret, have paid the topic little attention. A fourand-a-half page section on afterlife beliefs in Walter Burkert's masterly Greek Religion briefly acknowledges the possibility that the dead might return and that their anger was feared, but concentrates on what the soul experiences once it is firmly ensconced in the Underworld itself. Jan Bremmer's The Early Greek Concept of the Soul offers an excellent analysis of funerary rites and the transition of the soul to Hades, but says relatively little about the return of the dead to the upper world or how the living might affect them; most of what he does say focuses on a single festival during which the dead were invited back, the Anthesteria. In the third edition of the Oxford Classical Dictionary (1996), Robert Garland's article on Greek attitudes to death only briefly refers to the possibility that the dead might return, and "Soul," by Christopher Rowe, merely mentions that by the fifth century, the concept that the soul might survive death was well established.7 There are no articles entitled "Eschatology" or "Ghosts." The single voice that breaks this silence is the exception that proves the rule. Erwin Rohde, who in 1894 published Psyche: Seelencult und Unsterblichkeitsglaube der Griechen, was anything but a traditional classicist. A friend of Nietzsche's and adversary of Wilamowitz's, Rohde 6. Dodds 1971, ch. 10. He occasionally discusses the return of the dead in The Greeks and the Irrational as well, but always in the service of other topics. 7. The article appears under the title "Death, Attitudes to." It is co-written by Robert Garland and John Scheid, the latter of whom deals with the Roman evidence. Robert Garland's 1985 book The Greek Way of Death only briefly discusses the possibility of interaction between the living and the dead.

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Prologue

rebelled in this work and many others against mainstream views of the ancient Greeks.8 Rohde's contribution to our understanding of Greek ideas and practices concerning the dead was immense, but the century since Psyche's publication has brought not only much new evidence— new inscriptions, new material remains, and even new papyri with new fragments of literature—but also the new anthropological models that I mentioned above and an enhanced understanding of the ways in which the Greeks interacted with their Mediterranean neighbors, trading ideas and ritual techniques. It is high time to look anew at Greek ideas about encounters between the living and the dead. This book does so. By making use of new materials and adapting models developed by cultural anthropology, I seek to show how eloquently the Greek dead can speak to us about the Greek living. I begin, in the three first chapters, with a historical overview of how Greek ideas about the relationship between the living and the dead evolved in response to changing social and cultural conditions during the archaic and classical ages—most notably changes that are associated with the development of the polis (city-state), such as funerary legislation, and changes due to increased contacts between the Greeks and cultures of the ancient Near East, such as Mesopotamia and Egypt. The first of these chapters focuses on narrative sources, which can be dated with relative ease and thereby provide a rough picture of chronological development. The second chapter deals with non-narrative sources, which help to confirm the picture sketched in chapter 1.1 conclude this overview, in chapter 3, by taking a close look at the goes, the Greek practitioner who made interaction with the world of the dead his specialty, and show that his duties were both complex and integral to other aspects of Greek religious life. Then I show, in four more closely focused chapters, how stories about the restless, unhappy dead and rituals designed to control them reiterated Greek social values and simultaneously expressed the danger that the dead posed to individuals and cities alike. As our anthropological models would lead us to expect, the Greek dead frequently served as scapegoats, and even more often served as mirrors, now taking the blame for disasters and now again reflecting the fears and desires of the 8. Several revised editions and translations followed Psyche's original publication, including an English translation in 192,5 (Psyche: The Cult of Souls and Belief in Immortality among the Ancient Greeks}.

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living. The multi-talented goes, being a sort of combination magician/undertaker/shaman, was essential to the polis because he possessed skills that helped to protect it against the chaos these dead might bring. The polis also developed institutional methods of controlling the dead, including civic rituals in which they were prevented from attacking those who were most at risk, such as girls on the brink of marriage. Divinities such as Hecate and the Semnai Theai, who gradually metamorphosed during the archaic and classical periods into mediators between the living and the dead, also helped to ease the tension between the two worlds. The book concludes with my reading of one of Greek literature's most famous literary texts about interaction between the living and the dead, Aeschylus's Eumenides. Athena, the goddess who emblematizes the well-run polis, takes on a goetic role in this play, employing magical means of controlling the dead in order to establish new rules for their interaction with the living and thus ensure her city's welfare. In doing this, she replicates the actions of the legendary figure Epimenides, who once saved Athens from the wrath of the dead and who thus was one of the earliest Greek versions of the goes himself. A few practical notes. There are several topics that I have chosen not to discuss in any depth because they have been thoroughly investigated by others: hero cult, oracles of the dead, and mystery religions, for example. Although these phenomena are important to the subjects considered in this book, my own views do not differ significantly from the most widely accepted recent opinions and, thus, extensive analyses seem unnecessary. Footnotes guide the reader to fuller treatments. I have transliterated most single Greek words and short phrases; longer phrases that scholars may find important for evaluating my arguments are given in both Greek and English. I use a Latinate system of transliteration for most proper names (e.g., "Cronus," not "Kronos") but a system of transliteration that produces a spelling closer to the original Greek for other words (e.g., "katagrapho," not "catagrapko"}. Each of these guidelines is sometimes rejected, however, in favor of retaining commonly used spellings (e.g., "psyche," not "psuche," and "Knossos," not "Cnossus"). A list of frequently used Greek terms that may be unfamiliar to nonspecialists is offered on page (xvii).

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Acknowledgments

Good colleagues are a scholar's greatest resource, and I am fortunate in having had many who were willing to discuss ideas with me at various stages of this book's completion. First of all, I thank Philippe Borgeaud and David Frankfurter, both of whom critiqued early versions of my theories during a shared semester of fellowship at the Institute for Advanced Study in 1995, and who later, in their capacity as referees for the completed manuscript, made suggestions that greatly improved the book's final form. I also thank Richard Real, Kevin Clinton, Chris Faraone, Fritz Graf, David Jordan, David Leitao, Hugh Lloyd-Jones, Timothy McNiven, Kathryn Morgan, Carole Newlands, Richard Seaford, JoAnn Scurlock, Michael Swartz, Wendy Watkins, and Victoria Wohl for their help during the period in which the manuscript was being finished. I am grateful to my editor, Mary Lamprech; to her assistant, Kate Toll; to the University of California Press's internal referee, John Lynch; to the production editor, Cindy Fulton, for suggestions that improved the presentation of my material; to LeRoy Johnston III, for encouragement and practical advice; and to my students Douglas Freeble and Jack Emmert, who proofread the manuscript. The support of several institutions facilitated my work: the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton; the Fondation Hardt, Geneva; and (within The Ohio State University) the Department of Greek and Latin, the Division of Comparative Studies, the Center for Medieval and Rexv

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Acknowledgments

naissance Studies, the Melton Center for Jewish Studies, and the College of Humanities. I thank HarperCollins Publishers, the University of California Press, and the Associated Press for permission to reprint portions of works to which they hold the copyrights and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, for permission to depict a red-figure vase from their collection (inv. 34.79) on the dust jacket. The vase, which shows Odysseus conversing with the ghost of Elpenor at the entrance to the Underworld while Hermes looks on, is attributed to the Lycaon Painter and dated to the mid fifth century B.C.E.

Frequently Used Terms

I use many transliterated Greek words in this book, translating the term when it first is used but not thereafter. For convenience, here are definitions of the most important terms. Plurals follow in parentheses. agalma (agalmata) anything that delights a god, including a statue of the god or a tree or animal sacred to the god aition (aitia) a myth explaining the origin of something alastor (alastores) and elasteros (elasteroi] a vengeful ghost or an agent who works on the ghost's behalf aoros, aore (aoroi, aorai) a man or woman who dies too young ataphos (ataphoi) a dead person whose body has not received funeral rites biaiothanatos (biaiothanatoi) a person who died violently choe (choai) a libation poured out to the dead eidolon (eidola) a ghost (literally "image") epoide/epaoide (epoidai/epaoidai]

a chanted or sung spell

erinys (erinyes) a deity who works to avenge the dead, among other things

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Frequently Used Terms

gelid (gelloudes) a female ghost who attacks women and children (no plural of this word exists in ancient Greek; I had to adopt the plural form used in some Byzantine Greek sources) genos (gene) kin (often with political implications) goes (goetes) and goeteia an expert in dealing with disembodied souls and the art that he practices; hence, also "goetic" gods (goo/) a highly emotional funeral lament katharos (katharoi) and katharsis an adjective meaning "pure" and noun meaning "purification" katabasis (katabaseis) a journey to the Underworld katadesmos (katadesmoi) a curse tablet ker (keres) a supernatural agent who brings death or other misfortune kleos glory, renown kourotrophos (kourotrophoi) one who nurtures children lamia (lamiai) a female ghost who attacks women and children lex sacra (leges sacrae] LATIN: law concerning religious practices lithica a work describing magical stones and their properties maschalismos the ritualized act of severing a corpse's extremities miaros (miaroi) and miasma (miasmata] an adjective meaning polluted and noun meaning pollution mormo (mormones) a female ghost who attacks women and children mormolukeion/mormoluke (mormolukeia/mormolukai] a female ghost who attacks women and children nekuia (nekuiai] an encounter between living and dead individuals, usually initiated through ritual nekuomanteion (nekuomanteia) an oracle in which the dead prophesy oikos (oikoi) a household or family palamnaios (palamnaioi} either a murderer or a spirit who avenges murder parthenos (parthenoi) a woman who has never been married pharmakon (pharmaka) and pharmakeutrides magical material, especially drugs, and the female specialists who gather and use them

Frequently Used Terms

xix

phasma (phasmata) and phantasma (phantasmata) ghosts progonoi progenitors prostropaios (prostropaioi) either a person (or god) who should be averted or a person (or god) or functions as an averter psychagogos (psych agogoi) and psych agogia one who invokes souls and the art by which he does so psyche (psychai] soul psychopompos (psychopompoi] a leader of souls strix (striges) a female ghost who attacks women and children telete (teletai) rites, especially those associated with mysteries theos (theoi) a god, either male or female; but cf. thea (theai), goddess theoxenia a meal to which a god is invited threnos (threnoi) a formal funeral lament, often professionally composed xenos (xenoi) and xenia a guest with whom one has a formal friendship and the friendship itself

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Abbreviations

For the abbreviations of Greek and Roman authors and their works, journals, and lexica, I follow the lists in Liddell, Scott, and Jones's A Greek-English Lexicon; The Oxford Latin Dictionary, edited by Peter Glare; The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3d ed., edited by Simon Hornblower and Antony Spawforth; and UAnnee Philologique. In addition, note the following special abbreviations: Cyr.

Cyranides as in D. Kaimaikis, Die Kyraniden (Meisenheim am Glan, 1976)

DT

A. Audollent, Defixionum Tabellae (Paris, 1904)

DTA

IG III.3 Appendix: "Defixionum Tabellae" (Berlin, 1897)

Lith.

Lithica as collected by Halleux and Schamp in Les lapidaires grecs (Paris, 1985)

Lith. Dam.-Ev.

The lithica of Damigeron-Evax

Orph. lith.

Orphic lithica

Orph. lith. keryg.

The kerygma of the Orphic lithica

XXI

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PART I

A Short History of the Dead in Ancient Greece

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CHAPTER I

Elpenor and Others Narrative Descriptions of the Dead No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality. Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House (1959)

So begins one of the most effective ghost stories of the twentieth century. It is an appropriate overture for a tale that explores how human beings cope not only with incursions by the restless dead but also with the uncertainty of whether what they are experiencing is really the work of ghosts or only the creation of their own imaginations. When the main character, Eleanor, is challenged by the other members of a group investigating a haunted house as to whether she has really seen a ghost, she responds, "I could say 'all three of you are in my imagination; none of this is real'." Eleanor is half joking when she says this, but Dr. Montague, the professor of anthropology who has organized the investigation, gravely replies that if he thought she were serious, he would send her home immediately, for she would be "venturing too close to the state of mind which would welcome the perils of Hill House with a kind of sisterly embrace." Dr. Montague—a well-trained academic—wishes to keep what he considers real and what he considers imaginary firmly separated. By the end of the story, however, we have learned that for Eleanor (and for many other people as well, Shirley Jackson implies), belief in a world beyond the immediately visible one, however unpleasant that other world The quotations from The Haunting of Hill House used here are taken from the 1984 Penguin edition, pp. 3, 140.

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A Short History of the Dead in Ancient Greece

may be, is absolutely necessary for the expression of otherwise inexpressible fears and desires. Retaining one's sanity, as Jackson's first sentence insists, depends upon occasional vacations from reality. Conversely, as Jackson also knew very well, a ghost story succeeds only when the narrator has managed to persuade her audience to suspend their disbelief, at least temporarily. Of course, this is one variation on a rule that applies to all fiction: the world constructed by the narrator must make enough sense to the audience for them to be able to enter into it without being constantly distracted by internal contradictions. Even if there is little expectation that a story's occurrences could take place in the real world, therefore, a properly constructed story will provide glimpses into the real world's system of beliefs because it will adhere to rules that resemble those of the real world. For example, although the vast majority of contemporary Americans who watch a vampire film do not believe that vampires really exist, they are able to suspend their disbelief long enough to enjoy watching the story unfold, both because the screenwriter has been careful to construct a fictional universe that follows its own rules and because those rules bear some similarity to rules of the real world. Thus, if a vampire is averted by a crucifix early in the story, then the crucifix must serve as a reliable means of averting vampires throughout the rest of the story, unless some good explanation that nullifies the rule is subsequently offered. Why a crucifix, and not, for instance, a piece of coral, such as some Polynesian cultures use to avert demons? Because the crucifix is a symbol of beneficent power that can be understood by any audience member who has grown up within the predominantly Christian American culture. Even more interesting are the existential rules of many fictional worlds. As viewers of a vampire movie, we have agreed to believe that there are some corpses that return to life, but not that all corpses do. Vampires may arise from those who die under tragic or abnormal circumstances. This includes suicides, those who are unburied or who are buried improperly, and those who die cursing God. This rule makes a certain kind of sense because the early truncation of a life or the marring of a soul's passage from life to death disrupts what we like to believe is the normal progression from birth to death. People who would laugh at the idea that vampires really exist might still believe that death under such circumstances brings unhappiness to the soul or prevents its postmortem reunion with God. Witness for example the Orthodox Jewish belief that the entire body, including any severed limbs, must be buried properly if the deceased is to enjoy the eventual resurrection promised

Elpenor and Others

5

to the faithful. Even when they cannot articulate precise reasons that proper burial is necessary, survivors usually feel compelled to provide it; the importance placed on the recovery of bodies from battlefields or accident sites—sometimes at great expense and risk to those undertaking the recovery—attests to this. At least one of the rules governing vampire stories, then, indirectly reflects the values of those who listen to them. What would be impossible to accept, even within the artificially constructed confines of a vampire story, is that a pious person who died of natural causes at an advanced age, and whose funeral was conducted properly, could become a vampire. Effective ghost stories, like effective vampire stories, reflect the values of the culture in which they developed. There are further problems to be considered before we use them as evidence for real beliefs, however, particularly when we are studying a culture like that of ancient Greece, where few people would have understood, much less accepted, Dr. Montague's assumption that a clear line can be drawn between what we call the natural and the supernatural worlds. Although a good narrator will not incorporate into a story elements that his audience will reject as "illogical" or "anachronistic," a good narrator may incorporate elements that mislead us—his distant audience—because they provide only part of a bigger picture. Part of our interpretive task, therefore, whenever we use narrative sources as evidence for real belief, is to recreate, as best we can, the situation in which the narrative was originally presented. When we are dealing with narrative presentations of the dead and the afterlife, with ghosts, the journey to the Underworld, its geography, and the rules by which it works, this can become complicated, for the factor that constrains narrative treatments of civic rites such as the Panathenaia—realization that the audience can compare the narrative construction to what they see and hear in real life—is no longer fully operative. We can probably assume that no one who listened to the story of Odysseus's journey to the Underworld believed that they themselves had also traveled to Hades. Few people who watched the Erinyes pursue their victim in Aeschylus's Eumenides thought that they had ever seen one of these monstrous creatures themselves. The "reality" against which Homer's or Aeschylus's presentations of these phenomena were evaluated by an ancient audience, therefore, consisted of other things that they had heard—of other constructions of a world beyond the normal sensory perceptions provided over the course of their lives by their friends, their parents, by other narrators of stories, and by the visual artists who created vase paintings, wall paintings, and temple decor.

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The situation is made even more difficult by the fact that beliefs existing under no official societal sanction or control, which includes most of those concerning the afterlife, tend to be fluid, changing easily from time to time, from locale to locale, from neighbor to neighbor, and even from one statement to the next during a single conversation with a given individual. This is particularly so for beliefs about the dead because they arise in response to death itself, a phenomenon that, although inevitable and ubiquitous, is unpredictable, poorly understood, and cloaked in conflicting emotions. As the feeling of grief or guilt about another's death shifts to resignation or relief, as fear concerning one's own inevitable end shifts to hope for postmortem bliss or back again, the ways in which the afterlife and the passage into death are pictured shift as well. A contemporary American man or woman may take flowers to the grave of a loved one, perhaps in the assumption that the departed soul somehow needs or appreciates the gifts of survivors and can receive them at the location where his corpse was deposited. And yet that survivor might simultaneously believe that the departed soul dwells in a Heaven cut off from the physical world, where all needs are met and neither flowers nor anything else of a material nature has any relevance. Even if the beliefs of an individual are fluid and sometimes contradictory, however, each of them has its place within a range of culturally acceptable beliefs. The example I just gave reflects the fact that contemporary American views of the dead admit both the idea that the soul lingers near the grave and the idea that the soul completely escapes the earthly realm. The Greeks held similarly contradictory views about the disembodied soul, imagining it now in Hades and again at the tomb. Similarly, beliefs about such things as the way the dead look can shift from one extreme to another: the Greeks tended to describe ghosts as being either sooty black or transparently pale. These descriptions reflect, on the one hand, the grim and threatening nature of many ghosts and, on the other, the washed-out, lifeless appearance of a corpse. Independently, either representation works well, even if they do not work well together.1 Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood has discussed a similar phenomenon, namely, the way that new beliefs concerning death and the i. See Winkler, 159-65, on ghosts, and compare the eloquent statement made by Bottero at the end of his discussion of Mesopotamian ideas about death and the afterlife (p. 2,86): "The typical aspect of all mythological thought, in contrast to logical thought, is that it provides different answers to the same question, even opposing answers, because the answers are imaginary, exact, and calculated, toties quoties, without concern for coherence."

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7

afterlife can enter into a culture without completely displacing the old ones. As the needs of a situation demand, now the new beliefs and now the old ones are called upon to serve.2 These methodological problems do not imply that we should ignore narrative sources when we study ancient beliefs concerning the dead— as noted, narrative texts can in fact be excellent sources of information when handled sensitively. With due caution, let us now proceed on our survey, examining narrative sources grouped chronologically and by genre. At the end of each section, I shall pause to consider what general conclusions might be derived from the evidence. I shall not, however, offer detailed analyses of most of the material; that is the job of later chapters. HOMER The Homeric poems3 are about the spectacular exploits of vigorous heroes. And yet, they leave us with no doubt that death is the inevitable end to life, except for a few extraordinary individuals such as Menelaus, who escape by virtue of their special relationship to the gods. What came after this end? Homeric descriptions of funerary cult and mourning imply that the recently dead were able at least to hear the living and receive their offerings. The nekuia of Odyssey n, however, suggests that in the long run, the dead were capable of very little interaction with the living. Although they looked just as they did while alive, and could be held at bay by Odysseus's sword, they were unable to converse 2.. Sourvinou-Inwood 1995 uses this model passim, applying it to different issues as they arise, but stating it most explicitly in the methodological appendix (e.g., 416-17). 3. I should note that I am in general agreement with most current scholars in assuming that the Homeric poems reached more or less their present form in the mid to late eighth century, after several centuries of development, but that changes continued to be made until the late seventh or early sixth century; see, e.g., Nagy 1992., 52; 1990, 17-18 (but cf. Kirk i-io; M. L. West 1995). For a good treatment of the relationship between vase paintings and the problem of dating the poems, see Lowenstam, who also provides an extensive bibliography of earlier scholarship. For a discussion of the implications of this dating for interpreting the poems and the societal forms that they reflect, see Seaford 1994, i-io, 144-54.1 should also note here, however, that it is my view that the absence from the poems of phenomena that are well attested in later sources must be understood to reflect an absence of those phenomena in the societies in which the poems developed, unless other cogent explanations for their absence can be found within the thematic concerns of the poet, for example; this view governs my analysis of Homeric ideas and practices regarding the dead. I shall discuss this approach in some depth at the end of this chapter but for now will proceed on the assumption that if the poems do not mention ideas about the dead that are amply attested in later sources, this is because the ideas were not available at the time that poems underwent their main development.

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A Short History of the Dead in Ancient Greece

with him in any meaningful way until they had drunk the blood that he provided. Teiresias does speak briefly to Odysseus before drinking the blood, in order to demand access to it, but he does not speak "knowledgeably" or "clearly" (nemertea] until afterwards. He later tells Odysseus that the same is true for all of the souls—Odysseus can learn nothing profitable from them until they drink. The souls of Agamemnon and Odysseus's mother, Anticleia, do not even recognize him until after consuming the blood.4 It seems, therefore, that although the dead are not completely senseless in their natural state—after all, they swarm up to the blood as soon as it is poured, like instinct-driven animals—they exist in a sort of twilight state, incapable of any meaningful interaction with the living. They are, in a word, aphradeis, lacking all those qualities expressed by that complex notion phrade and its cognates that make converse between intelligent creatures possible: wit, reflection, and complexity of expression.5 It is only by means of the blood—a striking emblem of the vigorous life they have left behind forever—that they temporarily become capable of normal human converse. Even after they have drunk the blood, the souls of the dead remain physically insubstantial, unable to embrace, much less affect, those who are still alive, as Odysseus's futile attempt to hug his mother illustrates; his arms close upon the air. This insubstantialness is also reflected in Homeric descriptions of the dead as "flitting like shadows" and being "smokelike" or "dreamlike."6 The Homeric Underworld, then, is filled with ghosts who must be specially nourished before they can interact with even those members of the living world who arrive at their own doorstep. There is no indication that these ghosts can return to the land of the living. Indeed, Anticleia expressly claims that the opposite is true: she tells her son that terrible rivers form an uncrossable barrier between the two worlds. Odysseus has traveled to the bitter edge of the upper world in order to make his sacrifice and speak with the dead.7 It is only at this special 4. Sword holds dead at bay: Od. 11.48-50 (cf. the interesting twist on this scene at B. 5.68-84). Teiresias speaks clearly: 11.96. Teiresias explains the system: 11.146-49 (but cf. 10.492-95, where it is said Teiresias can speak clearly because Persephone granted him the special boon of a clear mind even after death). Odysseus's mother: 11.140-44, 152-54. Agamemnon: 11.385-90. 5. Aphradeis: e.g., Od. 11.476. This idea is expressed as well by Circe's description of all of the dead except for Teiresias as being without intelligence at 10.492-95. 6. Odysseus attempts to hug his mother: Od. 11.206-24. Shadows, smoke, and dreams: e.g., Od. 10.495; OJ. 11.2.07; U* 23.100-101. 7. Od. 11.155-59.

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place, carefully designated by the goddess Circe, that any interaction between those who inhabit the upper and lower worlds is possible.8 Homer knows of some members of the dead, however, who are able to interact with the living precisely because they have not yet crossed the river that Anticleia mentions. The dead Patroclus reappears to Achilles and complains that he cannot cross the river and find peace because he has not yet received burial rites. Similarly, the ghost of Odysseus's companion Elpenor, who is among the first to arrive at the pit, and who is able to recognize and speak with Odysseus even without drinking the blood, has not yet been admitted into the Underworld because his body has not yet received funerary rites.9 The myth of Sisyphus, to which Homer alludes, and for which Alcaeus, Theognis, and Pherecydes already offer full details,10 plays with this idea, for it was by instructing his wife not to give his body funeral rites that Sisyphus ensured he would not really "die." His soul, excluded from the Underworld because his body was unburied, was given permission by the gods to return to the upper world long enough to ask for funeral rites, and once there it took advantage of the situation by repossessing his body. Sisyphus, the ultimate trickster, made what most people feared work to his own advantage. This idea, that the dead are not admitted to the Underworld until their physical remains are ceremonially honored and disposed of in the upper world, is extremely common throughout the world. Many cultures believe that until the body is properly removed from the presence of the living, the soul of a dead person must wander restlessly betwixt and between the two worlds, no longer allowed to share in the society of the living and yet not admitted amongst the dead either.11 This belief 8. On Circe's significance in this role, see Marinates. 9. II. 13.65-74; Od. 11.71-78. In other passages, however, Homer describes the unburied dead as making a "squeaking" or "hissing" noise (trizo): IL 23.101; Od. 24.5, 9. This seems to align with an alternative belief that the dead in general, rather than being completely voiceless, made inarticulate sounds: see Soph. fr. 879; D.L. 8.2,1; Bremmer 1983, 85. It is uncertain whether the phrase "uncanny cry," thespesiei iachei, used of the dead at Od. 11.43, refers to an articulate or inarticulate sound; in Homer, it is used both of divine voices (e.g., //. 2.600; Od. 12.158) and of the noises made by inanimate things, such as the wind blowing through the trees (II. 16.769). In some cases, it seems simply to mean "deafening" or "overpowering" (e.g., //. 8.159), which is probably the meaning intended here. 10. Od. 11.593-600; Ale. fr. 38; Thgn. 702-12; Pherecyd. 3 F 119. Cf. Gantz, 173-76. 11. The classical treatments are van Gennep, 146-65, and Hertz, esp. 46; see now also Metcalf and Huntington, passim, but esp. pt. 2. Van Gennep 146 notes that the transitional state, during which the individual is neither fully alive or dead, is the most

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A Short History of the Dead in Ancient Greece

that the unburied dead are restless gives rise to another very common idea, which we also find expressed in the Odyssey. Elpenor tells Odysseus that if his funeral rites are not carried out as soon as the men return to Circe's island, he will become "a cause for the gods' wrath" (tbeon menimd) upon Odysseus. Similarly, in the Iliad, the dying Hector tries to use this threat to persuade Achilles to return his body to the Trojans for burial.12 In ancient Greece, as in many other cultures, souls not yet admitted to the Underworld have the ability—and apparently the desire—to compel the gods to bring harm upon the living who have done them wrong. This is an idea that continues throughout Greek history.13 Elpenor's is not the only soul that Odysseus encounters at the border of the Underworld: the souls of brides, unmarried men, virginal girls, men killed in battle who still wear their bloody armor, and "elders who have suffered many things" also wander up out of Erebus en masse as soon as Odysseus pours blood into the pit, "giving forth an uncanny cry."14 The warriors still wearing bloody armor are probably unburied, like Elpenor; no good Greek would allow the corpse of a friend to go to its grave uncleansed and without the proper shroud. It has often been noted that the brides, virgins, and unmarried men match the types of souls that later sources describe as having died "untimely"—without having married and had children.15 Although it is not explicitly stated, information from later sources suggests that it is their abnormal status that keeps them from entering the Underworld. This is a topic that I take up in depth in another chapter; here I would note only that, by making these dead the first to rise up to meet Odysseus and by describing him as being afraid of them (in contrast to his fearless conversation with the other, fully dead souls), the poet implies familiarity with the ideas that ceremonially elaborated in many cultures. The dangers inherent in this transitional stage, when the individual is "betwixt and between" normal roles, have been most famously explored by Victor Turner in his various works, including 1967, ch. 4. 12. Od. ii.72-73;//. 22.358. 13. Review of evidence for the Greek belief and analysis at Garland 1985, 101-3; Bremmer 1983, 89-94. For other cultures, see the treatments cited in n. n. 14. Od. 11.42-43; cf. n. 9 above. 15. Johnston 1994; Bremmer 1983, 103; Lattimore 187; Merkelbach 1969, 189; Meuli 1975, i: 316. Later in book u, Odysseus meets several souls who should qualify as aoroi and biaiothanatoi by normal standards, and who thus should be stranded at the border rather than in Hades itself, most notably Epicaste (271-80), Phaedra, Procris, and Ariadne (321-25), Eriphyle (326), Agamemnon (387-464), and Ajax (550-67). Narrative convenience may have prompted the poet to break the "rules" he had already implicitly laid down by putting some restless dead at the entrance; this shows the ease with which conflicting eschatological models can coexist. And of course some of these individuals appear in passages that some scholars judge to be interpolations.

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the abnormal dead lingered between the two worlds and that they were a source of potential trouble for the living. Another hint of this idea occurs at Odyssey 20.61-82., where the daughters of Pandareus are snatched away on the eve of their weddings to wander eternally with the Erinyes, frightful creatures of the Underworld who sometimes harm the living.16 In later sources, we shall hear a lot more about how these unhappy souls returned to the upper world of their own volition, like the unburied. We shall also hear about them being invoked by the living and forced, by means of curse tablets or other special techniques, to accomplish tasks. There is no trace of this latter idea here, however. There is one more possible trace of the idea that the dead might affect the living to be found in the Homeric poems. We get a glimpse of what looks like hero cult at Iliad 2.547-51, where it is said that the Athenians worship their deceased king Erechtheus alongside Athena in her rich temple, offering yearly sacrifices of bulls and lambs. It is generally agreed among current scholars, on the basis of archaeological evidence, that hero cult began in the eighth century or so—just before or at approximately the same time as most scholars think that the bulk of the Homeric poems were assuming their final forms. If a hero was essentially a dead person who had retained more of his "vitality" after death, or indeed had even become more powerful than he was while alive, then hero cult represents the belief that some very special dead were capable of more than we see them doing in the nekuia of Odyssey n.17 Granted that they are the exceptions, this passage nonetheless suggests that the notion that some dead might directly affect the living was developing at this time. Before leaving Homer, we must pause at the issue of how souls were treated in the afterlife. Although this has little direct bearing on the question of whether the dead can interact with the living, there is some connection between the two topics, as discussed in chapter 3; thus it is important to be aware of how such ideas changed. In the nekuia of Odyssey u, we hear about how Tantalus, Tityus, and Sisyphus suffer great punishments after death. In Odyssey 4, we learn that at least one individual—Menelaus—will escape death altogether and be allowed to 16. See further chapters 6 and 7. 17. For more detailed discussions of the nature of heroes, and discussions of the origin of their cult, see Seaford 1994, passim; Boedeker; Henrichs 1991, 192-93; Antonaccio; de Polignac; Kearns; I. Morris 1988; Snodgrass 1988; Whitley and Fontenrose 1968. Rohde 192,5, ch. 4, and Farnell 1921 are still very good collections of information from the ancient sources; see also Nock, 574-602..

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A Short History of the Dead in Ancient Greece

dwell forever in the Elysian Fields, an idyllic paradise. Other Homeric passages, such as Iliad £0.2.32-35, where Zeus's abduction of Ganymede is narrated, similarly describe individuals being carried off alive to enjoy eternal bliss in lovely places.18 The epic Aethiopis tells of Achilles' conveyance to Leuke, the marvelous "White Island," where he is to spend a very pleasurable eternity.19 Some scholars have argued that these passages prove that at the time they were composed, people already believed that a broad span of possible afterlives were available and that one's behavior or station while alive affected one's postmortem treatment.20 This is incorrect for a number of reasons, however. First, these passages concern extraordinary individuals. The crimes of the great sinners were against the gods, and like others who had offended the gods—Niobe, for example—they had to be punished to an extraordinary degree; most especially, they had to be punished for eternity and in unusual ways. It is notable that their punishments take place in the Underworld, but this may be nothing more than a way of making the punishment more odious by situating it in the most unpleasant realm imaginable. Additionally, situating the punishments in the Underworld may be a way of moving them outside of the normal world into the marginal sort of location where fantastic things occur. Niobe's punishment similarly takes place on Mt. Sipylus in Asia Minor, "somewhere among the rocks, in the lonely mountains, near the resting place of the goddess-nymphs," and Prometheus's in the distant Caucasus mountains.21 Those who won paradisical existences were extraordinary as well. Menelaus was rewarded because he was Zeus's sonin-law; Ganymede because he was Zeus's beloved.22 Neither of these groups of people—the sinners or the favored—are anything like ordinary people, and neither group, therefore, are meant to serve as models for what might happen to those listening to the poems. It is not until the fifth century, in Pindar, that we find clear evidence for punishment after death, and not until the fourth century, in the context of the gold tablets from southern Italy, that we find ordinary mortals claiming to become anything like a god after death.23 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. though

Sufferers: Od. 11.576-600. Menelaus: 4.561-69. Cf. Nagy, 167-71. See Proclus's summary, lines 2.6-28; and cf. A. Edwards. A. Edwards; I. Morris 1989, 309-13; Richardson 1985. //. 24.614-17; A. Pr. 2 (called here Scythia). Od. 4.561-69; II. 20.232-35. Pi. O. 2.57-58,^8. 129, 133; h. Cer. 481-82 may hint at punishments as well, alit says only that the uninitiated will have no share in the good things the myster-

Elpenor and Others

13

We also have to wonder whether these extraordinary people were really imagined to be dead, at least in the same sense as ordinary people would be one day. To be snatched away by the gods before life was over is not at all the same thing as dying. Proteus explicitly tells Menelaus that he will be carried away by the immortals instead of dying.24 That is part of the boon that these individuals were granted: they avoid the pain and distress that accompany the passage from life into death. The great sinners probably were not imagined as having died in any traditional sense either. Tityus was the son of Gaia, and Tantalus was the son of Zeus and a minor Titan; neither of them, in other words, were necessarily mortal in the normal sense to begin with.25 Each of these stories makes a point (do not offend the gods; the gods' favor is valuable), but none of them can be used to delineate beliefs about what would happen to real people in the afterlife. The most we can say is that the stories would have helped to pave the way for later beliefs in a system of universal postmortem rewards and punishments, although it must be noted that the punishments expected by ordinary mortals even in those later times—an eternity in muck or dung, for example—bear no resemblance to the spectacular ones suffered by the Homeric sinners.26 Achilles' afterlife requires a bit more comment before we leave this topic. Anthony Edwards has shown that the end described for Achilles in the Aethiopis—miraculous translation to the paradisical island of Leuke—was the standard version of what happened to Achilles after death at the time that the Odyssey was reaching its final form. What we hear about in the Odyssey—Achilles' glum existence in a gloomy Hades—is the poet's innovation, a contradiction of the established ies provide. Generally on this topic, see Graf i974a, 90-126. Gold tablets Ai.8, A4.4, A5.4; cf. Graf 1993; 199la. See also the conclusions of Sourvinou-Inwood 1981 and 1995, 10-107, which are similar to mine here. 24. Od. 4.561-64. 25. Tityus's parentage varies according to source (in Pherecyd. 3FS and Simon, fr. 234, for example, he is the son of Zeus and a minor goddess named Elara), but at Od. 11.576, he is called the son of Gaia alone, and this seems to be the most persistent tradition, with variations throughout antiquity. No parentage for Tantalus is given by Homer, but later tradition usually makes him the son of Zeus. Sisyphus, in contrast, was wholly mortal according to //. 6.153-54, which makes him the son of the founder-hero Aeolus. Of course, this is absolutely necessary if the myth of his tricking death is to work at all. 26. The punishment later ascribed to the Danaids, however, is echoed by that threatened for some real people in the Underworld; see Graf 19743, 107-20. The idyllic afterlife described in some later sources, such as Pi. O. 2.61-77 and fr- 12,9, does sound something like the paradise promised to Menelaus—balmy ocean breezes, warm weather—but these are such common elements of the good life (see Hes. Op. 111-21, 169-73; Nagy, 167-73; Lincoln, 21-31) that it is hard to argue direct influence.

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A Short History of the Dead in Ancient Greece

story. Edwards suggests that the Odyssean fate, which also is intimated in the Iliad, moves Achilles out of the class of heroes and into the class of mortals; this serves certain thematic purposes in the two poems. This is surely correct, but I would emphasize that for the twist to work, the glum existence in Hades must have been understood by the audience as being normal for mortals; this is the dominant paradigm from which the extraordinary, heroic Achilles escapes in the standard version of his story that we find in the Aethiopis. Indeed, if we were to assume, with Anthony Edwards, Ian Morris, and others, that the average listener had some hope of achieving an idyllic afterlife, then Achilles' fate in the Odyssey would have to be read as an exceptionally harsh end for the son of Thetis and a favorite of the all of the gods.27 Surely this could not have been the poet's intention.28 ODYSSEY 24 Because I agree with many scholars that the final book of the Odyssey was composed later than the rest of the two poems,291 shall discuss it separately. It presents one significant contrast with what I have just described. Although their bodies still lie unburied, the souls of the suitors are able to meet with and talk to the souls of Achilles, Ajax, Agamemnon, and others who have received proper burial.30 This should be impossible, given the rule that the unburied could not enter Hades. It is not enough just to say that the poet ignored the rule because he wanted to introduce the great heroes of the Trojan War into his scene. In order to get away with this, he needed an audience that would not be bothered by the contradiction. In other words, we must assume that the rule that lack of burial led to exclusion from the Underworld was no longer hard and fast by the time that book 2.4 was composed. This does not mean that it could not still be invoked as a reason for a soul's anger and subsequent persecution of the living, as we shall see from later evidence, but rather that the causal connection between lack of burial and exclusion had slackened. This is a good example of how seemingly contradictory 27. A. Edwards, esp. 218-19; I. Morris 1989, 310. 2,8. See the analysis of Sourvinou-Inwood 1981 and 1983, which together reach similar conclusions, although by a different route (which I did not know when I composed this section). She summarizes these arguments in 1995, 42.3-2.9. 29. For a recent summary of the arguments regarding the relative date of Odyssey 2.4, see Sourvinou-Inwood 1995, 94-103 and 94 n. 239, with further bibliography. 30. Od. 24.98-204.

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eschatological beliefs can coexist; the individual or society calls now on one belief, now on the other, as a situation requires. It is also notable that book 2,4 is our earliest portrayal of Hermes as a psychopompos (lines i-io). This is our first indication that the gods have any control over the movement of souls between the two worlds. Although it would be risky to conclude from the absence of Hermes as psychopompos in other parts of the poems that the role developed only after their composition, the absence is nonetheless striking. Other Homeric descriptions of passages to the Underworld portray souls as simply flying away from their bodies, suggesting that in the view of this poet, transition to death was swift and simple, requiring no divine aid.31 As we shall see, the need for psychopompoi not only persisted but apparently grew as time went on: by the time of the epic Minyas, Charon had joined Hermes in this role.32 The geography of the passage to the Underworld is given in some detail in book 2.4. The poet mentions dank pathways, the Ocean's stream, the White Rock, the Gates of Helios, the Country of Dreams, and a Meadow of Asphodel where the souls congregate.33 Sourvinou-Inwood has hypothesized that this geographical detail, as well as the introduction of Hermes as a psychompompic god, reflects a growing concern at the time of book 2.4'$ composition with the physical boundaries between life and death.34 The passage from book 24, however, is not the only place in which Underworld geography is given in detail. The Ocean's stream and the Meadow of Asphodel are mentioned in books 10 and n during descriptions of the Underworld, as is a rock that lies at the entrance to the Underworld (although it is not specifically called a white rock).35 When Circe tells Odysseus how to get to the border between the upper and lower worlds, she also mentions woods, groves of Persephone, tall black poplars, sterile willows, and four separate, named rivers of the Underworld. We hear about the Cimmerians, a race of people who live close to the border, in eternal darkness, too.36 Such geographic and ethnographic details would be at home in tales of heroic descents to the Underworld, which predate the Odyssey as we know it and which do 31. E.g., II. 16.856, 2,2,.362; Od. 11.2,2,2,. Cf. Sourvinou-Inwood 1995, 56-59. 32. Minyas fr. i Davies (= Paus. 10.2,8.1). Cf. Sourvinou-Inwood 1995, 94-106, 303-61. 33. Od. 11.13-22. 34. Sourvinou-Inwood 1995, 103-7. 35. Stream of Ocean: Od. 10.508, 511; 11.2,1, 639; 12.1, 20. Meadow of Asphodel: 11.538-39. Rock: 10.515. 36. Cimmerians: Od. 11.13-19.

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not, I would add, necessarily have any connection with beliefs concerning the average person's travels back and forth.37 The interest is analogous to that shown in the details of the Phaeacians' island or Aeolus's palace: descriptions of exotic, distant lands are always fascinating. The interest in Underworld geography persists even as other eschatological beliefs change, as we shall see. Alone, therefore, it is not a good barometer by which to measure those changes. OTHER MATERIAL FROM THE EPIC CYCLE; HESIOD; THE HYMNS Fragments of the epic cycle38 have little to say about our topic. The only substantial mention of interaction between the dead and the living comes from the Nostoi, where the ghost (eidolon) of Achilles appears to the Greeks leaving Troy and tries to prevent their departure by foretelling the doom that awaits them.39 This might be taken to indicate that even the ghosts of the properly buried could return to the upper world, although as a hero, Achilles could also be understood as an exception to the rules that govern the ordinary dead—we have already seen that different epic traditions had different ideas about the fate of Achilles' soul. The passage is also our first indication that the dead might give advice to the living, a role they continue to play throughout antiquity either of their own volition or, later, when asked to do so through rituals.40 Hesiod,41 in lines 121-23 an(^ I2^ of his Works and Days, tells about how the privileged dead of the Golden Race return to earth to protect the living and bestow wealth upon them. Some scholars have interpreted 37. Heracles' descent is referred to already at Od. 11.62.2-2,6. 38. I should note that I find it difficult to accept any attempts to date other poems in the epic cycle relative to the Odyssey and Iliad—there seems no secure means of resolving this issue. For my purposes, however, relative dating of the poems is unimportant, because the other cyclical poems do not offer information that contradicts that of the Iliad and Odyssey—indeed, they scarcely offer information about the dead at all. 39. Proclus's summary, lines 15-17. 40. I do not consider Teiresias's prophecies to Odysseus to be an earlier instance of the dead prophesying, as Teiresias was able to foretell the future even before he died. It may seem that in the Iliad, the dying warrior twice is able to predict the death of the one killing him: Patroclus tells Hector he will be killed by Achilles at 16.852-54, and Hector tells Achilles that he will be killed by Paris and Apollo at 22.358-60. The former instance, however, seems like nothing more than a threat—i.e., Patroclus is sure that his friend will avenge his death and wishes to frighten Hector with that certainty—and the latter reflects a well-known and apparently long-standing prediction about Achilles' death, which we already have heard about at 21.275-78 (and cf. 18.96, 19.416-17). 41.1 agree with most current scholars (as expressed, e.g., in M. L. West's "Hesiod" in the OCD, 3d ed.) in placing Hesiod's floruit around 700 B.C.E., i.e., after the Homeric poems had undergone most of their development (see n. 3 above).

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a later passage (252-55) as indicating that these souls of the Golden Race also play a role in punishing the misbehavior of the living. It describes the 30,000 deathless guardians of mortals who "keep a watch over lawsuits and wicked acts, wandering over all the earth, clothed in mist." The latter two lines of this passage are also inserted by some manuscripts after line 123, in the middle of Hesiod's description of the Golden Race, which would serve to equate the souls of the Golden Race with the 30,000 deathless guardians.42 Martin West objects to including these lines in the earlier passage because in his view it is inappropriate for those who bestow gifts on mortals to serve as a "secret police" as well, but the objection does not hold water: the preservation of justice is just as great a boon as wealth or any other benefit that the Golden Race souls might bring.43 Indeed, the importance of justice for preserving any other good that might befall mortals is one of the pervasive themes of the Works and Days. But however that issue might be settled, we must take note of the fact that the souls of the Golden Race are an extraordinary type of dead, elevated by Zeus to something very near the status of gods. Like the Phaeacians of the Odyssey, they are described as "dear to the gods" and as daimones, a term that in Hesiod's day still served primarily as a synonym for theoi. Neither the honored dead of the Silver Race—second only to the Golden in perfection—nor those of the Heroic Race are said to interact with the living. The former are blessed after death but dwell under the ground; the latter dwell in bliss at the ends of the Earth, as Proteus says that Menelaus will, and as Achilles is said to do in the Aethiopis.44 Nothing at all is said about what happens to souls of our own age. Hesiod, then, makes no reference to the possibility that the ordinary dead might return to interact with the living. This silence is particularly striking given that the poem ends with a list of warnings about unlucky acts and dangerous situations that the listener must avoid. Surely, if fear of the returning dead were rampant, we would find it reflected here.45 42. Discussion of the problem at M. L. West 1978, 183, and cf. 219-20. Plutarch accepts the equation of the souls of the Golden Race with the Watchers (De def. or. 43 ib-e); Proclus does not (p. 87, 15 Pertusi). 43. Cf. the remarks of the heroic dead in Ar. fr. 32.2,, who promise to punish thieves and robbers by sending various illnesses against them (quoted on pp. 153-54 below). 44. Menelaus: Od. 4.561-69; Achilles: Proclus's summary of the Aethiopis, lines 2,6-28. 45. The closest Hesiod comes is to advise against conceiving children after a funeral (Op. 735) and against allowing boys to sit on "unmoveable objects," which may refer to

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One other work composed at about this time must be considered: the Homeric Hymn to Demeter.46 It makes no mention of the dead returning to interact with the living, but it does demonstrate that the boundary between the upper world and the Underworld was permeable; if Persephone could pass back and forth, perhaps others could as well. Hecate's role as her propolos and opaon, her companion and guide, during this journey is especially interesting in this respect because it seems to reflect Hecate's role as the mistress of the dead and the goddess who could lead them forth into the upper world or restrain them in the Underworld as she wished. As we shall see in chapter 6, Hecate's association with Persephone, a paradigmatic virgin, seems also to articulate the reason that Hecate took on the role of mistress of ghosts in the first place.47 Thus in this, one of Hecate's earliest appearances in Greek literature, we find her already fulfilling the duties for which she was most highly valued in later times. The Hymn is also important because it introduces the idea that all individuals will be punished or rewarded after death for their behavior during life. We also find this idea in Pindar, for example, and it becomes quite common during the classical period. According to some ancient texts, including the myth that concluded Plato's Republic, the choice between reward and punishment depended on the individual's conduct during life; other texts, including the Hymn and a fragment of Pindar, promised that by undertaking special rites while alive, anyone might win postmortem rewards—perhaps even an afterlife that included sunlight, feasting, and beautiful surroundings, similar to the paradisical existence promised to heroes in earlier works.48 Thus were introduced not only the possibility of a better afterlife but the necessity of worrying about one's afterlife while still alive and of wondering about the conditombstones (akinetoisi, 750, see M. L. West 1978 ad loc.). The first may reflect any number of ideas, including the general impurity that participants in a funeral incur or the idea that a fetus is affected by its mother's state of mind. The latter similarly may reflect the pollution generally associated with death. 46. For date, see Richardson 1974, 5-11, who suggests that we can date its composition no more precisely than to say between 675 and 5 50—thus, surely no earlier than Hesiod and probably later. (Some of Richardson's arguments, depending as they do on the assumption that the poet was Attic or at least intimately familiar with Attica, have been called into question by Clinton 1986 and 1992, 28-37, but this will not affect Richardson's main lines of argumentation.) 47. Cf. the analysis of Clay, 2.02-62. Hecate as propolos and opaon: lines 438-40. 48. PL R. 6i4b2-62id2; h. Cer. 480-82; Pi. fr. 137. Cf. Graf i974a, 98-103; LloydJones 1984.

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tion of other people who had died. Death and the dead became objects of greater concern precisely because variation had been introduced. One more important idea introduced during the later archaic age was that of metempsychosis. Our earliest extant references to it are from the first half of the fifth century, in Pindar and Empedocles, but ancient sources insist on crediting it to Pherecydes and Pythagoras, who lived about a century earlier, as well.49 Pindar's mention of it is particularly important because his poetry circulated widely throughout Greece during the fifth century. By the turn of that century, the idea of metempsychosis was familiar enough to well-educated Athenians to be used in Plato's dialogues without further explanation. Judging from comments made by Plato and Aristotle, metempsychosis was taught in association with the Orphic mysteries, which might imply that an even wider segment of the population knew the concept (although we cannot be sure that all rituals or beliefs called "Orphic" by ancient authors were necessarily part of all "Orphic" initiations).50 Metempsychosis, like belief in a system of postmortem rewards and punishments, assumes an expectation that souls will be treated as individuals after death, and it therefore also indicates, again, that we have moved quite a bit away from the Homeric picture of an afterlife in which all are treated equally. Of similar import is the belief that the souls of the living can temporarily separate themselves from their bodies to wander abroad for periods of time, which also shows up first in the late archaic age.51 One more important idea can be found in Empedocles' poetry. In fragment 101, he boasts that he will teach his students to lead souls back out of Hades. This claim is confirmed by comments made by his pupil Gorgias and by the remarks of later authors such as Diogenes Laertius.52 This art, properly called either psychagogia or goeteia, is analyzed in depth in chapter 3, but I should note here that Empedocles' poem is one 49. Pi O. 2.68-77 andfr. 133; Emp. frs. 107, 108 Wr. = 31 D 117, 115 D-K, and see discussion at Wright 63-76, 2,70-76. Pherecydes: evidence is collected and analyzed in M. L. West 1971, 25. Pythagoras: evidence is collected and discussed at Burkert 1972, 12,0-65. 50. PI. Lg. 87od4~e2; cf. Cra. 4ooc and Arist. de An. 410132,9 = Orph. fr. 2,7. Discussion at Burkert 1985, 297-301. 51. Bremmer 1983, 25-38; Meuli 1975, 2: 817-79; Burkert 1967, 147-49; Bolton; Dodds 1951, 135-78. 52. Fr. 101 Wr. ( = 31 B in D-K); line 9 = d£eig 8' e£ AiSao KGrraea)s, SeXrjvT]? re KQL Mouawv eKyovwv, us 4>aai... Usually, Musaeus and Orpheus are taken in apposition to "children of the Moon and the Muses," but the genitive plural eKyovcov might instead be understood to depend directly on (3i(3Xo)v 8e 6(ia8ov, and refer to other poets as well as, or instead of, Musaeus and Orpheus. Although both Orpheus and Musaeus are sometimes said elsewhere to be children of Muses, neither is known as a child of the Moon, and so understanding a reference to Epimenides here would solve a genealogical problem.

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Orpheus and Musaeus have taught their itinerant priests how to turn a miaros ghost into a katharos ghost, just as the ritual described in the Selinuntine law does. Peter Kingsley has shown the likelihood of a Sicilian or southern Italian origin for the mysteries to which Plato alludes in the passage from the Republic and for Orphic mysteries of Plato's time more generally,51 which suggests that the ritual experts to whom Plato refers may be drawing upon the same core of beliefs that the Selinuntine law addressed. The Selinuntine rituals are controlled and prescribed by a city and used by a group, whereas those in the Republic can be initiated by either an individual or a city (idiotas . . . kai poleis, 36465) but this is a minor distinction: the specific application of rites, particularly when they are disseminated by itinerant specialists, is liable to such changes.52 The Selinuntine law and the passage from Plato have brought two important ideas to our attention. The first is that the dead suffer the consequences of transgressions that they committed while alive. Or to put it another way, if they go to their graves in a miaros state, not having atoned for polluting transgressions, they might expect to remain miaroi and to suffer whatever consequences for miasma the powers of the Underworld hand out. This aligns well with the more general idea, popular in Greece from the late archaic period on, that the dead would be punished for what they did while alive unless they had prepared beforehand by being initiated into mystery rites that released them from paying for their transgressions after death (another service, in fact, that Plato's itinerant experts are willing to provide for a price). The second idea seems more surprising at first glance: the living are able to ameliorate the situation in which their dead ancestors find themselves by performing rituals on their behalf. Perhaps the living can even hire ritual experts to perform postmortem variations of initiation ceremonies that were otherwise performed for the living, for the final line in the passage from the Republic refers to teletai performed for the dead, and Orpheus 51. See Kingsley, pt. z, passim, which discusses this passage and other passages about mysteries from Plato that show Sicilian or south Italian influences. On Orphism more specifically, see esp. 115-16. 52.. Another excellent parallel for what happens to the Tritopatores has been brought to my attention by Philippe Borgeaud, who reminds me that the god Pan, responsible for the success of hunters and herders insofar as he is responsible for the fertility of the animals with which they are concerned, might undergo a "purification" ceremony when the animal population began to drop. The god was understood to be inactive due to impurity; until his purity was restored, he could not perform his usual functions and benefit humanity. See Borgeaud 1988, 71-73.

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and Musaeus were particularly associated with such initiations. But we really should not be surprised by this idea—after all, if the dead surfer hunger, thirst, and other physical needs that the living can address, why would they not suffer religious needs that the living can address as well, including a need for purificatory rituals? Similarly, in early modern Europe, clergymen could baptize stillborn babies and in contemporary Romania and Greece, a girl who dies unmarried will be given a "marriage" ceremony before burial; vital rites left unperformed before death are better performed postmortem than not at all.53 Roughly analogous, too, is the sacrifice made to Hermes Chthonios "on behalf of the dead" on the last day of the Anthesteria, for as I suggest below, this was intended to ensure that Hermes, the guide of the dead, would see the dead safely back into the Underworld after their three-day visit to the land of the living. Threatening though they sometimes were, the Greek dead were envisioned as weak enough to need all sorts of help from the living upon occasion. As we have seen already, when the dead were discontented—hungry, thirsty, unburied, or in any other kind of need—the living might be made to suffer as well, until those needs were met. What Plato says in the Phaedrus about experts in purifications and initiations being able to release those driven crazy by "ancient wraths" speaks precisely to this point, for the word used for wraths—menimata—usually refers to the anger of the dead; as we shall see in chapter 4, the infliction of madness was one of the dead's favorite ways of troubling mortals.54 When an individual suspected that the dead were angry with him, he first had to have his case diagnosed by a ritual expert, and then had to undertake to "cure" himself by performing whatever actions for the dead the ritual expert had prescribed. Based on this model, we can hypothesize that 53. On baptism, see Muir 2.0-2,7. On Romanian "marriages" after death, see Kligman, passim, and see, too, the photograph at Cohen, 2,00—2,01.1 have been told of similar "marriages" in contemporary Greece by Richard Seaford and my colleague Gregory Jusdanis, who witnessed them. Somewhat the same conclusion regarding the passage from Plato's Republic is approached by Burkert 1987, 2,4. Something similar to what we glimpsed in Plato and our text may also be alluded to by one of the newest Bacchic gold tablets, from Pelinna, which finishes by promising that the dead woman will receive the same rites (telea) after death as the "other blessed ones"; this may refer to rites actually imagined to take place in the Underworld, or it may refer to some kind of rites that the living performed for the dead. On the tablet, see Graf 1993 and, for context, Johnston and McNiven. In an as yet unpublished paper, Fritz Graf has raised the possibility that some of these Bacchic gold tablets may have been placed in the mouths of the deceased, as if to make them "speak" the words of an initiation ceremony after death that they failed to speak while alive; cf. Dickie 1995. 54. PI. Phdr. 2-44d5-2,4531; cf. Burkert 1992,, 66.

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dead who were suffering under the burden of pollution—like our Selinuntine Tritopatores—might also be imagined to manifest their need for ritual attention by inflicting illness on the living. Alternatively, or additionally, the polluted state of the Tritopatores might manifest itself among the living, insofar as while they were miaroi, the Tritopatores would not be able perform the tasks that the living required them to. When we recall that one of the most common ramifications of pollution, according to Greek belief, was sterility, the possibility of some of the Tritopatores being miaroi becomes especially problematic; the very spirits who were expected to bless marriages and facilitate procreation might be unable to do their job if they were polluted. A group suffering from impaired fertility might come to suspect, therefore, that one or more of their Tritopatores was miaros. This would be the signal to perform the rituals described in the lex sacra. If improvement in the form of pregnancies and births did not follow, then another ritual would be performed a year later. With this possibility in mind, let us return to the lex sacra and consider whether its rites can be interpreted accordingly. They begin with a libation and holocaust offered to the Tritopatores in their polluted state; this can be understood as an attempt to assuage any anger they might be feeling toward the living who had not previously addressed their need for purification, or to call them forth formally to the rite. Then follows aspersion, an action well known in Greek and other Mediterranean religions as a method of purification, and the anointing of something— probably either the altar of the Tritopatores or statues of them. Anointing also was part of some purificatory processes in antiquity.55 After these actions had been finished—that is, when the Tritopatores had been purified—the participants were told to sacrifice a sheep to the katharoi Tritopatores and prepare a welcoming meal. The sheep was to be sacrificed as one would sacrifice to the gods, in contrast to the earlier sacrifice to the polluted Tritopatores, which was conducted as a heroic sacrifice. This aligns with the idea that the Tritopatores have passed into a new, pure state of existence. The involvement of the other deities in this process may be interpreted in several ways. The Eumenides, like the Tritopatores, were prayed to in hopes of facilitating human fecundity.56 In this role, they might be 55. On aspersion, see Parker 1983, 226-27. See, too, the discussion of anointing at Jameson, Jordan, and Kotansky, 34, with citations regarding its purificatory role. 56. See discussion in chapter 7 below and Johnston 1994.

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supplicated in hopes that they would help the Tritopatores ensure the group's reproduction. Alternatively, if we consider the Eumenides' association with the Erinyes and Semnai Theai, which had been established in at least some places by the middle of the fifth century, then we might guess that they are invoked here because of their involvement with issues of pollution and purification, particularly pollution that arises from transgressions committed within a family.57 Thus, they might be supplicated in hopes that they would help to purify the polluted Tritopatores. Zeus Eumenes is a novelty, but his name, particularly in a context where he accompanies the Eumenides, suggests that he is playing the same function as they are.58 Zeus Meilichios is well known as a god concerned with purification, with the world of the dead and with the welfare of households or family groups. Typically, he was worshipped by small groups or families rather than by cities and took an interest in their immediate concerns. Thus he, too, would be at home in the context I have suggested for the rite described by the lex sacra, either as a god who could help to purify the polluted Tritopatores or, alongside of them, as a god who could promote the fecundity of those performing the ritual.59 The lex sacra stipulates that these rituals must be carried out before the Kotytia. We have very little knowledge of the goddess to whom this festival was consecrated, variously known as Kot(t)ya, Kottytia, Kotyto, or Kotys, and worshipped in Thrace as well as Sicily, and probably in Corinth and Athens, too; what information we do have has been collected and discussed by the inscription's editors, on whose comments I base my own.60 An important feature of Kotyto's cult in Sicily (and so, we presume, in Selinus) was a rite in which cakes and nuts were tied to a branch and snatched at by the revelers.61 This rite, very similar to those of the eiresione and korythale that are known from Attica and elsewhere, implies a festival concerned with fertility.62 Evidence for the Kotytia in mainland Greece suggests vulgar and scurrilous behavior, per57. Erinyes and familial transgressions: e.g., Od. 2.134-36; Hes. Th. 185; A. Ch. 1048-62,; Eu. 94-177, 316-20 (and cf. the remarks of Parker 1983, 106-8); Apollod. 3.7.5; E. Med. 1389. 58. On Zeus Eumenes and the Eumenides, see Jameson, Jordan, and Kotansky, 7781, and Clinton 1996, 165-70. 59. On Zeus Meilichios, see Jameson, Jordan, and Kotansky, 81-107. 60. Ibid., 23-26. 61. [Plut.] Prov. Alex. 1.78 = Leutsch and Schneidewin, i: 333. The passage is given in full at Jameson, Jordan, and Kotansky, 24, and translated as: "Snatching at [?] the Kotyttia. Kotyttia is a Sicilian festival in which they fastened cakes and nuts on branches and allowed people to grab them." 62. Deubner, 198-201; Blech, 278-81.

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haps including ithyphallic processions and cross-dressing.63 These elements, too, would be appropriate to a fecundity festival. Behind this picture of the Kotytia as a fecundity festival we may glimpse why it was important to make sure that all the spirits responsible for facilitating reproduction during the succeeding year (including the Tritopatores) were in good working order before the Kotytia began. A similar surmise could be made regarding the sacrificial rhythm at Marathon. The Marathonian calendar tells us that the Tritopatores and Kourotrophos were to receive offerings before the Skira, a festival that probably included rites performed by women in honor of Demeter in order to renew their sexual powers for the succeeding year.64 In sum, although the evidence is too scant for us to be certain, the ritual described on Side A of our lex sacra from Selinus may be interpreted as a sort of "mass for the dead," in which the living endeavored to improve the postmortem lot of certain dead progenitors, not only out of sympathy but because the condition of these ancestors affected things of vital interest to the living themselves, such as fecundity. One further point may be considered briefly. In one of the last, fragmentary lines of the text, we find the word "statues" (agalmata) shortly after the verb "slaughter." Perhaps we have here a reference to rites performed in front of statues of the Tritopatores, which would fit in well with other uses of statues to control the dead that we shall consider next. Our second text that describes ghost-averting rituals, from fourthcentury Gyrene, declares that they had been ordered by Apollo—that is, by the Oracle at Delphi, the same institution that advised Orestes on how to deal with Agamemnon's and Clytemnestra's ghosts in myth and advised many another ghost-haunted individual or city as well.65 The text concerns a ghostly "visitant" who has been sent against someone's 63. See the discussion and citation of ancient sources, including fragments of Eupolis's Baptai, at FCG V 331-42; cf. Anec. Grace. (Bekker), i: 246.19; Hsch., s.v. Kotutto; Suda, s.v. Kotus. 64. Timing of the Marathonian sacrifice: LSS 20 B 30-33 (IG II2 1358), discussed at Jameson, Jordan, and Kotansky, 109. On the nature of the women's activities at the Skira: Parke 1977, 159-61; Deubner, 40-44, with particular emphasis on the schol. Lucian, 275-76, Rabe (although some, including Clinton 1988, 76-79, and Brumfield, 156-82., have doubted certain aspects of the interpretation), Harrison 192,2, 134-35. 65. SEG ix 72 = LSS 115. See Parker 1983, 333, for discussion of the alleged connection of the Cyrenean law to Delphi. Further examples of Delphi's advice to the ghostridden are discussed in chapter 3 below. On Apollo's advice to Orestes, see A. Ch. 26997, 1029-39; Eu. 78-84, 235-43, 276-86; and further in chapter 7 below. Of course, the Eumenides as a whole also serves as an extended example of Apollo's ability to "exorcise" the murderer of the ghosts that haunt him. On the Cyrenean law more generally, see Parker 1983, app. 2 (esp. 347-49), Faraone i99ib; Burkert 1992, 68-73.

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house by means of magic (a hikesios epaktos).66 The suffering householder deals with the visitant by, first, proclaiming its name for three days, if he knows it. Interestingly, the text goes on to specify at this point the possibility of the visitant being the spirit of a dead person, which implies that a visitant might also be some other form of supernatural creature as well. This probably alludes to the possibility of a ghost deputizing some sort of agent, for example, an alastor or erinys, to work on his behalf. The text goes on to say that if the householder does not know the name of the visitant, he should instead address it by saying, "O person [anthropos], whether you are a man or a woman. ..." The householder then makes figures (kolossoi)67 of wood or earth, both male and female, and entertains them by offering them portions of food. (We can probably assume that if the householder knew who the visitant was, he made only one figure, either male or female.) Finally, the householder carries both the figures and the food to an unworked forest and deposits them there. This has both a practical function, insofar as the figures have been removed from any area where people are likely to encounter them accidentally, and a symbolic function, insofar as the figures now are located at an eschaton, the marginal boundary of an inhabited area. As in the Selinuntine rite against elasteroi, then, the afflicted person deals with the ghost first by feeding it. And yet, as in the Selinuntine rite, these actions are not assumed to be sufficient. Rather than avoiding the ghost by not turning around, however, the householder removes the ghost—now apparently transferred into a statue—to a wilderness where it cannot harm the living. Such uses of statues to represent and thereby control restless ghosts was probably fairly common; the Spartans' use of statues to control the ghost of the traitor Pausanias (following the advice of professional psychagogoi) is a famous example, as is the Orchomenians' use of a statue to control the ghost of Actaeon.68 This 66. As Parker 1983, 348, indicates, the word eirctKTos is cognate with eTraywyrj, a technical term in magic for sending ghosts against people. 67. The most recent discussion of the word kolossos and the probable size of the kolossoi referred to in this and various other sources is Dickie 1996, which cites earlier treatments. Dickie concludes (persuasively to my mind) that the Cyrenean kolossoi were at least life-size, perhaps a bit larger. 68. Pausanias's ghost controlled by statues: Th. 1.134.4-135.1; Paus. 3.17.7-9; D.S. 11.45; Themist. Ep. 5.15; Aristodem. FGrH 104 F 8; Suda, s.v. Pausanias (cf. Plut. Mor. fr. 12.6 [Sandbach] = Plu. Homerikaimeletaih. i [Bernadakis] = schol. E. Ale. 112,8; Plu. De ser. 56oe-f; Nepos 4.5). Actaeon's ghost: Paus. 9.38.5. Further on statues used to control ghosts, Faraone 199 ib and 1992,, esp. chs. 3, 4, and 5; and on a Corinthian example, Johnston 19973. For a different use of statues to control the ghosts of dead maidens, see some of the examples in chapter 6 below.

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use of statues to represent and control the dead is scarcely surprising, considering the ways that the Greeks used statues representing their gods. A sacrifice for a god was often made in front of the god's statue, with the expectation that the latter could receive the offering for the former. Statues of gods were washed, dressed, and ornamented with jewelry, and statues of gods, like those of the dead, might temporarily be taken out into the wilderness, during which time the god was considered to be in retreat.69 Analogously, the Greeks used very small statues as magical dolls: by affecting the doll, one affected the individual whom the doll represented.70 In short, the idea of manipulating statues that represented a dead person in order to manipulate the dead person him- or herself fits comfortably within the Greek mentality—and indeed, within ancient Mediterranean mentalities generally; the Mesopotamians, for example, also manipulated statues or figurines of ghosts in order to ban them.71 The Cyrenean rite, far from being aberrant, reflects what was probably a common practice. Broadly, the aversion rites in both the Selinuntine and the Cyrenean text align with the funerary practice of feeding the dead and making them comfortable in other ways, but more specifically, they are also similar to another ad hoc method of appeasing and averting the dead: the suppers (deipna) that could be sent to crossroads at the time of the new moon. Several ancient sources tell us that these were left by the statues or shrines of Hecate (hekataia) that stood at crossroads, and were dedicated both to the goddess and to "those who must be averted" (hoi apotropaioi).72 As Hecate was a goddess credited with the power either 69. On offering sacrifices to statues, see the many illustrations in van Straten of worshippers presenting offerings to figures who may be either the god himself or a statue of the god—it is impossible to be certain which is intended. On washing, dressing, and ornamenting statues, see, e.g., Burkert 1985, 133 (Hera in Olympia); Calame, 12,8-30 (Athena at Athens); Burkert 1985, 92. On the periodic "exile" or "disappearance" as represented by their statues, see, e.g., Calame, 94-95 (Artemis at Ephesus); Burkert 1985, 134-35 (Hera in Argos). On all of these phenomena, see the examples in Graf 1985, index, s.v. Statuen. On animating statues and statues that come to life, see S. Morris, esp. ch. 8. See also generally the discussion at Burkert 1985, 88-92,, although some of his assumptions (such as that Greeks never animated statues) are misplaced. 70. Dolls: Faraone 199 ib. 71. See discussion in chapter 3, with notes citing scholarship on Mesopotamian practices; cf. Faraone 1992. and Faraone et al. 1994. 72. D. 54.39; Ar. PL 594-97 and schol. ad 594; Plu. QR 2.906. and QC 708^7093; Apollod. FGrH 2,44 F 109. Further discussion at Johnston 1991. The adjective apotropaios, as used at Plu. QC 7o8f, for example, can have either an active or a passive meaning: it can indicate either those who are to do the averting (e.g., Apollo Apotropaios) or those who must be averted. That the latter meaning is relevant in the passage from Plutarch describing the suppers sent to the crossroads is guaranteed by context. Plutarch

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to hold back the unhappy dead or to drive them on against an unlucky individual, hoi apotropaioi surely refers here to the dangerous ghosts of the dead. Offering these suppers to both the dead and their mistress guaranteed not only that the dead would be fed and appeased but also that Hecate would help to keep them under control.73 The timing reflects a belief that souls were especially likely to be abroad on the night of the new moon; if one wanted to do something to appease them, this was the easiest—and also the most necessary—time to make contact. It has sometimes been assumed that these suppers were taken to the crossroads every month, as a prophylaxis against such ever-present and abundant sources of potential danger as the souls of those who had died young (aoroi). But like the Selinuntine rite for the Tritopatores, it is also possible that the suppers were offered only as the need arose— when some terrible occurrence signaled that the dead were angry. The monthly suppers are not mentioned in any festal calendars, which would tend to support the latter idea, although the omission may also mean only that they were taken to the crossroads by individuals on their own behalf, not by representatives of the state or any other body. In either case, their regular offering does not seem to have been understood as so crucial to the health of the polis as a whole that state sanction and control were necessary. The dead could indeed cause citywide problems, however. The very fact that the Selinuntine lex sacra and the Cyrenean inscription were public documents indicates that cities wanted to ensure that ghostly problems suffered by individuals could be cleared up quickly and correctly. The implication, familiar from Greek myth and also from the Tetralogies of Antiphon, is that a ghost pursuing an individual might attack those around that individual as well, particularly if they had failed to punish the offender.74 Some scholars have suggested that the codification of Athenian murder laws in the seventh century (supposedly is describing a situation in which a host offers fine provisions that he himself will never enjoy, because, like the meals set out for Hecate and the apotropaioi, the food will be snatched away by guests who descend like a bunch of "shadows" (skiai) or harpies. For further discussion of this and related words, see Parker 1983, 107-9; Hatch. 73. The very practice of erecting hekataia at the crossroads, which began in the late archaic or classical period, was also understood to help control the dangerous dead, as discussed in chapter 6 below. In these monthly suppers, incidentally, we also find again a parallel with Mesopotamian practices, which included suppers for the dead at the time of the new moon: Bottero, 39-40; Cooper, 28-29; Scurlock 1988 (examples passim); I995a, 1888-89; 1995b; and forthcoming (including discussion of similar practices in a variety of cultures). 74. Cf. Parker 1983, ch. 4.

6 2,

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by Draco) reflects an increased concern about pollution at this time, but it might also be argued that it reflects an increased concern with the ghosts who follow in pollution's wake—it is difficult, in any case, to divide these two concerns very strictly, as we shall see later.75 Moreover, we know that in times of crisis, cities might conclude that they were being persecuted by the dead and call in experts who knew how to deal with them. The most famous instance involved the ghost of Pausanias, which caused problems for the Spartans in the mid fifth century. According to Plutarch, the Spartans hired psychagogoi ("conductors of souls") to expel it from the temple where it was lurking. The psychagogoi first appeased the ghost with sacrifices and then drew it out. Thucydides, who also tells the story, makes no explicit mention of psychagogoi or sacrifices, but says that the Delphic Oracle commanded that Pausanias's body be buried at the entrance to the temple and that two statues of the dead man be erected "in place of" (anti) him, which surely indicates that some ritual was to be performed in connection with these statues, similar perhaps to the Cyrenean ghost-expelling ritual. Similarly, the Orchomenians were told by Delphi that they might control the ghost of Actaeon by burying the dead man's body and binding a statue of him to a rock. State-sponsored exorcisms probably also lie behind the story of Epimenides' "purification" of Athens after the Athenians' gross mistreatment of dead bodies following the Cylonian affair in the late seventh or early sixth century.76 One more piece of evidence probably should be treated in this section of the chapter, although its brevity makes it impossible for us to be sure that it concerns aversion of ghosts rather than an invocation. An early fourth-century oracular tablet from Dodona carries the question "Shall we hire Dorius the psychagogos or not?" 77 Psychagogoi, as we have just seen, could be hired to deal with troublesome ghosts; we might imagine that the inquirers, whether members of a family group or a city, were asking the oracle whether Dorius was the right person to exorcise a ghost that was attacking them, just as the Spartans had inquired about how to get rid of Pausanius's ghost at Delphi, as the Athenians had asked Delphi what do to after the Cylonian Affair, as the Cyreneans had in75. Ibid., 115, with n. 45 for earlier discussions. 76. For more on all these episodes, and the ancient citations, see chapters 3 and 7 below. 77. Evangelidis, 257 (#23 of the epigraphai). I am grateful to A. Ph. Christidis for bringing this tablet to my attention.

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quired at Delphi about the best sort of aversion rituals to deal with bikesioi epaktoi, and along much the same lines as Pelias supposedly inquired at Delphi concerning the relocation of Phrixus's ghost in Pythian 4. The great oracles seem to have been in the business of giving such advice. It is possible, however, that the inquirers were considering hiring Dorius to invoke a ghost for some reason—this is the role that psychagogoi play in Aeschylus's lost play of the same name, for example, and the role that Admetus first thinks Heracles has played when he brings back what Admetus presumes is the ghost of Alcestis.78 The resolution of this issue would make little difference to what is really important about the oracular tablet, however: it proves that by the early fourth century, psychagogoi were a familiar part of daily life, who could be openly discussed and who even garnered the approval of gods, including Zeus, when they were right for a job. DAYS OF THE DEAD

The only civic festival designed to avert, appease, or control the dead on an annual basis about which we have good information was the Anthesteria, which was celebrated by all the lonians and the Athenians. Most of our information about the festival comes from Athens, although Anthesteriai elsewhere were probably similar.79 As we know it from classical sources, the Athenian Anthesteria seems at first glance to have been a conglomeration of what were once separate rites with different purposes. We can discern Dionysiac elements, such as the opening of the new casks of wine and the "marriage" of Dionysus to the basilinna (queen), and celebrations of young life, such as the ceremonial introduction of young children into the festival life of the city for the first time. The name of the festival itself incorporates both of these elements, as it alludes to the new, flowering blooms of the vine.80 Other evidence indicates that the dead were very much a concern at the 78. E. Ale. 1127-28: "I see nothing other than a phasma from the dead," says Admetus as he stares at Alcestis. "Do not make your friend into some kind oipsychagogos," replies Heracles. 79. General discussions of the Anthesteria include Burkert 1983, 213-30; 1985, 23742; Bremmer 1983, 108-24; Parke 107-20; Nilsson 1906, 267-71; 1967, 181; Deubner, 111-16; and Harrison 1922, 32-76. 80. Opening of casks: Phanod. FGrH 325 F 12; Plu. QC 6556. Marriage of Dionysus and basilinna: [pseudo-] D. 59.73-79, 76; Arist. Ath. 3; Hsch., s.v. Dionusou gamos. Young children: Philostr. Her. 12.2 and IG II/III 2 1368.130. More discussion of these points in the sources cited in the previous note.

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Anthesteria as well. On the second morning of this three-day festival, the doors of houses were coated with pitch and people chewed buckthorn, acts that were supposed to avert ghosts.81 These precautions, which focused on the individual person and the private house, suggest that the dead were imagined to wander freely in the upper world during the Anthesteria, released from the bonds that normally held them close to their graves. Anyone, anywhere, was at risk of being attacked. The idea is much like the one behind the old, traditional celebration of European Halloween, a night when the ghosts could wander freely, as well as like that described for Singapore in the excerpt that opened this chapter. On the final day of the Anthesteria, an offering described as eudeipnos was given to the ghost of a dead maiden named Erigone and perhaps to other dead maidens as well. This supper, and other rites performed in her honor, were meant to deter Erigone from attacking living Athenian maidens who had reached the age for marriage.82 Also on the final day, a mixture of grains (panspermia) was offered to Hermes Chthonios. This rite was said to have been established following the great Flood, when the few survivors gathered together and ate whatever food was available. Theopompos tells us it was intended to propitiate Hermes "on behalf of the dead."83 Perhaps the idea behind both the mythic panspermia and the real ones offered annually at the Anthesteria was that by winning Hermes' favor, the living could guarantee his solicitude for the dead, for whom he acted as guide back and forth between the lower and upper worlds. This might be especially important at the end of the Anthesteria, when the dead who had been wandering amongst the living for three days would have to return to Hades. The Anthesteria may, in fact, have concluded with a ceremonial cry in which the souls were ordered to depart, lest there be any confusion about their visit being over.84 81. Phot., s.v. rhamnus; cf. Phot., s.v. miara hemera, and Nic. Ther. 861-62; further at Burkert 1979, 2,18-19, and nn. 12, 13; Harrison 1922, 39-40. It is interesting that Photius goes on to tell his readers that house doors were also hung with the rhamnos plant when women were giving birth, in order to avert daimones. The importance of protecting house doors against ghosts who specialize in killing babies and pregnant women is discussed in chapter 6 below. 82. For citations and further discussion, see chapter 6 below. 83. Panspermia: Theopomp. Hist. FGrH 115 F 34ya, 34yb; schol. Ar. Ach. 1076. Further interpretation and discussion at Burkert 1979, 238-43; 1985, 240; Harrison 1922, 33-40 (somewhat extreme). 84. Zenob. Par. 4.33, Paroem. Gr., i: 93; Hsch. and Suda., s.v. thuraze kares; Suda, s.v. thuraze; and cf. Hsch., s.v. her. Discussion in Burkert 1983, 226-30; 1985, 238; Rose 1948; Deubner 113-14; Harrison 1922, 34-36, 42-49.

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Again, the Singaporean ritual provides a close parallel in its "passports" for the dead: transgression of the boundary must be carefully managed. Another element that expressed the Anthesteria's deep concern with the dead and the problems they could cause for the living was its aitiological use of the story of Orestes' pursuit by the Erinyes—that is, his pursuit by the avenging representatives of his mother's ghost. Following the murder of his mother, Orestes arrived in Athens at the time of the Anthesteria. The Athenians, afraid that they might incur the wrath of the Erinyes by offering Orestes formal hospitality and thus incorporating him into their community, bade him drink and eat alone. But, lest he feel singled out, they did the same. It was supposedly in commemoration of this that on the second day of the festival, all Athenians drank their new wine alone and in silence, rather than communally and with the laughter and song that such an occasion would normally merit. The story may be a comparatively late addition to the festival, imported to forge a link with the epic cycle and to showcase Athens' hospitality to even the most polluted of visitors, but both the story and the rite nonetheless express a fear that ghostly problems might be contagious, and that appeasing the problematic dead could be a concern of the city just as much as of any single citizen.85 Scholars have puzzled over the question of how all of these elements—the honoring of Dionysus, the celebration of new life and the appeasement of the dead—came together to create the festival complex known as the Anthesteria, and what ideas, cumulatively, it articulated.86 The fact that from at least the late archaic period Dionysus was a god associated with mysteries and thereby with the world of the dead is surely of relevance,87 but there is a broader reason at work as well. In Greece and elsewhere, the dead, and especially the unhappy dead, were assumed to be envious of those who were still enjoying life: thus, success and joy were often accompanied by a heightened awareness of possible 85. E. 1X947-60; Phanod. FGrH 325 F n = Ath. Deip. io.437C-d; cf. Plu. QC 6i3b, 6433; Apollod. FGrH 244 F 133 = schol. Ar. Ach. 961, schol. Lye. 1374. Further citations and discussion in Burkert 1983, 221-23. 86. Nilsson 1906, 267-72. Nilsson suggests that the logic behind the combination lay in the fact that fertility and the dead are both connected with the earth, and that Dionysus, as lord of the flowering vine, also became lord of the dead. He adds (without citing any proof) that spring is the time when days of the dead are observed throughout the world, and yet in Assyria, for example, days of the dead fell in July and August (Scurlock I 995)> and in northern Europe and America, Halloween falls in late October. As we have seen, in Singapore, too, the festival of the dead falls in August and September. 87. Segal 1992.

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misfortune and the jealous spirits who brought it. As Plato put it, "keres cling to most of the good things of life."88 Given this attitude, the Greeks would have assumed that the dead were particularly likely to burst forth from the Underworld and attack them at that time of year when the living were celebrating renewal and abundance. A ritual complex that simultaneously rejoiced in the new vintage, the growth of flowers, and the health of the young even as it appeased and then exorcised the envious, restless dead, makes sense, then.89 Similarly again, European Halloween follows the agricultural harvest and thus coincides with the time of plenty. The Singaporean festival of the dead articulates the same connection, inasmuch as the food, operas, and rock concerts provided "for the dead" are certainly enjoyed at least as much by the living. There is some reason to think that the Agriania or Agrionia, a festival directed toward Dionysus that was celebrated in many city-states, was also concerned with appeasing or exorcising the dead, for Hesychius defines it as "a nekusia [festival of the dead] among the Argives and agones [contests] among the Thebans." The latter part of this statement may reflect the fact that the Orchomenean version, and perhaps also the version in nearby Thebes, included a ritual in which the priest of Dionysus pursued women who attempted to escape from him. But we are stalled regarding the first half of Hesychius's statement, for it is our only direct indication that the Agriania had anything to do with the dead; all our other sources emphasize its connection with Dionysus and with this ritual pursuit.90 Hesychius makes one more statement that will help, however. In a separate entry, he mentions an Argive festival called the Agrania that honored one of Proetus's daughters; surely this is simply the Agriania under an alternative spelling.91 According to myth, the Proetides, daughters of King Proetus, were stricken with madness, in most versions because they had mocked Hera or her statue. They left their home in Argive Tiryns (or in Argos itself, according to some later versions of the 88. Pl.Lg. 937d.6-7. 89. I offer a detailed exposition of this principle in chapter 6, when I analyze more closely, not only the myth of Erigone and the rituals performed in her honor at the Anthesteria, but also a series of other myth and ritual complexes that express the risk that the envious dead might pose to young women about to embark on their adult lives. 90. Hsch., s.v. Agriania. On the Orchomenean pursuit, see Plu. QG 2996-3003; cf. QC 7i6f-7iya. Main discussions of the Agriania are Dowden, 71-96; Burkert 1983, 168-79; Nilsson 1906, 271-74. 91. Hsch., s.v. Agriania.

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myth) and wandered in the wilderness. According to one version, they believed that they were cows; in another, they contracted a hideous skin disease that marred their beauty. The two need not be mutually exclusive; the important thing is that either affliction would have prevented the Proetides from pursuing the normal goals of young girls: marriage and maternity, which stood under the protection of the goddess whom they had offended, Hera. In Bacchylides' version of the myth, King Proetus cured his daughters himself, with the blessing of Hera, but in other versions he called in the famous Dionysiac seer Melampus, who undertook to cure the girls after some haggling over fees. With the help of his brother Bias, Melampus pursued, captured, and healed all of them but one, Iphinoe, who—as early as Hesiod's version of the story92—was said to have died in the process. Some people said Iphinoe's tomb was in the marketplace of Sicyon, others located it in the marketplace of Megara (although there she was called the daughter not of Proetus but of another primeval king, Alcathoos). Still other myths may have located her tomb in other places, for Melampus's cure of the Proetides, which is closely tied to Iphinoe's death, was claimed by a variety of cities. In Megara, and probably also in Sicyon and perhaps elsewhere, libations and offerings of hair were made to Iphinoe by girls about to embark on marriage. Pausanias says that this rite was similar to that in which the daughters of the Delians once cut their hair for the dead virgins Hecaerge and Opis before they married.93 In other words, it was one of the hair offerings connected with a transitional rite mentioned earlier in this chapter. All of this brings us back to Hesychius's second statement, that the Argive Agrania honored one of Proetus's daughters. As Walter Burkert aptly notes, " 'honoring' a heroine presupposes her death"; there can be little doubt that what this hair offering and accompanying rites refer to, therefore, is the ritual in honor of Iphinoe that Pausanias describes as occurring in Megara, and that perhaps occurred in Sicyon and other Argive city-states, too.94 Thus, we can add to our store of information about the Argive Agriania the likelihood that at some point marriage92.. See the analysis of relative dates at Dowden, 80-81. 93. The main sources for this myth are B. n; Hes. frs. 37, 129-31; Pherecyd. FGrH 3 F 14. For other sources and for discussions of how the story changed and was contaminated by others, see Dowden, 71-95; Gantz, 187-88; Seaford 1988. Burkert 1983, 16878, is also useful. 94. Burkert 1983, 173.

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able girls made offerings to a dead virgin at her tomb. Why? The answer here (and in similar cases that we shall study in chapter 6) may be found in the story of Erigone, another virgin who died before her time. If not propitiated by offerings and other rites during the Anthesteria, Erigone's envious ghost would attack living Athenian virgins—and so, too, it seems safe to assume, the ghost of Iphinoe would attack living Argive virgins.95 Interpreting Iphinoe's rites in this way makes for a nice correspondence between the Athenian Anthesteria and the Argive Agriania and begins to explain why Hesychius calls the Agriania a nekusia. The dedication of both festivals to Dionysus and the fact that both were held in the springtime brings them closer together still, and encourages a further hypothesis: perhaps the Argives, like the Athenians, believed that all souls were abroad at this time of year when the abundance of good things would make them envious. The Agriania may have included rituals directed toward all the dead that were similar to those we examined when discussing the Anthesteria: avertive rituals such as the smearing of pitch and chewing of buckthorn and propitiatory rituals such as the offering of a panspermia. Although the interpretation I have just offered applies only to the Argive Agriania in the strictest sense, with a few changes it may work for the Orchomenean, Theban, and other Boeotian versions as well (which appear in our sources under the variant spelling of "Agrionia"). These include elements absent from the Argive version and its aition, at least as we know them. Plutarch says that the Orchomenean ritual included a chase in which the local priest of Dionysus pursued some of the women of the town; he goes on to tell us that a priest named Zoilus once forgot himself and killed the woman he caught. The real women who ran the annual race were supposed to be descendants of the Minyads, daughters of King Minyas. Maddened by Dionysus, the Minyads had 9 5. The functional and thematic similarities between the stories of Erigone and Iphinoe, and the rites performed in their honor, is further underlined by a common emphasis on wandering in the two stories. Erigone was wandering abroad in search of her father when she died; one of the things that the Athenian girls did to appease her ghost was to perform a dance called "The Wanderer," in which they imitated Erigone's search. One manifestation of the madness that Hera sent upon the Proetides (including Iphinoe, we presume) was a desire to wander in the wilderness. The Minyads, who replace the Proetides as mythic exemplars in some local aitia for the Agriania, similarly are driven by their madness to wander abroad. As chapters 5 and 6 will show, this wandering exemplifies the transitional or marginal stage of the girl's life, poised as she is between virginity and maternity.

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killed one of their infants and run wild into the mountains. The Theban story of the daughters of Cadmus, who tore Pentheus apart after having been maddened by Dionysus, is an analogue.96 In the Argive tradition, we have virginal daughters who wander madly. In the Boeotian tradition, we have married women (for they have borne children) who wander madly. The single distinction should not distract us unduly: it is likely that there was once a version of the myth in which the Minyads were virgins, too, for use of the patronymic collective marks them not as wives but as daughters, and in Greek myth, daughters are always virgins.97 The Boeotian daughters of Cadmus may once have been virgins as well, for although we know them best by their individual names, thanks to Attic tragedy, the fact that they acted together as sisters implies that their primary loyalty was to their natal family. For some reason, these (hypothesized) Boeotian versions of "maidens' tragedies" became the "mothers' tragedies" now familiar to us. We can see traces of this beginning to happen in the Argive area as well, for another story, which became confused with that of the Proetides, told of Argive mothers running wild under Dionysus's influence and the Proetides themselves, in one version of their tale, incited other women of the area to tear apart their children.98 These variations indicate that the story of the maddened, wandering virgin and the story of the maddened, infanticidal mother were mutually attractive—a far from surprising point given that, as I shall discuss in chapters 5, 6, and 7, maidens who fail to become brides and women who fail at motherhood are really only subtypes of a figure whom we might call the failed female. The passage of a girl out of her natal household into marriage and the motherhood that sets the seal upon marriage can be truncated and ruined at either end of the process with the same result: she becomes an unhappy soul, frustrated in her attempt to complete her life as a woman, who must be propitiated lest she return to ruin the lives of other females. Although the deities blamed for such failures in myth are most often Artemis 96. Plu. QG 2996-3003; cf. QC 7173. Interpreted by Dowden, 81-89, as a festival of initiatory inversion or dislocation, and by Burkert 1983, 168-79, as a festival of dissolution. 97. Suggested as well by Dowden, 82, and Bremmer 1984, 283, who notes that their individual names as given at Ant. Lib. 10.3 are Arsippe and Lysippus—horse names that are typical for maidens—and that Ant. Lib. calls them korai. 98. Following Dowden, 78-90, who cites all the ancient sources. On Dionysus's part in this story, cf. pp. 226-27 below.

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and Hera, Dionysus takes on the role as well in some versions of the Proetides' myth, in the Minyads' myth, in the myth of Carya, and more faintly in the extant version of the myth of Erigone. Thus, rituals to propitiate these dead women's souls could be attracted into the sphere of a Dionysiac festival such as the Anthesteria or the Agriania/Agrionia." The name, built on the root agrios, "wild," applies equally well to the Boeotian mothers' maddened rambles and to the crazed wanderings of the Proetides in their deluded, marginal state. We have no direct evidence that the Boeotian versions of the festival included propitiation of a dead individual, as did the Argive versions, but the ritualized chasing of women by Dionysus's priest and the legendary death of one of them at the hands of Zoilus suggest a version of the myth in which one or more of the Minyads died during her period of wandering, which would serve as an aition for such a rite. Thus, the various Boeotian versions of the Agrionia, like the Argive versions of the Agriania, may well have included appeasement of a dead woman's soul. If so, they might have been performed by married women (for whom the Minyads as we know them in the extant version of the myth would have served as negative exemplars), rather than by maidens. Perhaps the Boeotian Agrionia also included rites directed toward all of the dead, as in the Athenian Anthesteria, and as I have conjectured for the Argive Agriania—but this takes us too far into the realm of conjecture to be pursued any further. Civic "days of the dead" aimed at protecting not only the individual citizen but the vitality of the whole citizenry from damage that might be done by the dead. This is the implication behind the story of Orestes as it was told at the Anthesteria, behind the story of Erigone, probably behind the story of Iphinoe, and perhaps behind some now-lost version of the Minyads' myth. Indeed, as we shall discuss in chapter 6, the collective, annual appeasement of certain classes of problematic dead, such as dead maidens, probably took place in many areas of Greece. These manifestations of civic concern for individuals' relationships with the dead, 99. The reasons for Dionysus's involvement have been discussed by Seaford in his 1994, 1993, and 1988 publications; Cf. also Bremmer 1984. Dionysus's involvement with Carya and Erigone is discussed in chapter 6 below. It should be noted that many of these myths show an original, and probably continuing, attachment to Artemis and/or Hera despite their attraction into the Dionysiac sphere and Dionysus's presence in their myths: thus, as we shall see in chapter 6, Erigone and Carya each become priestesses of Artemis in some versions of their myth, and the Caryatis was a festival in honor of Artemis.

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then, agree with the conclusion that we reached after our examination of the Selinuntine and Cyrenean texts: keeping the dead happy was more than just a private affair.100 CURSE TABLETS In most of the situations discussed in this chapter, there is a presumption that the dead are causing problems of their own volition—that they are angry or unhappy and choose to attack the living for their own reasons. An exception is found in the Cyrenean text, which explicitly allows for the possibility that the ghost might have been sent against the victim by another person, presumably by ritual means. The curse tablets (katadesmoi) that will serve as the topic of this final section provide another good example of the dead returning not of their own accord but because they have been compelled to do so by ritual techniques. Curse tablets begin to show up in the archaeological record in the late sixth century in Sicily and in the mid fifth century in Athens; they show up elsewhere in the Greek world beginning in the fourth century.101 It is my assumption that, from the very beginning, most of the curses written on these sheets of lead depended on the dead for their enactment, for the following reasons. First of all, the great majority of tablets during the classical and Hellenistic periods were deposited in or near graves, suggesting that propinquity to the dead was in some way important to the enactment of their curses.102 The graves of aoroi, those who had died prematurely, were particularly popular so far as we can tell from cases in which the age of the deceased can be determined from skeletal remains or grave goods.103 It follows, as Fritz Graf recently has empha100. I note that there is a small amount of evidence for other nekusia, as well. Most important, Ath. Deip. 8.334^ says: "[I]n earlier times the people of Apollonia (in Chalcidice) brought the customary offerings [ta nomima] to the dead in the month of Elaphebolion but nowadays they bring them in the month of Anthesterion." Cf. Rohde 192,5,197 n. 91; PI. Lg. 7i7d7-i8a3. 101. A good overview of our information concerning curse tablets can be found in Gager, ch. i. His notes will lead the reader to more detailed discussions of particular tablets. Also important are Graf 1997^ ch. 5, and Faraone 19913. I discuss the cultural origins of the tablets in the next chapter; here I concentrate instead on how the tablets were imagined to work. 102. Gager 18-19; Graf i997b, 127 {note: the translator of this English version of Graf's book has incorrectly written "Although most of our curse tablets come from tombstones ..."; the earlier French and German versions clearly indicate that Graf meant "from graves," which is correct). 103. Jordan 1988, esp. 273.

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sized, that the dead within whose graves so many tablets were deposited had some active role to play.104 But what? Without further information, it would seem safest to assume that the dead are imagined only as messengers between this world and the next, carrying the words of the tablets to deities in the underworld. This has parallels in Mesopotamian practice, as we shall see in chapter 3, and I think it is likely that the Greek dead were imagined to play this role. But I would argue that on most occasions, the dead of the classical period were envisioned as doing even more, besides—not on the basis of the few tablets that actually state this, although we shall return to them momentarily, nor on the basis of many tablets from the imperial period, which explicitly describe the dead as actively carrying out the curses. There is another, and more convincing reason. By far, the deities most frequently mentioned on tablets of the classical period are Hecate, Hermes, and Persephone.105 It is "in their presence" that the practitioner either binds or registers (katagrapho) the dead. The latter term, which was used in business and legal contexts in antiquity as well, implies that these deities are expected to take note of the registration and then set in motion the proper chain of events to effect the curse.106 But what, exactly, are they expected to do, and why are they the deities chosen to do it? Let us begin with Hecate. Her only connection to the Underworld during this period is her role as the mistress of the restless dead. In Euripides' Helen, Helen and Menelaus refer to her as the one who leads forth ghosts and an unassigned fragment of fifthcentury tragedy portrays her as leading packs of them through the night.107 She has no other role that connects her to the dead or to the Underworld. Nor does she have any role as a goddess who punishes individuals—either before or after death—at this time. The only way to understand the tablets' constant requests that Hecate witness or register their curses is to presume that she is to ensure their enactment by commanding those whom she rules—the dead—to carry out the work that the tablets describe. Centuries later, the more loquacious magical papyri make this point specifically: several times, Hecate is asked to rouse the 104. Graf i997b, 148-49 (who also discusses further the importance of the tablets being underground in general). 105. On the frequency with which different gods are mentioned, see Gager, 12,. In some areas, a few other, usually chthonic, gods join the list, such as Demeter in Sicily (see Jameson, Jordan, and Kotansky, 12.5-31). 106. Cf. Faraone 19913, 9-10. 107. E. Hel. 569-70; Trag. Adesp. 375. See further chapter 6.

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dead, particularly the aoroi, to do what the practitioner asks.108 A similar interpretation should be adduced for Hermes, who as early as Aeschylus's Persians is portrayed as having the ability to help stir the souls of the dead into action109—a natural development of his role as the one who leads them into Hades after death—and who, like Hecate, has no other connection with the dead or the Underworld during the classical period. Persephone, the queen of the dead, could release souls when she wished to and thus fits the scenario too; she is implored by Electra in the Choephoroi to help guarantee the support of Agamemnon's ghost.110 Notably, entities whom we could more easily imagine as inflicting the damage described in the curses themselves—such as the Erinyes—almost never appear in the tablets, which tends to support the idea that deities are chosen not on the assumption that they will work the curse but rather in the expectation that they will mobilize others to do so. It is important to remember, in evaluating the thesis that I am offering, that most of it aligns perfectly well with other beliefs of the classical period. As early as Sappho, as we saw in chapter i, restless dead such as Gello are imagined to be capable of causing trouble for the living on their own, and by the fifth century at the latest, certain gods—most notably Hecate and Hermes—are known to have had special control over them. The only novelty presented by these tablets of the classical period is the idea that they were a new way in which a practitioner could ask a god to make the dead do something. As noted, on a few tablets from the classical period, we do find the dead themselves mentioned. In the earliest example that I know of, from early fourth-century Attica,111 the victim is simultaneously bound in the presence of (pros) 112 "she who is next to Persephone" (i.e., Hecate), 108. E.g., PGM IV.2,72,6-35. Cf. 1^1390-1495, where Hecate is asked to force an erinys to rouse the aoroi. 109. A. Per. 6z8~30: "You sacred divinities, Earth and King Hermes, conduct [his] soul up the to light from below. . . ." Cf. A. Ch. i24ff.: Electra asks chthonic Hermes to summon the daimones below to listen to her prayers. no. A. Ch. 490: after Orestes asks Agamemnon to rise, Electra says "Persephone, grant us beautiful strength [eumorphon kratos]." in. DT#68 = Gager #2.2. and cf. DT#69, on which cf. Jameson, Jordan, and Kotansky, 12.9-30. in. When pros is used in curse tablets, it usually is understood by scholars to mean "in the presence of," in the same sense that this word has in business and legal transitions from the fifth century B.C.E. on. That is, one enacts a transition "in the presence of" a magistrate, a witness, or a jury, for example, in order that they might take note of the transaction and help to ensure that it is carried out as the enacting party wishes. Curbera and

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Hermes, Tethys, and the "incomplete" (atelestoi)113 dead, which implies that the gods and the dead are understood to be functionally equivalent. In another fourth-century Attic tablet, the victim is bound in the presence of (pros) those below—hoi kato.114 As the gods mentioned in tablets are almost always carefully specified, and as hoi kato is a term commonly used of the dead, particularly in Attic tragedy,115 we have to assume that the writer was using this phrase to refer to the dead. These references show that it was possible to imagine the dead playing the same role as Hecate and Hermes, and, more important, indicate that the dead were on the minds of those who wrote the tablets; thus these tablets help to confirm my earlier hypothesis that the dead were important to the enactment of the tablets' curses. But so far as the exact function accorded to the dead in these examples is concerned, I would suggest that there has been a kind of transference: their writers registered their victims in the presence of the dead as well as of the deity who would command them, thus moving the dead into a magisterial role that they did not normally play.116 If my analysis concerning the role that the dead played in the enactment of curses is correct, then the tablets provide evidence from the early classical period of three important ideas. First, certain gods were taking on a new or at least increased importance in their roles as controllers of the dead, most prominently Hermes and Hecate. In neither case does this role contradict any aspect of our earlier picture of the god—it can be understood as a development of Hermes' role as psychopompos and of certain aspects of Hecate's persona that we shall examine in chapter 6—but their specific roles as gods who might help the practitioner by facilitating his access to the souls of the dead are definitely new. This Jordan suggest that pros might often have a geographical significance instead, indicating that the curse tablet is deposited "in the presence of" a divinity or the dead, in the sense that it is buried within the divinity's precinct or within a cemetery. Certainly, this may be true, but if so we still must infer that the place of deposition was chosen in order that the indwelling spirit might pay attention to the curse tablet and its request. Thus, the force that we must attach to pros changes little, in my opinion. 113. On the meaning of this word, see n. 127 below. 114. Jordan 19853, #20; further discussed in Curbera and Jordan. Cf. also SEG 37.673 (Olbia, 4th/3d century B.C.E.; cf. Bravo; Jordan 1997), which directly addresses a dead person and promises a reward in return for his help. See also DT#$z (= Gager #73), a third-century tablet from Attica, quoted on p. 77 below. 115. E.g.,S.A/. 865; A»*. 75116. I should also note that some tablets seem to work on the principle of "performative utterance," that is, that the speaking and/or writing of a curse such as "I bind" in itself bound the victim and thus put the curse into action. On these tablets, see Faraone 19913.

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makes sense: before the advent of the curse tablets and other means of invoking the dead against other people, there was no real need for such a divine role. Second, the living could call for aid upon even the dead to whom they did not have a familial relationship. Indeed, in some tablets, the practitioner indicates that he has no idea in whose grave he is burying the tablet by using such phrases as "you buried here, whoever you are," and in only a very few tablets is the ghost addressed by his own name.117 The apparent distaste of the dead for serving the living in this capacity, evinced in several tablets, suggests moreover that one would not wish this role upon a departed loved one.118 Third, the dead were beginning to be understood as all-purpose factotums of the living. They could be asked not only to help take vengeance upon their former persecutors or to defend the surviving members of their family, as Electra and Orestes hope that Agamemnon will in the Oresteia, but also to assist in a wide variety of tasks in which they were unlikely to have any personal interest—the hobbling of orators' tongues, for example. The dead, then, were no longer only threats in their own right, but also tools to be used against one's opponents; to the long-standing, generalized fear of random attacks by the envious or vengeful dead was now added the fear that the dead might be used against one by a competitor (correlatively, the dead, particularly those who had died under unfortunate circumstances, had more to fear than just the usual dreariness or punishments of the Underworld; they might be shanghaied into servitude). The curse tablets, then, confirm that in the fifth century, we have entered into an era of belief different from that shown in the Homeric poems. We have passed from a situation in which the dead scarcely interacted with the living, and then only at their own discretion and under very specific circumstances—when their bodies were unburied, for example— to one in which the living could activate the dead at their pleasure, for many reasons. There are several other issues that we need to consider in connection with the curse tablets. The first is their very nature as "tablets," as written documents. The possible origins of this practice of communicating 117. See the introduction to Supp. Mag. #37 for a list and discussion. In a forthcoming collection of essays on magic to be published by the Norwegian Institute in Athens, edited by Einar Thompson, Hugo Montgomery, and David Jordan, there will be an essay by M. Voutiras discussing the tablets on which ghosts are called by their own names. 118. E.g., the tablet from Olbia mentioned in n. 114 above, where the dead person must be bribed by a gift before he will cooperate; PGM IV.38 5 and cf. PL Lg. 93^2-3, where it is implied that people are distressed to find evidence of these practices on the graves of their parents.

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with the realm of the dead through writing is taken up in chapter 3, but here we might consider the evolution of the practice within Greece itself. Early tablets are terse, typically including only the name of the victim(s) and a verb such as "bind" or "register." Later tablets include more information, including instructions as to how the curses are to be carried out and by what agents. It is very likely that the deposition of the simpler, earlier tablets was accompanied by oral instructions similar to those written on these later tablets. Indeed, judging from spells for making curse tablets that are found in the magical papyri, one of which we shall examine below, even the lengthier tablets had to be accompanied by oral commands. The "binding song" (hymnos desmios) sung by the Aeschylean Erinyes, which bears similarities to phrases on later tablets, is probably a dramatized version of what such an oral incantation would have sounded like in the fifth century.119 The fact that the normal means both of addressing the gods and of contacting the dead in early Greece was through sung or spoken words lends additional support to this idea. Notably, even after the more elaborate tablets began to appear, tablets including only the name of the victim or the name and a verb continued to be produced, which suggests that, even after the idea of writing more elaborate tablets had been introduced, it was still acceptable to intone most of the instructions orally.120 There are a couple of ways to explain this. If one were hiring a professional to create the tablet, the rationale for keeping it simple might have been financial: scribes usually charged by the word.121 If one were making the tablet oneself, it may have been a matter of skill: a person who was scarcely literate would opt for scratching on the simplest effective inscription and pronouncing the rest. By assuming that the fuller tablets include information approximately like that which was spoken aloud at the time when simpler ones were deposited, we should be able to use the fuller tablets to get a better idea of how all the tablets, both early and late, were understood to work, and what role the dead played in the process. A number of tablets 119. Note, also, that there are a few curse tablets written partially or wholly in dactylic hexameters, which may imply again that the spells were to be spoken aloud at some point in the process: e.g., DTA #108 (third- or second-century B.C.E. Attica); discussion in Faraone 1985 and 1995. 12.0. The idea that early curse tablets were supplemented by oral incantation is widely accepted in various forms. See, e.g., Gager, 7 and n. 39; Faraone 19913, 5-6; Kotansky 1991, 109-10. Cf. also my discussion in chapter 3. On the Erinyes' song, see Faraone 198512.1. E. G. Turner, i; for an example of the result that this policy might have on the inscription of curse tablets, see Martinez, passim, but esp. 113.

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from later periods address the dead with phrases such as "you who lie here having died untimely" or "you unmarried ones."122 For example, a third-century tablet from Attica runs as follows:123 Kerkis Blastos Nikandros Glukera I bind Kerkis, the words and deeds of Kerkis and also the tongue, in the presence of those who died before marriage [eitheoi];124 and whenever they read this, then [words missing] . . . to/for Kerkis . . . to talk. I bind him and his young women and his profession and his capital and his business and his words and deeds. Hermes of the Underworld, restrain them in every way until they become senseless. This tablet aligns with the apparent preference, evinced not only by other tablets but by many spells of the magical papyri, of asking certain types of dead to carry out the curse, referring to them individually or collectively by terms such as "those who died incomplete," or "those who died violently." For example, instructions from one papyrus spell tell the practitioner to pronounce the following as he places the tablet on the grave of someone who died aoros or biaiothanatos: I entrust this curse tablet to you, chthonic gods,125 and to men and women who have died untimely deaths, to youths and maidens, from year to year, month to month, day to day, hour to hour. I adjure all daimones of this place to stand as assistants beside this daimon [that is, all the dead souls of the cemetery must help the soul in whose grave the tablet is placed]. And arouse yourself for me, whoever you are, whether male or female, and go to every place and every quarter and to every house, and attract and bind her. . . . Let her be unable to either drink or eat, not be contented, not be strong, not have peace of mind, not find sleep without me. . . . drag her by the hair, by her heart, by her soul, to me . . ,126

12,2. Examples include Supp. Mag #45 (= Gager #30); DT #2.71 (= Gager #36; cf. Deissman 169-300); DT#22 and #2,5 (= Gager #45 and #46 with further bibliography); DT #52 (= Gager #73) and one from Athens published by Young (= Gager #71). 123. DT#52; translation by Gager #73. 124. Eitheoi more exactly means "without having born children" at PI. Lg. 84od5, a category of restless dead discussed in detail in chapter 5. It is possible that the word has this more exact definition here and in other uses as well. Its earliest occurrence is at Od. 11.38, where it refers to one of the types of dead who swarm up from Erebus as soon as Odysseus pours the blood into the pit. 125. I omit here a list of chthonic gods and voces magicae that appears in the spell. 126. Excerpted from PGM IV.296-466. My translation is a modification of E. N. O'NeiPs translation in Betz. More fully on this spell and the working examples of tablets from it that have been found, see Martinez.

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The marginal status of aoroi and biaiothanatoi would both facilitate interaction with the living and make them easier prey for the practitioner—they were neither impeded nor protected by the walls of the Underworld. In this respect, the aoroi and biaiothanatoi are the exact opposites of a certain type of soul briefly discussed earlier, who had obtained special protection from the gods of the Underworld during the afterlife by being initiated into mystery cults while alive—indeed, it is likely that the two curse tablets from early fourth century mentioned above, which invoke the atelestoi ("incomplete") dead are explicitly directed to the souls of those who died uninitiated.127 A variation on this theme is found in some late texts in which the practitioner who wants to persuade a soul to cooperate promises that, once it has finished his task, he will set it free or even protect it from having to serve other practitioners.128 Another reason that the restless dead would be more valuable to the practitioner lies in their disposition: because they were envious and embittered, they could more easily be roused into action against the living.129 It was probably not only the aoroi, the biaiothanatoi, and similarly unhappy souls who were invoked, however, even if they were preferred. First of all, sometimes there would have been a problem with identifying which graves contained such corpses. An epitaph on a tombstone or the presence of a loutrophoros (a jar used to carry the water for a girl's wedding bath) might make it clear that a grave belonged to an aoros, but 127. DT #68 = Gager #2,2,. The Greek words in question are ateles and atelestoi, which literally mean "uncompleted" but which often also mean, more specifically, "uninitiated" (e.g., h. Cer. 481; PL Phd. 6^cy^ E. Ba. 40). Cf. Graf 1997!), 150-51, who understands the word to mean "unmarried"; although this meaning is otherwise unattested for either word, there may be some support for the interpretation in the fact that the tablet is intended to prevent a woman from seducing a man. Gager translates the word as "unmarried"; Audollent (ad loc.) assumed the meaning "uninitiated." Jameson, Jordan, and Kotansky, 131, suggest it refers to dead who have not received the proper funeral rites (tele), which, given the earlier conclusions in this chapter about the possibility of "initiating" or "purifying" the souls of the dead if they had omitted to do so themselves while alive, brings us close to the meaning accepted by Audollent and myself. Cf. also Graf 1994, 153, for a slightly different discussion, where he argues against the meaning "uninitiated" because the graves of the uninitiated would not have been marked as such. This does not carry much weight, as we cannot assume that the graves of the untimely dead would have always been marked as such, either. 12,8. E.g., the final line of a late curse tablet published by Kambitsis (= Gager #2,8; Jordan 19853, 152) and cf. the promise made by Erictho at Luc. 6.762-70 to the corpse that she reanimates that she will make him immune from further attacks by magicians and witches after he completes her request. Cf. also the tablet from Olbia cited in n. 114 above, where the dead person is promised "the best of offerings" if he cooperates. 129. See chapters 4 and 5 below.

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the graves of biaiothanatoi and those who had failed to be initiated into mystery religions surely were rarely, if ever, marked as such.130 Unless one happened to know the circumstances under which an individual had died, and where he or she was buried, one probably had to choose a grave at random and hope for the best. Moreover, if one wanted to bury the tablet with the corpse,131 rather than simply placing it on the grave or just below the surface, it was probably easiest either to do this surreptitiously at the time of burial or, if later insertion was necessary, to choose a new grave, as the freshly dug soil would be easier to excavate. In short, the practitioner could not always count on having access to the "best" sorts of souls, and had to take what he could find; even a "normal" soul might be compelled to cooperate. Plato's allusion to the placement of cursing materials on the graves of parents suggests that the souls of older people at least were not excluded as possibilities.132 Another important issue is what the dead were expected to do to the victims of the curse. Different circumstances probably demanded different techniques, and each practitioner undoubtedly had his own preferences as well. Most commonly, the practitioner or his client expressed a wish to restrain the victim from an action, or sometimes to hamper his movement more severely by "binding" him. Figurines that sometimes accompany the curse tablets, which show the victim with hands tied behind the back, suggest this idea, but tablets that "bind" not only the victim but such intangibles as his business support a less literal reading of the verb. Formulaic though the language of the tablets may be, then, we cannot use those formulas to develop an iron-clad axiom about what was supposed to happen to the victims.133 The only thing that is clear is that until very late times, the purpose of a tablet was not so much to kill or seriously harm the victim as to restrict his or her movements and behavior.134 Within these limits, the range of specific actions was probably broad. One tablet instructs the dead to "throw difficult fires" into all the 130. It should be noted, however, that in some cases the tablet itself makes it clear that the practitioner took the trouble to seek out the grave of a special type of dead. Thus, DT #237 (= Gager #9) begins with "I invoke you, spirit of one untimely dead, whoever you are. . . ." 131. Or even place the tablet in the hand of the corpse, as in two instances detailed by Jordan 1988, 2.73-74. 132. PI. Lg. 933a2-b3. Interestingly, however, in cases where we can estimate the age at death of those corpses found with curse tablets, they were almost always young, according to Jordan 1988, 273. But cf. Graf i997b, 174-75. 133. Cf. Graf i997b, 122-23, I 34~44134. Faraone i99ia.

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limbs of the victim and make him burn, perhaps referring to the infliction of a fever. A very late tablet from Syria instructs the ghosts of the aoroi and biaiothanatoi to leap up in front of a team of horses in a race in order to frighten them, which is exactly what the ghost of Myrtilus, a murdered charioteer, was believed to do to horses competing in the Olympic races centuries earlier.135 The oral commands of the magical papyri provide further examples illustrating the range of injuries that the dead could inflict, including insomnia and lack of appetite (e.g., PGM IV.2,730-39). Generally, these are the same sorts of afflictions that the dead might impose upon the living of their own accord.136 SUMMARY We have covered a lot of ground in this chapter, and thus it would be a good idea to recap the most important points: The living had to meet not only certain basic needs of the dead, such as burial and periodic nourishment, but more complex needs as well: they had to help protect them from immediate threats after death, such as demonic interference, to help guarantee their safe passage to the Underworld, and occasionally also to perform rites after the death of an individual in order to "purify" his soul or otherwise help it achieve a peaceful afterlife. Care of the dead was a civic concern as well as a concern of the individuals most directly involved with any given dead person. This was because the displeasure of the dead might make itself felt not only against those immediately responsible but against the entire group. We shall see further instances of this in chapters to come. By the classical period, the souls of dead might be manipulated by ritual practitioners who had expertise in such arts. As servants of the living, the dead might be pressed into all kinds of service, but they were 135. D T # 5 i , from Attica; the horse-scaring tablet was published by van Rengen, 2,13-14, and is translated as Gager #6; see also Jordan 19853, 192., and other bibliography in Gager. 136. There are also instances in which the dead are used as part of a similia similibus action wherein the practitioner commands the victim to become like the corpse in some way (e.g., DT#8$ = Gager #2,0). Graf 1997^ ch. 5, esp. 132-34, however, is surely right in understanding this and various other similia similibus techniques as secondary developments (cf. Graf 1994, 151-56, a fuller and in my opinion somewhat better discussion of the question found in the revised English version of 1997^.

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particularly used to injure others among the living. Troublesome ghosts could also be exorcised or controlled by these practitioners. Finally, it is striking that all of the information to which we can assign a date for the latter two topics is from no earlier than the late archaic or early classical period: Epimenides purified Athens at the turn of the seventh and sixth centuries; the Spartans hired psychagogoi in the mid fifth century; the Selinuntine law dates from the mid fifth and the Cyrenean from the mid fourth century; the Dodonian tablet mentioning a psychagogos named Dorius is from the early fourth century. Curse tablets begin to appear in the late sixth and early fifth centuries. This supports the conclusion reached in chapter i based on examination of narrative sources: the dead began to be perceived as a bigger source of problems, and new methods of dealing with them began to develop, in the late archaic and early classical periods. In the next chapter, we shall explore some of the reasons for, and some further ramifications of, this development.

CHAPTER 3

Magical Solutions to Deadly Problems The Origin and Roles of the Goes Martha's knees gave under her. She sank down. . . . She looked up and saw the wizard standing before her, a book in one hand and a silver wand in the other. The upper part of his face was hidden, but she saw his pale lips move and presently he spoke, in a deep husky tone that vibrated solemnly in the dim room: "d) TTeuov, ei p,ev yap, TroXeuov ire pi rovSe dos,//Trap0eva)v em XeKTpois, a v6|ios- exei. Although some commentators have understood Cassandra's invocation of Hecate as an illomened variation of the more common nuptial invocation of Artemis, nothing in the passage indicates that we are to interpret it this way; e.g., Barlow; Lee; and Biehl, ad loc. The scholiast on the passage notes that Hecate is connected with both marriage and death: TT)V 'EKctTriv Trape|ii£e 8id TO iier' oXiyov aTroGvrjaKeii'' xQovia yap f| 0eos. r\ on yafifjXios r| 'EKchr|. 10. Theophoric names: Kraus, 20. It is notable that the original name of the city of Idrias, near Lagina, was Hecatesia (Steph. Byz., s.v. Hekatesia).

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portant Carian deities, and that the titles attached to her there by at least Hellenistic times (such as "greatest" [megiste], "most manifest goddess" [epiphanestate thea] and "savior" [soteira]), as well as her portrayal on the friezes of her temple in Lagina (to be discussed below) suggest that she played somewhat the same roles for Caria as Cybele played for Phrygia: city goddess, mother goddess, and all-around benefactress.11 Laginetan Hecate was closely associated with the Zeus of nearby Panamara, which would support the idea that she was the leading goddess of her own city.12 The "procession of the key" (kleidos agoge) held annually in Lagina in her honor must have been important, considering the frequency with which inscriptions refer to its officers.13 None of our sources explain what it was supposed to accomplish, but if it took its name from a key that was carried, then that key must have been of central importance—it must have been used to lock or unlock something significant. We know that the Laginetans erected a statue of Hecate when they built new gates behind their city;14 the key may have been for these or other city gates over which she was expected to watch. Perhaps the procession of the key culminated in an actual opening and shutting of the gates, or perhaps these acts were only symbolically performed. Either way, the key would have signified Hecate's ability to "close" the city against all dangers or "open" it to benign influences. By at least the fifth century, she also had a temple at the city gates of Miletus, about fifty miles northwest of Lagina, where she must have been important: as I have already mentioned, a prominent altar was dedicated to her there in the sixth century, and another was dedicated to her under her common epithet Phosphoros, "bringer of light," in the first century.15 An archaic calendar of sacrifices mentions a rite in which she was crowned.16 Information that once again connects Hecate to city gates in Caria comes from fifth-century Miletus, in the cult regulations 11. Kraus, 54-55. 12. Kraus, 43-47. 13. For inscriptions, see, e.g., BCH u (1887): izff., nos. 6, 7, 14, 37, 41, 45; BCH 44 (1920): 7o£f., nos. 2, 6, 9, 15, 17, 18, 53, 56. Discussion at Johnston 1990, 41-42; Kraus, 48-50; Nilsson 1906, 400; Laumonier, 574. 14. J. Robert, 2,34-38. 15. Milet, i: 3, 392, no. 172 (Rehm). On Hecate as Phosphoros, see Graf 1985, 229. It is interesting that the dedicator (Pausanias) described himself as Trpovorjcras rfjs OLKo8o|j.Lag TWV Teixwv (providing for the building of walls); Apollo himself, in whose precinct this altar stands, was the wall builder par excellence. Since Pausanias emphasizes his role as wall builder in his inscription, this must be significant for Hecate and perhaps can be best understood as another aspect of her role as guardian. 16. Calendar, Milet, i: 3, 162, no. 313 (Rehm).

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2.07

of a guild of musicians called molpoi. These describe a procession in which two mysterious objects called gulloi had to be carried. One was to be crowned and anointed with unmixed wine "next to the Hecate who stands before the gates [of Miletus]."17 In Aphrodisias, just north of Lagina, there was a priesthood of Hecate Propylaia, suggesting that there, too, she had a special connection with gates.18 Her placement at the gates of cities can be understood as part of her broader role in Caria as a city goddess, for it implies that she will protect her city by preventing anything dangerous from entering.19 Although she never became a full-fledged city goddess in other parts of the Greek world (probably because this role was already being played by Athena, Hera, and others), her duty as a guardian of entrances spread widely there. According to Plutarch, in fact, it was so common to set up images of Hecate (hekataia) at important city entrances that one general could ridicule another who had set up a military trophy at such an entrance by suggesting that he would have done better to have erected a hekataion—that is, a statue to protect the entrance. In Rhodes, she was worshipped as Propylaia alongside Hermes Propylaios and Apollo Apotropaios. In Thasos, she was worshipped at three different city entrances: the Maritime Gate, the Gate of Silenus, and the Gates of Hermes. In Athens, she probably had a shrine on the west road leading out of the city, just outside of the Sacred Gate. She also guarded the entrances of important areas within or near cities. Most famously, Hecate Epipyrgidia stood at the entrance to the Athenian Acropolis, the "city within the city" that represented Athens' religious heart. In Selinus, a fifth-century dedicatory inscription found at a propylon that served as the entrance to the sanctuary of Demeter Malophoros refers to Hecate, suggesting that she was also worshipped at this important entrance.20 17. "Trap' fEKctTT]y Tf)v irpoaOev iruXewv" The other gullos was to be set down "em Oupas," "at the door," which probably refers to the entrance of the sanctuary of Apollo in Didyma to which the procession led. The first paian at this festival was to be sung to Hecate, which may imply that she was expected to watch over the journey from Miletus to outlying Didyma. The text is LSAM 50.2,5-2,9; discussion at Graf 1996 (especially important for understanding the spatial significance of the procession), Nilsson 1967, 72,2,; Wilamowitz 1931-32, i: 169; Kraus, iz-i3. Gulloi may be cubes of stone: see Hesych., s.v. gullos; cf. Rehm in Milet, i: 3, 164; and Laumonier, 574 n. 7, who prefer to follow the gloss of Hesychius and the Suda that identifies gulios as a sort of picnic basket. 18. CJG 2,796; cf. the comments of Farnell 1896-1909, 2,: 601 n. 2,3b; Kraus, 39; L. Robert, 6: 79. 19. Cf. the remarks of Graf 1992,. 2,0. Plu. Apophth. Reg. i93f. (notably, he specifies that they should be set up at crossroads outside the city gates, on which see discussion below); Rhodes (third-century B.C.E. Camiros): Segre nos. n6a and 199; Thasos: Picard 1894, I2-8 n. 2,; cf. Sarien 1992,, 6.1,

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A goddess who guards a whole city can also guard a home, a role for which Hecate became famous in Greece. The earliest evidence, which describes her as standing in front of kings' houses, comes from a fragment of Aeschylus21 and thus is approximately contemporaneous with the inscriptions from Didyma and Miletus that associate her with city gates and doors. Although this contemporaneity allows the possibility that Hecate's role as entrance guardian first developed in Greece and then moved to Caria, or developed simultaneously in both places, it is far more likely that it was among her original Carian duties and that Hecate brought it with her into Greece. For one thing, it is difficult to imagine that if the Greeks had made significant innovations in Hecate's persona once she arrived, these would be adopted by her homeland so rapidly as to become part of official cult within little more than a hundred years, especially to such an extent that a new temple at the Milesian city gates would be built. For another thing, the Greeks already had a god who served as guardian of entrances when Hecate arrived: Hermes.22 It is hard to see why they would assign the same role to another deity, had she not brought it with her when she arrived. It was probably her role as guardian of entrances that led to Hecate's identification by the mid fifth century with Enodia, a Thessalian goddess.23 Enodia's very name ("In-the-Road") suggests that she watched over entrances, for it expresses both the possibility that she stood on the main road into a city, keeping an eye on all who entered, and in the road in front of private houses, protecting their inhabitants. The latter function is demonstrated by remains from Thessalian Larissa. An iron key was found inside a hole drilled in a fifth-century statue base inscribed to Enodia. This suggests that the base was originally positioned near something that the key was able to lock and unlock, either symbolically or in reality. The small size of the base suggests a domestic setting, as does the inscription, which asks Enodia for help with a child. Thus, it seems probable that the piece was originally placed in front of the door of a private house. The inscription also mentions an agalma

987; Athens, west road: Wycherley, 259; Acropolis: Paus. 2.30.2; Selinus: Jeffrey, 2.71, 277, no. 41 (and see discussion at Dewailly, 146-48). 21. Fr. 388. 22. On Hermes as a god of liminal places, see Johnston 1991, 220, and Kahn. 23. The identification of Hecate and Enodia is attested as early as S. fr. 535; cf. E. Hel 569-70. For discussion of Enodia in general, see Kraus 77-83.1 do not agree with Wilamowitz 1931-32, i: 169, that Enodia was necessarily a "native Greek goddess of witchcraft."

Hecate and the Dying Maiden

2.09

dedicated to Enodia; this must refer to the statuette that was once on top of the base. Given the frequent identification of Hecate and Enodia, this is likely to have been similar to the hekataia that were found in front of house doors. Another fifth-century Larissan dedication that also asks Enodia for help with a child comes from a marble statue base discovered in the remains of a private dwelling; its original position is unknown, but its domestic use makes it possible that it, too, stood at the entrance to a house. A third fifth-century inscription, on a fragment from a marble stele, mentions a dedication to Enodia Alexeatis, "The Averter," a title that expresses Enodia's ability to ward off all dangers. Unfortunately, we do not know where it was erected, but its small size again makes a domestic use likely.24 Divinities who guard the entrances to cities or private dwellings would be expected to avert all sorts of dangers that might threaten those dwelling within, from burglars to mice, but in ancient Greece (like many other places), they were particularly expected to ward off unhappy souls and other demonic creatures, who were believed to congregate at entrances for two reasons. First, because inhabitants vigilantly used protective devices to keep them out, these creatures were imagined to lurk near entrances, patiently awaiting those rare moments of laxity when they might dart back inside. (This is the idea, for instance, behind the Byzantine folktale of how Gello sneaked into a heavily guarded castle by disguising herself as a fly on a horse that Saint Sisinnius rode through the gates, which opened only for him.) 25 Second, spaces such as the threshold of a door are "liminal," lying between otherwise defined areas without belonging to either of them. All over the world, as noted in chapter 5, liminal situations are associated with demons.26 As a goddess expected to avert demons from the house or city over which she stood guard and to protect the individual as she or he passed through dangerous liminal places, Hecate would naturally become known as a goddess who could also refuse to avert the demons, or even drive them on against unfortunate individuals. In noting her association with liminal places, then, we have identified one important factor that led to Hecate's lead24. IG IX.2, 575, 577, and 576 (quoted below in n. 42). It is impossible to say whether a practice of erecting statues of Enodia at entrances would have originated in Thessaly or, rather, was later adopted from the cult of Hecate; by the time of our example, the two goddess have become virtually identified. 25. In other versions, it is the Devil himself, disguised as a millet grain or clod of dirt in the horse's shoe. For texts and discussion, see Perdrizet and M. Caster. 26. On the reasons that liminal places attract demons, and on liminal rituals in Greece more generally, see Johnston 1991.

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ership of the demons in Greece. Following this reasoning, she was probably also associated with demons in Caria, although evidence for this is lacking. A goddess like the one I have been describing for the past few pages would have been welcomed in Greece during the later archaic age for two reasons. First, any divinity who safeguarded boundaries and entrances would have had an important role to play during the later archaic age. For, as discussed in chapter 3, during this time, the Greeks became increasingly concerned with delineating space, and marking off certain portions of it for certain uses. The polis was divided, symbolically and physically, from the world outside of the polis. The dead were given their own territory, which often was circumscribed by walls. Sanctuaries were set off from secular space by walls or boundary stones, and commercial spaces such as the Athenian agora were set off from noncommercial spaces.27 The positioning of hekataia at the entrances to cities, sanctuaries, and other areas within cities, like the positioning of herms, probably began as an effort to guard those areas, but developed into a means of defining them as well. The statue of a guardian divinity declared to all who passed by that the space within was dedicated to a special use. Hecate's position at the doorways to private homes may have had a similar importance, symbolically declaring the integrity of the oikos to those who passed by. Second, as we have seen, the archaic period was a time during which fear of the restless dead was growing in Greece; any goddess who could control them would have been valued. By themselves, however, neither the need for such a deity nor Hecate's association with liminal points can adequately account for the fact that an association with ghosts became such a dominant aspect of her persona. As I have mentioned, Hermes was also a god who guarded entrances and protected people at liminal places. As psychopompos, he also had contact with the departing souls of the dead; by the time of Aeschylus, this led to the belief that he could help individuals invoke those souls again.28 And yet, he never was portrayed as the leader of a band of restless, dangerous souls.29 2.7. Among recent treatments are Cole 1998; I. Morris 1989, 313-21; I. Morris 1987, esp. 192-96; de Polignac, esp. chs. i and 2,. From a different angle, see Seaford 1994, 2.39-512.8. Hermes' earliest appearance as psychopompos is in Odyssey 2.4; see discussion at Sourvinou-Inwood 1995, 103-5. He helps family members invoke the souls of their dead at A. Pers. 62,9 and Ch. 12.4, cf. 719. 2.9. Cf. the remarks of Nilsson 1906, 191.

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Hecate had another role that Hermes did not, however, which brought her even more closely into contact both with demons and with the mortals whom they were especially likely to attack. In the next section, I shall begin to explain what this was. HECATE AND GIRLS' TRANSITIONS I mentioned above that one of Hecate's earliest roles in Greek literature and art was that of a wedding attendant. In this she was similar to Artemis, who also was expected to bless weddings with her presence, ensuring the bride's safe transition from maiden to wife. As is well known, this was but one aspect of Artemis's general guardianship of the female's passage from girl to mother, which also manifested itself in her presence when women gave birth, her protection of children after birth, and, even earlier in the process, her sponsorship of a variety of rituals in which girls symbolically made the transition from virgin to marriageable woman.30 Hecate, too, exhibited a concern for women that extended from the time that they were ready for marriage through childbirth—in fact, it was undoubtedly this common range of interests that led to the early association of the two goddesses. Aeschylus credits "Artemis-Hecate" with bringing labor pains to women. Antoninus Liberalis, drawing on the second-century B.C.E. poet Nicander, relates a story whereby one of the midwives present at Heracles' birth was turned into a weasel by Hera, but then, in recompense, was honored by Hecate and became her "sacred servant" forever, which suggests that Hecate was a goddess whom midwives particularly served. Ennius mentions that Trivia (i.e., Hecate) could bestow children on fathers who prayed to her. Hesychius describes the birth goddess Genetyllis as another form of Hecate. The Chaldean Oracles make Hecate the goddess through whose grace the whole material cosmos was created, and identify her womb as the source of all life.31 Hecate's sacred animal, the dog,32 is also suggestive of her connection with birth, for the dog was sacred to Eileithyia, Genetyllis, 30. This has been most recently discussed in Cole 1998. 31. A. Supp. 676; Ant. Lib. 29 = Nic. fr. 60 (and cf. Ael. NA 12.5 and 15.11 and Borthwick); Enn. ap. Varro, LL 7.16; Hsch., s.v. Genetyllis. On Hecate's role in the Chaldean Oracles, see Johnston 1990, esp. 62-70. 32. Dog as sacred to Hecate, e.g., E. fr. 968 and Ar. fr. 608 (cf. Hsch., s.v. Hekates agalma), Orph. H. 1.4; PGM IV.28i4-i5; see also Roscher 1896, 25-50, passim, but esp. 30-32. Lye. 77 and the schol. to Ar. Pax 277 mention dog sacrifices to Hecate on Samothrace; Paus. 3.14.9 mentions dog sacrifices to Enodia at Colophon. On the sacrifices of dogs at "Hecate suppers," see Johnston 1991.

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and other birth goddesses.33 Although in later times Hecate's dog came to be thought of as a manifestation of the restless souls or demons who accompanied her,34 its docile appearance and its accompaniment of a Hecate who looks completely friendly in many pieces of ancient art suggests that its original signification was positive and thus likelier to have arisen from the dog's connection with birth than the dog's demonic associations. Of course, as in the case of Artemis, there was a darker side to Hecate's role as birth goddess as well. A fragment from a Doric mime, perhaps by Sophron, describes her as leaving the bed of a parturient woman whom she has just killed. Like all divinities, Hecate can take away what she can give. Perhaps the women who try to avert Hecate in some other fragments from Sophron are also concerned with protecting a parturient woman and her infant.35 From earliest times, Hecate is singled out as a kourotrophos as well. Midway through the Theogony, in his so-called "Hymn to Hecate," Hesiod calls her this twice, describing it as a characteristic that Hecate has held from the outset. She is also called kourotrophos by Apollonius Rhodius and several other later authors. The pseudo-Herodotean Life of Homer describes Samian women as sacrificing to a kourotrophic goddess at the crossroads, which must, again, indicate Hecate. The scholiast on Aristophanes' Wasps 804 explains that the Athenians erected hekataia everywhere because they believed that she was the guardian and kourotrophos of all.36 The scholiast to Theocritus's second Idyll more specifically calls Hecate the trophos of Persephone, a function that she also displays, perhaps, in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, when she embraces Persephone upon her return from the Underworld and promises to watch over her thereafter.37 A piglet was offered on the i6th of the month 33. Dogs and birth goddesses: Plu. QR 52, = zyya-c; Plin. HN 2,9 $58; Hsch., s.v. Genetyllis (who says that Genetyllis is "similar to Hecate"). Aside from these divinities, it is sacred only to Asclepius, the god of healing in general, and Ares, a strange god coming out of the marginal land of Thrace: Burkert 1992,, 75-79; Burkert 1985, 169-70; Parker 1983, 357-58; Scholz, 14-2,2.. 34. Dogs as restless souls or demons: Johnston 1990, ch. 9; Roscher 1896, 2,5-50. Here, too, we cannot be sure what led to this association, although as Roscher notes there are parallels for it in other cultures, where dogs represent both demons and a means of guarding against them. Perhaps we see reflected here nothing more than reality: dogs can, in fact, be both vicious carnivores and excellent guardians (cf. Plu. QR Z76f-Z77a). 35. Sophr. fr. 2, Demianczuk = Plu. De superst. i7ob. 36. H. Th. 450-52,; A.R. 3.861; Orph. H. 1.8; Herodotean Vit. Horn. 410-20; schol. Ar. V. 804: 'EKaTatoi> lepoy 'EKQTTIS, us TWV 'AGTjvaiwv TravTaxoO iSpuouevwv airrf)v ws

€(j)OpOV TTCIVTWV KCU KOUpOTpOC^OV.

37. Schol. Theocr. Id. 1.11. Clinton has suggested that Hecate's role as Persephone's trophos was also celebrated during the Athenian Thesmophoria (Clinton 1992,, ch. i). In

Hecate and the Dying Maiden

2,13

Metageitnion to a goddess called Kourotrophos at Hecate's shrine in Attic Erchia, according to an inscription dated to the second quarter of the fourth century. On the same day and in the same place, a goat was offered to Artemis-Hecate, which implies that Kourotrophos was understood as a goddess separate from this other, but Kourotrophos's presence in Hecate's shrine is telling nonetheless.38 On a votive relief from imperial Phrygia, which shows two young boys, a mother prays to Hecate for help with her children. Another Phrygian relief (undated) asks both Hecate and the local god Men for help with children.39 It is probable that Hecate's concern with the birth and nurturing of children was one that she brought with her into Greece from her homeland. The east frieze of her Hellenistic temple in Lagina shows her helping to protect the newly born Zeus by presenting the disguised stone to Cronus; another female figure carries the real child away.40 The Laginetan frieze is our only evidence for Hecate's involvement in this birth; similarly, only at the Laginetan temple does she participate in the myths represented on the west and north friezes, which show the Gigantomachy and a treaty being made between Amazons and unidentified warriors. Kraus suggests, correctly I think, that the roles Hecate plays in these friezes align generically with those that were celebrated at this, her biggest cult site. The artist, wishing to express her locally popular roles through well-known Greek myths, introduced Hecate into established stories where she had formerly had no part.41 As already mentioned, Thracian Enodia was also concerned with children: two of the early fifth-century inscriptions from Larissa ask for

the Attic deme of Paiania, Hecate's priestesses served in the local Eleusinion: IG I 3 250 = LSS 18 A 33-34 (450/30 B.C.E.). 38. LSCG 1866-13. 39. Md|i|iT] irrrep Trai8wv 'Emr-p eu/xr|v: MAMA. IV, i no. 2 illustr. i (Buckler-CalderGuthrie); the tablet shows two boys on the relief. Kwriavf) Kuvriavoi) irrrep reKecov ave0r|Ke ret 'EKara KQL Mai/i TOV ulea TO€ Ilaiavos: L. Robert, 10: 115 n. z (from Hasanlar). Men is often associated with mother-goddesses in his Anatolian homeland. On both inscriptions, see also L. Robert, 10: 115 n. z. In neither case is it certain whether Hecate (or Men) is being asked for help with conceiving and bearing children or, rather, for help with raising children, but the difference, for our purposes, is insignificant. 40. On the frieze, see Kraus, 45-48; Schober, 2,8ff. 41. Kraus (47, cf. 43-45) supports his argument by noting that Hecate's portrayal as a goddess of treaties (represented on the frieze that shows amazons) and as a general fighter on behalf of civilization (represented by her participation in the gigantomachy) are also expressed by the epithets megiste, epiphanestate thea, and soteira that she receives in Asia Minor. Hecate's representation on the south frieze, which Schober argued represents a group of gods paying homage to her, is not preserved. On this point, see also Kraus, 46; Laumonier, 351.

2.14

Divinities and the Dead

her help with a child. One is from the statue base that enclosed a key, which, I have suggested, was originally positioned at a house door, and the other is from the marble statue base found in the remains of a house. The dedications are brief, and the ways in which the requests are worded makes it impossible to tell whether the dedicators wanted Enodia to ensure conception and birth or rather to protect a child who had already been born.42 The difference is probably insignificant, however, for like Hecate, a goddess who helps with one usually helps with the other. Perhaps such a statue would have served both purposes for the household over a period of years. Our paucity of information about Enodia makes it impossible to say whether she displays a concern for children in these inscriptions because it always had been part of her personality or rather because she had adopted it from Hecate, with whom she was identified by at least the time of Sophocles.43 Whatever the answer to that, it is important to note that Enodia's help with children is being sought in a domestic setting in at least one case and probably another as well.44 This makes sense: the birth and nurture of children are first and foremost concerns of the oikos—every home needed the help of a goddess with such interests. The same logic would work to explain the prevalence of hekataia in front of houses: Hecate's ability to guarantee the birth and subsequent health of children would make her popular in any home, particularly amongst women, whom we know were especially devoted to her. In fact, it is in order to explain why hekataia were erected in front of houses that the scholiast on Aristophanes' Wasps tells us that Hecate was considered the kourotrophos of all, which suggests that the goddess's kourotrophic abilities were one of the main reasons that domestic hekataia were erected. If the statues were erected simply to solicit Hecate's and Enodia's blessings, however, they could have stood anywhere within domestic spaces; the scholiast's remark seems to imply their location at the entrances to houses, as Aristophanes describes, was directly related to their kourotrophic potency. This takes us back to our earlier discussion about 42. ZG IX.2 575: Apyeia: |T 'aveGeKe irrrep Tra[i]86s / / r68' ayaXjia eu£crro: 8' Ayerop faoriKcti: 'EivoSLai. IG IX.2 577: 'Ev[o8]ia ZraOfala / / Aya[0i]s- AT0oyerre[i]a / / e[u£]ap.eva irep [T]O[L] / / [Trai8]6g |iios, naXaiivatog and npoorpoiraios," CQ 19: 157-86. Heidel, Alexander. 1946. The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels. Chicago. Heim, R. 1892. Incantamenta Magica Graeca Latina. Leipzig. Henrichs, A. 1984. "The Eumenides and the Wineless Libations in the Derveni Papyrus." In Atti del XVII congresso internazionale di papirologia (Napoli 1983), 2: 255-68. Naples. . 1991. "Namenlosigkeit und Euphemismus: Zur Ambivalenz der chthonischen Machte im attischen Drama." In Fragmenta Dramatical Beitrdge zur Interpretation der griechischen Tragikerfragmente und ihrer Wirkungsgeschichte y ed. H. Hoffman, 161-201. Gottingen. . 1994. "Anonymity and Polarity: Unknown Gods and Nameless Altars at the Areopagus." ICS 19: 27-58. Herter, Hans. 1950. "Bose Damonen im fruhgriechischen Volksglauben." Rhein. J. f. Volkskunde i: 112-43. . 1976. "Hermes: Ursprung und Wesen eines griechischen Gottes." RhM n.s. 119.3L 193-241. Hertz, R. 1960 [1909]. Death and the Right Hand. Aberdeen. Herzfeld, M. 1981. "Meaning and Morality: A Semiotic Approach to Evil Eye Accusations in a Greek Village." American Ethnologist 8.3: 560-74.

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